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

  “You’re not going to tell this part of the story are you? I don’t want this part told, it would be a crime on Rulen if this were part of the story. They raped her, you know, they raped her, then threw her into her rooms to get ready for more. That’s when she did for herself and the baby. Promise you won’t tell her story Winnie. Rulen was a beautiful girl, she’d still be fine now. I don’t want to sully her name or that of the baby.”

  Winnie was still holding Jak’s hand closed. She shook it gently, getting his attention.

  “I promise I won’t tell of Rulen and the baby Jak.”

  But I have to know the child’s name. I’ve came too far to stop here.

  “I’m glad Winnie. I trust you.” For once Jak looked absolutely sincere. “There’s something about you that makes a man trust, do you know that?”

  Winnie got to her feet, thanked him for his information and began to walk away.

  “Can I not interest you in a drink somewhere?” Jak said to her back.

  She turned to him. “No thank you Jak, I must go north tonight, back towards home. Although this is still in Votadini territory, Hamble is too close to the south for me.”

  “I understand Winnie.”

  She half turned away. “Oh Jak?”

  “Yes?”

  “The baby’s name?”

  “You’re full of questions Winnie love. You get this one for free. Baby’s name was Dalain. Named after Boudicca’s mother.”

  Dalain.

  Winnie managed to hold herself together long enough to say ‘thanks’ and ‘goodbye’, then she walked in a trance through the town directly north.

  “Dalain” She repeated to herself time and time again. Sometimes under her breath, sometimes out loud.

  When she was out of the town proper, she fell to her knees and held her face in her hands.

  What a story this is! Just a pity I cannot tell a soul about it.

  Rulen, daughter of Boudicca. She’d had her mother’s guile and bravery to the end. When she knew that there was no chance of saving herself, she’d bundled the baby off, and substituted it with another. The babe had been taken out of the Roman lands, fleeing to the north, to safety. The Romans had been duped. They had found Rulen dead, she had killed her baby, then done the same to herself. Brave woman. But then disaster struck; on the journey north, the baby’s guardian had been killed, leaving the baby to die. Then the hermit had found her, crying, and taken her in. It all made perfect sense. Rulen’s baby; ‘a long child’ Jak had called her.

  It was a fine story.

  Just a pity I’ll never be able to tell it.

  It was then no wonder she, Winnie of the old ways, Bannith, had been drawn to look after Kat’lana. No wonder that Calach and Kat’lana had been drawn together, just at her sexual awakening. It all began to make sense. Winnie had sensed something strong in Calach, even as she helped him to his feet that fateful day. Calach was going to be a powerful man in the Norlands.

  And Kat’lana was Queen Boudicca’s grand-daughter; probably the lone descendant of the Iceni royal family.

  A fine story indeed.

  ~ ~ ~

  Calach struggled up the loose scree slope. Every step was an effort, every step pushing a wave of stones down the hillside as he reached for his next foothold. He had travelled the way many times in the past and had found the optimum route, small hollows in the pebbles evidence of his previous journeys. As he made his steady progress up the slope, he was aware of eagles, circling in the blue sky; their cries coming faintly to his ears.

  Eventually, warm and sticky with the effort, he made the top of the rise, where the rocky scree gave way to short, wind-beaten grasses and clumps of aromatic heather. He saw his destination; a lone pine tree, gnarled with age and weathering, standing alone in a small hollow on the side of the summit of the hill.

  From his approach, it was clear that the meeting place was deserted, and he felt loneliness, and a longing for the familiar face which usually awaited his arrival.

  This time, as he walked into the depression in the hillside, he was alone. His attention was drawn to a sprig of herbs, jammed into a break in the bark of the tree. He pulled the dried fronds from the tree and raised them to his nose. Inhaling deeply, he felt the smell fill his senses, almost immediately he saw an image of the object of his journey. In the picture Kat’lana smiled and said she was sorry to have missed him, then faded from view, leaving him once more alone on the hill.

