(Part Three: The Coming of Age)
Chapter 9. Calach goes to Bar’ton. Summer 75AD
Chapter 10. The Meatae Capital. Summer 75AD
Chapter 11. A Wasted Year. Autumn 76AD
The Story so far…..
The Romans invaded England in 43AD, colonized for thirty years, and have turned their heads northward.
In 74 AD They begun building two long roads north, ready for invasion.
The Norlands dhruids tried to unite the separate clans, but the ‘great gather’ broke down due to petty tribal squabbles.
In secret, the chief’s sons have allied together, determined to unite the clans against the oncoming Roman threat. Calach of the largest clan, Caledonii, and Finlass of the Meatae are the principle conspirators.
Kheltine, (the old arch-druid) in his dying words has told Calach that he has a vision that only through Calach’s leadership can the clans be victorious.
Meanwhile, the chief’s sons Calach and Finlass meet regularly to push the plot home.
Calach goes to Bar’ton. Summer 75AD
As Sewell walked over the last hill to Lochery, he almost cried at the familiarity of his home town.
His last year had been one he would rather forget, but he knew that the consequences of it were going to take decades to dissipate.
Last summer he had left Calach in Votadini country, and travelled west searching for support for Quen’tan’s rise to Arch-dhruid. If the dhruids did not accept the Meatae dhruid, he was prepared to stand himself.
Pell had proven far too strong for him, and he raced south, trying to encourage southern dhruids to side with him.
They had not.
From summer, through winter, the dhruids raged against each other. Spring on Mona came and went, until, in one final conflict, Pell had become superior; possibly the youngest arch-dhruid ever.
“Kheltine is gone.” Sewell’s staff punctuated his paces.
His recollection of the old arch-dhruid was not altogether lucid. Dark shadows hid some parts of the ritual performed for the Pell, but he was not proud of his choice.
As he walked through the open gates, the clansmen nodded ‘hello’; he had been gone for almost a year. He made for the dhruid’s broch, satisfied to be home again. He swore under his breath that it would be a long time before he left again.
~ ~ ~
The lone warrior stood, silhouetted against the deep blue of the late afternoon sky. He held his spear at his side, standing on one of the rocks on a ridge at the end of the glen. The three riders had seen him from a long way off.
“Sentry.” Calach spoke softly to his two companions, as they approached the figure. “It’s standard practice to show one man, draw you towards him, then have two or three behind, to spring the trap. The riders have no easy defense against it. Even if the sentry position is rushed by a large group, at the very least someone gets away to alert the village.”
“So what happens if it’s a trap this time?” Lachlin was looking around, slightly wide-eyed.
“Hush, Lad!” Aysar grinned. “Let the system work.”
Lachlin started to inspect the slopes on either side.
“Keep your eyes to the front.” Calach said quietly, his lips hardly moving.
“Why?”
Calach briefly remembered his younger days; training, learning, always seeming to ask the wrong, stupid questions, always seeming to be doing things incorrectly. He sympathized with his brother. .
“Plenty o’ time to talk later.” Calach said quietly, hoping Lachlin got the point.
The warriors reined in their horses and motioned Lachlin to do the same. They had reached a talking distance that was safe for both parties.
“Who travels in Meatae land?” The sentry shouted, taking his cue from the halting of the horses.
Calach sat forward in his saddle.
“Calach, firstborn, and Lachlin, nextborn; sons o’ Ranald; the chief o’ clan Caledon. We travel wi’ Aysar, son o’ Thee’dor, from the same clan.” Calach announced proudly. He caught Lachlin from the corner of his eye. He was looking up at him, a surprised look on his face. Calach surmised that it was perhaps the first time he had heard his proper title used. When he was back in Lochery, Calach had seen Lachlin often at play with Fetasius, Benelek and Uwan. In their games they were probably all noble chiefs, ridding the lands of the oppressive foes, but this was the real thing, and it would seem strange to him at first. “Who stands an’ asks the questions?”
“Padraig, head man o’ the village o’ Ardle.” The figure gestured with his spear at the land behind him. “Why do you seek passage into the land o’ the Meatae?”
The fact that the sentry is the head of the village means that we’re expected. They’ve probably seen us coming and had us watched for most of the day.
“We come wi’ Ma’damar’s blessing,” Calach called, and he held up the boars-head talisman to let the sentry see, “An’ we carry Ma’damar’s personal guarantee.” He held the talisman to either side, apparently showing it to the bushes. “We travel to Bar’ton to see Ma’damar himself.”
Then a voice shouted from Calach’s right; “It’s fine Padraig, he is who he says he is; Finlass described him perfectly an’ he mentioned the talisman.” Calach smiled inwardly at Lachlin’s reaction. The young Caledon had visibly jumped in the saddle when he had heard the new voice. If Calach had not known the protocol they were caught up in, he might have been surprised too.
“Aye alright, Maipeth.” Padraig quickly closed the distance to the mounted men. When he reached talking distance he stopped and bowed slightly.
“Greetings, Calach. Welcome to Ardle.” The short, stocky warrior smiled and held his upturned palm in greeting. His long reddish brown hair was swept back over his brow, revealing a craggy, hard worn face. His long sword was buckled across his back, the two-handed grip showing over his left shoulder. “This....” he indicated the warrior coming through the bushes to their right, “is Maipeth, an’ second in the village.”
