Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part Three; The Coming of Age) Page 3

  “I caught a few glimpses of him over the next few days, but he was always wi’ another dhruid so we only exchanged glances. Then one night I felt a hand being put over my mouth as I lay in bed. It was Brodic! He had come to tell me that he was fine, an’ was enjoying his new training. He looked so happy, an’ told me that it was a’ secret stuff an’ that he was going to be the greatest dhruid in the land.”

  Ishar broke down totally at this point, but whilst sobbing uncontrollably, still had the presence of mind to stop the boys from leaving with a motion of his hand.

  He waited until he had regained his composure, then returned to complete his narrative.

  “I never saw Brodic again after that. They said that he’d had an accident, an’ been killed in a fall, but I knew better. I knew that he’d been killed for coming to talk to me.”

  He caught Fetasius in a locked stare.

  “As they prepared the wood for his funeral pyre, I sneaked into the dhruid’s hut and looked at his body; there wasn’t a mark of any kind of fall. His neck was broken.”

  Fetasius broke the stare and looked at his brother. Neither boy had expected this when they had entered Ishar’s hut.

  “They cremated his body, or what they said was his body, an’ the whole family grieved for days. But I knew that they’d killed him.” He paused. “That’s why I have no time for dhruids.”

  “I hated them then. I hated them an’ I didn’t trust them. I vowed then, at the funeral, that one day they’d pay for what they did to Brodic, but I couldn’t do it as a farmer’s son. I trained like I’d never trained before, an’ eventually I became the one of the leaders of the king’s guard; just like we’d vowed as brothers that we would be.”

  Ishar was sitting up in bed now, the effects of the drink seemingly gone.

  “At the end, when the Romans broke into your father’s palace, he told me and my men to guard the dhruids temple, while the grey-robed sun-watchers made their escape.” Ishar breathed deeply and hang his head. “My men an’ me were to sacrifice their lives for the grey-robes! That was the final straw.”

  “I knew then that the time had come to avenge Brodic’s murder. I led the warriors under my command to their family rooms, an’ led the families o’ the guards to safety. As the guards took to the hills with their wives an’ families we could hear the screams o’ the dhruids.” He slipped his hands round till they clasped tightly on his ears. “I can still hear them as they died on the Roman swords.”

  “I told your father’s eldest born, Stravius, the whole story, an’ asked for his forgiveness in disobeying your father’s order. He immediately said that he’d forgive me. But now that you’re the king, Fetasius, I’m asking for yours too.”

  He looked at the boy-king, then half-falling from the bed, assumed a kneeling position in front of the now standing Fetasius. The older boy gave his brother a questioning glance, which was returned with a small shrug of his shoulders.

  “I ask your forgiveness, my King.”

  With a grace and eloquence which belied his years, Fetasius addressed the man. “Will you serve me as loyally as you served my father?”

  Ishar looked worriedly at Fetasius’s face. “I was always loyal to your father!”

  “An’ will you serve me as loyally?”

  “Yes I will, my king.” Ishar bowed his head.

  “Then there is nothing to forgive.”

  Benelek looked on and knew that Fetasius had performed his first act as King of the Brigantes.

  ~ ~ ~

  The deer was only a decent stone’s throw away, totally oblivious to its fate. The bracken hid three silent figures, crouched, bows at the ready. Lachlin had been watching every move his two older companions had been making, not a word had been spoken, every instruction conducted by signs in total silence. The three knocked arrows to their bows in readiness.

  Calach pointed through the thick bracken at the deer, then closed his eyes, feeling out with the hunters-eye. He could hear the deer’s pulling on the moss, then the subsequent masticating, he knew the deer’s position, he could see it in his mind.

  He opened his eyes to see both Aysar and Lachlin in deep concentration.