  Calach’s woke with the dream vividly imprinted on his mind; the third time in as many nights. He wondered if it was just the air of Bar’ton, or perhaps some magic was being wielded against him here, but dismissed the thought immediately. He rose quietly from his bed and crossed the strange room to the open door, where he stood breathing deeply; trying to re-create the feeling of warmth he had had in the dream. He looked back into the hut and made out Lachlin’s sleeping form. He took a step outside and gazed up at the cloudy, night sky, lit from behind by a hidden moon, and wondered what Kat’lana was doing, pictured her looking at the same sky.

  He shook his head slightly and started off in the direction of the battlements, determined to see the great river Clyta in the filtered moonlight. His eyes soon became accustomed to the grey-dark and he traversed the town easily.

  ~ ~ ~

  Winnie lowered her hands to her sides, her work done, and began the walk to her hut, at the edge of the town. The same type of cloud formation was above her head, but a little lighter, as dawn threatened from the east. The Votadin capital got the best unrestricted view of sunrise in the Norlands, unencumbered by obstruction, looking over the sea. As she passed Kat’lana’s hut, she stole a glance inside, and reassured that the still form under the coverlet was in peaceful slumber, carried on to her own dwelling.

  Kat’lana Dalain.

  She mused over the work she had been performing, and smiled. It was easy for her to direct the two young people together; there was enough initial physical attraction to enhance her workings. She felt good trying to bring happiness to her young friend, but she felt power in the workings of Iceni and Caledonii.

  What a combination!

  With a sigh of resignation, Winnie knew that Kat’lana needed to leave Votadine lands in order to grow on her own, free from the direction and assistance which she herself felt obliged to give. Winnie felt strongly that Kat’lana needed room to mature, to expand her grasp of the ‘old ways’, they were not taught as the dhruids taught their rituals. Each proponent of the ‘old ways’ found their own path, and Winnie was sure that Calach was the catalyst the Votadine girl required.

  Soon Winnie reached her hut, where she soon settled down to sleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Can you no’ sleep?” Calach looked round to see Conrack climbing the steps to join him on the ramparts.

  “Conrack.” He said dryly. “It seems as if I’m not the only one.”

  “It’s my turn on watch.” The Meatae replied. “We Meatae still take our turns, even the chief’s sons!”

  “As do in Lochery.”

  “But here it’s different; this is the border. This is the frontier; we’re looking over a conquered neighbour. The Damon clan look up at us and know fear. They fear Meatae iron. Meatae swords.”

  Calach knew that Conrack was provoking him, taunting him with the same criticism that Ranald had at the ‘great gaither’. One day diplomacy would win where brute force could not. Although he did not agree with some of Ranald’s policies, this one was clear.

  The Meatae drew level with Calach and turned to look at the river, far below.

  “It was a fine deal you an’ Finlass set up.” Conrack smiled.

  He’s fishing for something.

  “What deal are you talking about?”

  “The wedding.”

  Calach had spoken to Conrack a few times during the last three days, but never alone.

  “It was a good deal set by Ma’damar.” Calach corrected. “Finlass an’ me were just witnesses, as you were.�
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  “Aye, Calach, but a good deal just the same.”

  “Aye it was good for the Meatae anyway, you’ll have a fine ship out o’ it!” Calach turned to watch the young warrior.

  “Aye. Good for ‘all’ of us, Calach.”

  He then turned on his heels and walked away, leaving Calach wondering why he had entered into discussion with him in the first place.

  “Questions!” Calach said quietly into the night air, as he turned once more to watch the river, glinting far below.

  “So many questions.”

  Their return to Lochery, although a pleasant trip, was uneventful, and in the late summer they arrived home.

  Ranald immediately sent for his son.

  “You have been to Bar’ton.” Ranald paced the room as Calach stood. “An’ seen Ma’damar an’ a’ his greatness.”

  “I have.”

  He came in close, his voice spiting into Calach’s face. “Well lad, I canna stop you from doing such, but I will make it more difficult. Every time you leave this village, you’ll have two of my men with you.”