First and second in the village. We are important!
Calach slipped to the ground. “Greetings to you both.” He nodded to the others that they should dismount.
“Finlass will be glad to see you are a’ well.” Padraig said. “There’s been Romans sighted in the area; I only found out yesterday.”
“We came across some, two days ago,” Calach walked beside the head man. “Gave us quite an adventure; we’ve hardly stopped since then and it’s been a long ride.”
“Where did you see them?” The Meatae replied quickly, his voice suddenly serious, the smile temporarily gone. “And how many?”
“A good two days northeast, Padraig.” Calach rubbed his fingers roughly through Lachlin’s hair to the boys obvious distaste. “Lachlin here came across them, an’ we only just got away.”
“Calach killed one!” Lachlin stopped, turning back to his horse. He struggled to untie a large bundle fastened to the saddle, wrapped in dirty clan linen.
“Did he now?” Padraig’s eyes questioned Lachlin. “Killed one did he?” He approached Lachlin, looking over the boy’s shoulder.
“Hush.” Calach said. “We’ll tell him later.” Calach felt a twinge of shame as he remembered being sick that night. It had not been the food, Calach was sure that it had been the shock of killing his first man.
“Nay boys, never be modest about killing Romans.” Padraig watched Lachlin struggling with the cord tying the bundle. “It’s a pastime we’ll a’ have to get used to very shortly.”
Calach’s questioning stare at Padraig’s remark was lost as Lachlin pulled the Roman’s helmet out from under the wrap. “I captured a trophy!” The young Caledonii grinned excitedly. He held the helmet out for Padraig to see. In the sunlight, the embossed gold shone and sparkled. The helmet’s cheek-guards swung freely, glinting as they caught the sun.
“Well now!” Padraig bellowed. “What do you think boys?” He stood, turning his head from side to side, calling to his fellow sentries. “They arrive from nowhere. They tell us a tale o’ meeting Romans on the way, an’ now they show us that they’ve got a centurion’s helmet as a trophy!”
As if the address was an invitation to break cover, the bushes on either side began to rustle and branches cracked underfoot as the other Meatae sentries came out into the open.
“A centurion?” Calach’s question went unheeded.
“What do you think Maipeth?” Padraig said. He took the helmet from Lachlin’s clutching fingers and placed it carefully on his own head. “Do you think I look more civilized?”
The assembling Meatae sentries laughed at their leader’s antics, then Padraig turned to look at a disgruntled Lachlin. “It’s alright son, I’ll not keep your ‘trophy’, but you can be assured that Ma’damar will want the whole story from you.”
Then to Calach, “You say you killed the owner of this?” Tapping the side of his head.
“Aye he did!” Lachlin cut in before Calach could offer any admission. “He put an arrow right into his head, what a shot it was!”
Padraig took off the helmet and examined it carefully. “I take it the centurion wasn’t wearing it at the time!”
Again the laughter rang out in the quiet glen.
“Padraig?” Calach asked. “What’s a centurion?”
“A centurion, my young man, is a kind o’ leader in the Roman army, not quite a chief tho’, more like a head man; like myself.” Padraig showed the detail on the helmet to Calach and the others. “There’s the centurions mark there.” They all examined the criss-crosses on the helm, which Padraig was confident denoted the centurion’s rank. “Aye it’s a centurion’s helmet Calach, you’ve stirred up a bees nest if you’ve killed the owner.”
“Oh I killed him alright, Padraig. He was talking to his gods before his body fell to the forest floor.” Calach said. “Lachlin claimed ownership o’ the helmet an’ I claimed his robe.” He indicated the red bundle at the front of his saddle.
Maipeth reached the horses, and examined the helmet. “I don’t need to ask who got the better bargain, the helmet will fetch a high price at the market. You’ve suddenly became a man of property, lad.”
“Oh I don’t know Maipeth.” Calach grinned. “The centurion’s sword’s wrapped up in the cloak.”
Padraig stepped to Calach’s horse and pulled the red bundle free. “You got his sword too?”
Calach was saying “Aye” as Padraig unrolled the cloak, and pulled the weapon free.
A chorus of ooh’s and ah’s went around the Meatae as two more came out of the bushes to look at the trophies.
“A centurion’s sword.” Padraig’s voice quietened, almost in reverence. “This blade could tell a story or two.” He looked back to Calach. “I’d offer to buy it, but it’d take more than my whole village to afford a sword like this.”
“I find it a bit short for my liking.” Calach said.
Aysar nodded. “I agree, it’s almost front heavy.”.
“A bit short for most stuff,” Padraig took a few steps away, then swung it a few times. “But if I get close with this...” He took one step to Calach, pointing the blade at his stomach. “You’re a dead man.”
Calach had not flinched. He put out his hand, and Padraig returned the blade.
“How do you know so much about the organization o’ the Roman army anyway?” Calach asked, folding the sword back into the cloak.
“We’ve taken to watching them when they come up the river. In every ship there’s one o’ these men, obvious from his attitude an’ bearing that he’s the one in charge.” Padraig stood with his arms folded, his eyes taking in every detail of the three travelers and their horses. “Also when they land, he’s the one directing affairs. We learnt the name ‘centurion’ from the dhruids; seems they know a lot from their brothers in the south.”
