Nemesis

by C. R. May

  Terkinos nodded that he understood, and his father paused and looked upon him with pride. He was as fine looking as any man in the village, and certainly not the fool that some members of the community seemed to think. The years at sea had shaded his skin a golden bronze and corded his arms and shoulders with layers of muscle. His hair was testament to his mother’s people and the dark strands whipped forward in the gusting breeze as he looked. Despite the lad’s handicap, Tereno would find him a fitting gwraig if he had to search every village along the coast. He sighed at the boy’s misfortune for the thousandth time as he turned to look back to Terkantu. ‘Bring her about, let’s get back. It will take the rest of the daylight hours to tack into the teeth of the headwind as it is.’

  Terkantu nodded, bracing his foot against the bulwark as he pulled the big steering oar into his chest. The bows of the Dolfinn slowly began to come about as Tereno unlashed the braces and prepared to heave on the spar, altering its angle to the wind. He glanced up as he realised that his son was not back on the deck and gave the mast a hefty kick to gain his attention. ‘Terkinos, come on, let’s go. I need you to play out the other brace.’

  Tereno shuddered as a dark cloud moved across the face of the sun, throwing them into shade. As the watery light faded he felt a knot of anxiety tighten, and he chastised himself for being led out to sea during the season of storms. His mood had darkened as suddenly as the day and he snapped out impatiently as his sense of worry grew. ‘Terkinos, get down here. We need to go!’ To his surprise his son barely seemed to acknowledge his words as he returned his gaze out beyond the bows. Tereno jumped up and slapped his son’s foot in anger. ‘Terkinos!’

  The boy moved his head to one side and called down without shifting his eyes from the sea. ‘There is a raft of some sort ahead of us – the wolves are circling it.’

  Tereno wrinkled his brow and exchanged a look of exasperation with Terkantu.

  Terkinos finally looked down, and the pair could see the bewilderment writ large on his face. A feeling of dread crept upon the old fisherman as he began to sense the hand of the gods in the events of the day. ‘A raft? Is it empty?’

  The boy shook his head. ‘No, there is a druid standing on it. She’s waving at me!’

  * * *

  Catumanda made to open her mouth and winced with pain. The ferrous tang of fresh blood played about her tongue and she instinctively flicked it forward to moisten her parched lips. Forcing her eyelids apart, an involuntary groan escaped her as the cracked and taut skin protested at every movement. A shadow detached itself from a corner of the room and a blinding light flashed for a heartbeat as a door was swiftly opened and closed. She rested her eyes again, but a kindly voice at her elbow made her start. ‘Hello, druid. My name is Ama.’

  Catumanda opened her eyes once again and blinked as she attempted to focus on her visitor. The woman smiled reassuringly, and began to dab the druid’s cracked and swollen lips with dampened wool. Catumanda sucked hungrily at the fluid, but Ama laid a hand on her brow and made a soothing sound. ‘There, there… slowly, slowly,’ she purred. ‘You are not the first we have saved from Manannan’s hall. Take a little at a time. If you drink too quickly it will kill you.’

  Catumanda nodded weakly that she understood and Ama’s face broke into a warm smile. ‘We will see how you are later tonight.’ She dabbed again. ‘Perhaps we can try some fish broth then. My daughter has gone to fetch the master – they will be back soon.’

  Ama rose and walked across to refill the bowl, and Catumanda used the opportunity to take in her surroundings. She was lying in a bed, covered by what looked, and smelt, like a bearskin. The hut itself was not unlike the roundhouses she knew from home, although the walls here were made of stone, rather like the ones which she had seen in Ordovicia on her journey to the Spirit Isle with Ruffos and Clop. Despite the stab of pain it produced, she allowed herself a smile at the memory of her travelling companions and imagined them safely back in the valley outside Tigguocobauc. The big carter was unloading great cheeses of chedwr while his son and daughter played happily in the yard and Alwena compared the southern effort unfavourably to her own, onion-flavoured varieties.

