Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part One: The Great Gather) Page 5

  Although he had not heard one single word, he had been left in no doubt as to the outcome of the meeting.

  Now his attention was split between the group of four and the main circle. He watched them both as the morning passed.

  ~ ~ ~

  Calach found himself sitting on the hillside in the company of Finlass, and two other young warriors.

  “Cam’bel is the eldest son of Ca’duell; chief of the clan Epidd.” The lanky youth offered his hand. Calach counted six tattooed fingers.

  “My clan’s land are the islands north o’ the Meatae.” Cam’bel’s accent was strange and lilting. “Finlass an’ I have known each other for a few summers.”

  “Ma’damar uses the Epidds for ships.” Finlass offered.

  “Aye, my folks build the best ships in the Norlands. Not a boast either, this is reputation!”

  Calach turned to the other figure in the group.

  “My name is Morro.” said the young man as they shook hands, Calach noting his age at fourteen. “From the Cerones, just to the north o’ Finlass, but on the mainland, no’ the islands like Morro here.”

  “Are we the only chief’s sons here?” Morro looked round at the broch for any others to join them.

  Finlass shook his head. “There’s Mauchty, but he’s here in place o’ his sick faither, he’ll still be in the circle.”

  “From the Venicones.” Calach added for the others.

  “We’re the cream o’ the Norlands; the new blood.” Finlass said with some enthusiasm. Calach watched him carefully, watching as his smile captivated the group.

  He’s doing it again, smiling. Getting them all on his side, just like he did with me last night!

  “You know,” Calach began, “Everybody’s going on about the fact that this is the first time all the clan chiefs have met.”

  Cam’bel and Morro nodded agreement. Finlass watched the Caledon intently.

  “But no one has said anything about the first time we chief’s sons have met.”

  “Finlass nodded. “Aye, true. Maybe we can come to some form of agreement that our Da’s would find impossible.”

  “Agreement?” said Morro and Cam’bel together.

  “Nothing improper.” said Finlass quickly. “Nothing that would mean we’d be disloyal to our clan.”

  Calach grinned. “How about just some form of informal treaty not to try and kill each other. That would be a start.”

  Cam’bel laughed. “Aye there’ll be enough to fight when the Roman’s come!”

  Calach found his attention focusing on Finlass.

  “Aye no point in killing each other,” agreed Morro, “We’d just doing the Roman’s job for them!”

  Calach found himself liking where this conversation was going. When Kheltine had asked for the unification of the clans, there had been a long pause before the bedlam had started, and he had begun to muse on the advantages of such a plan. Now, in the calm of further discussion, he still could not see anything but benefits from such a scheme. He was brought back to reality as he realized all three of the warriors were clasping hands in a three-way handshake.

  “Come on!” said Finlass.

  Calach felt even more foolish than he had the night before; in his pondering he had missed the whole conversation.

  What’s happening?

  “Aye come on Calach!” said Morro, smiling. “An oath that we won’t kill each other!”

  “Unless we have to!” added Cam’bel.

  Carried on by the feeling of friendship which pervaded the group, Calach joined his hand to the others. “Unless we have to!” they all chorused.

  Finlass’s expression changed suddenly, becoming serious. He used his other hand to clamp all four hands together.

  “We may need that oath sooner than we think. Let’s hope we never have to use it!”

  A chorus of “Aye” carried round the group, and somberly they disengaged their grip on each other.

  After the euphoria had died, Calach watched as Finlass skillfully changed the subject, first talking about ships, then tales of his escapades and hunting trips.

  He watched and listened as they exchanged opinions with the Meatae warrior. He felt glad to be included in the circle of friends.

  “The only thing more important,” Finlass’s contorted face was like that of a madman, “Is to find out which neighbor’s got the prettiest sisters!” They all laughed and the tension from the gather in the circle was soon put to the back of their minds.

  “You wouldn’t want my sister anyway, she’s just a glorified warrior.” said Cam’bel. “She’s acted like a boy for so long that she’s forgotten how to be a woman.”

  “How old is she.” said Calach, feigning over-interest.

  I don’t know why I’m asking, Da’ would never allow me to anyway!

  “Showing nine,” said the Epidd warrior, his long red-brown hair blowing in the slight breeze. “But she’s already maimed two young men who were looking for marriage.”

  “I’m bloody sure that I’m not going to be number three then!” said Calach quickly.

  “She’s feisty?” said Morro, picking his way into the conversation.

  “Aye. A ‘feisty bitch’ Ca’duell calls her. He says that he’ll never get rid o’ her.” said Cam’bel.

  “If she’s hurt two already, then she’s got no chance wi’ me.” said Morro, “I like my women to be graceful an’ feminine. Not another Boudicca who’d cut my throat at the first argument!”

  Calach was pleased in the direction that the conversation was taking, and generally relaxed, letting the sun warm him. Finlass was in good form as the discussion continued.

  “I might just run away! I might sail far over the sea with my love, an’ never return. We’d live on a remote island together and raise a family, an’ Ma’damar an’ the Meatae clan would be forgotten about forever!”

  “You couldn’t leave your clan Finlass,” Calach laughed. “You’ve got too much to lose!”

