Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part One: The Great Gather) Read online

  “I am Calach, son o’ Ranald, chief o’ clan Caledon. I welcome you to the land o’ the Caledon.” Calach and Aysar bowed together, keeping their eyes locked on the mounted trio.

  Ma’damar smiled, and called over the intervening space. “I recognize your faither in you, Calach, you’re Ranald’s son a’right!” He kicked his horse to a slow walk, the others following his lead. “You’ve grown a bit from the last time we met.”

  Calach frowned.

  “It’s a’right, lad.” said Ma’damar, sensing his discomfort. “We met when you were but a wee boy, no’ even three summers old; there’s no reason for you to remember.” Although Ma’damar smiled, Calach felt the tension creep into his speech. “Your faither an’ I had a wee argument about where the border actually was. But in the end there was no harm done; no blood spilt.” Ma’damar smiled in recollection, then brought himself back to the present with a little shake of his head. “How is your faither? It’s been at least ten summers since that day.”

  Calach let Ma’damar’s jibe pass; he knew that he looked older than thirteen. He sensed the bad feeling between the two clans building already, and they had just met. “My faither, an’ his family are well, Ma’damar. He welcomes you an’ your people to our heartland an’ asks if you’ll follow me to Circal Rosich.”

  Ma’damar looked back, half turning in the saddle, indicating his companions. “This is my firstborn son, Finlass, who will be my second here, an’ the senior dhruid o’ the Meatae; his name is Quen’tan.”

  Both men bowed their heads slightly as they were named and Finlass raised his hand, smiling.

  “My welcome, Finlass, I hope you had a good journey.”

  “We did Calach.” said Finlass smiling. “I am pleased to be attending this great occasion.” His smile seemed genuine.

  “Dhruid Quen’tan,” Calach acknowledged simply.

  “Calach; yes. Calach; ‘the bristly one’.” said the dhruid in return, pronouncing the words carefully, delighting in Calach’s obvious dislike of the literal translation of his name. He gave a wry smile, which came closer to a sneer.

  Calach’s mother had named him because of his spiky, bristly hair at birth but it also had a second more subtle meaning; ‘the one with the sharp points’. Calach always thought that this was a more fitting name for one skilled with the sword and bow.

  Ma’damar smiled at the exchange as the three rode nearer.

  Aysar intercepted the trio, and quickly looked over the visitors and their horses. A single nod told Calach all he needed to know. No weapons at the gaither; the dhruids were the guarantee of neutrality.

  “We’re here to escort you to Circal Rosich, to join wi’ the rest o’ the clan chiefs,” Calach nimbly bounded down to the glen’s floor. “There’s a camp set up for everyone. If you’d like to follow us, we’ll lead you in.”

  “Our thanks.” Ma’damar bowed graciously from his saddle.

  Calach and Aysar unstrung their bows, and silently led their visitors up the glen to the camp.

  ~ ~ ~

  The stone circle of Circal Rosich was only a short walk, a large arrangement of eighteen red granite stones, hence the name; the Rose Red Circle. The number of stones in the outer circle was significant; six stones for the clanspeople themselves, six for the dhruids, and six for the gods they worshipped. One larger stone, lay collapsed in the centre; the altar stone.

  The ‘great gaither’ for the clan chiefs had been arranged by the dhruids to take place at Circal Rosich, in an almost deserted area in the southern part of Caledon lands. Whilst the dhruids agreed that it was a place of great sanctity and power, it had also been chosen for its neutrality. Although it was considered to be within the Caledon boundary, the area was only lightly populated and the chiefs had reluctantly agreed to its suitability for such a meeting. The dhruids had guaranteed neutrality and safety for all who attended, the power they held over the clans would ensure no one would break such a pledge. The agreement between clan chiefs and the dhruids was that no weapons would be taken to this ‘great gaither’ and clan chiefs were limited to two of an entourage; one dhruid and one other.

  Today Calach was a sentry.

  Tomorrow when the clan chiefs walked with the dhruids into Circal Rosich, he would be proud to be his father’s ‘second’; in his first official clan engagement.