Those dhruids again.
Padraig turned to Calach again. “I take it that it was the first Roman you’d killed?”
“It’s the first in every way; it was the first Roman I’d seen an’ it was the first man I’d ever killed. First one I’d ever shot at, if the truth be known.”
Padraig laughed and put his arm around Calach’s shoulders, guiding him forward, towards the village. “A double cause for celebration then; not every man kills the first Roman he sees! Usually it’s the other way around. Keep that up an’ there’ll be none left for the rest o’ us!”
Calach walked, guided by Padraig’s arm. “You’ve came into contact wi’ Romans?”
“Not me personally, Calach, but some o’ the outlying islands have been raided. No survivors to tell us the tale, so we assumed that Romans were behind it.”
Maipeth joined the group silently and took the reins of the horses, then fell in behind the rest of them.
Padraig gave a complex hand signal to warriors obviously still on either side of the glen and said to the Caledon trio that he would lead the way to a ready evening meal, and a warm dry bed for the night.
He led them over the ridge, from which they had an outstanding view right down the loch. The sun was getting quite low in the sky and it reflected yellows and golds on the water as it meandered its way far into the distance.
“Welcome to the head o’ the Lang Loch.” Padraig said proudly. “That’s our home, down there!” He pointed down to a small village, partly on the shore of the loch, partly in crannogs out in the loch itself. Calach thought it similar to a village further up his home glen called Ke’mor and another on Taymar’s loch; crannogs and huts on the shore, clustered together.
The walk down the gentle slope to the village passed quickly, following a twisted path through the silver birches. As they emerged in single file out of the trees and crossed the first field down to the settlement by the loch side, the whole village seemed to pour out of all the available doorways to gawk at the strangers.
“I take it that you don’t have many visitors pass through, Padraig?” Calach asked, sarcastically.
“No’ from the north, certainly, an’ no’ as important as you. Some o’ them haven’t even seen their own chief, never mind a foreign one.”
Ma’damar doesn’t travel to visit his own lands?
“I’m no’ chief yet, Padraig.”
“You’re near enough for the likes o’ us.” Came the caustic response.
A small boy, no older than ten, rushed up to them and offered to care for their horses. Calach looked at Padraig for some assistance.
“I’ll look after ‘em, Lud. I’ll feed ‘em well.” The young boy said, looking from one man to the other.
Calach stood, undecided.
Padraig indicated to Maipeth to hand the reigns over to the boy. “It’s alright Calach, your horses will be fine in Shu’ain’s hands, he’ll take good care o’ them.” He helped Calach and Lachlin unload their traveling bags. “There, Shu’ain, I’ve given my word to the ‘Ard-Righ’ here. You see that you look after his horses well!” Padraig mockingly swung his hand at the boys head. “Or you’ll get no supper tonight!”
‘Ard-Righ’. High king indeed!
The boy ducked easily and led the horses away towards the woods at the side of the loch. Padraig led the visitors, still plagued by inquisitive clanspeople, down to the water’s side. Calach was rendered speechless by Padraig’s reference to ‘Ard-Righ’ but the words had their effect on the boy, who was obvious in the honor bestowed to look after the horses of the ‘high king’ from the east.
He waited until Shu’ain was out of earshot then asked Padraig. “Why Ard-Righ?”
“Your leather circlet son.” came the answer. Padraig pointed at the golden eagle emblem at the centre of Calach’s forehead. Perhaps the sun was catching the metalwork, making it stand out from the dark brown leather band. “I take it that it’s gold?”
“Aye.”
“Here, that makes you a chief.”
Was that a jibe at me for showing the gold, or was it a comment on Ma’damar’s chieftanship? Listen and learn Calach! Time for some more growing up.
Calach and Lachlin were eventually halted by the enigmatic Meatae, who directed them to one of the larger crannog halls which stood more than a good spear’s throw out in the loch. Calach felt glad that he would soon be out of the scrutinizing gaze of so many people.
“Just follow me an’ you’ll be alright, the path’s across is not that difficult to follow, but there’s some tricky jumps and turns involved.” He quickly took off his sandals and rolled his trews up to his knees and Calach, Lachlin and Aysar did likewise. Padraig then led the way, trudging into the loch, never going more than shin deep in the clear peat-tinted water.
The walk out to the crannog was uneventful, if a little undignified. The walkway was built up of large stone slabs, half a man wide, laid on a submerged stone wall. The path was always just under the surface and zigzagged back and forth until it reached the doorway to the hall. If Calach and Lachlin had attempted the crossing without a guide, it would have taken them twice as long; a constant examination of the rocks beneath the surface was needed to ensure their footing. If an enemy was to cross without such a guide, they would have been vulnerable to arrow and spear attack from both shore and crannog for quite some time.
By the time the party arrived at the crannog proper, they were quite a way offshore and the depth of the water was undeterminable. Padraig saw Calach staring down at his reflection on the surface.
“At least two full men’s height deep, at this part.” He led them into the single roomed building. “There’s bedding, clothes and a little ale to whet your appetites. Make yourselves comfortable while I get the feast ready. If you’d like to join us in a while for some dinner and more ale, we’ll celebrate your Roman in style. Finlass will meet up wi’ us further south, near Circal Furgal further down the shores o’ the Lang Loch.”
