Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part Four: The Romans Invade) Read online

  First the meeting with the elders, then this impasse with mother.

  “Right lad!” His mother said determinedly, “You’re off to bed!” She got stiffly off her chair and crossed to the protesting Calach. “No excuses! No complaining! Just get to bed.”

  She pulled at his resisting arms and, after getting him to his feet, pushed him towards the door.

  “Plenty o’ time in the morning to see your Da’!” She whispered behind him, pushing him up the stone stairway.

  “But.....!”

  “Whatever you had to say will wait!” She hushed, “He’ll listen in the morning. I promise! Even if I have to make him listen myself!”

  He turned on the stone step and, bending low, lightly kissed his mother’s lips. He wondered how long it had been since he had last done such a thing. “Thank’s Ma’.” He turned to go up to his room.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kat’lana was dressed in a long white robe, belted at the waist with a thin gold chain. It was so strange for her to be wearing anything other than warrior garb. She seemed to shimmer in the evening glow of the setting sun. Her hair, normally so wild and carefree, was tied loosely behind her, a circlet of gold across her forehead, keeping the stray wisps off her face. Keeping her eyes downcast, she walked gracefully across the short grass within the stone circle, her bare feet feeling the hard-packed earth underneath. She walked with her hands by her sides, a posy of white daisies clutched tightly in her right hand. Her left hand was painted in red, the contrast strange, but familiar. As she walked, she smiled; a warm beguiling smile, captivating in the extreme to the lone figure who waited outside the stone circle. When Kat’lana stopped at the centre of the circle, she knelt on the grass, spreading the loose dress in an even arc around her.

  Calach entered the circle dressed only in trews; the clan’s woven pattern showing clear in the newness of the material. His muscular chest and arms were painted, the colors bright and gaudy, the designs blending into the tattoos on his upper arms. He was a walking picture; the wolf painted on his chest was looking upwards towards a snake, which wound its way down from his cheek, round his neck, to his right shoulder. There was a dagger across his forehead; the silvery-grey of the blade, seeming almost real in the sunlight. His long hair was tied severely behind his head, and fell, braided down his back. His hands stayed at his sides as he walked towards the kneeling Kat’lana. In his left hand was a piece of white rope, both of the ends trailing almost to the ground. His right hand showed the same red colour as Kat’lana’s left, his fingers flexing from the stickiness of the paint.

  As he reached Kat’lana, he knelt in front of her, his knees settling on the fringe of the dress, pinning her to the grass. Their eyes met for the first time since entering the stone circle. His blue eyes stared into her hazel, and she returned the prolonged gesture, her gaze as hard and steady as his. Then they both nodded together, as if there was an unseen dhruid, conducting the ceremony.

  Calach lifted his painted right hand, and offered it to Kat’lana, fingers extended, palm towards her. Without looking at his outstretched hand, she placed her left hand against his, quickly clasping their fingers tightly together. On the firm, warm contact, the tacky red paint oozed from between their fingers and began to set, locking their hands together. Calach took the rope with his free hand, and with Kat’lana’s help, began to wind the rope round their clasped hands in a complex, but structured pattern. The white of the rope symbolized the preciousness and sanctity of their bond together, the red glue; their blood which would run together in their children’s veins. When the length of rope was used, both ends met underneath and the couple tied them tightly together. Their hands would stay together until they returned to the village, but many days would pass before then.

  They clasped their free hands together to complete the embrace, crushing the posy of daisies in between, then Calach leaned forward and kissed her. The kiss was light, their lips barely touching, but both felt the spark of tension between them. Dropping her posy on the grass, Kat’lana took Calach’s hand and placed it on her breast, pulling him closer. Calach felt the familiar mound beneath the thin shift of the white dress. Slowly he began to caress her, their marriage ceremony over, their wedding night just beginning.

