The Calm. 77AD.
“Finlass is offering our men to our enemies!”
Ma’damar seemed to ignore Conrack’s outburst. He tore at a piece of ham with his yellow, broken teeth and chewed the pink meat carefully.
“Da’! Finlass is offering your men to defend their lands!” He fell silent when Ma’damar turned to look at him.
“You don’t like your brother, do you son?”
The question took him completely by surprise and he could see his father studying his reaction.
“I just don’t like him trading wi’ our men’s lives.” Conrack breathed deeper, having at least got an answer out. “It’s Meatae blood he’s trading.”
“An’ his own too.”
“Aye, Da’, he’s trading wi’ his own blood as well.”
“An’ if he loses his blood, who’ll be chief o’ the Meatae after me?”
Conrack reeled again; this conversation was not going to plan. Finlass was off on their new ship, bound for Novantae territory. An ‘envoy’ he had called himself, and Ma’damar had just let him go. Conrack had started this conversation to let Ma’damar see the underlying motive for his meeting with the Novant chief. Conrack had wanted Ma’damar’s permission to accompany Finlass on his trip, to witness for himself Finlass’s deceit, but now it was too late; Finlass had sailed this morning. Conrack had realized that he had been too late, but still he had forced the issue.
This was a loaded question, and Conrack knew it.
Ma’damar continued to chew, then took a lager mouthful of ale from a battered tankard. “Well?” He wiped his beard with his sleeve. “You’re eldest after Finlass. You’ll be chief after him! What have you to lose by your brother’s death? Why do you bother me wi’ this when I have everything in hand?”
He has everything in hand? It doesn’t look like it!
“Conrack, my boy. You need to take the red clouds away from your eyes before you open your mouth.”
“Sorry Da’.” The apology was out of habit more than contrition.
“It’s time for a wee talk son.” He leant over the table and motioned that Conrack do likewise. When their heads were almost touching, Ma’damar quickly grabbed Conrack by the hair and brought his temple crashing down on the table.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” He hissed at his son. “Well?”
“No Da’.” Conrack croaked, flinching from Ma’damar’s hold.
“Do you think I’m slow?”
“Never Da’.”
Slow? Never! I never even saw him coming!
“Red clouds is what you see son. Red clouds.”
As quickly as he had seized him, Ma’damar let him go, and Conrack abruptly sat down again.
“Listen son, and listen good. I’m sick o’ this rivalry between you two.” He leant back over the table again. Conrack did not do so.
“Your brother is on an important mission. For himself, an’ for us; the Meatae people. But at this stage, it pleases me that he thinks it’s for himself. When he contacts the Selgove and the Novants and the Damons and the Votadine, he acts for me in this; we’ve talked at length about it. He’s letting the southern clans know that we’ll send help to them if the Romans attack them. Correct?”
“Aye, that’s right enough.”
So Ma’damar knows what Finlass is up to!
“An’ he does it in my name? Ma’damar o’ the Meatae?”
“Aye.”
“So through your brother, Ma’damar o’ the Meatae is promising to aid them when the Romans advance.”
“That’s what he’s telling them, I’m sure o’ it!”
“It’s a long way south son, a long way to the Selgove, an’ the Novants. If the Romans invade, it’ll take days for word to get here. Days for word to get to us. Days for us to mobilise any amount o’ men. Days to ride south.”
Ma’damar stopped and looked at him.
“Do you take my meaning?”
“Aye Da’.”
He actually wants us to be too late to help them!
“How can we get there quickly son?”
“I don’t follow Da’.”
“Well lad, it’s not a difficult question. How can we get men to quickly aid the flatlanders?”
“By horse?”
“Aye, that’s right Conrack! Our men have to travel on horseback to get there quick, but even then it’ll take three, four, maybe even five days to get there. An’ how many horses have the Meatae got son, that we could spare for this venture?”
“I don’t know Da’. A hundred, maybe more.”
“Correct, when our wee force arrives, an’ it will be wee, an’ it finds we’re too late to do anything we win both ways!”
A malicious grim spread over Ma’damar’s face. Conrack’s took a similar turn.
“If the Romans have been pushed back, we are the force that’s not needed, but they will owe us for our efforts! Ma’damar o’ the Meatae has provided men to tidy up the Roman stragglers.”
Conrack was rapt, waiting for the other alternative.
“If the Romans have won, we ride back here as quickly as we can. The surviving Selgove and Novant men who want to continue fighting will come where?”
At last Conrack could see where this was going. “They’ll come here!”
“Right boy!” Ma’damar thumped his tankard on the table. Slops of his ale splashed over the rough wooden surface. “They’ll come here and fight wi’ us! Either against the Romans, or against Ranald. Either way we win. Either way we become the most powerful clan in the Norlands.”
Why the wily old bugger!
Conrack beamed with pride that his father could be so cunning. “An’ whether we fight the Roman scum, or the Caledons, we can let the flatlanders die for us!”
It was Ma’damar’s turn to beam with pride. “Now you’re thinking like a chief son!”
Like a chief.
And if Finlass dies in his little scheme, I get to be one for real!
~ ~ ~
It had taken Finlass longer than he had expected to achieve some form of alliance with the Selgove. For almost a year he had made himself a regular visitor in the houses of Torthor at Shiels and Loch’rabie. The trips were short, taxing affairs; his responsibilities at home dictated most of his time.
After seeing to the unions of the three western clans; Meatae, Cerone and Epidd by marriage, in the next year Finlass had turned his head to the harder task; the Damons. He had tried many times to get messages through to Neall, but had been rebuffed in the extreme. Then Quen’tan had suggested that he try Wesson, Neall’s brother. He was waiting for the first of the messengers to return when Ma’damar’s ship had been delivered.
As Bar’ton did not have a natural harbour, Morro had sailed her into the sea loch and landed her at the small town of Lensbluff, where he and a very pregnant Llynn had handed the ship over to Ma’damar.
