Pagan Curse (Tribes of Britain Book 2)

by Sam Taw

  When his vessel was full, I watched him splash the cool liquid over his face and hands, fill his mouth and swallow, and then begin the walk back to camp. There is far more to this than just the sweet taste of spring water.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I waited in the woodland, sitting on a fallen log for the best part of the morning. Every tribesman and woman that passed by were marked by the tattoos of the Priest Sect. Each of them came to fill their pots with spring water. Determined to get to the bottom of this turn of events, I returned to my hut to find Jago and Cryda. With my slave tasked to deliver the tonics to those in need, I bundled my kit in my bag with my knives and grabbed my stick. I expected a long walk and it would be uphill all the way.

  The slope was gradual at first, the river plain wide and soggy under foot. I stayed close to the wooded edges, where the rain drained through the sandier soils. I stopped now and then, gathering what provisions I found along the way, but there were slim pickings to be had in such a poor community. It made me wonder why the Alchemist’s didn’t take more tin for themselves. They could easily supplement their own wealth and we would be none the wiser.

  Having spent a few moons with their leader, Kenver, I realised that his abundant kindness towards us, didn’t necessarily extend to those in his clan. He cared for their welfare, so long as they maintained the quotas of tin production my family insisted upon. I vowed to speak with my nephews, the new joint Meterns of the Dumnonii about this state of affairs.

  Picking my feet up, I trudged in a north-westerly direction, further inland and away from my kin. I had a notion about the devious priests, but I wanted to prove my theory false. The thoughts flitting through my mind that could explain their peculiar behaviour were low indeed. My fears were not based wholly on my imagination, but on the many times through which I had seen past their illusions. The old man had a habit for well-timed performances, ramped up with a little help from his warriors. He was a showman through and through. I was convinced that he would stoop to any lengths to prove his rune cast true.

  Before a slow meander in the river, I found another small cluster of shelters. These lowland farmers and gatherers had many young, and all were sick. I could smell their suffering from quite a distance, their washing hung across willow hurdles bore the stains of their mess. These people were not miners and not part of the priest’s warning, and yet they were stricken with the same fever as those in our camp. As I walked on, I found a fork in the river just passed their houses. The smaller tributary branched off to one side of the farmers, while the larger water course carried on around the bend upstream.

  I dallied for a while, indecision halting my progress, before an idea alighted in my mind. Sitting on a tree stump next to a pile of chopped logs, I waited for someone from the roundhouses to come outside. As I predicted, I did not have to tarry for long.

  “Ho, there!” I called out to a young lad carrying a piss pot.

  He tipped the contents out onto the midden and wandered closer to me. “Who are you?”

  I didn’t answer him. “Where do you and your family collect your water, this ere river…” I nodded in the direction I had walked. “Or that stream yonder?”

  “Mother gets it from the stream.” He said, squinting up at me and letting the drips of piss splatter over his bare feet.

  “Good lad.” I heaved myself up, handed him a few grains of tin and some blackthorn bark. “Tell your mum to make a hot tea from this and give it to those with the squits.” I left him looking up at me with a puzzled expression and wandered along the adjoining stream.

  This water course was far narrower. It was too small to support boats, rendering it almost deserted. The banks were muddied with animal tracks and difficult to plod through. Despite the cold snap, most of the bulrushes were still tall, with a fair amount of silt and weed built up in the channel. It was hard to believe that anyone had trodden this path in an age, and yet there were footprints ahead of me. Following them through a small field, I came to the end of my search.

  There in the stream lay a half dozen dead goats, tied to a post by their horns. Their swollen bellies lifted them high in the water and maggots crawled from their eye sockets. This was no accident. These animals had not slipped together from the river bank and lashed themselves to a stake in the middle of the channel. This was a deliberate act to spoil our water supply.

  “In the name of Cernonnus, I’ll see that priest swing from the highest tree for this”, but as I spat my anger and cursed the man for all he was worth, I realised that I could not prove my claim. There had to be a way to make the slimy kyjyan admit this terrible act of vengeance on our tribe. There were too many carcasses to clear from the stream myself. I needed serious help to sort this out once and for all. Keen to be rid of the flies and stink, I hurried back to the farmers’ houses and told them about my findings, urging them to find a cleaner source of water.

  Stopping to rest a while, I ate some curd cheese from my bag and a couple of crab apples. My thirst was raging but I could not drink any water from the river or from the bladder I’d brought with me. Just as I packed away my things, ready to set off again, I heard hooves cantering along the bank ahead. Horse and rider came into focus as they drew closer, my anxious heart steadied with relief. It was young Derwa’s new husband from the mountains.

  “What are you doing all the way out here, Fur Benyn?” He asked, pulling up on the reins.

  “We’re family now, boy. You can call me Meliora if you like.” From his frown and tucked lips, I figured that it didn’t please him to be on first name terms with me. I have no idea why that should be the case, I have tried to be welcoming to the lad despite his parentage.

  I gave him some pathetic excuse about needing a particular herb for my kit and couldn’t find it nearer to our camp. “Where are you galloping off to without your new wife in tow?”

