Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part Three; The Coming of Age) Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Ian Hall. Hallanish Publishing at Smashwords Inc.

  All rights reserved, and the author reserves the right to re-produce this book, or parts thereof, in any way whatsoever.

  ISBN 9781465936936

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  Roman/Scottish Fiction already by Ian Hall on eBooks;

  Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part one; The Great Gather).

  Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part Two; The Druid’s Plan).

  Factual analysis, alternative history;

  The Roman Invasion of Scotland. (A Scottish Rant on Ancient Roman Political Spin.)

  Caledonii: Birth of a Nation.

  (Part Three: The Coming of Age)

  By Ian Hall

  Table of Contents.

  Chapter 9. Calach goes to Bar’ton. Summer 75AD

  Chapter 10. The Meatae Capital. Summer 75AD

  Chapter 11. A Wasted Year. Autumn 76AD

  Chapter 12. The Calm. 77AD

  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.

  Chapter 9.

  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 y
et, 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.