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

  “Just follow me an’ you’ll be alright, the path’s across is not that difficult to follow, but there’s some tricky jumps and turns involved.” He quickly took off his sandals and rolled his trews up to his knees and Calach, Lachlin and Aysar did likewise. Padraig then led the way, trudging into the loch, never going more than shin deep in the clear peat-tinted water.

  The walk out to the crannog was uneventful, if a little undignified. The walkway was built up of large stone slabs, half a man wide, laid on a submerged stone wall. The path was always just under the surface and zigzagged back and forth until it reached the doorway to the hall. If Calach and Lachlin had attempted the crossing without a guide, it would have taken them twice as long; a constant examination of the rocks beneath the surface was needed to ensure their footing. If an enemy was to cross without such a guide, they would have been vulnerable to arrow and spear attack from both shore and crannog for quite some time.

  By the time the party arrived at the crannog proper, they were quite a way offshore and the depth of the water was undeterminable. Padraig saw Calach staring down at his reflection on the surface.

  “At least two full men’s height deep, at this part.” He led them into the single roomed building. “There’s bedding, clothes and a little ale to whet your appetites. Make yourselves comfortable while I get the feast ready. If you’d like to join us in a while for some dinner and more ale, we’ll celebrate your Roman in style. Finlass will meet up wi’ us further south, near Circal Furgal further down the shores o’ the Lang Loch.”

  Calach thanked him, and as Padraig made his way back to the shore, he relaxed for the first time since their encounter with the Romans.

  “What do you think then lads?” Calach said as he lounged back on one of the beds.

  “I’ve slept in worse.” Aysar quipped. “Usually in Blane, waiting for you.”

  “Ah, shut up.”

  Aysar poured a small amount of ale into a tankard, then tasted the sample. “This isn’t bad Calach.”

  “Give some over here then.”

  Aysar sorted out three tankards, and filled them to the brim.

  “Hey Calach!” Lachlin was parting the curtains from a loch-side door. “There’s a boat here. Can we go out on the loch?”

  “No we can’t. It’s not a good idea to go out on the water when you’ve had a few ales.”

  “But I’m not allowed....”

  “When you’re with us Lachlin.... you’re allowed a drink or two. Aye Aysar?”

  “It’s already poured for you. Come on, we’ve been through a lot getting here, let’s relax a bit.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “They’re going to kill Uwan; we both heard them say it!” Benelek blurted, trying to keep his outburst to a whisper.

  Fetasius was still unconvinced. “They only said that ‘he was dangerous’, and as such should be watched carefully. If he tried anything again, they’d have to ‘take action against him’.”

  “No! I heard one o’ them say that they’d kill him!”

  “Aye, but only if he tried anything again!”

  “Punish, take action, or kill, we both know what that means Fetty; there’s only one punishment for anyone in dhruid training, an’ that’s death!”

  “But only if he tries it again.” Although Fetasius had been listening to the same conversation as his younger brother, he had an older viewpoint, and had tried for the whole day to keep Benelek from telling someone about it.

  “We’ve got to warn Uwan about it!”

  “We’ve got to do nothing o’ the sort. Uwan knew what he was doing when he joined the dhruids, besides which I’ve told you a’ day that if we even try to speak to Uwan now, we’ll a’ get into real trouble.”

  “But Fetasius, we’ve got to tell somebody. Maybe Bretha!”

  “Bretha? Are you daft? No! That would be even worse!” Fetasius’s grimace told of his feelings for such an act. “She’d tell everyone, you’d be as well to shout it from the top of the broch!”

  Bretha was well known for her ability to gossip, a pastime she never seemed to grow bored with. “Look Benelek,” He held his brothers face gently with both hands, “This is what we’ll do. Just to keep you quiet, we’ll tell Ishar, he’s been strict on us but he’s always been fair. Would that do for you?”

  “Oh come on Fetty, Ishar’s been so strict wi’ a’ our training, he’d tell Ranald for sure, then we’ll get into trouble for eavesdropping!”

  “I suppose so, but we’ve just got to tell someone!”

  “But who?” Benelek’s frustration was showing.

