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

  “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.