  He looked uneasy, scratching at his beard and thinking about his response. “I um… thought I’d go and hunt for a bit, give Derwa a couple of days to herself. She’s always so cross with me, I can’t do anything right.”

  “Give her time, lad. She’ll come around, just you see.” I had to say something to soothe him, even if I didn’t believe a word I’d said. Derwa had a special kind of stubbornness seldom seen in our family. It could be down to her being the youngest for so long. With another half-sister just born, I can only see her tantrums increasing in number.

  The lad from the Ordoviches Tribe still looked sour. “Is she always so disagreeable about everything? I can’t seem to make her happy whatever I do.”

  “That’s what being bound to someone means, putting up with the good and the bad. Maybe a couple of days away will benefit you both.” It was another statement of which I did not mean. If anything, their time apart would only give them an excuse to get close to other inappropriate people in the tribe. What worried me the most, was that in the Ordo’s absence, Derwa could get re-acquainted with the father of her aborted child. What kind of trouble would that girl stir up now? If she lays with another and gets caught, it’ll be more than our Ordo copper supplies that would be in jeopardy.

  I let the boy go on, with my word that I would keep an eye on his wife. He cantered off smiling for the first time since his binding ceremony at the wooden henge of life. There was little point telling him otherwise. No one listens to the old lady of the tribe, despite her wise nickname.

  Puffing and blowing hard, I reached our hut before the sun was low in the sky. I could see the masts of Tallack’s boats pulling close to shore. What a relief to have him back. Dumping my kit in the entrance to our house, I instructed Jago not to drink the water, and to share the news with Cryda as soon as possible.

  “Did you have any trouble hiding the sword?”

  “No, Fur Benyn. It lies in a tunnel at the top of the valley.” He looked pleased with himself.

  “And no one saw you?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t be absolutely sure, but no one pays any attention to the comings and goin
gs of slaves.”

  “Good lad.” Without delay, I hobbled down the path to Blydh, who sat outside his house skinning a couple of rabbits.

  “Nephew, come quick. The water is poisoned, fouled with rotting carcasses.” At first, he thought I’d lost my wits, but as I breathed through the cramping pain in my weary muscles, I settled to tell him about all that I had found that day. This time, I did not leave out my suspicions as to who could have caused such an outbreak, adding my sightings of the priests at the spring head.

  It was only then, when Blydh had sent a dozen warriors to rid our water of the rank odours of death, that I began to realise what I had set in motion. With more warriors at his back, and Tallack’s crew hot on their heels, they set out to demand an explanation from the Priest Sect. In a fit of panic, I rushed to catch up with my nephews reminding them that I had no proof with which to accuse them. They paid me no heed, charging across the footbridge and into the heart of the priests’ tents.

  Blydh did not wait for permission to enter the leader’s shelter. He thrust both fists through the opening and ducked inside, to return moments later with the old man bent low and held at the back of the neck. Cowering on his knees, the bony shaman begged to be heard.

  “Speak.” Blydh growled, throwing him to the ground at his men’s feet.

  The priest stayed low to the ground, trembling in an exaggerated manner. “Oh, great Metern, are we not family, you and I? Why am I treated in this vicious way by kin?”

  “Pah!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t help myself, it just shot from my mouth before I could rein it in. The whole of Tallack’s crewmen and all of Blydh’s hunters now stood silent awaiting my reply. “As if you don’t know what you’ve done.”

  “Me, Fur Benyn? I have no idea to what you are referring. I have been tattooing a lovely young lady in my bunk all day, just ask her if you don’t believe me.” He gestured behind him, pointing to the glassy-eyed woman staggering from his tent, addled on hemp and ale. She trotted a few more steps and then launched herself at Blydh’s half-brother, Paega.

  “Not this day, but before. You claim that you foretold this terrible ague that spreads across our tribe, yet it was you who caused it in the first place.” I practically shouted at him; my vitriol had been brewing all the way home. At this point, the crowd was swollen with people from the mining settlement and all of Kenver’s family and friends, curious about the noise and those gathered.

  “I swear by all that’s holy; I know nothing of what you speak. I have been in camp since the funeral pyre of my dear granddaughter and the murder of Lady Eseld, both my flesh and blood.” He hung his head and faked a loud sob. I wasn’t taken in by the old fool and neither were my nephews. His clan though, were loyal followers. Their murmurs and mutterings grew in volume until a few began to shout of his innocence. He cradled his head in his hands for a moment and then peered up at me with tear filled eyes. “If this tribe has been laid low with the flux, it is not by my hand. All I could do was predict it happening.”

  There were more outcries of “innocent”, and “he speaks directly with the gods.”

  Paega, who had brazened out his brothers’ banishment, now stood to defend his grandfather’s honour. “Our clan leader should not be disrespected in this way. Let him to his feet. How dare you treat those of us in mourning with such a heavy hand.”

  Blydh’s face reddened. A vessel in his temple pulsed and his breathing quickened. He’d seen first-hand how the sickness took people, especially the young and the weak. They were his tribe’s folk now, and his vow to protect them was uppermost in his mind. Paega had revealed himself as nothing more than a liar and a liability. Our Meterns had no time for his protestations.