  ~ ~ ~

  Far away, on a lonely hill overlooking a dark sea, lay the recumbent form of Winnie. Slowly and carefully she flexed her mental muscles, bringing her out of the deep trance, the deepest she had ever been in. This was the last part of her scheme, when this night was done, she could do no more; she was only human, her powers limited. With the dream sequence firmly in the sleep of both Calach and Kat’lana simultaneously, she felt the draw between them would be enough to let youth and proximity take over.

  She opened her eyes, a slight falling of drizzle refreshing her, and took a sharp, desperate gasp of breath, her first for many moments. The realization that her robes were soaked through to her skin brought her swiftly to her senses. She sat up, shivering, but even the cold, wet night could not rid her of the wide beaming smile, coupled with the realization of what she hoped she had achieved.

  Standing, she gathered her wet robes closer and began the long walk back to Tra’pan. If she hurried, she could reach the settlement before dawn, her work complete.

  ~ ~ ~

  Calach woke slowly the next morning, the dream clear in his mind. He wondered about the strangeness of the ceremony, but mostly he remembered the lovemaking. In the first light of day, the dream was vivid, but as the morning wore on, and he became involved in trying to catch a moment alone with his father, and mundane, day-to-day decisions were called for, he lost the substance of the dream altogether. Around midday he paused, his head cocked to one side, trying to remember anything about it at all and found that he could not. Shaking his head in annoyance, he set about trying to get that important one-to-one meeting with Ranald.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kat’lana woke with the same clear recollection. In the dream, when she had been going through the actions, the ceremony had seemed both natural and normal. Now in the light of the morning, although it was still somewhat familiar in content, she grasped how strange the actual ritual had been. She sat up in her makeshift tent and looked out at the sunlight streaming in the open end, she flexed her fingers, and remembered the glue between hers and Calach’s and how it had bound them both together.

  I dreamt about marrying Calach; and it seemed so real!

  With great resolution of purpose, she quickly collapsed the tent. She would return to Lochery today, her new stock of herbs firmly packed. She was sure that for some reason, Calach had returned or was returning. Whatever the case, she had collected so many herbs that she was in danger of not being able to carry them all anyway. She was sure that it was time for her to return.

  As she walked south, through the river valley, she recalled every part of the dream, sorting through the details, storing them for later.

  ~ ~ ~

  “I don’t think you’re right, Da!” Calach hung his head in disbelief, “There has to be further invasion. There has to be. They’ve not came this far for nothing!”

  The pair had been involved in the same circular conversation for most of the afternoon. At first Calach had confronted Ranald in the market square, then his father had led him out through the gates, along the edges of the nearest fields into the country. They now sat by the banks of one of the streams which ran into the Tayme. As a boy, his father had taught him to fish here. Calach was well aware it was no coincidence that Ranald had chosen the site.

  “We’ve been here before lad,” Ranald did not hide his exasperation at the repeated question. “There’s a natural boundary a’tween the rivers. According to you an’ the other reports I’ve heard, the Romans are building a huge wall, the breadth o’ the Norlands. Why would they do that if they were going to advance further north?”

  “I hear what you’re saying Da’, but they’ll use the wall an’ the forts as a base to invade further north.”

&nbs
p; “Answer me this, lad. Did they have a wall in the south, before they invaded Selgove an’ Ordovice?” Ranald spoke slowly. “Well?”

  “The dhruid’s tell us there’s never been a wall. But we don’t know for certain, do we?”

  “Well I’ve been told by the dhruids that there was NO wall there.” Ranald stood up and held out his hand. Sighing, the young Caledon got to his feet.

  Telling his father that he thought his logic was flawed was one thing, but how could he tell him that he didn’t trust the dhruids? The simple fact was that he could not; it would probably mean his exile from clan politics, and he would be unable to influence anything if he lost his position there.

  “But Da....!” Unable to bring any new information to the discussion, he was frustrated in his own ineptitude.

  “If there was no wall there, an’ they invaded northwards,” Ranald began again.

  “I know, I know!” Calach interrupted.