Calach thanked him, and as Padraig made his way back to the shore, he relaxed for the first time since their encounter with the Romans.
“What do you think then lads?” Calach said as he lounged back on one of the beds.
“I’ve slept in worse.” Aysar quipped. “Usually in Blane, waiting for you.”
“Ah, shut up.”
Aysar poured a small amount of ale into a tankard, then tasted the sample. “This isn’t bad Calach.”
“Give some over here then.”
Aysar sorted out three tankards, and filled them to the brim.
“Hey Calach!” Lachlin was parting the curtains from a loch-side door. “There’s a boat here. Can we go out on the loch?”
“No we can’t. It’s not a good idea to go out on the water when you’ve had a few ales.”
“But I’m not allowed....”
“When you’re with us Lachlin.... you’re allowed a drink or two. Aye Aysar?”
“It’s already poured for you. Come on, we’ve been through a lot getting here, let’s relax a bit.”
~ ~ ~
“They’re going to kill Uwan; we both heard them say it!” Benelek blurted, trying to keep his outburst to a whisper.
Fetasius was still unconvinced. “They only said that ‘he was dangerous’, and as such should be watched carefully. If he tried anything again, they’d have to ‘take action against him’.”
“No! I heard one o’ them say that they’d kill him!”
“Aye, but only if he tried anything again!”
“Punish, take action, or kill, we both know what that means Fetty; there’s only one punishment for anyone in dhruid training, an’ that’s death!”
“But only if he tries it again.” Although Fetasius had been listening to the same conversation as his younger brother, he had an older viewpoint, and had tried for the whole day to keep Benelek from telling someone about it.
“We’ve got to warn Uwan about it!”
“We’ve got to do nothing o’ the sort. Uwan knew what he was doing when he joined the dhruids, besides which I’ve told you a’ day that if we even try to speak to Uwan now, we’ll a’ get into real trouble.”
“But Fetasius, we’ve got to tell somebody. Maybe Bretha!”
“Bretha? Are you daft? No! That would be even worse!” Fetasius’s grimace told of his feelings for such an act. “She’d tell everyone, you’d be as well to shout it from the top of the broch!”
Bretha was well known for her ability to gossip, a pastime she never seemed to grow bored with. “Look Benelek,” He held his brothers face gently with both hands, “This is what we’ll do. Just to keep you quiet, we’ll tell Ishar, he’s been strict on us but he’s always been fair. Would that do for you?”
“Oh come on Fetty, Ishar’s been so strict wi’ a’ our training, he’d tell Ranald for sure, then we’ll get into trouble for eavesdropping!”
“I suppose so, but we’ve just got to tell someone!”
“But who?” Benelek’s frustration was showing.
“Calm down Benny.” Fetasius pleaded with his brother. “Think about it for a moment. I’m not quite so sure that Ishar would talk to Ranald.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think that Ishar would tell Ranald, Benny. I think that he would hear us out. I am his king after a’. I could command him not to!”
“True.” They both laughed about the command, and ran through Lochery, commanding dogs and goats to jump or lie down, without any success.
“Come on let’s see if we can find him.” Benelek said eventually.
“It shouldn’t be hard, he’s been our shadow since he came here!”
~ ~ ~
The sharp rasping noise of iron grating on iron rang through the afternoon air, Conrack sharpening his long sword, in the middle of a practice. He and his companion stood on either side of a small treeless area in the middle of a wood. The bare earth within the clearing was smooth with constant use.
“Come on Conrack, get on wi’ it, we’ve not got all day.” Ma’teer said. The man was both Conrack’s friend and weapon trainer.
“Shut up!” Conrack shouted, dropping the sharpener and, swinging his sword in a huge arc whilst springing across the natural arena. He drove his blade into the space where Ma’teer had been an instant before. The blade dug deeply into the earth floor.
“You’ll have to do a lot better than that!” The heavily tattooed warrior, stood slightly to one side, shifting his balance from one foot to the other, his long sword held loose and casually dragging along the hard-packed earth of the forest floor.
Conrack raised the point of his sword and lunged at Ma’teer’s stomach this time, but his weapon rung harmlessly off Ma’teer’s own, and on past his side. The older warrior slapped Conrack’s head with his free hand as Conrack passed him, following the momentum of his thrust, pushing Conrack into the bench seating which circled the edge of the training area. He crouched, panting, regaining his breath, his eyes wild with anger.
“Arrgh, yaaagh!” Conrack swung at Ma’teer’s head, and when the stroke was blocked, kept the pressure on Ma’teer’s sword. For a moment they stood immobile, swords crossed and grating together, each bringing all the strength he could to the stalemate. The swords ground loudly together then, ever so slowly, Ma’teer’s sword was forced downwards, letting Conrack’s move closer to his trainer’s head. Conrack sneered as he realized that, this time, he was winning the struggle. Ma’teer stepped slightly back and tried to parry Conrack’s sword round and down into the earth again, but Conrack countered and swung his sword in a smaller arc. Round and round he drove his blade, sweeping Ma’teer’s sword with it, until eventually he brought them both driving hard into the ground.