  “Calm down Benny.” Fetasius pleaded with his brother. “Think about it for a moment. I’m not quite so sure that Ishar would talk to Ranald.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think that Ishar would tell Ranald, Benny. I think that he would hear us out. I am his king after a’. I could command him not to!”

  “True.” They both laughed about the command, and ran through Lochery, commanding dogs and goats to jump or lie down, without any success.

  “Come on let’s see if we can find him.” Benelek said eventually.

  “It shouldn’t be hard, he’s been our shadow since he came here!”

  ~ ~ ~

  The sharp rasping noise of iron grating on iron rang through the afternoon air, Conrack sharpening his long sword, in the middle of a practice. He and his companion stood on either side of a small treeless area in the middle of a wood. The bare earth within the clearing was smooth with constant use.

  “Come on Conrack, get on wi’ it, we’ve not got all day.” Ma’teer said. The man was both Conrack’s friend and weapon trainer.

  “Shut up!” Conrack shouted, dropping the sharpener and, swinging his sword in a huge arc whilst springing across the natural arena. He drove his blade into the space where Ma’teer had been an instant before. The blade dug deeply into the earth floor.

  “You’ll have to do a lot better than that!” The heavily tattooed warrior, stood slightly to one side, shifting his balance from one foot to the other, his long sword held loose and casually dragging along the hard-packed earth of the forest floor.

  Conrack raised the point of his sword and lunged at Ma’teer’s stomach this time, but his weapon rung harmlessly off Ma’teer’s own, and on past his side. The older warrior slapped Conrack’s head with his free hand as Conrack passed him, following the momentum of his thrust, pushing Conrack into the bench seating which circled the edge of the training area. He crouched, panting, regaining his breath, his eyes wild with anger.

  “Arrgh, yaaagh!” Conrack swung at Ma’teer’s head, and when the stroke was blocked, kept the pressure on Ma’teer’s sword. For a moment they stood immobile, swords crossed and grating together, each bringing all the strength he could to the stalemate. The swords ground loudly together then, ever so slowly, Ma’teer’s sword was forced downwards, letting Conrack’s move closer to his trainer’s head. Conrack sneered as he realized that, this time, he was winning the struggle. Ma’teer stepped slightly back and tried to parry Conrack’s sword round and down into the earth again, but Conrack countered and swung his sword in a smaller arc. Round and round he drove his blade, sweeping Ma’teer’s sword with it, until eventually he brought them both driving hard into the ground.

  He quickly stepped forward and planted his foot hard on the end of Ma’teers trapped blade, transferring his whole weight onto the other’s sword. Conrack’s intention was to trap Ma’teer’s hands on the blade, and force him to the ground, but Ma’teer had anticipated the move. As Conrack stepped forward, Ma’teer let his sword drop. Encountering no resistance to his thrust, Conrack’s own momentum caused him to fall forward. If his move had gone to plan, he now should have been ready to bring his own sword up into his teacher’s belly, but Ma’teer slipped forward and with one hand gripped Conrack round the waist, whilst with the other pressing his quickly-drawn dirk hard against Conrack’s windpipe. Conrack’s long sword swung harmlessly in the air behind Ma’t
eer.

  The fight was over. The two protagonists stood as still as statues, locked together by Ma’teer’s grip, the only movement in the room was the older warrior’s labored breathing.

  Conrack, on the other hand, couldn’t speak or breathe; his adam’s apple was pressed so tightly by the flat of the small blade that he feared that his throat would be cut if he did either. He dropped his long sword to the ground and slowly raised both hands in submission. Carefully Ma’teer extricated himself from the tangle of limbs, all the time keeping the dirk hard up against Conrack’s neck until he stood two steps away. Slowly he lowered his dirk and slipped it back in the scabbard.

  Conrack swallowed hard and breathed for the first time in many moments. “Not bad Ma’teer, not bad at all!”

  “Not bad? That’s the second time I’ve shown you that move, an’ you still had forgotten the counter for it!” Ma’teer was shouting at the top of his voice, spitting each word at his pupil. “When your opponent drops his sword an’ moves in to use his knife, your move is what?” The teacher now stood, hands on hips, blocking Conracks retrieval of his sword.

