'Up *The Lion's Face*'

*1*

The Lion's Face
Rock-strewn mountain
Full of shrubs and heather
Setting for a race.

Not just any race
For Malcom Canmore, King of Scots, needed messengers
To carry royal messages and orders throughout the country
A land of bad roads.

The runners would run across flat meadowland first
A few hundred yards along the River Dee
Then up the Lion's Face
Testing their speed, endurance, and skill.

To the winner the honor of being a king's messenger
And a bag of gold.
Many came to run
Many came to watch.


*2*

Malcolm struck his shield and the race began
Around him chiefs and nobles
All on top of a commanding hill
In front of a heather and rowan bedecked pavillion.

Suddenly there was a disturbance
A young man fell to his knees before the king
Hot and breathless from running
Gasping words to his lord.

"My lord grant me your favor to run this race
My father prevented me
He thought me too young
But I am of strong body and wish to serve you."

"You are too late," Malcom replied,
"For I have already started the race
And the runners have already reached the mountain's base."

Sire
I will do my best to make amends for that
If only you will grant my plea."
Malcom nodded
"Do as you will."


*3*

The lad flew to catch up with the runners
Soon he was among the slower ones
Struggling amid the boulders strewn around the Lion's Face.

His progress was like a wild goat's
Sometimes dropping on all fours for greater speed
Dragging and hauling himself up
He began to gain on the leaders.

"Who is that lad?," asked Malcolm
A chief answered:
"That sire is the younger son of MacGregor of Ballochbuie
His two elder brothers are both running for your gold."

"By my soul I do believe the youngster will win."
"That may be my lord king," the chief commented,
"But his brothers are great hillmen
And it is they who lead the runners."


*4*

Young MacGregor passed the runners until only his brothers remained
He could not pass them as they climbed the mountain's brow.
After the brow was a ridge giving way to a small plateau
Here he caught up with his kin.

"Half the gold and I stop," he gasped.
"Never," echoed his brothers,
"Gain what you can."
No other words were spoken.

The middle son fell back
The eldest son barely hung on to his lead
Lungs straining
Feet laboring over rocky ground.

Then he felt a kilt swish by him
He grabbed the garment.
Only a few yards to the winning post
His brother must not win!!!

The youngest son did not have the strength to break the grip
He opened his buckle broach
The plaid in his brother's hands
The gold and the king's service in his.



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Page updated 1 June 2002 by Lord Robert Cattanach of Moravia.
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