He quickly stepped forward and planted his foot hard on the end of Ma’teers trapped blade, transferring his whole weight onto the other’s sword. Conrack’s intention was to trap Ma’teer’s hands on the blade, and force him to the ground, but Ma’teer had anticipated the move. As Conrack stepped forward, Ma’teer let his sword drop. Encountering no resistance to his thrust, Conrack’s own momentum caused him to fall forward. If his move had gone to plan, he now should have been ready to bring his own sword up into his teacher’s belly, but Ma’teer slipped forward and with one hand gripped Conrack round the waist, whilst with the other pressing his quickly-drawn dirk hard against Conrack’s windpipe. Conrack’s long sword swung harmlessly in the air behind Ma’teer.
The fight was over. The two protagonists stood as still as statues, locked together by Ma’teer’s grip, the only movement in the room was the older warrior’s labored breathing.
Conrack, on the other hand, couldn’t speak or breathe; his adam’s apple was pressed so tightly by the flat of the small blade that he feared that his throat would be cut if he did either. He dropped his long sword to the ground and slowly raised both hands in submission. Carefully Ma’teer extricated himself from the tangle of limbs, all the time keeping the dirk hard up against Conrack’s neck until he stood two steps away. Slowly he lowered his dirk and slipped it back in the scabbard.
Conrack swallowed hard and breathed for the first time in many moments. “Not bad Ma’teer, not bad at all!”
“Not bad? That’s the second time I’ve shown you that move, an’ you still had forgotten the counter for it!” Ma’teer was shouting at the top of his voice, spitting each word at his pupil. “When your opponent drops his sword an’ moves in to use his knife, your move is what?” The teacher now stood, hands on hips, blocking Conracks retrieval of his sword.
“I’ve got to drop my sword too, quickly step back an’ draw my dagger. Either that or I can use an unarmed drill to try an’ finish the fight.” Conrack repeated confidently.”
“An’ why didn’t you use it?”
“Ah had no time.....”
“No time?” Ma’teer shouted, his face towering over Conrack’s. “Do you think your opponent will give you time to think o’ a’ the moves? Do you think that the faither who’s caught you in bed wi’ his daughter will give you time? No! Do you think the clan who you’ve just raided will give you time to think o’ the correct moves, the correct parries to their sword thrusts? No! You’ve got to be quick an’ sure.” Ma’teer re-traced his steps, picking up the weapons from the circle. “You’ve got to be confident in every move you make. But the most important thing o’ a’ is that when you’ve been shown a’ the moves by me, you’ve got to remember them!”
The instructor moved to the bench and proceeded to dry his body with his plaid jerkin, before putting it on. “That way, dearest Conrack, you’ll never be surprised. You’ve got to learn to have an instinctive feeling for what’s coming next.”
“But I don’t know what you’re going to do next Ma’teer!” Conrack shouted at his mentor.
“Aye, an’ you never will if you try an’ rush the process!” He buckled his belt round the long jerkin, and slid the short sword by his side. “But you’re getting more an’ more natural instinct every time you pick up the sword.” Ma’teer said slowly, trying to encourage his pupil.
“There’s just so much to learn, Ma’teer. I feel better wi’ the short sword an’ dirk.”
“Aye, I know that you do, an’ you’re better wi’ them than most, but you’ve got to learn the heavy sword Conrack. It’s not the main close battle weapon; it’s much too clumsy for that, but it’s the main weapon for dueling an’ for competition.” Ma’teer started to pace back and forth as he lectured. “If you get into any kind o’ confrontation wi’ any o’ the warriors in the clan or outside it, they’ll choose the long sword to fight you wi’. There’s nothing surer. If you fight somebody wi’ a short sword, the loser usually walks away from the fight; first blood an’ all. If you fight somebody wi’ the long sword, the loser’s usually got a limb missing or he’s dead. It’s the weapon that you’ve got to be very good wi’, or you’ll be the one that’s dead!”
Conrack nodded, smiled slowly and bent down to pick up his sword. As he went to grip the hilt, Ma’teer pounced at him and with both hands pushed him savagely onto his back, sprawling on the earth. He stood over him, an angry scowl on his face.
“How many times have I told you never to look away from my eyes! Keep eye contact! Come on Conrack, pay attention! One time you’ll listen to me, one day you’ll take it all in, an’ one day it might save your life!”
“I thought we were finished!”
“We’re never finished until I tell you so!”
Conrack slumped on the ground; he had failed in another lesson. He had forgotten one of the basic rules with one little lapse in concentration. He watched in silence as Ma’teer picked up his long sword to continue with the lesson. He considered apologizing, then thought immediately better of it; Ma’teer would only have berated him further for his weakness.
Keeping his eyes on those of his teacher, he regained his footing, walked forward, fumbled for his sword, and readied himself for another bout.
A while later, both figures stripped to the waist and soaked in sweat, they sat recovering from their exertions on one of the benches that circled the large training area. They had practiced with long sword, short sword, the short sword/dagger combination, and with dagger alone. Both figures had cuts and nicks, scratches and bruises, the larger amount being on Conrack’s body.
“That was a good work out Conrack, you’re learning fast.” Ma’teer was wiping his body down with a cloth, soaked from a bucket of water at his feet.
“Aye, but you were annoyed at me wi’ the long sword.”
“It’ll come Conrack, it’ll just take a little longer wi’ that particular weapon.”