  “I’ve got to drop my sword too, quickly step back an’ draw my dagger. Either that or I can use an unarmed drill to try an’ finish the fight.” Conrack repeated confidently.”

  “An’ why didn’t you use it?”

  “Ah had no time.....”

  “No time?” Ma’teer shouted, his face towering over Conrack’s. “Do you think your opponent will give you time to think o’ a’ the moves? Do you think that the faither who’s caught you in bed wi’ his daughter will give you time? No! Do you think the clan who you’ve just raided will give you time to think o’ the correct moves, the correct parries to their sword thrusts? No! You’ve got to be quick an’ sure.” Ma’teer re-traced his steps, picking up the weapons from the circle. “You’ve got to be confident in every move you make. But the most important thing o’ a’ is that when you’ve been shown a’ the moves by me, you’ve got to remember them!”

  The instructor moved to the bench and proceeded to dry his body with his plaid jerkin, before putting it on. “That way, dearest Conrack, you’ll never be surprised. You’ve got to learn to have an instinctive feeling for what’s coming next.”

  “But I don’t know what you’re going to do next Ma’teer!” Conrack shouted at his mentor.

  “Aye, an’ you never will if you try an’ rush the process!” He buckled his belt round the long jerkin, and slid the short sword by his side. “But you’re getting more an’ more natural instinct every time you pick up the sword.” Ma’teer said slowly, trying to encourage his pupil.

  “There’s just so much to learn, Ma’teer. I feel better wi’ the short sword an’ dirk.”

  “Aye, I know that you do, an’ you’re better wi’ them than most, but you’ve got to learn the heavy sword Conrack. It’s not the main close battle weapon; it’s much too clumsy for that, but it’s the main weapon for dueling an’ for competition.” Ma’teer started to pace back and forth as he lectured. “If you get into any kind o’ confrontation wi’ any o’ the warriors in the clan or outside it, they’ll choose the long sword to fight you wi’. There’s nothing surer. If you fight somebody wi’ a short sword, the loser usually walks away from the fight; first blood an’ all. If you fight somebody wi’ the long sword, the loser’s usually got a limb missing or he’s dead. It’s the weapon that you’ve got to be very good wi’, or you’ll be the one that’s dead!”

  Conrack nodded, smiled slowly and bent down to pick up his sword. As he went to grip the hilt, Ma’teer pounced at him and with both hands pushed him savagely onto his back, sprawling on the earth. He stood over him, an angry scowl on his face.

  “How many times have I told you never to look away from my eyes! Keep eye contact! Come on Conrack, pay attention! One time you’ll listen to me, one day you’ll take it all in, an’ one day it might save your life!”

  “I thought we were finished!”

  “We’re never finished until I tell you so!”

  Conrack slumped on the ground; he had failed in another lesson. He had forgotten one of the basic rules with one little lapse in concentration. He watched in silence as Ma’teer picked up his long sword to continue with the lesson. He considered apologizing, then thought immediately better of it; Ma’teer would only have berated him further for his weakness.

  Keeping his eyes on those of his teacher, he regained his footing, walked forward, fumbled for his sword, and readied himself for another bout.

  A while later, both figures stripped to the waist and soaked in sweat, they sat recovering from their exertions on one of the benches that circled the large training area. They had practiced with long sword, short sword, the short sword/dagger combination, and with dagger alone. Both figures had cuts and nicks, scratches and bruises, the larger amount being on Conrack’s body.

  “That was a good work out Conrack, you’re learning fast.” Ma’teer was wiping his body down with a cloth, soaked from a bucket of water at his feet.

  “Aye, but you were annoyed at me wi’ the long sword.”

  “It’ll come Conrack, it’ll just take a little longer wi’ that particular weapon.”

  They sat for a while and watched as two pairs of young twelve year olds had their first real training with the technique involving two dirks. Initially their lunges were wild and lacked any kind of co-ordination, it was a wonder that they didn’t seriously wound each other, but their trainer kept correcting them till at last their moves seemed to flow like some kind of choreographed dance. He made them take every move in very slow time, building them up to almost fighting speed in no real time at all.