The whole town came out to see the ceremony, and most of Bar’ton moved north for the day. As Morro had promised, the ship was indeed a beauty, and on his first look at her, Ma’damar had called her ‘Tamoira’ after his wife. Tamoira herself, clinging to Ma’damar’s arm, had flushed with embarrassment for days afterwards. Although the Tamoira was not as large as a Roman galley, with her large square sail, with the painted boar’s head on it, she was very impressive.
At Ma’damar’s insistence, Finlass and Conrack had learned to sail her with the Cerone crew, they spent much of their time learning the new rigging and rudder; it was much bigger than any of the Meatae seamen were used to. The two boys had then had assisted in the training of the new Meatae crew, and although the change in duties had been enjoyable, it had made Finlass miss one of his trips east to meet Calach.
Finlass had been quietly happy when Ma’damar had kept Conrack out of his sea voyage to the Novant chief, Daglass. His younger brother had been asking far too many questions lately, and had been near to the mark with his shrewd guesses as to what Finlass was up to. The separation would do them both good.
Finlass had irked at Ma’damar’s instruction that they sail slowly past the Damon coastline on their way to meet Daglass. This enforced show of strength, with the large boar on the sail, would undo any of the good Finlass was trying, but he had his instructions, and sail close to the shore he did. At many of the rocky outcrops, he saw warriors with raised arms, brandishing spears and shields, they even sailed close to a few of the Damon ships, but none approached the Tamoira, she dwarfed even their largest ship.
After four days of sailing, and three nights at anchor in the shallower waters, the Tamoira sailed up the long sea loch towards the Novant town of Straer. It had been unknown territory to most of the sailors, but at least one or two had known where they were headed.
Daglass, the Novant chief had journeyed from his capital of Witton to meet them there; the precise day had been unable to be predicted, but the dhruids had arranged it to within a day or two. As Finlass watched the ship being tied to the wooden moorings, and the welcome party walked down the shingle beach, he again wondered at the dhruids abilities.
Unlike the Damon chief, Neall, Daglass of the Novants was more responsive to Finlass’s overtures of peace and aid in time of war. He listened with gratitude as Finlass offered the Novant clan aid if they were attacked by the massing Romans, but Daglass hinted that they had seen nothing more of the prospective invaders than he had told the ‘great gaither’ three years before. With a quiet acceptance, the Novant chief thanked the young Meatae when Finlass offered the lands of the Meatae and the Caledon as safe havens if the Romans should conquer the smaller clan.
“Such a dispensation from both Ma’damar and Ranald is accepted in the spirit it has been given.” Daglass said. Finlass could not tell the older man that the offer was from both himself and Calach, and that the respective chiefs knew nothing about it; he had a job to do, and the other Meatae were watching him do it. But Daglass thanked Finlass for his offer of support, should they be attacked and pledged his warriors to do the same for Finlass and the northern clans, if the need should arise. It had been an empty promise, and both men knew it, but it had been said anyway.
They had sailed home without a hitch, although they took a wider berth round Damon lands in case of an ambush. There had been none. They had sailed for nine days, there and back without sighting a single Roman sail. Finlass did not know whether to be happy or saddened by the fact.
The same year, early that spring, the plan saw its third inter-clan marriage; the union between the Cerone and Epidd clans. Cam’bel had done as he had promised, and messengers were sent to Calach and Finlass to attend the festivities. Finlass and Conrack attended, and the absence of Calach withheld nothing from the revelry of the occasion and Finlass’s mood was considerably brightened with this new, unplanned addition to their scheme. The wedding of Cam’bel and Nevish’s niece however, was the marred by the death of Ca’duell, Cam’bel’s father, the next day. Although Finlass was saddened at the old man’s untimely death, he could not help feeling that part of ‘the plan’ had been realized. They now had a clan chief in their group.
~ ~ ~
Calach rode swiftly into the darkened village, waving at the sentry as he did so. Although he slowed to a walk and shouted a greeting as he passed the man, he kicked his horse to a canter as soon as he was past. He rode through the village, rounding many huts, till he seen the one he was looking for.
I’m sure that’s Finlass’s horse!
A figure parted the curtain at the doorway and Calach recognized Techist, the village’s head man.
“Lud Calach!” His surprise showed even in the dimness of late evening. “I was just saying to Lud Finlass that you may not be coming.”
Just then the curtain opened again.
“Calach?” Finlass asked. “Is that you?”
Techist grabbed hold of the horses reins as Calach quickly dismounted. “We’ve got to hurry Finlass, they’re watching me; I managed to give us some time, but I don’t have long.”
“Aye no problem Calach, come inside.”
Techist began to lead the horse away.
“Just leave him there Techist. An’ don’t take the saddle off, I won’t be here long enough for him to have any benefit from it.”
Calach heard the “Aye Lud” as he slipped inside the hut.
“You’re not staying here long at a’, are you?”
“No, sorry, I’ve got a wee while, then back to Blane. Ranald’s man Durgal is drunk, but that doesn’t mean he won’t wake up early. I took the chance to get away when I could.”
“How long has it been Calach?”
“I’ve not spoken to you for more than a year. If it hadn’t been for Aysar getting through to you a couple o’ times, I might have given up altogether.”
Finlass sat down in one of the three chairs in the hut, and motioned that Calach should do likewise.
“Oh don’t give up now Calach; we’ve got three marriages together, and one chief! Cam’bel is chief now.”
“Oh, so you don’t know about Mauchty then?”
“Mauchty?”
“Aye, Gillaine died in the winter, Mauchty was made Venicone chief immediately. No challenges.”
Finlass laughed. “Well that’s two then!”
“Alright Finlass I’d say this calls for a drink!”
“So would I!”
Techist was summoned, and some ale sent for. Finlass agreed to compensate for the village’s loss. The conversation, although conducted speedily because of Calach’s lack of time, still brought each other up to date with the others machinations.
“The group’s expanding isn’t it Calach?”
Calach wondered if Finlass’ words were just a jibe, but he still answered freely. “Aye, there’s Aysar and Mauchty; they both know the whole plan now, an’ both times I had to tell them. I had no choice.”