  Calach halted within a stone’s throw of the camp perimeter, and motioned Aysar to continue into the camp.

  The sun had somehow managed to squeeze its last rays of light between two mountain peaks and the stone circle was radiant, each stone seeming to burn with an internal pink-red fire. On the north of the circle was a collection of thirty animal hide tents. This would be their home for the next two days. The large broch behind the standing stones was to be used for the cooking and storage of food for the ‘great gaither’.

  “We’ll wait here for Sewell, our dhruid, to welcome you properly, Ma’damar,” Calach said to the bearded chieftain,

  The three Meatae dismounted.

  “You play your part well, Calach,” Ma’damar said as Finlass gathered the reigns of all three horses. “Your faither would be proud, ‘You honor your teachers an’ your clan.’” He said, citing the old ritual praise.

  Aysar ran towards Ranald’s tent, and almost immediately chief Ranald Sewell emerged. They walked briskly to the edge of the camp. The two opposing groups of clans looked at each other for a moment, then, as one, both dhruids started to walk alone towards each other.

  When the dhruids reached each other, they embraced like old friends. They laughed and spoke for a moment, then Quen’tan walked to Ranald, while Sewell approached the visitors.

  “Welcome, Ma’damar!” The Caledonii dhruid said, embracing the Meatae chief. “You are ensured the safety of the brotherhood at all times at this meeting which we have called the ‘great gaither’.”

  “Sewell,” Ma’damar held the dhruid at arm’s length. “Now you’ve not changed at all!”

  “Hardly likely in just two summers, Ma’damar.” Sewell smiled. “I must ask you, though, if you or the members of your party carry any weapon of any kind. Only by your declaration can we safeguard you and your clansmen.” He bowed and waited for a reply.

  Calach witnessed the whole exchange open mouthed.

  Sewell knows Ma’damar; they’re acting like old friends.

  “As Chief o’ the clan Meatae, I say to you, Sewell, that we carry no arms to this circle,” said Ma’damar deliberately. “Although it’s my feeling that we’ll regret leaving them behind. Anyway, how are you? The last time we met, you were resting on a long journey from the south. You had stories of invading armies.”

  “I am fine Ma’damar, and a lot more has happened in those distant lands.” Sewell began to walk back to the camp leading Ma’damar by the arm. “The invading armies are still there, creeping north every day.”

  “Aye,” replied Ma’damar, “I daresay they are!”

  “Follow me and meet chief Ranald.” said the Caledon dhruid, “He wishes to let old grudges lie buried deep and perhaps begin to try some form of peace between the two great clans.”

  “I come to meet Ranald again wi’ open hands, an’ old grudges put well an’ truly aside,” said Ma’damar grimly, “I only hope that he can do the same.”

  “He has given the same assurances.” Sewell led Ma’damar to the assembled camp. Finlass followed, leading the horses. Calach brought up the rear.

  From the centre of the camp, they heard the sound of the hunting horn being sounded. Three long clear blasts marking the end of the day.

  As Ranald had predicted, Ma’damar had been the last to arrive.

  Calach was mulling over their conversation. He had no idea that Sewell knew Ma’damar, never mind had stayed with him at Barton. He exchanged glances with Finlass, who was looking around, taking in the whole scene.

  Calach waited for a lapse in the conversation, then spoke to his father, “Chief Ranald, can we be excused to wash?” He ran his finger
s into his matted hair to emphasize the need for cleaning.

  “Aye, son. Off you go.” Ranald smiled. “We’ll see you again when you’re more presentable.”

  Calach bowed slightly to the assembly. “Back in a wee while.”

  Sewell turned to the two of them. “Remember and place your bows in the broch; there’s no place for them in the camp.”

  “We’ll do that first, Sewell.” Calach turned in the direction of the broch, Aysar by his side. They chatted easily together, being firm friends since early childhood.

  As he stripped to the waist, and washed in the cold water, Calach thought that whatever happened over the next two days, it would be important. Never before had all seventeen clan leaders met in a single place.