  “Then why would they build a great wall here? Because it’s the end o’ their aspirations! It’s the end o’ their invasion!” Ranald clapped his son on the back, urging him to set out for Lochery again. “They’re not coming up here! We’re safe!”

  Calach went along with Ranald, his arm around his son’s shoulders, smiling. With Calach giving up his assault, the conversation turned to the crops, ale, and hunting.

  Calach refrained from further arguments. He was not convinced, and had the benefit of Kheltine’s predictions and knew that more fighting was to come, and that was one piece of information he could not present to his father.

  He allowed Ranald to lead the conversation and merely made the correct noises. The worst aspect of Calach’s knowledge was that according to Kheltine, he was to lead the clans, not his father, not Finlass. He spent most of the walk to the broch pondering over that one.

  The women had cooked a huge pot of venison stew, and it was ready when they arrived back at the broch. His mother announced that Kat’lana had just returned, was drying herbs, and would be joining them for the meal. Calach thought that he would have another chance to work on his father before dinner, but he was wrong, before he had time to think properly, the table in the broch was full.

  Benelek, Fetasius and Bretha appeared from nowhere, and greetings flowed round the room. Mawrin gave them all tasks at the table, and with everyone’s help, everything was ready to eat. Calach was surprised when he was introduced to Deans, a chief’s son from the neighboring Vacomag clan, he was sitting opposite, and was being jostled by Lachlin.

  As Calach looked at Deans, then Bretha, he saw attraction written all over their faces. He shook his head and grinned. His plan was being acted out in his own home, and without his direction.

  “A toast!” Ranald shouted, standing abruptly. The chorused reply rang around the stone walls. Calach raised his tankard, then realized that everyone was staring at him.

  “To my son Calach!” Roared the chief, “Now he is back safe at home!”

  “The roars of ‘Calach’ died quickly as everyone downed mouthfuls of the local ale. The object of the toast found his face warming, he smiled at the family setting, he found himself speechless.

  “But no’ everyone’s here!” Ranald remaining on his feet. “There’s folks missing from the table.”

  There was a ring of expectancy in the air, Calach knew that something was afoot, that he was the object of it, but he did not know why. Still smiling, he looked from one person to another, every one mirrored his smile.

  “Come in lass!”

  The curtain over the door was pushed to one side and Kat’lana took a crouched step inside. She stood up straight and looked pensively round the room, then seemed to relax slightly as she took in the warm, friendly atmosphere. Calach had just started to rise, when his father’s hand clamped strongly on his shoulder, forcing him brusquely on his backside. The people on the other side of the table slid to one side to allow Calach a full view.

  “A toast!” Ranald shouted again, keeping his hand on Calach’s shoulder. “What should the toast be Kat’lana?”

  “Aye!” The family chorused together. The noise was deafening. Calach knew that something was coming, the choreography was too regimented to be natural.

  When the noise had subsided, Kat’lana took one further step inside the room. She put her hand behind her, and from the back of the curtain, led a small boy into the room.

  Calach immediately noticed a familiarity about the boy, but could not place the origin. The family and guests looked from the boy to Calach and back again. Kat’lana then crouched beside the boy, her hands tenderly about his body. She looked at Calach, then at Ranald, then the boy, then at last, back at Calach again.

  “I will give the toast.” Ranald’s voice had changed from mocking, to serious. He slowly raised his tankard. “I give you, Kat’lana, and her son, Gawrcus.”

  Calach did not even touch his tankard. He found himself losing himself in the eyes of the young lad.

  Kat’lana has a son! And his eyes! Where have I seen those eyes before?

  Slowly the realization came.

  In the mirrored glass, in the still stream, and in the polished blade; those are my eyes!

  Although he could not remember how he got there, he found himself on his knees in front of the Kat’lana and Gawrcus.

  Despite the silent throng behind him, with his eyes running with tears, he looked at Kat’lana and asked the silent question.

  “Aye, Calach.” She whispered, tears flowing down her cheeks. “This is Gawrcus; our son.”