“Well after the incident in the snow here two years ago, I kept my side of it pretty tight, but I’ll be glad to tell Conrack soon. If he’s not let into the ‘inner sanctum’, he’ll dig from the outside, an’ that’ll do us no good at a’.”
“Agreed!”
As the ale was poured, Finlass and Calach ironically agreed that apart from the Selgove in the far south, who had seen the preparations at close quarters, the main point against their argument for political union had been the Romans themselves. They had been very visible around the coasts, and even landed in the sparsely populated west, where Calach had met them, but they had not invaded. Various reports came that they were organizing an invasion, the dhruids at the ‘great gaither’ had been convincing, but as yet the Romans had remained resolutely out of the Norlands. With the exception of the Selgove and the Novants, who were at the most risk, and the newly promoted chiefs Mauchty, and Cam’bel, all of the Norland clan chiefs still had to come round to their way of thinking. The thought of invasion was far distant, there always seemed to be more urgent matters to attend to.
In the main they confirmed that they had found support amongst the younger elements of clan culture, those who had yet to settle down to family life and had less to lose by such a venture. As they travelled around the country, both Calach and Finlass found that they had become more distant from their father’s generation on each subsequent return to their native soil.
On Calach’s side, it seemed that arguments between the two factions of father and son had become more frequent, especially with his father’s constraints on his travelling. He reported that the age gap was growing wider as the younger warriors turned to Calach’s point of view.
Finlass had no such problems, it seemed that Ma’damar was only too happy to hear his son’s views, and assisted him in his trips; the latest by the use of his new ship.
It was a strange, quiet time for the Norlands clans.
Although they had discussed nothing new, when Calach left, later that night, he felt much more secure in his position as part of the forthcoming union.
~ ~ ~
Upon his return to Lochery, Uwan did not notice much having changed in the Norlands. His year of solitude seemed to have distanced itself very quickly as he was pushed into his new task; the learning of the Brigante language. He took to the task with the same enthusiasm as he approached any other; the reason for his learning the language was the biggest question on his lips, but he kept the question un-asked. Almost without his noticing, the seasons came and went, the year speeding by as he spent most of his day with the ‘black guard’ of the Brigante princelings. He saw little of Calach and the rest of his family; but that was normal for a learning dhruid. The sheep and cattle were brought back to the settlements in the late autumn after the festival of Samain, and quartered in pens around the outskirts of the town. The crops of wheat and barley, planted when he was studying the moon far away, ripened nicely and were harvested, stores of leek and turnip were put aside for the winter.
Older, frailer members of the clans died, and others were born. Life in the clans of the Norlands was little effected by the fact that an invading army was massing at its southern borders.
As usual, traders came through the Norlands. Some came singly, unobtrusively arriving; their wares displayed in the marketplace early one morning. Others came in groups; long convoys of colorful carts, with smiling jugglers, singers and story-tellers.
They arrived, on time, with an audience of adults and children, drawn from the fields they had passed. They came at the optimum moment to allow them good weather to return south again, their carts full of Norland goods; cured skins and hides, smoked fish, salt, freshwater pearls. The trading time was limited for those of the far north.
All travellers from the far south arrived with tales of the Roman settlements in the lands they had conquered. They told of great stone buildings which housed baths and theatres. They spoke of the improved townships and how the great Roman laws had brought prosperity to the southern peoples. They brought samples of the new woven cloth which was worn by the Roman overlords and new spices. They brought wines and new flavors of ale for the Norlanders to try. Some of the traders, when they had consumed much of the local brew, also found their tongues looser, and told of the slaughter and murder of the southern tribes; the price that had been paid for all the prosperity.
Uwan listened as some within the clans expressed opinions that the traders were not as numerous as in previous years. He sat in silence with Ishar and the Brigante warriors and listened as some of the Caledon people swallowed the trader’s tales of flourishing southern neighbors. Uwan and Ishar made sure that they also stayed to hear the drunken tales after dark of the savage new order under the Romans. Ishar and Uwan agreed that the latter was probably nearer the truth.
As soon as the traders came, they seemed to leave and Lochery was peaceful again. Uwan settled once more to his work, and by the next spring found himself thinking in Brigante instead of the Norland tongue. He found that the more he reported on his progress to Sewell, the more extra work he was given, so took to walking to the circle at night. Inside the circle, he noticed that the alignments of the stones were not as complex as his circle farther north. As the moon went through its phases, he watched with interest as the missed parts were not followed by the stones.
When the shortest day came near, and he played his part in the ceremony of the lighting of the fires, he stood by one of the stones, in his allotted place, and watched the moon rise with some relief. Exactly on cue, it rose from the top of the stone and steadily rose upwards. The alleviation of his concerns, however, was short lived as he was forced to ponder exactly why the circle was not as well aligned as his own.
~ ~ ~
“You are finished” Sewell said it in such a soft voice, Uwan thought he had heard wrongly.
“Yes, I feel I am now confidently fluent in Brigante.”
Sewell smiled. “I fear that you do not grasp what I am saying Uwan.”
There were six other dhruids in the room, on the second floor of the broch occupied by the order.
“Let us all tell him.” Sewell looked round the room. “Shall we?”
You are finished.
Uwan flinched as the thought sprung unbidden into his head.
You are finished training. You are one of us.
The elation mixed with relief as Uwan relaxed, the tears falling unheeded down his face. For one instant he had thought Sewell had meant that Uwan was finished in the brotherhood, and was being banished. His theories of the moons phases had come immediately into his mind; this, he thought, might have been enough to provoke a severe censure.
Welcome to the brotherhood of the dhruids.
Uwan could contain himself no longer.
YES! He roared.
Uwan watched in dismay as Sewell and the other six dhruids physically recoiled after his outburst. Two fell backwards, to be supported by the wall and one collapsed limply in a dead faint. He quickly recognized that for the first time since beginning training four years ago, he had not moderated his thoughts.
Uwan felt Sewell’s voice in his head.
Careful Uwan. You must learn to control yourself.
As the dhruids crowded round the member who had fainted, he apologized to all in the room. Sewell led him down the spiral stairway to the ground floor, then out into the chilly winter evening.