  A circular hearth was piled high with burning logs and the sweet smell of pine pervaded the room as it burned, the smoke rising in wisps to blacken the thatch roof. Ancient leather hinges creaked as the door opened, and a rectangular pattern of light appeared on the earthen floor of the hut as Ama’s daughter returned with their master. Catumanda tried to push herself upright as the outline of a man appeared in the opening but Ama had returned, and she laid a hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Stay down, mistress,’ she chuckled. ‘We don’t want anything popping over the top!’

  The woman’s master had reached the bedside and Catumanda was overjoyed to recognise that he wore the garb of a fellow druid. The man laughed gently at Ama’s remark and sat on the stool. ‘I am afraid that your druid’s garb was beyond saving when Tereno and his lads brought you ashore. I had them burned when a few of the women were washing the salt from your hair and body.’ He smiled again. ‘I had a supply of the same wool with which to make my robes, and I instructed one of the women to use your old garments as a pattern before they were disposed of. They should be ready soon. However,’ he exclaimed with a sudden flourish, ‘I do have these!’ The druid held up Catumanda’s crane-skin bag and druid’s staff. ‘How you managed to save them from the shipwreck I can’t imagine. The gods clearly had you under their protection.’

  The man opened his mouth to launch into his next revelation but Catumanda placed her hand on his sleeve, causing him to pause. Her mind still felt turgid after her long sleep but she craved the answer to two questions and her parched throat managed to rasp the first, despite the discomfort. ‘Philippos?’

  The druid slapped his forehead, melodramatically. ‘Forgive me; the boy is well, considering all that he has been through. He is not yet up and about, but he has eaten.’ Catumanda winced again as her smile tore open her salt ravaged lips. Despite the pain the blood had helped to dampen her mouth, and she pointed at him weakly as she attempted to speak again. ‘What is your name?’

  He grinned and sat up proudly. ‘I am sorry, we don’t have many visitors in these parts and I thought that Ama would have told you.’

  A voice came from the shadowy depths of the roundhouse and Catumanda recognised that it was the voice of a woman who was used to dealing with the grinding cheeriness that flowed from the man sat before her. ‘She has just woken after a terrible ordeal, master. Remember?’

  The man waved a hand in the air, lifted a cheek, visibly strained and farted. Sniffing the air he gave a nod, obviously satisfied that all was well with his innards. ‘Of course, of course.’ He shook his head again in wonderment as his mind drifted to the act of her survival. ‘They told me that they found you adrift on the hatch cover of a large trader. You must have some story to tell – I can’t wait to hear it!’

  Her brother druid seemed about to ask her to recount the tale, despite her condition, and Catumanda decided that she had grown beyond caring what his name was. Her skin was taut and painful, and a wave of nausea swept through her as her body seemed to realise that it had finally stopped rising and falling with the motion of the waves. She moved a hand to touch him lightly on the sleeve once again and beckoned that he come closer. He lowered his head and smiled warmly. ‘Was there something else?’ She licked her lips with a bloody tongue so that her voice would carry before replying in a tormented croak. ‘Yes: go away.’

  * * *

  Catumanda stood as Ama moved around her body, gently applying the balm to her weather-beaten skin. Although still as tight as a drum and shiny as an autumn apple the pain was far less now, and she was beginning to feel her old self again. The druid’s name, she discovered the next day, was Olindico O Olinoco. He was sat now beside the hearth sharing a joke with young Philippos, and she looked upon the boy with pride. Despite the pain it had been one of her proudest moments when she h
ad been told that he was alive and well. The faith that the lad had always displayed in her on the Alexa was touching, and her last promise to Hesperos that she would take care of the boy as they faced the power of the storm had been fulfilled.

  The prolonged exposure to sun and sea had taken a terrible toll on her pale northern skin, but she was slowly recovering under the expert care of Olindico and Ama. Philippos, of course, had come through the ordeal in much better shape, his olive skin and youthful powers of recovery responding well to the care and good food that had been lavished on them since they had arrived back on land.