  “An’ Finlass, what do you know about delivering babies; you’d have to do it all yourself!” Morro countered, and they all laughed at the prospect.

  The conversation went from one topic to another as the morning lapsed into afternoon. They boasted of their prowess with weaponry and the discussion was heated when the comparison of sword to bow was taken up by Calach and Finlass.

  Calach had often thought it strange that Norland warriors did not rely much on the bow, his own favorite weapon. The sword and dagger were favored in general for close quarter combat, and Calach was quick and proficient with both. Warriors usually carried only the short sword, it was about the length of a man’s arm, with no guards near the grip. Finlass and Cam’bel agreed it was their favorite weapon. The longer sword was accepted as the standard weapon for dueling or encounters between larger groups of warriors and varied in length with the strength and height of the individual. Some of the longer swords were as tall as Calach himself, but he did not find the weapon to his liking; it was too unwieldy and slow for him, he preferred speed and dexterity to brute force.

  The spear and flyte were the accepted standard in the Norlands for targets at longer range. The spear was around the height of a man, made of ash or pine, and topped with a sharp, heavy iron point, but because of its weight, was limited in range. It was accurate, however, and spear-throwing contests within the clan were fiercely fought. It was also the chief hunting weapon for larger animals such as deer and boar; one spear usually being enough to bring down the prey. The flyte was of similar manufacture, with the same point, and although slightly shorter, was much heavier, with a notch at the base to take the short length of rope which launched it. The flyte almost doubled the range of the spear, but was not as precise. It was a weapon of mass delivery, only effective at long to medium range and in large numbers.

  ~ ~ ~

  As the afternoon passed and the conversation turned to the boys travels, Calach found himself almost ashamed of his lack of experience in travelling the various lands
in the North. Generally the clansmen did not wander outside their own clan territory, there was simply no need. The clan held everything a clan member could want, and traders travelling between the clans brought the rest. By the same token clansmen did not usually travel great distances, the longest most clansmen wandered from their homelands was when they joined raids or traded into adjacent or neighboring lands, and those were few and far between these days; most raiding now had been reduced to posturing and shows of strength. Calach had only travelled far three times that he could remember; once to the northern extent of Caledon lands with his father where he saw the sea for the first and only time, once on his hunting trials; alone into the forests and he had also once been to the edge of the Great Divide, the southern limit of Caledon lands.

  Although he had been young, he had gazed in wonder at the difference between the mountain ranges behind him and the contrast of the flatness of the land to the south, generally called the flatlands by the warriors of the north. Calach, in his fifteenth summer, had only just qualified for inclusion to the warrior group proper, (he had his eagle-claw necklace tucked into his tunic) and, like so many younger clan warriors, he had yet to join his first raid.

  “Calach.” Finlass said, much later. “You’ll to come an’ see Bar’ton for yourself. Bar’ton is such a bonny place.” He began to gesture, to illustrate his descriptions. “There’s the fort on the hill, wi’ the best view down over the flatlands that you’ll ever see. Then there’s the smaller fort down by the river, on the rock that rises from the river bed like the Earth Spirit’s thumb itself. From the smaller fort we get command o’ the river at low tide because the channel runs really close to the rock. Nobody can sail by us, up or downstream without our consent. We sometimes even see Roman galleys sailing up an’ down the river.”

  “You’ve seen Romans?” Calach blurted in disbelief.

  “Aye manys the time, although more over the last few years. We’ve fired at them a few times now, an’ they don’t come near the rock any more. You an’ that bow o’ yours, Calach, you’d be great on top o’ the rock, firing over to the rampaging invaders.” He made a grand act of firing an imaginary arrow high into the sky.

  “That settles it Finlass, I’m coming to see Bar’ton for myself.”

  “You should come to our lands in the west too Calach,” said Cam’bel, “I’ve never seen a real Roman before, but some o’ the clan have had sightings up the coast.”

  “Woah lads!” Finlass held his hands up. “I never said that I’d seen one close up! I’ve only seen them in their ships, although we know that they come ashore from time to time. We’ve had sightings o’ them landing to the north, but there’s always large numbers though, more than one ship o’ them.”

  “I’d like the chance to fight the Romans,” Morro said. “We’ve seen them an’ their galleys sailing around the islands once or twice this spring.

  “You’ll get your chance, Morro.” Cam’bel shook his head. “Because most o’ our land in surrounded wi’ the sea, we sight Roman galleys nearly every moon or so, an’ like Finlass says they do land. But we’ve never actually came into contact wi’ them.”

  “Aye they’re not daft, these Romans. If you look at the southern tribes that they’ve conquered, their army must be good.” said Finlass, again steering the discussion.

  Calach was staring incredulously at these young boys. All of them had seen Romans, all knew that the Romans were making landings, but still the chiefs argued about unification.

  “I’d take the chance to fight if it were mine,” mused the Caledon warrior, half to himself; a sentiment that was agreed upon by the other three chief’s sons.

  They talked through the afternoon until they agreed to visit Finlass, in Bar’ton as soon as they could.