“You are now free to do whatever you feel is right as a dhruid.” His hands grasping Uwan’s shoulders.
“But I feel I still have much to learn....”
What do I call you?
Uwan looked at Sewell’s face as he asked the question. For a fleeting moment, he saw concern and fear flash across his features. Then the dhruid relaxed.
“Just call me Sewell. You did as a child before you joined us, nothing has changed.”
“But I feel....”
I have so much still to learn!
“You may have much to learn Uwan!” Sewell interrupted, “But we can teach you no more. You have learned all the basics that we know. You will learn more as you grow more mature, as we all did, but now you must find your own way.”
“But there are other dhruids who are older than me, who are still learning.”
“And there are those who have reached the same stage as you and been younger still.”
(Untruth.) No one has been as young and powerful as you.
Uwan put a tight clamp on his thoughts. He had heard the last directly from Sewell, and he was sure that he should not have been able to. Sewell pointed to the setting sun. “Your learning is out there Uwan.”
(Untruth.) Dangerous for you in Lochery.
Uwan again felt the older dhruid’s thoughts as if he had a small personal window on his mind, then, just as abruptly as it opened, it closed. How could it be dangerous for a dhruid in his home town?
“I must go from here today.” Uwan said, and watched with both distaste and distrust when Sewell’s face flashed with obvious relief.
“But it is mid-winter, you cannot travel.”
“I go but three days from here, to a village who helped me.”
“Whatever you feel you must do brother.” Sewell’s happiness at his impending departure was obvious to Uwan, but did not show on the older dhruid’s face. Uwan felt it.
His greatest day had been spoiled. Marred by a flash of his own inspiration.
The dhruidry is corrupt. And I can feel it.
With an overwhelming feeling of disappointment, Uwan walked out of the room and down the staircase.
The dhruidry was corrupt. It began with the very man he had looked up to for too many years to remember, and went as far as the stones themselves. He thought of his circle, and how it differed from the one outside Lochery.
The young man felt sullied, as if the clean garment of dhruidry had been degraded forever. He had glimpsed the dark, political, ruthless side of the dhruidic brotherhood, but that was not what made him wary.
His wariness came from the fact that although Sewell said the correct things to him, and thought the correct messages to him, he held something back. Something which Sewell had considered private, but that somehow Uwan could sense.
For some reason, Sewell was afraid of him.
~ ~ ~
“Four winters Aysar!”
Calach swung the heavy staff two-handed at the tree. There was a loud crack, which rang through the silent, snow-covered forest, then the snow from above fell upon Calach’s upturned face. He reveled in the chill of the snow against his hot, sweating brow; he tasted it, then wiped it from his newly grown beard.
“Four winters!” He punctuating another two-handed swipe of the staff at the tree.
“Four summers too Calach. Remember the summers.”
Calach brought the staff against the tree for the third time and the staff split, sending the top portion flying through the trees.
“Damn!” Calach snarled. He looked at the shortened length of wood in his hands. “That was a good staff.”
“What did you expect you daft bugger.” Aysar had a guarded smile on his face.
Calach watched his friends face as he tossed the remains of the staff to one side. With his eyes on Aysar’s, Calach reached behind his head and began to draw his broadsword. With a clear metallic ring, the sword slid from the well-greased scabbard. He clutched the grip in two hands, sending the heavy blade in slow arcs in front of Aysar’s face.
“Oh come on Calach!” Aysar sighed. “Lets not waste a good sword as well!”
Calach lifted the blade high above his head and paused it there, stock still; the ‘executioners pose’.
“Four summers they’ve waited Aysar!” Calach kept the pose steady. “Four summers I’ve told everyone they’re going to invade, an’ what’s happened?”
Then he turned and struck.
“Nothing!” He screamed.
The sapling fell, chopped clean through.
“Not a bloody thing!” He thrust upwards through a low lying branch.
“Nothing!” Calach chopped again, this time the tree fell towards him, and he ducked quickly out of the way, chopping it once more as it toppled past him, showering him in soft, powdery snow.
“They’re making me out to be a fool Aysar!” He shouted as he advanced on his next target. “People who used to listen to me, are starting to believe Ranald again!”
He struck a thicker tree this time, expecting the blade to pass through, but the honed edge dug deep, sending shudders through Calach’s frame. He tugged it free, and with an almighty roar, chopped from the other side. The blade stuck again. With a twist, Calach pulled it loose. He swayed before the tree, panting. His breath now in clouds about him as he prepared the next stroke.
Calach thought of the Roman he had killed. Last year? The year before?
All that excitement, then this..... nothing!
“I’ll kill again!” He shouted as he swept the heavy two-handed blade clean through the partly chopped tree.
He thrust the sword into the ground at his feet then, panting, fell to his knees. He heard the crunch of the snow as Aysar came nearer.
“Well are you happy now?”
“Happy?”
“A’ you’ve done is chop down some firewood, an’ give yourself a job to do tonight!”
Calach was tired, and did not follow Aysar’s reasoning.
“Job to do?” He asked, looking up.
“Aye, you’ll have to oil your sword again or it’ll rust.” Aysar grabbed Calach’s tunic at the shoulder, pulling him to his feet. He looked at Calach’s blade. “Aye an’ you’ll probably have to put another edge on this blade again. It’ll not like being used as an axe.”
Calach allowed himself to be turned towards home, and they began to walk through the snow, retracing their steps to Lochery.
After a while Aysar spoke. “You know what would be easier Calach?”
“What?”
“If you got yourself a girl nearer home.”
“What?”
“You’ve only seen Sharra three or four times this year, an’ a man needs to..... you know!”
“Bugger off Aysar!” Calach snapped, punching him on the shoulder playfully. It was typical of his friend to blame all Calach’s problems on a woman, but he still wondered if Aysar was right.
~ ~ ~
“I wish to thank you and your people.” Uwan said, with the respect due to a clan chief.
The head man of the village, Derak, bowed his head to the young dhruid. “It was our pleasure, holy one. I hope our attendance on you didn’t disturb your meditation.”