  He swept his arms open, taking both of them inside and for a moment lost himself in an embrace of kisses and tears; Kat’lana’s lips, the lads hair. It took more than a moment to compose himself to turn back to his family. Calach stood within his new family group, with the most flummoxed look on his face that anyone had ever seen.

  “Come on lad!” Ranald laughed, breaking the moment. “Get my grandson up to the table! Come on lad, sit here wi’ me!”

  Gawrcus clung tightly to Kat’lana’s hand, and no amount of encouragement could make him let it go. Calach put his arm round her and led them both across the room and round the table. Space was made for the three and the meal continued.

  There was more than enough stew and bread to go round, and Calach felt good to be back round the noisy table again; it brought back many happy memories of more peaceful times. He had been spending so much of his time visiting other clans, he had almost forgotten what his own was like.

  Although the banter around the table was good natured, the conversation generally was about the invasion, and everyone wanted to know about Calach’s latest exploits. He found himself the centre of attraction, and therefore it was difficult to stay out of the conversation long enough to actually talk directly to Kat’lana, although they exchanged many comments, glances and smiles. He watched his son, although most of the time he just cuddled into Kat’lana’s side. Then, just as they were moving the clay dishes down the table, and he was looking forward to a private word with her, the covering over the doorway was pushed to one side and in walked a haggard, unshaven and windswept Uwan.

  It was uncommon for dhruids to associate with clan members; they usually kept very much to themselves. The family waited in silence for the dhruid to speak.

  “Sewell sent me over for a hot meal.” Uwan said and headed towards the kitchen area.

  “You will eat wi’ us lad?” Ranald was unsure of the protocol for such an occurrence.

  “If a space can be found, chief Ranald.” Uwan bowed slightly. “I have travelled far and it has been many moons since I ate anything but berries.”

  When the initial shock had lifted, Ranald’s dhruid son was welcomed into the company, and fresh food laid in front of him. Conversation was stilted, however, as it was not politic to ask into the events of the life of a dhruid.

  Eventually, when the conversation died completely, Uwan appeared awkward, then asked Ranald if he could have time alone with himself and Calach. Hearing thi
s, Calach again felt frustrated at this turn of events, after wanting time alone with Kat’lana all the way through the gathering; here he was being thwarted again.

  With deference to the dhruid, the room quickly emptied, Uwan stood, suddenly serious, and paced to the center of the room, then he turned facing both Calach and Ranald.

  With open hands, he made patterns in the air. Calach was certain he saw green smoke spreading from Uwan’s fingertips.

  “I am going away.” The young dhruid said, looking from father to brother.

  “You just came back!” Calach blurted.

  “You’ve been away before son.” Ranald said softly, reminding Calach that he spoke to a dhruid.

  “This time is different chief Ranald.” Uwan turned to face his father. “I am telling you as a dhruid would tell his chief. I am leaving you tomorrow. I will return, but not for many years.”

  Years.

  Uwan quickly held up his hand, palm towards his brother. He could see his older sibling bite his tongue at the dhruids command for silence.

  “Because I will be gone for many years, I must say things now before I go. The two of you will listen to me and heed what I say.” Uwan looked at both of them in turn. “It is the words of a dhruid that you hear before you.”

  Ranald and Calach looked at each other, then turned in unison to face the dhruid. Uwan watched as they both swallowed hard, waiting for him to continue.

  “Ranald, son of Garveld, son of Ceartas, chief of the Caledonii people.” Uwan faced his father. “I know that you must do as you see fit for the good of the clan. Your heart is good and you think your conscience is clear, but listen to your eldest son. He is old beyond his years, and does what he does for the good of the clan also. Listen to him and compromise, without his strength beside you, your efforts will fail. Take him into your confidence and embrace him, he is your greatest and strongest ally. Keep him at arm’s length and he will surely be your enemy. Prepare him for his position as chief, for one day he will rule when you are gone from this world.”

  Ranald nodded his head.