  The arrow shafts used in the Norlands were made from pine, straightened by heat, had three feather quills close to the knock, and were tipped with small, sharp iron points. The arrow, when delivered from a well strung bow could penetrate a bronze breastplate with ease, so they were usually lethal for quarry such as a deer. When hunting, the quills were made from swans wing, stark and white to help the hunter find the arrows if they missed the mark. In times of war, the quills were pheasant wing, brown and dull so they could not compromise the position of the archer.

  Calach let out a quiet hiss, followed by one from Aysar, then Lachlin.

  As one they silently sprang into action, rising quickly, they righted their bows and fired, all in one impressive motion. Three arrows flew to their mark.

  As soon as Calach had loosed his arrow he opened his eyes. The deer had looked up to see the origin of the arrows hissing. It died as all three arrows struck it squarely in head and neck.

  “Wow!” Lachlin shouted, jumping up and down.

  The next few moments were full of euphoria, all three diving through the bracken and bramble to reach the supine animal. Then all three blooded the kill, driving their dirks into the warm flesh. They offered thanks to Lugh, wiping their bloodied dirks in the grass.

  “Lachlin!” Calach pulled on Lachlin’s sleeve.

  “Aye?”

  “If we were on the move, continuing the hunt for more game, what would we do now?”

  “We would tear the abdomen open, spilling its entrails onto the forest floor!” Lachlin laughed, his excitement undaunted.

  “An’ why would we drain the beast?” Aysar asked.

  “Because the meat will last longer.” Lachlin replied.

  Calach smiled at his brother. “Aye. An’ why don’t we do it now?”

  Lachlin returned the smile, content to be taught by his elder brother. “The women will want the hide free o’ blood for a start. They’ll butcher it neater than we could do it here, an’ that way, no dirt’ll get inside the carcass to sully the meat.” He sat back on his heels.

  Calach finished the lesson. “The clan also use the organs inside for cooking and

  lots o’ other uses.”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you know the way back to the village?”

  Lachlin nodded.

  “Get a few of the men. This is too big for us to carry.”

  Lachlin slung his bow over his shoulder, and took off.

  “That was his first kill using the hunters-eye.”

  “Good hit too.” Aysar said. “And the meat will make a change from fish!”

  They laughed together. They had been with Padraig for less than a day, and the village’s main diet of fish was already beginning to tell on them.

  The next day, Padraig woke the three Caledons early, ready for the next stage of their journey. As Shu’ain had promised, the horses looked well for their two day rest. Calach slipped something into the boy’s hand before he mounted.

  “What...?”

  “Shh. Just a wee something for doing a good job.”

  Shu’ain opened his hand and looked at the eagle’s talon. Calach had taken it from his necklace the evening before for such a presentation.

  “It’s from a hawk?” He asked.

  “The king o’ the hawks Shu’ain. The golden eagle o’ the mountains o’ Caledonii.” Calach said. He watched Shu’ain’s eyes open wide as he spoke. “It’s from my warrior’s quest necklace. It’s to bring you luck.”

  Shu’ain was examining the talon, then looked up at Calach sheepishly. “Thank you Ard-Righ. I’ll get it put on a thong for me to wear a’ the time.”

  Calach smiled at the continuation of the title.

  They quickly mounted and made their way out of the village, heading down the west side of the loch.

  “
You’ve made a friend for life there son.” Padraig smiled.

  “It was just an eagle’s talon.”

  “It was kindness rewarding good work; that is always remembered.”

  Again Calach fell silent, contemplating Padraig’s attitude rather than his words.

  Although he considers himself a Meatae, there’s an undercurrent of something here which needs investigating.

  They travelled for the rest of the day, stopping only to water the horses. They were introduced at each crannog village they passed, and were given food for their journey, but Padraig never offered a halt to eat it. They ate as they rode, throwing the bones to the following seagulls.

  Calach questioned him on the land beyond their vision, the hunting, the fishing and many other mundane topics, and Padraig, to his credit, answered freely. But Calach was given more than a few references to Ma’damar’s type of rule. It became clear that the Meatae chief was stricter with his taxes than Ranald, and visited his outlying villages less. Padraig had more dealings with Finlass and Conrack than with their father.