“I was not disturbed in the least Derak.”
Uwan took in the details of the village’s main building; a large circular hut; the ground floor for working and cooking, the sleeping quarters on stilts all-round the side of the hut. The central fire had been backed up for the evening.
“It was as a gesture of gratitude that I am here with the shortest day, just one day away, to offer my services at the lighting of the new fire.”
Uwan knew that the village did not have a dhruid, it was not large enough for one. Left on their own, the head man would have performed the ceremony. To have a dhruid attend and carry out the ceremony would bring pride and high esteem to the village, an easy way for Uwan to express his gratitude in being fed for almost a year.
The young dhruid could feel Derak’s emotional swing upon hearing the news. At first he was disappointed, the ceremony brought him much respect from the villagers. As he began to answer, Derak’s thoughts were racing; he was going to invite the villages from all around. He was going to have a dhruid light the new fire! This was the best start to the new year that Derak could remember.
Uwan found that he could read the immediate, highly emotional thoughts of most people he met. It had begun just after his confirmation as a fully-fledged dhruid. At first it was almost a game, but since then he had realized what a boon to his life this ability could become. Not everyone was susceptible, and not all the time; just emotional high points.
Derak spoke. “It would be an honor for you to join us for the new fire.” He stood up and loudly addressed the whole of the hut.
“Listen! The dhruid will light the ‘new fire’ for us. Tomorrow we’ll travel through the snow to the nearest farms, an’ tell them a’ to come here for the ceremony.”
Children’s expectant faces suddenly appeared from their sleeping furs, laughter and cheers met Derak’s announcement. It was going to be a joyous start to the new year.
~ ~ ~
The group of people, clothed against the deep cold of the winter morning, huddled together watching the brightening morning sky. One from each household of the town, one from each nearby farm; Ranald in front, Calach at his side. Each member of the assembly carried an unlit torch, ready for the ceremony. Before them, in the circle stood the company of dhruids.
“How do they keep warm?” Calach asked. His voice was quiet, but there was a shiver in his tone. He pulled the bearskin closer to his chin. Even the thick fur did not keep out the chill.
“They don’t feel the cold son.” Ranald whispered.
“I bloody do.”
“Aye. Me too. Ceremony or not, I’ll be glad when this is over.”
The people back in Lochery would be wrapped up in their beds. Calach reflected that this was a strange time of year. At this precise moment, every lamp and fire in the Norlands had been extinguished, waiting for the symbolic re-birth. Waiting for the ‘new fire’ for the new year. Not for the first time, Calach wondered what would happen if the dhruids could not get their torch to light. But every year they had, and this year would be no different.
There was a flash of sunlight over the eastern hills and most of the crowd cheered. Then the first rays of sun appeared over the snow covered slopes.
“At last!” Calach said. “I feel like I’ve been standing here a’ night.”
“Aye me too son, my feet are like ice!”
The dhruids said their words quickly, then lit a large torch which burnt bright and red. Wasting no time, each dhruid took a light from the single torch and advanced to the crowd. As the fire was passed from one to the other, soon everyone’s torch was lit, and the dhruids walked at the head of the procession towards town. Some clansmen broke from the main group, their farms lay in different directions, but most of the people headed towards Lochery.
The start of a new year.
Calach wondered if the Romans would attack this year. He knew better than to voice his question out loud to his father.
He looked at his hand as it held the torch. Nine fingers tattooed, this year he would be twenty years old; an adult in the clan. This summer he would have his last finger done, and he would commission the best tattoo artist in the Norlands to begin the tattoo up his arm.
He also reflected on the fact that he had five fingers showing when he had first met Finlass at the ‘great gaither’. He tried not to think of that fact for long, there was no need to add to his depression.
~ ~ ~
“It is what he learned Brigante for.”
“But is he ready?”
“He is one of those we have prepared. It is his duty to do our bidding, and his honor to have been chosen.”
“You are a hard taskmaster.”
“These are days for hard tasks.”
“Agreed.”
“Where is the ‘moonchild’ now?”
“He is in the far north with the village who aided him in his ‘year of solitude’; he has seen them through the ‘new fire’ and will return soon enough.”
“When he does, treat him with respect until the end of spring, then send him down to me with the others. I will prepare them for their task.”
~ ~ ~
The coming of Spring had turned Calach’s thoughts once again to the Roman menace; Spring was the time for a military campaign. This was the time of year that they would move into the Norlands, but so far the dhruids nor the travellers and traders had brought no word of any such move. The Romans lack of action both baffled and disappointed him; it was a constant itch in his flesh which he could not scratch.
Calach began to withdraw into himself, his normal cheery self, replaced by a brooding, moody demeanor. Still banned from travelling west without a ‘bodyguard’, he turned to his bow and his sword for company. He practiced with his long sword every day, and went hunting often, returning regularly with a deer or boar for the family table. He made arrows in the evening, or drank with Aysar and other young men of the town. He tried not to drink too much, as the conversation always turned to the Romans, and that depressed him.
When he returned with a deer strapped to the back of his horse, the third in five days, Mawrin threw her hands up in despair.
“Another deer?” She shrieked as she watched him tie the reins to a post. “Calach have you lost your mind? We’ve had venison for the last four weeks lad. Have you not noticed?”
The truth had been, he hadn’t noticed, nor cared, but now his mother was making an issue of it.
“Well I can’t just leave it here. What will I do with it?”
“Why not take it to one of the other families.” She answered, her hands on her hips. “Or, on second thoughts, why don’t you take it to Sewell. Dhruids have to eat too you know.”
Maybe I’ll get to see Uwan.
“Eh, thanks Ma’, I think I’ll do just that!”
Leading the horse by the reins, he walked over to the dhruid broch. There was a rule about going in without permission, so he stood outside and called half-heartedly at the curtain covering the doorway.
“Sewell? Uwan? Anybody about?”