  ~ ~ ~

  From a safe vantage point, hidden in the shadows of a tent doorway, Neall, the chief of the Damon clan watched his old enemy walk across the grass to the camp. It had been only a year since he had last seen Ma’damar, and that was during the Meatae chief’s latest cattle rieve into Damon lands. On that occasion, the pair had parted with curses shouted from afar, and a wave of swords. Neall had been outnumbered three to one, and as Ma’damar’s warriors had led the Damon cattle away, two of Neall’s men, still bleeding and warm, lay between them. He could still remember Ma’damar’s sneer as he had turned away. There was no love between these clan leaders.

  He watched as the two most powerful men in the Norlands embraced and went through the formalities of greeting. The dhruids beside them then began to talk and gesture to the camp and the stone circle. Neall grimaced at the sight of the two men in long grey robes. He had no time for anything that the dhruids had ever done, he considered them an unnecessary part of clan life. His clan only had a dhruid for formalities sake, and to keep the grey-robed dhruids and their gods off his back. Strange things happened to clans who had no dhruid, or who fell out with the dhruidic order for any reason.

  But, although he may not like the grey-robes, Neall was not stupid enough to openly cross them.

  He made no effort to disguise his opinions though, and arrogantly took no notice of anything that Pell, his dhruid, said. He was glad that after his old one had died he had been assigned a young inexperienced dhruid, and felt good that in his eyes, in one year, had already brow-beaten the poor lad to his own ways. Pell had come to the Damon clan with a quiet enthusiasm but Neall had soon put him in his place.

  Neall was here because he did not want to miss anything, there was no one whom he could trust to accurately recount the outcome of the meeting, and had been forced to attend in person.

  Neall shouted over his shoulder into the tent, “Pell, that’s the last o’ your grey robes here, perhaps now we can get on wi’ whatever you’ve planned for us.” When there was no answer from within, Neall turned round to see the young dhruid asleep on one of the wooden framed beds.

  “Typical o’ those lazy stone worshippers!” He hissed under his breath, and went out with the prospect of looking for someone friendly to talk to. With most of the chiefs knowing Neall’s reputation, that task might have taken him a while to accomplish. The third member of the Neall’s party, his brother Wesson, was also fast asleep, one of the few in his clan that Neall felt he could fully trust.

  Pell opened his eyes and grinned. He had heard all Neall’s barbed comments. The dhruids were fasting to gather power for their rituals in the ‘great gaither’; there would be no meal for them. He had also known for the last few minutes that Quen’tan had arrived; in fact he had felt him approach for quite some time. Each dhruid had an individual aura; more of a ‘feeling’, and another dhruid could detect it quite easily, even at a distance.

  Pell had known that assignment to clan Damon would be difficult; Neall’s reputation preceded him even to the dhruidic council in the far south. As a young boy, Pell had been brought up by clan Votadin in the eastern lowlands and after he had been chosen to join the dhruidic order by Kheltine, the arch-dhruid. Pell spent many years with the dhruids of the south, where he had studied under the grand-mage; a high honor indeed.

  Although in his clan assignment he purposely gave the appearance of the downtrodden, powerless dhruid, he was, in fact, a strong willed, clever young man and had been chosen for this task because of his incredible grasp of the power.

  It was thought that Neall could be more influenced by psychical methods rather than any other. In the year that Pell had been with clan Damon, through his telepathic administering he had guided Neall to allow one of his daughters to marry to a more suitable clansman than expected, and to allow around a hundred Brigante survivors to be housed and incorporated into the clan proper. Considering Neal’s belligerent ways, it had been quite an achievement, but Pell was very conscious that his efforts were only a small part of the firm hold that the dhruids had over the clanspeople in general. It was the biggest secret the dhruids had and was guarded by the lives of all dhruids.

  If the idea that the grey-robes could influence clan affairs ever became common knowledge, the dhruidic order would cease to exist overnight.

  ~ ~ ~

  Conrack cut deep into the turf, his dirk working quickly and efficiently. In a pouch at his side was the powdered ash from his fire, mixed with thin flakes of tree bark.