  Ama moved around to the front of her body and knelt before her as she cradled the bowl in the crook of her arm. Catumanda chuckled to herself as the woman flushed and looked anywhere but straight ahead as she applied the unction to the folds of her skin.

  Neither she nor Philippos knew how long they had been cast adrift on the hatch cover but it had certainly been many days. It had been over a week since the storm had blown itself out and they must have drifted north with the current for miles. The sodden wool of her clothing had rubbed large areas of her skin raw, and Olindico had prepared the balm using his knowledge as a druid. The application had become a daily ritual that Catumanda looked forward to, and she was pleased to find that the pain grew less each time. She suppressed a giggle as Ama finally reached the area that the druid now knew she always put off until last. If Olindico’s servant was anything to go by the women here in the south were far more reticent about being seen naked than those at home. She herself had grown up in Camulodunum, and the young women there had certainly never bothered whether anything was ‘popping over the top’ or not.

  Ama cleared her throat and glanced up apologetically. ‘I need to, erm – I need to do the cracks and crevices around the erm – around the… your…’

  Catumanda could see the discomfort in the other woman’s eyes, and as she moved her legs apart she asked a question to take Ama’s mind off her task. ‘What is in the balm, Ama? I can smell honey, but there is something more.’ Ama looked up, thankful for the interruption, and the druid choked off a laugh as she nodded downwards. ‘I should look where your fingers are going if I were you, before both our days are ruined.’ Ama’s mouth dropped open and she quickly looked back as colour flushed her cheeks. Catumanda exchanged a smile with Olindico and spoke again to the flustered woman. ‘Is it some kind of oil?’

  Ama nodded vigorously as she quickly completed her task. ‘Yes, it is the oil from a certain part of a fish. We mix it with the honey and it is good for many things.’

  Catumanda thanked her and slipped into the linen robe that Ama found for her. Soon her skin would be healed enough to bear the weight and feel of wool, and then she would continue with her quest. Her dreams were infrequent now but she knew that the gods would not be satisfied until she had visited each of the individuals or locations that had been revealed to her in the cave beneath the Spirit Isle. She wondered on the images again as she took her place with the others and spooned her broth.

  The boy, Dun, had been the first, followed by the terrible head of the monster on the beach. She had thought for a while that they might be one and the same, but they had only led her to the white cloud that had been revealed as the old Greek trader, Alexa. Despite her wretched condition she had almost cried with joy when she recognised the man at the top of the mast of the fishing boat that had saved them. The raven-haired man had first appeared to her in a moment of terror beneath ground in the Spirit Isle, and she had been shocked to see his image included along with those of her dreams in the cave later. She had been led to this place; the gods could well have sent the fierce storm that sank the Greek ship, and she felt a stab of guilt that she may have been indirectly responsible for the deaths of Hesperos and his crew – men who had shown her nothing but kindness. Only the mountain of fire remained, and she wondered idly if it could be found here in Iberia.

  Catumanda purred as the warmth of the soup relaxed her. She really was beginning to reclaim her strength, and she looked across the flames to her host. ‘How long will it be before my new moon blade is ready?’

  Olindico shrugged. ‘Quite some time, I would guess. I told the smith that you would not be needing it for a while.’

  She drew back her head in surprise. ‘But you gave him the drawing that I did for you?’

  The druid put his bowl down and looked at her with what she regarded as an almost fatherly eye. ‘Catumanda, you are not up to leaving any time soon. There will be no ships passing through the Pillars of Hercules this side of spring. The seas along this coast are killers of men.’ He paused and arched a brow. ‘And women. You of all people should be aware of that fact. No, I am afraid it is not possible. I have told everyone that you will be our guest here until next spring.’

  He picked up a fresh faggot from the pile at his side and tossed it into the flames, humming to himself contentedly as he arranged the bundle to his satisfaction with a stick.