The curtain was pulled aside from within and a sallow faced young boy looked out. “What is it?” He rubbed sleep from his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Calach said with more reverence than he needed to. “I have a deer for the dhruidry, an’ I wondered if I could speak to the dhruid Uwan.”
“Do you have other business with him?”
No he’s my bloody brother!
“Eh yes actually.” Calach bit his lip in anger at the boy’s impertinence.
Some people take power too seriously. He’s not old enough to be away from his mother’s tit!
“I have to see the dhruid Uwan on some serious clan matter.”
The boy rubbed his eyes again and gestured to one side of the doorway. “Just leave the carcass there, I’ll get someone to attend to it soon enough.” He went to let the curtain go.
“Eh, excuse me!” Calach snapped. “I’m still looking for brother Uwan?”
Yes, he’s your brother, and mine too, but my claim came first!
“Oh yes, so you were.” The boy shook his head. “Sorry Lud Calach, I didn’t mean to be rude. I was up all night looking at the stars with brother Sewell.” He stood for a moment, obviously trying to gather his thoughts. “I think I heard Brother Uwan say he was going to the circle, but I may be wrong. Sorry I can’t be of any more help.”
“No offence was taken.” Calach lied, as the curtain was allowed to fall. “Well not much anyway!”
As he gave his horse to one of the boys, he felt elated, and yet had no idea why he had not sought out his brother before this. There had been no reason not to, but in effect he had not spoken to Uwan for over two years; it was easy to get out of the habit of doing so, even when it was permitted again.
The walk to the circle was quick and completed in long decisive strides. On the way Calach was greeted by many clanspeople, young and old. He responded to each with some quip or remark.
They don’t speak out to Ranald when he passes!
He soon saw Uwan, standing by one of the old oaks which grew near the circle. The hood of his brother’s grey cloak was back over his shoulders. Calach slowed as he neared Uwan, then approached quietly.
“Don’t even think of being smart Calach.”
“What?”
Uwan turned, grinning. He held out his hand, which Calach warmly shook. It was strange; Uwan was a dhruid, and due all the respect and favor of any of the order, but he was still the boy who Calach had played with, fought with and probably bullied at one time or another.
“What brings you to me Calach? It has been a long while.”
He still looks so young. But then he is! He’s only fifteen years old for the sake of Lugh!
“Eh, I brought one too many deer carcass’s home, Mawrin said to take it to the dhruids.”
“And then you thought you’d look out your brother.”
Calach was embarrassed. “Well, aye, something like that anyway.”
“Something like that?” Uwan looked deeply into Calach’s eyes. “What do you really want from me Calach?”
His older brother was shocked at Uwan’s perception.
What do I want? I don’t know.
Calach started to tell Uwan about the Roman threat, then the whole story came out; about the fact that he knew that they were going to invade, it was just a matter of time. His arguements with Ranald. His uneasiness, his restlessness. His grasp that the other clansmen were getting restless too.
As Uwan stood listening, Calach was increasingly aware that there was a growing grin on the dhruid’s face. “What is it?” He playfully snapped at Uwan.
This made Uwan’s grin wider. “To sum it quickly Calach. You’re waiting for an invasion, and you’re growing tired of the waiting.”
It couldn’t be as simple as that. Could it?
“You’re bored, big brother!”
With a realization which had all the impact of a lightning bolt, he recognized Uwan being right.
Boredom.
“Aye, ‘dhruid’ Uwan, you seem to have planted the knife right at the problem.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t honestly know.”
“Well Calach think about it.” Uwan began. “You have a following of supporters who agree with you that the Romans will invade; in fact they agree with the dhruidry too!”
“Aye, I had forgot that. You lot think they’ll invade. Kheltine said so at the ‘great gaither’.”
“I have been told so; you had the good fortune to see him before he died, I did not. But the question still stands; what are you going to do about your boredom?”
“I’ll just have to face it.”
“And make the others face it too?”
“That may be more difficult.”
“So you need something to take their minds off the Romans for a bit.”
“Aye.” Calach could see Uwan deep in thought.
“And something which will keep their warrior skills honed for the day of invasion when it comes.”
“When it comes.”
Uwan looked up at the sky, then at his brother.
“Easy.” He said, “A games tournament!”
Calach stood open-mouthed.
“Yes. Tell Ranald that you would like to organize a games tournament.” He began to walk to the circle. Calach followed at his side.
“What kind o’ games though Uwan?”
“Why, useful games Calach, dear brother. Useful games like archery, sword fighting, spear and flyte throwing. Chariot racing! When was the last time Lochery had a chariot race?”
“Last time?”
“Who knows if there was a last time, Calach. Who would care.”
Calach could see it in his mind, teams from every clan, competing in Lochery!
“We could ask the Venicone and Meatae......”
“Wait Calach!” Uwan stopped, his hand raised in denial. “Let us not go too far with this. Ranald may let you have a games tournament. But he will not let you invite the other clans. Let them find ways to deal with themselves. Let us consider only the Caledons here.”
“True, no point in putting him off the idea before it starts.”
“I’m glad you see my point.”
“I’ll ask him today Uwan! It’s a great idea.”
He embraced the dhruid and turned to leave.
“Of course Calach....”
“Aye Uwan?”
Uwan’s face was turned away, but the voice could not conceal the smile as he spoke. “When Ranald has agreed, and the tournament is almost underway......”
Uwan paused, and Calach almost felt himself lean forward to hear the rest of Uwan’s statement.
“Yes Uwan?”
He’s developing dhruid’s bad habits already! Get to the point!
“Well, when it is too late to stop the tournament. If individuals arrive from other clans to compete. How could Ranald stop them?”
Calach laughed at the retreating dhruid’s figure as he walked towards the circle.
Bad dhruid habits!
~ ~ ~
Winnie hunched her shoulders and leant closer to Kat’lana. “A’ I mean is that you need to watch your back.”
“Why should I? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
The older woman looked around at the busy streets. There were several groups of men and women, looking at the goods on the various traders’ stalls. The summer was in full swing and the markets at this time of year were crammed with goods from the south. Winnie reached up to Kat’lana’s shoulder and pulled her towards a quieter part of town. Winnie had brought her to Be’rwick “to see the market”, but as they had set off, the conversation had quickly been turned to Kat’lana’s position in the clan. The subject had been talked to death, and still she could not get through to the wayward young woman. If she would not see sense, Winnie had only one recourse.