  As the evening began to settle, Padraig pointed to a village by the shore.

  “That’s the end o’ the loch. We’ll meet Finlass there.”

  The village was quite a way round the shore, and Padraig made no attempt to speed the horses over the last stretch.

  “What’s the village called?” Aysar asked. Lachlin was almost asleep on his horse; it had been the longest day on the saddle since they had set out from Lochery.

  “Ballch.” But Padraig made no effort to elucidate further.

  As they eventually approached the outskirts of the village, Calach could see Finlass standing by one of the nearest huts. He raised a weary hand in salute and was greeted in turn.

  “What kind o’ journey?” Finlass called, as they neared.

  “Eventful enough.” Calach shook hands with Finlass.

  No one else spoke. Even Lachlin’s exuberance had been curbed by the long day in the saddle.

  “Tell me over an ale and some good hot food.” Figures moved from the huts on each side to take the reins of the horses. Calach and the rest of the group dismounted and a round of greetings and introductions were made.

  Finlass stood close to Calach. “Morro and Cam’bel are already at Bar’ton.” He said softly. “Morro will ask to marry Llynn after we arrive. I asked him to wait; the suspense is killing him, although I think Faither knows why he’s there.”

  “He’s bound to by now, from what you tell me.” Calach said.

  “He’s been seeing her for a few moons now.” Finlass continued, telling Calach something he knew already. “It looks like we’ll have our first inter-clan marriage for a few years.”

  “Excellent.”

  ~ ~ ~

  With precision timing Conrack was riding out of the hill-fort, as Finlass, Calach and his party were riding up the hill to the entrance. He pulled his horse in front of the party, forcing Finlass to rein his mount to a halt, the group stopping behind him.

  “Greetings Older Brother!” Conrack sneered.

  “Conrack.” Finlass said tonelessly.

  “Am I not to get an introduction to these additions to your list o’ bosom friends; your new well-traveled companions?”

  As Finlass presented his friends to his brother, Conrack took great care to look at each in turn, smiling as he did so, not letting his glance linger on any one in particular.

  “So. We meet at last, Calach o’ clan Caledon. I’ve heard so much about you!”

  “An’ I, you, Conrack.” Calach replied. “It was nice o’ you to greet us at the gates. Bar’ton seems to be as bonny as Finlass described it.”

  “Aye, my brother seems to be as free wi’ his words as he is wi’ his invitations.” Conrack held Finlass’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary, then with a shout, Conrack rode down the hill in the direction of the river.

  “So that was Conrack then.” Calach said.

  “Aye.” Finlass replied.

  ~ ~ ~

  As he rode, Conrack’s thoughts were in turmoil. That made four chief’s sons in Bar’ton.

  Four.

  Probably the most to get together in one place since last summer. Something auspicious was happening in Bar’ton, and whilst he was present, he was being kept out in the cold by his own brother.

  Conrack had not been idle over the winter period, gathering information and piecing together small pieces of gossip and hearsay to try to determine exactly Finlass was up to. He found that like anyone else working on incomplete information, he had more questions now than before.

  Morro had been to Bar’ton before the ‘great gaither’, but had been a more frequent guest in the last year, paying court to Llynn. Then, almost unobtrusively Cam’bel had joined the select group. But Conrack had noticed, and had been preoccupied with getting to the bottom of the group’s plans.

  The arrival of Calach was not entirely unexpected, and made things clearer, Calach was in on the conspiracy too, and Finlass was obviously on very friendly terms with the Caledonii.

  So the group grows to four. How many more do I know nothing of?

  First the multiple visits of the young chief’s son from the Cerones clan from the islands to the north and the young warrior’s attention on his sister, Llynn.

  What are they up to?