  The turf he cut was the same colour as the grass near the rocks above Circal Rosich; the powder the same shade of grey as the rocks he was going to hide in.

  Tomorrow I’m going to get a much better view.

  And he continued his work. A long ‘v’ shaped groove in the earth could hide a man. But if the groove was cut a little deeper, and the man lay the length of grass above him, it gave him an advantage.

  Chapter 2.

  The Opening of Dialogue.

  Summer 74 AD.

  The Norlands was littered with stone and wooden circles or solitary stones, erected in the dim and distant past by the first of the ancient dhruids.

  Each group of stones was ancient and had its sacred name. Each clan had its smaller and larger circles which were tended by the dhruids and used by them on all festive and ceremonial occasions. The circles were very much the domain of the dhruidic order; clansmen were forbidden to enter the sacred ground within the circles without dhruid permission. Everyone, however, used the location of the stones for meeting places or to aid navigation when travelling longer distances. There was a series of routes between the circles, some of which had been travelled so often that the track was visible on the ground. Most stone circles had some form of building or settlement nearby, to shelter the weary traveller (usually traders or the dhruids themselves).

  Calach changed into a tunic and trews woven in his clan pattern, his wet hair tied behind his head in a tail. Sentry duties abandoned, he would now take his place as his father’s delegate; his first ever official duty as chief’s eldest son. Ranald had said that at fifteen summers old, he should be learning some responsibility.

  Aysar on the other hand, had joined the other sentries who had now been assigned new duties. Some lit braziers, suspended on wooden stakes, lighting up the whole of the camp. Others had laid out the meat and soup on trestle tables, in the centre of the temporary village, along with platters of bread and cheese. There were also the obligatory kegs of ale, kept cool during the warm day in the chilly waters of the stream.

  Calach stood on the grass hillside, just outside the immediate torchlight and looked down as the seventeen chiefs of the Norlands clans dined together for the first time. There was little noise at the meal, the conversation was stilted, just the odd comment being made and the noise of mugs and plates on the tables. He wished he had been invited, but room was limited, he would sit with the other representatives, when the chiefs had finished eating.

  The grey-robed dhruids were all inside the stone circle in silent meditation, dwarfed by the towering stones, all barely visible in the encroaching darkness. Calach glanced at them, the dark shapes of the dhruids stood as still as the stones themselves, then turned his face away. Deference to the ord
er, even at a distance in the near-dark, was instinctive. He looked around the camp, and noticed the chief’s companions, waiting around as he was, for the invitation to eat.

  “Calach!” came a half shout, half whisper from one side.

  Startled, he swung round, his hand moving instinctively to where his dirk would normally have been. He cursed under his breath and peered into the murky evening, his eyes temporarily blinded from the light of the fires.

  “Good job the dhruids insisted on no weapons, eh?” Calach smiled and relaxed slightly as he recognized Finlass, casually walking over to him, his hand extended. They shook hands quietly, each appraising the other.

  Good job indeed. I would have had my dirk in my hand before I turned round. By Kernos, I must be really jumpy tonight.

  Finlass pointed to the chiefs, his smile illuminated by the torches. “At least they’re not arguing yet!”

  Calach resumed his gaze. “It’s difficult for them to argue! They’re hardly saying a word to each other.”

  “Aye, that’s true. But it must be strange; sitting at the same table as the man who last summer was raiding your cattle, or stealing your children for slaves.”

  “Aye.” Calach nodded with a sigh. “There’s a lot o’ bad blood lying under the surface.”

  “Some o’ it’s not so far under the surface. Look where my Da’s sitting.” Finlass pointed out the Meatae chief. “He’s between Ca’duell from clan Epidd, an’ Nevish from clan Cerones. They’re the only ones here he can talk to. The rest we’ve either raided them, so they hate us, or their lands are too far away, so don’t know us by anything other than reputation.”

  Calach looked at the patterns, noticing various separate groups; he simply hadn’t been aware of the divisions before. He suddenly felt immature beside the older Meatae warrior and quickly realized that the Finlass would probably have a better grasp of clan politics than himself. He shifted his feet nervously.