“I know that you’ve done nothing wrong lass, but there are those Votadin who pay too much attention to Pe’weric.”
“But he’s the one that cared enough for me to stay here!” Kat’lana’s voice was raised a little too much for Winnie’s comfort.
“Yes, chief Pe’weric is the one who brought you here; he even gave you to me! Not officially, but near enough.” Her voice was hushed and conspiratorial. “But as I told you before, he’s changed in the last year or so; he’s not the same man who allowed you to stay here a’ that time ago.”
“The Romans.”
“Yes lass. The Romans! I don’t know what it is, but the Romans have suddenly some influence over our chief. It’s not the first time there’s been Roman coin in town.” She tapped her pocket, and a soft chinking rewarded her touch. “How do you think I’ll be paying for my purchases today!”
Kat’lana shook her head. “Pe’weric’s dealing with the Romans.”
“I don’t know for sure, but I suspect it.”
“But why would he feel anything against me?”
“Kat’lana! How many times do we have to go through this?”
“But Winnie......” Kat’lana stopped herself and sighed heavily. Winnie knew that the girl was defeated.
“‘But Winnie’ nothing!” the older woman snapped. “There are men who look upon you an’ Gawrcus an’ see nothing out o’ the ordinary, but are those that see the ‘foreign-ness’ in the two o’ you. They know you’ve made a mistake, an’ they’re not stupid enough not to know where Gawrcus came from. There are some who see him an’ yourself as an embodiment o’ everything that’s different.”
“But why should ‘different’ be bad? It never was before.”
“The Romans on our doorstep are making everybody nervous. The fact that no one knows for certain what will happen over the next few years is setting every faction against the other. An’ it’s happening much more around Pe’weric. He’s the catalyst in a’ this.” Winnie stopped walking and pulled Kat’lana to a halt. “Pe’weric is not a bad man, but some o’ the crowd around him have no scruples at a’. They see you as not Votadin, an’ Gawrcus has just made matters worse.”
“By why should he be brought into it?”
“Because he’s with you; simple as that. What makes matters worse now is that Erliott the dhruid is getting very suspicious o’ what we’re studying. The dhruids don’t have any time for those o’ us who study the old ways. If it were just me, I would be safe. No one would touch chief Pe’weric’s personal storyteller. But there’s you..... and Gawrcus. You two are vulnerable, no matter how proficient you are with those swords. By now even the normal clansmen know that you spend most of your time with me, but they don’t have an inkling of what we do together, an’ in a way that makes it worse! It’s got to the point where some o’ the men openly say we’re lovers!”
“Oh Winnie!” Kat’lana’s face was a grimace of pain.
“I know! They see us as different, an’ by association Gawrcus has the same suspicion an’ threat thrown at him!”
She watched as at each mention of Gawrcus’s name Kat’lana winced. The double threat had hit home more than once that day.
“So what do we do Winnie?” Kat’lana asked. “We can’t fight them on our own.”
Perfect lass. You’ve led me right to the point.
“You have to leave Tra’pan. You an’ Gawrcus.”
Winnie was surprised how easily Kat’lana accepted the fact. It was as if she had thought it out herself.
“A’ right Winnie, so we leave Tra’pan. An’ go where?”
“To Edin’s Haugh.”
“That’s too far away!”
“It’s only a days ride, but it’s far enough away from Pe’weric to let him forget you.”
“So we could still see you from time to time?”
“Aye lass, I’d visit you regular, I could even stay for a while until you both get settled in. I know a family there who would take you, without questions being asked. It wouldn’t be long before you’d have a hut o’ your own.”
Winnie watched Kat’lana’s face set determinedly, and hoped that she was not changing her mind.
“Does Edin have any dealings with Pe’weric?
“No lass.” Winnie replied. “He’s Votadin, an’ gives Pe’weric his allotted tax o’ grain and cattle, but he rules his Haugh like a chief himself. You’ll find no problems from him.”
“Good.”
“Unless he takes a shine to you himself!” She smirked.
“Yuk! He’s old enough to be my father!” Kat’lana slapped Winnies arm. “Gawrcus will soon put paid to any who want me that way! When do we leave?”
Perfect!
“It would be best to have the whole move done as quick as we can.”
“True. If things are as bad as you say they are, it leaves our enemies less time to act.”
“I wouldn’t call them enemies yet Kat’lana, but if we were to leave just after we get back, say tomorrow, or the next day at most.”
Kat’lana nodded, then slipped her arm into Winnie’s. “We may as well get some supplies for the trip then eh?”
“That’s my girl! I’m buying!”
“After hearing those Roman coins, too bloody right you are!”
~ ~ ~
The Caledon games that summer, took so much of Calach’s time, that it seemed that he hardly had his last finger tattooed, than the games were upon him. With Ranald’s blessing, Calach had organized competitions in archery, spear throwing and swordplay. Contests in each category had been arranged for boys and girls up to four fingers showing, youths up to nine fingers showing, and for warriors. As the days of the games neared, Calach looked at his last, newly-tattooed finger with some dismay- although old enough to compete; both he and Ranald had agreed that Calach could not compete. It was felt that none could equal his proficiency with the bow, and would be unfair on the opposition.
Ranald himself organized the climax of the two-day event; the chariot races. Calach watched him and his ever-present friends take great care over their horses, and the chariot itself. They raced every day, constantly changing the combinations of the two horse team.
In the days before the games, Lochery was a hive of activity. The games had caught the imagination of the local people, and even those not competing found lots to do. The market place was swelling with the largest selection of traders Calach had ever seen. A good crowd over the two days meant good trade for everyone.
Although the games had been open to all, only a few from outside the clan had actually arrived; Mauchty came with a few Venicones and brought Eorith and Anne, with their newly-born son, who they had named Calchty, as an amalgamation of the two men who had engineered their union.