  Catumanda was a full druid now and she bit back a retort as her anger threatened to flare. The gods had led the fishermen to her for a reason and her brother druid should understand that. Besides, she would let no man tell her what was or was not possible. Ama and Philippos sensed the change in mood immediately, and paled as they watched her struggle to contain her emotions. She placed her bowl down beside her as Olindico happily poked at the embers. ‘How far is it to the metalworker’s forge?’

  The druid glanced up and the smile fell from his face as he finally caught the mood around the hearth. ‘A full day’s walk. Why?’

  She nodded. ‘Then ensure that my new clothes are here at sunrise. We will set out after breakfast.’

  * * *

  The trio paused as the path approached the crest of the spur and looked back at the sea. Despite the lateness of the year the weather was set fair, the visibility stretching away for miles. Below them the River Dubro, shepherded within its steep-sided valley, snaked westwards until it emptied its waters, ribboned with silt, into the sea.

  Catumanda took a last look at the wide ocean and imagined the Alexa offshore, ploughing its way south only weeks before. Of those on board the wide bellied trader only she had known that it was crewed by those about to die, and she smiled sadly as she brought a picture of the men back into her mind.

  The brawny owner and his mate, Hesperos and Markos. She had watched as they grasped forearms in a final act of friendship as the killer wave had engulfed the ship. Arion, the gangly ‘coxcomb’, so proud of his silver beard rings and colourful chiton work shirts. Poor Hektor, never to lay eyes upon the boy he would name after his father.

  She moved her gaze across to the fishing village that hugged the southern shore. Cale was a nondescript collection of huts and animal pens, much like hundreds of others along the coast. Fishing boats were drawn up the length of the beach, their colourful upturned prows in ordered ranks as the nets dried after a day’s work.

  At least one family there had cause to thank the gods that the red-haired druid had visited them. She had come to the home of Terkinos the previous evening; despite her misgivings, the power of the spirits had been strong. These were, after all, Celtic lands, and she was soon harnessing that power, channelling the life force of mother earth and father sky through her body and into the raven-haired boy.

  His hearing restored, the debt repaid, Catumanda turned and put Cale behind her.

  Five

  The bel tree stood abandoned, still festooned in its gaily coloured streamers, as the men mounted their dark geldings and turned their heads to the east. It was the second day of summer and the people were still weary from the previous day’s celebrations, but all were present as they collected together to wave their men off to war. Aia moved among them, passing up cups of cervesia to the grateful warriors as they basked in the admiration of their clansmen, and Solemis felt a kick of excitement as he watched her move. Her blood was late in coming, only by a few days, but she assured him that it was unusual, and he sent a prayer
to the gods that she really was with child. He chuckled to himself as the men took the cups from her with bashful smiles. She was already a popular and valued member of the clan, and if she was with child the gods would know that it was no accident.

  Eventually, her duties fulfilled, she came to his side, and he bent low to share a parting kiss as the women of the clan began to ululate and shadow the slowly moving column. Pausing at the stream that marked the border of their lands, the warriors turned back and raised their spears in salute. Their last wistful look up the valley took in all that they held dear in the world; their gwraig – other clansmen and women, children running here and there – were caught up in the excitement of the moment.

  Taking one last look at the ochre caps of the roundhouses nestling among the greens and browns of the southern summer, Solemis turned Tantibus’ head to the south and dug in his heels.

  * * *

  The road approached the border at a tangent before turning south for the last mile as it hugged the eastern bank of the river. Solemis led the great column of Senone warriors towards the crossing place ahead as he scanned the bridge for signs of life. A small hut lay off to one side, a thin grey line issuing from its smoke hole, and he watched with relish as he waited for the occupant to come to life. Every crossing point here seemed to contain a man whose only function in life was to take silver from travellers for the mere act of travelling. It was a custom that bemused the Celts, who seemed to value their freedoms far more than the people in the new lands. Just as they were about to conclude that the hut must be empty after all, a small figure emerged into view, and Solemis exchanged a grin with Albiomaros as they saw the surprise and shock register on the face of the official.