  They dressed, gathered their weapons and walked the path back up the hill to the fort. An evening meal was always better enjoyed after weapon drill.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kat’lana stumbled wearily up the hillside to the refuge of their secret place. She looked all around for Calach, but could see no glimpse of the Caledon warrior, nor discern whether he had arrived before her. Sighing deeply, she curled up at the base of the tree, pulling her knees to her chest, and nestled into the hollow between the base of the tree and the ground to wait. She realized that she felt strangely comfortable despite the sharp edges of the stony ground beneath her and the rough pine bark, on which she rubbed her aching back.

  She relaxed, letting her mind listen for the sounds of the earth and the sky. Soon, after tuning to the undercurrents only she seemed to be able to hear, she felt the earth-song soothe her tensions...breezes softly kissed her hair...the harmonies of the wind and birdsong blended together and she felt the sounds tickle her ears. She breathed in the rich scents of the rain-washed glen, identifying every one individually, and finally began to allow the peace of the moment to flow into her young life-wearied heart. Kat’lana sighed again as she thought of all the ties to her clan which would soon enough pull her back to reality. There were responsibilities enough in life without wishing your heart somewhere else; nurturing, defending, providing, and simply surviving in the troubled times they faced, threatened to overwhelm even the strongest.

  When dusk fell, and the cold began to permeate her clothes, she was then sure that Calach had not been able to make the journey to meet her as arranged. Smiling at the thought of her patient warrior, Kat’lana pulled a sprig of sweet-smelling marjoram from her pocket. She hoped Calach would understand symbol of joy that she left in the hollow of the tree and that he would know that she would return soon with more time to spend...

  Kat’lana woke with a start, grabbing for her dirk in the darkened hut. This had been the fourth night in a row that she had had the same dream. It both comforted and disturbed her. Pulling her dirk close to her breasts, she curled up in her bed, and was almost immediately back to sleep.

  In a hut nearby, Winnie stopped her slow, tuneless chant. Her work done, she settled herself to an easy slumber.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ishar’s words came slowly.

  “Why do
n’t I like dhruids? I’ll tell you why I don’t like dhruids.” He said, in his strange halting version of the Caledon language. He drunkenly fell back onto his bed, folding his hands behind his head, and stared into the dark recesses of the ceiling in his hut. Fetasius and Benelek sat cross-legged, watching their protector form his words, eager to listen, happy at last that he was relaxed enough to talk to them as if they were equals, even if the relaxation had come through alcohol.

  “The dhruids killed my brother, Brodic.” Ishar began. He lay still for a moment, his eyes tightly closed, the skin around them drawn into his eye sockets. The boys watched as the tears began to form, then flow down his face, his body twitching spasmodically as he sobbed.

  “We’ll go Ishar,” Fetasius climbed slowly to his feet, pulling at Benelek’s sleeve. “We’re sorry to have bothered...”

  “No!” Ishar sat up, lifting his legs over the side of the bed. “It’s alright, I have to tell you now; I have to tell you the full story. It’s only right.” He sat back down and hung his head, seeming to find interest in the earthen floor. “If you fear for a friend, then I have to tell you the whole story.” He motioned for Fetasius to sit beside his brother. Ishar lay back on the bed again, cradled his head in his clasped fingers and closed his eyes.

  He started, erratically at first, until he gained a drunken fluency in his new adopted language which surprised his young audience. When he encountered words he could not translate, he substituted the Brigante or made gestures to carry the story forward.

  “Brodic was only fourteen summers old when they persuaded him to join the dhruidic order. He was one year older than me, an’ had been taught everything along wi’ me. We were as close as you both are now, an’ we were looking forward to join the king’s guard together; brothers to the end. It had been our family’s right for many generations.”

  “Then he started having weird dreams. He would wake up at night screaming and clutching for his dagger to fight the demons he was seeing in his sleep. Eventually, when mother had tried every remedy she knew for broken sleep, the dhruids were called in. They took Brodic away and two or three days later it was announced that he was going to be a dhruid. He had a ‘special aptitude’ an’ would be starting training straight away. The ‘cleansing process’ had started. I wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to him.”