The games themselves were a great success. Everyone competed in great friendly spirit, and although injury could not be helped in the swordplay, they were minor and quickly treated.
During the two days Calach did not find his non-competitive role a burden; he was much too busy organizing fights, counting scores on targets and sorting out disputes over some disagreement or other.
Calach watched the archery contest with interest. He took a mental note of names and locations of the best of the younger archers, determined to later recruit them to his cause. As the contest neared its conclusion, Calach was busy talking to the ten finalists, jesting with them and gauging the mood of them to the Roman menace. The youths contest had been won by a young lad called Boaric from the nearby village of Blair whom, until the day of the games, Calach had never seen before. He had watched as the lad won through to the final shoot-out and admired his skill and composure under the pressure of such a large crowd.
After Boaric had been congratulated by the other competitors, Calach then approached him and directly enlisted his help for the future. Boaric had been openly happy to be enlisted into Calach’s group of followers.
Much to the pleasure of the partisan crowd, Calach had then challenged the winners of all categories to a personal contest, which to his own chagrin, he had only come second. Calach had watched Boaric wincing as his last arrow had beat Calach’s to the centre of the target, but had smiled in some relief when Calach had been the first to shake his hand.
At the end of the second day, with the other three contests complete, it was time for the Chariot races round the walls of Lochery, and the clanspeople deserted the fields near the archery targets and crowded the wooden parapet for the best view.
Because of the expense in the upkeep of such mighty chariot horses, only twelve teams had been entered for the race. Ranald and Durgal had harnessed two separate teams from Ranald’s stable, Mauchty, now chief of the Venicones had also entered two teams, one of which he drove himself, and Eorith drove the other. The others came from within Caledon lands, but were strangers to Calach.
Seven times round the town had been the agreed distance and Calach’s mother Mawrin had started the race with a drop of her hand.
As expected, it was a rough race. Two of the chariots crashed, one of them Eorith’s sending debris and occupants flying spectacularly through the air. One of the Caledon chariots lost a wheel and came embarrassingly to a halt near Lochery’s front gate. The team and chariot were dragged from the scene before the rest of the chariots came round again. At the end of the seven circuits, Ranald skillfully rode his chariot and its two horse team into second place. Mauchty, now chief of the Venicones, had powered his team through a cluster of chariots near the finish to win, causing a great cheer from the small Venicone contingent in the crowd.
Although there had been wry smiles on many faces that evening when Mawrin handed out the prizes, Calach thought that the best had been Ranald’s face when the Venicone was handed a jeweled dirk as the first prize, Ranald had accepted the defeat almost gracefully.
Generally, the relationship between Calach and his father strengthened again because of that day, and with all the organization, Calach found that the summer was quickly over.
Calach tried many times that summer to find his brother Uwan, to thank him for the initial idea, but at each attempt he had been told by Sewell or others that Uwan was absent on dhruid business.
In the days and moons after the games, Calach visited all of the best archers again, acquainting himself of their characters and strengthening the bonds between them. He tread the ground carefully, but knew that he was building an army for some future requirement.
Although a spring and summer had passed without so much as a reported sortie by the gathering Roman army, Calach felt better than he had the year before, he had spent most of the warm spring and summer, organizing the games, training the Lochery participants, and honing his own skills; it had not been a wasted year.
But he had seen Finlass only twice.
It was going to be another cold, long winter.
~ ~ ~
The crippled youth limped slowly through the busy town streets, his tattered and dirty clothing clearly marking his lowly position. The cold spring wind blew through his thin coverings making him shiver. He smiled inside; a shiver would make him appear more vulnerable, less of a threat. He wanted to be invisible in the town.
When he came near to a group of people, he would side-step carefully past, shyly watching each figure in the group, full of apprehension. He appeared nervous, timid to the point of being openly frightened. But both the youth’s limp and his outward demeanor were ruses; a well-rehearsed act which now came as second nature to the talented adolescent. As he shied past the latest group, which contained three soldiers, he attracted no attention from them, but he picked up a few phrases; enough to grasp the thread of conversation. The gathering of information was his task; given to him by Sewell. Uwan was one of three dhruids who worked independently in the northern Roman town.
Uwan continued down the paved street, taking in details of architecture, military uniforms; anything at all which could be of interest to the other dhruids. He hobbled on down the street, towards the gate, pausing at the next group of people, chattering wildly at a street vendor. He waited until noticed by one of the group, then to avoid suspicion quickly tugged at the nearest sleeve.
“Some bread?” Uwan said in his best ‘bad’ latin. He flinched and backed away abruptly, almost tripping, as the sleeve in question turned to look at him.
“Get lost, boy!” A sneer came quickly to the face of the well-dressed man when he saw the filthy disfigured boy.
“C-c-coin?” Uwan eggagerating his stammer, twitching muscles in his face accenting his disability.
“Get away with you. Go on!” One of the soldiers in the group launched a kick. Uwan dodged deftly and, muttering about coins and bread, carried on his way to the gate.
At the gate, a towering stone palisade, none of the soldiers paid any attention to the shambling youth as he passed through. Uwan waited until he had passed out of sight of the soldiers on the wall, then gradually worked up to his normal gait. Each day he would take a different route in and out of town, and soon he would be deep in the forest, back at his tent. Another day completed in which he observed the Roman military preparation.
As he walked, he pieced together parts of the earlier conversations and placed them with the others, collating mentally as he shambled along.
He was here to observe.
To observe and report.
Along with the other two dhruids, he took interest in the increasing military preparation, logged the kinds of units present, gauged their strengths wherever possible. Any piece of information, however small, was catalogued and retained for further use. The three young dhruids discussed their findings each night, deep in the forest, trying to find the correct time of the Roman departure north. Trying to second guess their enemy.
From Uwan’s point of view, any word of Latin was held in even more regard. The young dhruids had been instructed to make it imperative to learn as much of the language as possible. Their growing vocabulary was tested every day in town, then each night as they sat by their fire at their camp in the woods. They could almost converse completely in their new language.