They sat for a while and watched as two pairs of young twelve year olds had their first real training with the technique involving two dirks. Initially their lunges were wild and lacked any kind of co-ordination, it was a wonder that they didn’t seriously wound each other, but their trainer kept correcting them till at last their moves seemed to flow like some kind of choreographed dance. He made them take every move in very slow time, building them up to almost fighting speed in no real time at all.
They dressed, gathered their weapons and walked the path back up the hill to the fort. An evening meal was always better enjoyed after weapon drill.
~ ~ ~
Kat’lana stumbled wearily up the hillside to the refuge of their secret place. She looked all around for Calach, but could see no glimpse of the Caledon warrior, nor discern whether he had arrived before her. Sighing deeply, she curled up at the base of the tree, pulling her knees to her chest, and nestled into the hollow between the base of the tree and the ground to wait. She realized that she felt strangely comfortable despite the sharp edges of the stony ground beneath her and the rough pine bark, on which she rubbed her aching back.
She relaxed, letting her mind listen for the sounds of the earth and the sky. Soon, after tuning to the undercurrents only she seemed to be able to hear, she felt the earth-song soothe her tensions...breezes softly kissed her hair...the harmonies of the wind and birdsong blended together and she felt the sounds tickle her ears. She breathed in the rich scents of the rain-washed glen, identifying every one individually, and finally began to allow the peace of the moment to flow into her young life-wearied heart. Kat’lana sighed again as she thought of all the ties to her clan which would soon enough pull her back to reality. There were responsibilities enough in life without wishing your heart somewhere else; nurturing, defending, providing, and simply surviving in the troubled times they faced, threatened to overwhelm even the strongest.
When dusk fell, and the cold began to permeate her clothes, she was then sure that Calach had not been able to make the journey to meet her as arranged. Smiling at the thought of her patient warrior, Kat’lana pulled a sprig of sweet-smelling marjoram from her pocket. She hoped Calach would understand symbol of joy that she left in the hollow of the tree and that he would know that she would return soon with more time to spend...
Kat’lana woke with a start, grabbing for her dirk in the darkened hut. This had been the fourth night in a row that she had had the same dream. It both comforted and disturbed her. Pulling her dirk close to her breasts, she curled up in her bed, and was almost immediately back to sleep.
In a hut nearby, Winnie stopped her slow, tuneless chant. Her work done, she settled herself to an easy slumber.
~ ~ ~
Ishar’s words came slowly.
“Why don’t I like dhruids? I’ll tell you why I don’t like dhruids.” He said, in his strange halting version of the Caledon language. He drunkenly fell back onto his bed, folding his hands behind his head, and stared into the dark recesses of the ceiling in his hut. Fetasius and Benelek sat cross-legged, watching their protector form his words, eager to listen, happy at last that he was relaxed enough to talk to them as if they were equals, even if the relaxation had come through alcohol.
“The dhruids killed my brother, Brodic.” Ishar began. He lay still for a moment, his eyes tightly closed, the skin around them drawn into his eye sockets. The boys watched as the tears began to form, then flow down his face, his body twitching spasmodically as he sobbed.
“We’ll go Ishar,” Fetasius climbed slowly to his feet, pulling at Benelek’s sleeve. “We’re sorry to have bothered...”
“No!” Ishar sat up, lifting his legs over the side of the bed. “It’s alright, I have to tell you now; I have to tell you the full story. It’s only right.” He sat back down and hung his head, seeming to find interest in the earthen floor. “If you fear for a friend, then I have to tell you the whole story.” He motioned for Fetasius to sit beside his brother. Ishar lay back on the bed again, cradled his head in his clasped fingers and closed his eyes.
He started, erratically at first, until he gained a drunken fluency in his new adopted language which surprised his young audience. When he encountered words he could not translate, he substituted the Brigante or made gestures to carry the story forward.
“Brodic was only fourteen summers old when they persuaded him to join the dhruidic order. He was one year older than me, an’ had been taught everything along wi’ me. We were as close as you both are now, an’ we were looking forward to join the king’s guard together; brothers to the end. It had been our family’s right for many generations.”
“Then he started having weird dreams. He would wake up at night screaming and clutching for his dagger to fight the demons he was seeing in his sleep. Eventually, when mother had tried every remedy she knew for broken sleep, the dhruids were called in. They took Brodic away and two or three days later it was announced that he was going to be a dhruid. He had a ‘special aptitude’ an’ would be starting training straight away. The ‘cleansing process’ had started. I wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to him.”
“I caught a few glimpses of him over the next few days, but he was always wi’ another dhruid so we only exchanged glances. Then one night I felt a hand being put over my mouth as I lay in bed. It was Brodic! He had come to tell me that he was fine, an’ was enjoying his new training. He looked so happy, an’ told me that it was a’ secret stuff an’ that he was going to be the greatest dhruid in the land.”
Ishar broke down totally at this point, but whilst sobbing uncontrollably, still had the presence of mind to stop the boys from leaving with a motion of his hand.
He waited until he had regained his composure, then returned to complete his narrative.
“I never saw Brodic again after that. They said that he’d had an accident, an’ been killed in a fall, but I knew better. I knew that he’d been killed for coming to talk to me.”
He caught Fetasius in a locked stare.
“As they prepared the wood for his funeral pyre, I sneaked into the dhruid’s hut and looked at his body; there wasn’t a mark of any kind of fall. His neck was broken.”