  “That’s no’ fair!”

  “It’s fair, or I’ll nominate someone else to be chief after me.”

  Calach immediately shut up. The whole of his plan involved him being the chief’s second.

  It was going to be a long winter.

  Chapter 11.

  A Wasted Year. Autumn 76AD.

  The harvest was particularly easy to bring in that year, but the easy work only gave Calach more time to think out his grievances. The summer had been warm, and the beginnings of autumn had brought no rain to flatten the wheat. As Calach worked, he cursed his father with every sweep of his short, curved blade. He looked up at Aysar, cursing and cracking a whip over a heavy oxen team. He watched the animals, yoked and pulling hard, their muscles straining against the tree stump they were trying to uproot.

  “That’s how I feel!” He muttered. “Chained to this place!”

  He bowed once more to his task. Every slender dry of stalk of wheat bore the curse as he thrust the blade. The woman behind him bundled the stalks together, tying the bunch tightly. She knew better than to ask Calach to explain his anger. She had received the sharp side of his tongue more than once that day. Calach had not even bothered to ask her name.

  “I should have been there!” He fumed under his breath, as he stepped forward past the felled wheat. “I should have been there, an’ he knows it!”

  He forced his blade into the earth and straightened his back with a grimace.

  “Time for a break, Lud?” The woman asked.

  Calach turned in anger, then after a swift intake of breath, nodded to her.

  With a smile, she shouted to either side.

  “Lud Calach says it’s time for a break!”

  He looked as the workers gratefully downed their tools and relaxed. Some stretched themselves, some just collapsed on the ground, sitting, and too tired to return to the side of the field for their food. Calach realized with growing certainty that he was farther ahead of everyone else in the work party. All were well behind him, and a definite channel of cut wheat ran back to the others. With a hand shielding his eyes, guilt swept over him as he noticed the late position of the sun.

  “Have we had a break today?” He asked the retreating woman.

  She turned and wearily shook her head.

  It was now well past midday, and Calach could remember working from early morning.

  All that time with no break? Have I really been so wrapped up in myself?

  Resolutely, he determined to counter the wrong done to these innocents.

  I’m angry at Ranald, why should the people suffer?

  “Hey, everybody!” He shouted, walking back through the channel he had cut, back to the rest of the workers. “Gather round.”

  Most of the clansmen and women came to him without complaint. He waited until the last had walked over to him.

  “I’m sorry.” He said, watching their faces as he spoke. “I didn’t realize how long we’ve worked without rest.”

  “You’ve worked harder than anyone, Lud Calach.” One of the men said.

  Heggie, I think he’s called.

  “Aye, we sort o’ slowed down after a while!”

  Their humor sparked through their tiredness, and most laughed.

  “Well, there’ll be no slowing down tomorrow!” Calach said, and their laughter died abruptly. “We’ll finish the field then. We’ve done enough for today.” The relief on some faces was clearly visible. “Settle yourselves down an’ get something to eat. I’ll go back to Lochery and negotiate us some ale.”

  There was a slight cheer.

  “I may not be able to get much, but it’s better than nothing!”

  He stalked off in the direction of town, the stubble of the fields hurting his feet through his heavy leather boots. As he walked, he noticed the heat on his shoulders and back; bare for most of the day, they had caught the autumn sun.

  My shoulders will be hot and sore tonight!

  The walk gave him time to reflect and re-focus himself, and his guilt at his hard driving of the harvesting party had cleared any anger remaining.

  Yes! Ranald had forbidden him to attend Morro’s wedding. And yes! Ranald had forbidden him to travel west in any direction without taking one of his men with him, but that was no reason to take his temper out on the innocent clanspeople.

  He opened the door to the storeroom and selected a small barrel, which he tucked under his arm. Smiling he carried it back to the grateful workers in the field.

  With a wave of his hand, he left them to their rest. He needed time on his own.

