Eli listened to the tale; he felt a creeping sense of dread. Facts? Legend? But who could know which was which? The story was a testament to the darkness that lurked within the human heart, a reminder that even the most civilized among us could succumb to the abyss of madness.
The darkness seemed to seep into Eli's very bones, the horror of the tale lingering long after the words had faded into silence.
"I hope you don't find this all too disgusting. My ancestors were a crude and barbarous people."
"An observation applicable to most people's ancestors if you go back far enough," Eli soothed.
"I'm going on at some length in order that you may understand the whole background of the matter."
"And most essential that is. No doubt vengeance swiftly caught up with Rory Macglennie," Eli suggested.
"It did indeed. The chieftain had underestimated the strength or the courage or perhaps the luck of Duncan Og Macglennie. He survived. God knows how. Maybe he had the luck to meet a kindly villager from the glen. Or he may have been picked up by a fishing boat.
"At any rate, in a few days he was in Mull, seeking out the Macleans, Fiona's tribe. There was swift talk of vengeance but what shape should it take
"There were long discussions at which it was admitted that Fiona would certainly be dead or at the very least in a deep dungeon. But how should they act? Assault on Castledoom was out of the question. Stealth must be used
"Magnus Maclean, chief of the Tobermory Macleans provided the solution: 'For are we not the allies of Macglennie? And what more natural than that we should visit our good friend Rory to inquire after our kinswoman Fiona. It will not be known to him that we know what has passed. Our presence will seem quite natural.'
"And we, maybe a scant dozen for he'll permit no more beyond his gate we tackle the Red?" someone asked skeptically.
"'We will use stealth. We will take him a cask of our own usquebaugh as a gift. And there will be more than whisky in it. The Macglennies will lie all asleep and Rory will be at our mercy."
"The plan was operated without a hitch. Rory welcomed them, regretted that Fiona could not be there to greet them as she had a fever, and they drank prodigiously of the drugged whisky.
"Soon there were only snoring bodies in the great hall, save for the small band of Macleans. When Rory Maclgennie came round, it was to find himself lashed tightly into his own high- backed chair.
"The darkness seemed to close in around Rory Macglennie like a living entity, the air thickening with an almost palpable sense of dread. "Treachery!" he roared, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "Where are you?"
The reply was calm, measured, and oh-so-familiar. "Justice,' Duncan Og's voice replied, dripping with a satisfaction that only came from having the upper hand. "Look about you, Rory Macglennie? Where are you?'
As Rory's gaze fell upon a small cell at the farthest end of the tier of dungeons. It was a place that was scarcely used, only rarely visited, a chill ran down his spine.
He heard the clink of tools, the grunting of men hard at work, and his heart sank. In the doorway, by the flickering glow of rushlights, he saw with a chill of horror that a first course of great stones had already been laid across the opening.
"He was being walled up alive.
"'So, you go into the darkness yourself now. Rory Macglennie. And it will be as grievous a one as mine I do believe."
"The realization was like a cold slap to the face. Rory's voice was a mixture of fury and desperation as he snarled, "Duncan Og! I should have cut your throat when I had the chance."
"'I waited outside the castle until you all slept. I wanted one last look at you, Rory Macglennie. One last look... And here is something for you also." Duncan Og's voice was laced with venom, his words dripping with malice.
"As the builders reached the top of the wall, Duncan Og's hand thrust into the cell. There was a flutter of wings, and the raven settled on his master's shoulder, nibbled affectionately at his ear with his massive beak.
"Then the last stones were thrust into place, the mortar smoothed off, and Rory was plunged into darkness. The silence was oppressive, the weight of the stones crushing. He was trapped, alone and helpless, with only the raven's presence to keep him company.
"The stonework would mellow and soon no one would remember there had ever been such a cell. To make assurance doubly sure they locked the outer dungeon and took the key with them. Rory Macglennie could lie there till the end of time. Left to his eternal silence, walled up alive in the darkness, his fate sealed.