Fetasius broke the stare and looked at his brother. Neither boy had expected this when they had entered Ishar’s hut.
“They cremated his body, or what they said was his body, an’ the whole family grieved for days. But I knew that they’d killed him.” He paused. “That’s why I have no time for dhruids.”
“I hated them then. I hated them an’ I didn’t trust them. I vowed then, at the funeral, that one day they’d pay for what they did to Brodic, but I couldn’t do it as a farmer’s son. I trained like I’d never trained before, an’ eventually I became the one of the leaders of the king’s guard; just like we’d vowed as brothers that we would be.”
Ishar was sitting up in bed now, the effects of the drink seemingly gone.
“At the end, when the Romans broke into your father’s palace, he told me and my men to guard the dhruids temple, while the grey-robed sun-watchers made their escape.” Ishar breathed deeply and hang his head. “My men an’ me were to sacrifice their lives for the grey-robes! That was the final straw.”
“I knew then that the time had come to avenge Brodic’s murder. I led the warriors under my command to their family rooms, an’ led the families o’ the guards to safety. As the guards took to the hills with their wives an’ families we could hear the screams o’ the dhruids.” He slipped his hands round till they clasped tightly on his ears. “I can still hear them as they died on the Roman swords.”
“I told your father’s eldest born, Stravius, the whole story, an’ asked for his forgiveness in disobeying your father’s order. He immediately said that he’d forgive me. But now that you’re the king, Fetasius, I’m asking for yours too.”
He looked at the boy-king, then half-falling from the bed, assumed a kneeling position in front of the now standing Fetasius. The older boy gave his brother a questioning glance, which was returned with a small shrug of his shoulders.
“I ask your forgiveness, my King.”
With a grace and eloquence which belied his years, Fetasius addressed the man. “Will you serve me as loyally as you served my father?”
Ishar looked worriedly at Fetasius’s face. “I was always loyal to your father!”
“An’ will you serve me as loyally?”
“Yes I will, my king.” Ishar bowed his head.
“Then there is nothing to forgive.”
Benelek looked on and knew that Fetasius had performed his first act as King of the Brigantes.
~ ~ ~
The deer was only a decent stone’s throw away, totally oblivious to its fate. The bracken hid three silent figures, crouched, bows at the ready. Lachlin had been watching every move his two older companions had been making, not a word had been spoken, every instruction conducted by signs in total silence. The three knocked arrows to their bows in readiness.
Calach pointed through the thick bracken at the deer, then closed his eyes, feeling out with the hunters-eye. He could hear the deer’s pulling on the moss, then the subsequent masticating, he knew the deer’s position, he could see it in his mind.
He opened his eyes to see both Aysar and Lachlin in deep concentration.
The arrow shafts used in the Norlands were made from pine, straightened by heat, had three feather quills close to the knock, and were tipped with small, sharp iron points. The arrow, when delivered from a well strung bow could penetrate a bronze breastplate with ease, so they were usually lethal for quarry such as a deer. When hunting, the quills were made from swans wing, stark and white to help the hunter find the arrows if they missed the mark. In times of war, the quills were pheasant wing, brown and dull so they could not compromise the position of the archer.
Calach let out a quiet hiss, followed by one from Aysar, then Lachlin.
As one they silently sprang into action, rising quickly, they righted their bows and fired, all in one impressive motion. Three arrows flew to their mark.
As soon as Calach had loosed his arrow he opened his eyes. The deer had looked up to see the origin of the arrows hissing. It died as all three arrows struck it squarely in head and neck.
“Wow!” Lachlin shouted, jumping up and down.
The next few moments were full of euphoria, all three diving through the bracken and bramble to reach the supine animal. Then all three blooded the kill, driving their dirks into the warm flesh. They offered thanks to Lugh, wiping their bloodied dirks in the grass.
“Lachlin!” Calach pulled on Lachlin’s sleeve.
“Aye?”
“If we were on the move, continuing the hunt for more game, what would we do now?”
“We would tear the abdomen open, spilling its entrails onto the forest floor!” Lachlin laughed, his excitement undaunted.
“An’ why would we drain the beast?” Aysar asked.
“Because the meat will last longer.” Lachlin replied.
Calach smiled at his brother. “Aye. An’ why don’t we do it now?”
Lachlin returned the smile, content to be taught by his elder brother. “The women will want the hide free o’ blood for a start. They’ll butcher it neater than we could do it here, an’ that way, no dirt’ll get inside the carcass to sully the meat.” He sat back on his heels.
Calach finished the lesson. “The clan also use the organs inside for cooking and
lots o’ other uses.”
“Aye.”
“Do you know the way back to the village?”
Lachlin nodded.
“Get a few of the men. This is too big for us to carry.”
Lachlin slung his bow over his shoulder, and took off.
“That was his first kill using the hunters-eye.”
“Good hit too.” Aysar said. “And the meat will make a change from fish!”
They laughed together. They had been with Padraig for less than a day, and the village’s main diet of fish was already beginning to tell on them.
The next day, Padraig woke the three Caledons early, ready for the next stage of their journey. As Shu’ain had promised, the horses looked well for their two day rest. Calach slipped something into the boy’s hand before he mounted.
“What...?”
“Shh. Just a wee something for doing a good job.”
Shu’ain opened his hand and looked at the eagle’s talon. Calach had taken it from his necklace the evening before for such a presentation.