  He had seen Sharra three times since his visit to Bar’ton, three times on the full moon, when he knew that Finlass would be waiting for him at the next village. Each time he had journeyed with Ranald’s man, each time hoping for a chance to get through to Finlass, and each time he had been watched like a hawk.

  He had been forced to commit Aysar to the main secret, and to send him forward to contact Finlass in his stead.

  On Aysar’s return, some days after the full moon, his friend sat and recited both Finlass’s greetings and news.

  After Morro and Llynn had been wed, they had settled in the Cerone capital of Malig and, according to Morro, the ship was under construction supervised by Nevish, Morro’s father. Cam’bel frequent trips with Morro, to give some support to him, had taken a real shine to Nevish’s niece, and although she was not a chief’s daughter, it was a good thing for an alliance in the islands to the west. Finlass had told Aysar that Roman galleys were frequent raiders there, and a union of the islanders could only be good for all concerned.

  Finlass had sent various messengers to Neall of the Damon clan, requesting that he could be granted a chance to meet with the chief, but they had returned. All requests had been rejected out of hand by the chief, and had been venomous with his replies. Without travelling through Damon lands, Finlass had ridden to the Selgove and had met with the chief there (Aysar had forgotten his name, and Calach had not fared better), where he had been treated well, and had pledged his own support for the southern clan if they were attacked. At this point Aysar handed Calach a necklace with a snake; the Selgove sigil, this was for Calach’s safe passage, if he needed it.

  With a shake of his head, he strode through the main gate, making for the central brochs. He knew there were many barrels of ale in Mawrin’s storerooms; Calach knew that she would neither miss one, nor care if he took it without her consent.

  But at least I’ve not been idle in my year of semi-imprisonment. Ranald said I couldn’t travel west! He never said anything about going in any other direction!

  Calach had done so extensively, both last year, and since the spring this year.

  With Aysar as a constant companion, Calach had spent last summer riding round the nearby towns and villages. It had been time for Calach to make the Caledon people aware of his existence.

  With the Caledons a
ware of his feelings of the Roman threat, he and Aysar had then set out on a visit to the Venicone, where Calach renewed his acquaintance with Mauchty, and been introduced to his father, chief Gillaine. Although the chief had made a brave show, it had been obvious to both Calach and Aysar that the old man had not long to live.

  At the ‘great gaither, the year before, when Calach had questioned Mauchty regarding his convictions towards the ideas of clan unity, it had been obvious to Calach that he was firmly on their side. Calach had decided that it was time to introduce the Venicone warrior to the secret side of the plan. When Mauchty realized that inter-clan marriage was part of the new order, he had told Calach of his sister Anne’s dalliance with a minor chief in the Taexal clan to the north. They had been seeing each other “in secret” for two moons, and it seemed to Mauchty that perhaps an official union between the two was the ideal solution for everyone.

  It had been an opportunity too good to miss.

  With Calach and Aysar, Mauchty had ridden north to the southern part of the Caledon lands, then east along the coast of the Tayme river estuary into the farmlands of the Taexals. In a town by the sea called Deddia, they soon found the town’s head man; a warrior called Eorith, the subject of Anne’s affections. When Eorith was told of the plan to let them marry, he was overjoyed, and agreed to accompany Calach to meet Ter’eak, his chief.

  That night, Calach and Mauchty had celebrated another clan alliance, and parted to convince the appropriate chief’s to allow the union; Mauchty to see his father, Gillaine, and Calach to see Ter’eak of the Taexal clan.

  With Eorith, the bridegroom-to-be in tow, Calach and Aysar had ridden north to Staven, the largest town of the Taexals to meet with Ter’eak. Calach had no fear of the meeting; the Taexals had always been the closest to their own clan in family ties. At the campfires of the Taexals on the way north, they had met old friends; clansmen who had traded in Lochery or Blair. At each camp and town, Calach had told the warriors of the Romans gathering for an invasion of the Norlands, and had been amazed at how many had actually seen the Roman Galleys sailing past the coast.