  He had considered that until the picture of what Finlass was doing was complete, there was no point in confiding in anyone, but now he had to contemplate letting his father, Ma’damar know the details. He rode in a large circle and entered the fort by another gate. An audience with his father, before the new visitors could see him, was now firmly on his mind.

  Chapter 10.

  The Meatae Capital. Summer 75AD.

  The view from the battlements of the hill-fort was every bit as spectacular as Finlass had described it. The wide river Clyta flowed past serenely at the base of the steep slopes, reflecting in deep blue the cloudless sky above them on this glorious summer morning. It seemed to the young visitors that the whole of the flatlands rolled away to the south before them. Their host leaned over the stone palisade and drew their attention to the landscape immediately below.

  There was a short stretch of woodland which extended from the base of the cliffs to a high rocky up-crop of land, directly adjacent to the north river bank. Finlass was pointing out the small fort which encompassed most of the upper areas of the grass covered rock.

  “That’s our battle fort.” Finlass pointed at the lower fortification. “From its walls we command the river at everything but high tide. The deep channel runs near the fort, so only at high tide can anyone passing avoid our arrows.” Finlass spent considerable time acclaiming the strategic advantages of their defensive system, but Calach lost interest almost instantaneously. He was drinking in the panorama like the sweetest apple juice. In his own lands, they had tree-cover in the south and the purple heather covered moors in the north, but beautiful as they both were, they could not compare to the vista before and below him. The variety of colors, the greens, the blues, the deep tan of the wet sandy beaches either side of the meandering river. The panorama was as varied as it was beautiful.

  After they had arrived, they had been met by Morro and Cam’bel, visiting to see Ma’damar. The party stood on the ramparts, waiting Ma’damar’s summons. It had been decided that when Ma’damar’s summons came, they would enter as a group and meet the chief together, safety in numbers being the main concern.

  He was brought back to reality by a sharp dig in the ribs.

  “An’ you’re in a world o’ your own!” Finlass drew Calach’s attention to the two other visitors as they climbed back down into the main town area. “It’s time to meet with Ma’damar. He’s waiting in the main hall.”

  “Sorry about that, it’s such a great view.”

  “Aye, you’ll not get one much finer than that.” He gestured to the steps. “We’d better get a move on; no chief likes to be kept waiting.”

  “Aye.”
Calach turned to his brother. “Come on Lachlin, don’t lag behind, and when you go into the hall, keep by me. But don’t stay behind me, Ma’damar will see that as a weakness.”

  In moments, they waited outside the hall.

  The huge circular main hall was a fitting centre-piece to the town. The circular walls were pine trunks driven into the earth, so close to each other that no gap was visible and the roof was a conical construction of pine planking covered in turf. The whole roof was supported by a series of thick pine pillars, carved in circular patterns, some old, some newly carved. Around the walls inside were raised tiers of pine benching; stained and worn. The floor was simply the hard earth, packed after years of frequent use.

  Conrack strode across the hall, climbed the steps to Ma’damar’s huge carved chair, and stood behind it watching the group.

  Finlass led them across the floor till they stood at the foot of the steps rising to Ma’damar’s chair.

  “Welcome Calach, son o’ Ranald!” Ma’damar growled. “An’ to your brother too.” The pair inclined their heads. “Did you have an uneventful journey?”

  “Not quite Ma’damar.”

  At the chief’s insistence, Calach quickly told him of the meeting with the Roman centurion and thanked him both for the invitation to visit and the talisman.

  Ma’damar listened with interest, scratching his beard. “We’ll have to see about stepping up the patrols in the north Finlass!”

  “Aye Faither!”

  “You too Conrack!”

  “Aye, we’ll see to it Faither.”

  Ma’damar straightened himself up in his chair. “Well Calach lad, you’ve come here once, you know the way!” The chief laughed heartily and slapped his thighs hard. “Maybe even persuade that devil o’ a faither to travel wi’ you next time?”