  Calach had been rapt in the conversation, he had not seen the sun falling low towards the high peak, sending a red light into the circle.

  The chiefs sat in the distant circle with the dhruids.

  Then the horn announced dinner and an end to the day’s formal proceedings, and the four dissolved their little alliance and went back to the tented village to eat.

  ~ ~ ~

  Conrack listened as the footsteps behind came closer. A swish, swish sound of careful feet brushing against the grass on the hillside. He gripped his dirk tighter, glad that he had brought it with him.

  Has he seen me, or is he just walking this way unwittingly?

  The evening had set in and it would be difficult to see the prone figure in the darkening gloom. But not impossible.

  It would depend how close the sentry came to him. And he was getting closer with every step.

  Slowly, imperceptibly he turned his head to look over his shoulder in the direction of the sound. Through the grass falling down over his forehead, he could discern the advancing figure.

  He’s not looking directly at me, but that means nothing.

  He watched as the sentry walked straight towards his position, sometimes watching his footing, sometimes looking down at the fires of the camp.

  He’s not looked at me once.

  With a speed a snail would have been proud of, he shifted his hands under his shoulders. If he were discovered, he wanted to be quick to his feet.

  Run away or fight? If I run, I’ll have to ride through the night. They may catch me, but I doubt it. If I fight, he’s got a bow, but that’s all I can see. Perhaps he’s got a dirk too. That makes us equal. Now all I have to do is get an advantage.

  He realized that he had decided.

  He’s going to be bloody close! By Lugh, he’s going to walk right over me!

  Then the towering figure lunged forward and downwards.

  With a stab of pain, the prone figure knew that the sentry had stepped on the back of his knee, pinning him to the ground. He followed this with a crunching knee in his back, his whole weight behind the blow. The lone figure felt the bow sliding roughly past his forehead as the sentry tried to bring the bow round to his neck.

  “What have we here?” hissed the sentry. His breath passed through the lone figure’s hair.

  First mistake! ‘Always fight in silence unless you’ve something to gain’.

  The lesson came to him easily.

  “Trying to spy on us eh?”

  Again he felt the sentry’s breath as he spoke.

  Second mistake! You got too close!

  With a sudden lunge backwards the figure drove his head into the face of the sentry, causing a muffled cry of pain. Then he swiftly twisted his torso and drove the dirk into the sentry’s face, past bone. As he withdrew the dirk the sentry groaned again.

  Now!

  In one movement, as the sentry clutched at his own face, he twisted and pull the man firmly to the ground.

  With one hand he clamped the sentry’s mouth closed, forcing his jaw backwards.

  No more sound now....

  His other hand plunged the knife upwards under the sentry’s upraised chin propelling the blade up into his head.

  He held the body tightly until he was sure the sentry was dead.

  By Lugh!

  He spat to one side and sighed.

  Just what I needed. Another body to get rid of....

  Chapter 3.

  The Plan is Hatched.

  Summer 74AD.

  Calach paced the short length of the tent as he roared at his father. “What do you mean, they didn’t agree? On such an issue as this, they have to agree! They have to agree! Without the clans acting together, the Romans will crush us one by one.”

  “Son,” said Ranald quietly, “You need to remember who you’re talking to.”

  Calach’s mind was in absolute chaos.

  Oh, by Lugh, am I shouting?

  “Son, some o’ the clan chiefs will need time to come to terms with the thought o’ the clans fighting together.”

  “By saying ‘some’, you mean you!” Calach screamed.

  After his outburst, he squeezed his eyes tightly.

  I’ve gon
e too far this time.

  Calach watched as Ranald made quieting motions with his hands. In his rage, he had missed the early signs of his father’s temper.

  I must learn to read people better.

  Ranald took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Son, it’ll be a long time before the Romans get to our lands, that is if they get here at a’. I’m chief now an’ I say we wait. If the Romans come here in a couple o’ summers, I’ll be chief then too, an’ I’ll decide then what to do.” Calach’s face twisted with frustration. “Maybe a’ we need is time to adjust to what the dhruids were saying.”

  “We might not have any time.” Calach interrupted. “That’s what I’m trying to say! The dhruids seem pretty determined that the Romans will invade Selgove and Votadin lands in the next few summers.”

  “Then why is it so important for us; the Caledon clan, to act now?”

  “What?”

  Calach stalled. He suddenly knew that he was walking into a trap.

  Ranald continued. “Why’s it so important to you to defend the southern clans now? Caledon men are needed in the Caledon fields whatever Kheltine and the dhruids think. In the next few summers the fields need to be tended, the beasts still need to be slaughtered for winter food.” Calach breathed slowly. He was pleased that his father had not pursued his initial point. He determined to make an attempt to direct the conversation. “Do you want your own clan to go without because our men patrol the south? You should be making your own clan the priority.” Ranald’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Not the flatlanders!”

  By his silence, Calach tried to let Ranald know he was hitting home. It was time to try another direction, but Ranald took the lead.

  “Is this the kind o’ nonsense that Ma’damar’s brat has been filling your head wi’?”

  He’s seen me wi Finlass!

  “No one’s been filling my head wi’ anything!” Calach did not realize he was screaming again.