“It’s from a hawk?” He asked.
“The king o’ the hawks Shu’ain. The golden eagle o’ the mountains o’ Caledonii.” Calach said. He watched Shu’ain’s eyes open wide as he spoke. “It’s from my warrior’s quest necklace. It’s to bring you luck.”
Shu’ain was examining the talon, then looked up at Calach sheepishly. “Thank you Ard-Righ. I’ll get it put on a thong for me to wear a’ the time.”
Calach smiled at the continuation of the title.
They quickly mounted and made their way out of the village, heading down the west side of the loch.
“You’ve made a friend for life there son.” Padraig smiled.
“It was just an eagle’s talon.”
“It was kindness rewarding good work; that is always remembered.”
Again Calach fell silent, contemplating Padraig’s attitude rather than his words.
Although he considers himself a Meatae, there’s an undercurrent of something here which needs investigating.
They travelled for the rest of the day, stopping only to water the horses. They were introduced at each crannog village they passed, and were given food for their journey, but Padraig never offered a halt to eat it. They ate as they rode, throwing the bones to the following seagulls.
Calach questioned him on the land beyond their vision, the hunting, the fishing and many other mundane topics, and Padraig, to his credit, answered freely. But Calach was given more than a few references to Ma’damar’s type of rule. It became clear that the Meatae chief was stricter with his taxes than Ranald, and visited his outlying villages less. Padraig had more dealings with Finlass and Conrack than with their father.
As the evening began to settle, Padraig pointed to a village by the shore.
“That’s the end o’ the loch. We’ll meet Finlass there.”
The village was quite a way round the shore, and Padraig made no attempt to speed the horses over the last stretch.
“What’s the village called?” Aysar asked. Lachlin was almost asleep on his horse; it had been the longest day on the saddle since they had set out from Lochery.
“Ballch.” But Padraig made no effort to elucidate further.
As they eventually approached the outskirts of the village, Calach could see Finlass standing by one of the nearest huts. He raised a weary hand in salute and was greeted in turn.
“What kind o’ journey?” Finlass called, as they neared.
“Eventful enough.” Calach shook hands with Finlass.
No one else spoke. Even Lachlin’s exuberance had been curbed by the long day in the saddle.
“Tell me over an ale and some good hot food.” Figures moved from the huts on each side to take the reins of the horses. Calach and the rest of the group dismounted and a round of greetings and introductions were made.
Finlass stood close to Calach. “Morro and Cam’bel are already at Bar’ton.” He said softly. “Morro will ask to marry Llynn after we arrive. I asked him to wait; the suspense is killing him, although I think Faither knows why he’s there.”
“He’s bound to by now, from what you tell me.” Calach said.
“He’s been seeing her for a few moons now.” Finlass continued, telling Calach something he knew already. “It looks like we’ll have our first inter-clan marriage for a few years.”
“Excellent.”
~ ~ ~
With precision timing Conrack was riding out of the hill-fort, as Finlass, Calach and his party were riding up the hill to the entrance. He pulled his horse in front of the party, forcing Finlass to rein his mount to a halt, the group stopping behind him.
“Greetings Older Brother!” Conrack sneered.
“Conrack.” Finlass said tonelessly.
“Am I not to get an introduction to these additions to your list o’ bosom friends; your new well-traveled companions?”
As Finlass presented his friends to his brother, Conrack took great care to look at each in turn, smiling as he did so, not letting his glance linger on any one in particular.
“So. We meet at last, Calach o’ clan Caledon. I’ve heard so much about you!”
“An’ I, you, Conrack.” Calach replied. “It was nice o’ you to greet us at the gates. Bar’ton seems to be as bonny as Finlass described it.”
“Aye, my brother seems to be as free wi’ his words as he is wi’ his invitations.” Conrack held Finlass’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then with a shout, Conrack rode down the hill in the direction of the river.
“So that was Conrack then.” Calach said.
“Aye.” Finlass replied.
~ ~ ~
As he rode, Conrack’s thoughts were in turmoil. That made four chief’s sons in Bar’ton.
Four.
Probably the most to get together in one place since last summer. Something auspicious was happening in Bar’ton, and whilst he was present, he was being kept out in the cold by his own brother.
Conrack had not been idle over the winter period, gathering information and piecing together small pieces of gossip and hearsay to try to determine exactly Finlass was up to. He found that like anyone else working on incomplete information, he had more questions now than before.
Morro had been to Bar’ton before the ‘great gaither’, but had been a more frequent guest in the last year, paying court to Llynn. Then, almost unobtrusively Cam’bel had joined the select group. But Conrack had noticed, and had been preoccupied with getting to the bottom of the group’s plans.
The arrival of Calach was not entirely unexpected, and made things clearer, Calach was in on the conspiracy too, and Finlass was obviously on very friendly terms with the Caledonii.
So the group grows to four. How many more do I know nothing of?
First the multiple visits of the young chief’s son from the Cerones clan from the islands to the north and the young warrior’s attention on his sister, Llynn.
What are they up to?
He had considered that until the picture of what Finlass was doing was complete, there was no point in confiding in anyone, but now he had to contemplate letting his father, Ma’damar know the details. He rode in a large circle and entered the fort by another gate. An audience with his father, before the new visitors could see him, was now firmly on his mind.