  “I can assure you, Fur Benyn, I am innocent.” The priest said in a sullen voice.

  “You say that, yet you walk all the way up the valley to collect your water, when the river here runs right past your tent. All your clan do the same. What do you have to say about that?” I blustered, jabbing at him with a rigid finger.

  “A local woman told us of the sweet spring further up the hillside and I told a few others. There’s no harm in that, is there? Of what are you accusing me?” He fluttered his eyelashes, trying to appear innocent. The ruse didn’t sway me for one moment, but there was no actual proof with which to condemn him. I sighed and flounced away, growling to myself. As I neared the footbridge, I spotted young Derwa heading towards me. She was ashen in the face, yet she glowed with beads of sweat.

  “What’s all the fuss? I could hear the shouting from my hut.” Her eyes rolled about in the back of her head, before her legs gave way beneath her sending her crashing to the ground. I took two big strides to her side, but I couldn’t catch her in time.

  “Ho, there!” I yelled above all the noise and clamour. “Tallack, Blydh, come help.” I screamed it a couple of times before they heard me. Pushing through the crowds my nephews ran to my side, tapping their half-sister’s cheeks and encouraging her to come to her senses. Nothing worked. They called to her, shook her and pinched her arms, but the best she could do was to roll her head around as though it was attached to her body on a string.

  “Aunt Mel, do something. Make her better.” Tallack whined. His fondness for the girl had never faded in all their years. She was the youngest and most spoiled of Aebba the Wild’s children. The old priest got to his feet and scampered over to his granddaughter, cupping his hand over his mouth and nose.

  “See what you’ve done, you meddling kyjyan!” I bellowed at him. “And all to prove that you could channel the gods and their will.” My nephews widened their eyes at each other. It was seldom that I used such language, especially in front of them. I held my hand to the girl’s forehead. She was burning up, just like the others. With her so feeble and weak, it would be almost impossible to get my tonics down her throat without choking her.

  Blydh rose slowly to his feet and squared up to the priest, his fists clenched tight, his teeth clamped together in a snarl. “Admit what you have done and we’ll go easy on you.”

  The old man looked at me and then at his granddaughter lolling on the ground and then back at Blydh. His trembling was genuine this time. He’d already lost all but Paega in his family, Derwa was the last female of his direct line. “It was never meant to get this bad. Just a few people with the squits, was all I expected. Then Paega suggested that we put more goats in to make sure.” He bit at his nails and blinked rapidly at Blydh. “You said you’d go easy on us, if we told you.”

  Blydh’s tempered melted into a disquieting calm. The throbbing vein in his head eased and his fists unclenched. “And that we will.” Blydh nodded to Tallack who immediately grabbed the priest by the arms and twisted them behind the old man’s back. Their warriors closed rank around them, blocking all but Paega from attack.

  Tallack leaned over me. “Can you help her, Aunt Mel?”

  “I’ll do my best, if one of your men can carry her back to her hut.” I knew that the quicker I could treat Derwa, the greater the chance of her recovery, but I couldn’t tear myself away. I had to see what Blydh would do.

  The priest squirmed and darted, trying to break free from Tallack’s strong grip. His priestly warriors jostled against the broader and more powerful head hunters, but they could not claw their way past to rescue their clan leader.

  “You said you’d go easy on us…please, be merciful.” The priest whimpered. Paega made a grab at Tallack, scratching and mauling to lessen his grip on the old man. Tiring of his attempts, Tallack swiped him away with the flick of his arm. Forcing the priest back down onto his knees, Tallack took a length of rope from one of his crew and bound his wrists behind him.

  “As Chieftains of the Dumnonii, sons of Aebba the Wild and rightful leaders of all the clans under our protection, we name you guilty. The punishment for this crime is death.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The crowds were hushed and still. I thought there might be time for reason and debate, an opportunity for the old man to
make amends for his mistakes.

  Blydh unsheathed his bronze sword, and in the last dying flickers of winter light, swiped it down across the man’s neck. The cut was clean, severing the backbone in a decisive slice. Blood splashed in a great puddle with flying spatters showering the twins and those around them. The priest’s head thudded to the ground, teetered on the flat of the forehead, before rolling into the blood pool.

  Paega cried out and fell to his knees. It was a howl of desperation, and felt by their entire clan. Blydh acted by instinct and with a cool temper. He never gave his foes the opportunity to explain or retaliate. Now he turned to his half-brother, his sword still dripping with the old man’s life force.

  “You were party to this treachery, brother. You must also pay.” Blydh drew back the blade, altering his stance to carry out another quick death sentence, but Tallack clasped his shoulder.

  “No, Blydh. We have lost enough of our family this winter as it is.” Tallack faced Blydh and urged him to sheath his sword. “Allow him to live in banishment as we originally agreed. The priests will live out their days on the bleak moorland, never to return here, or to the burned camp on the River Exe.” Tallack’s voice of reason was the only one Blydh would accept.

  I heaved a great sigh of relief. My words carried more weight with my nephews than I had thought possible. If they knew about my mistake over accusing the Lady Eseld, I too might find myself without a head. Paega didn’t move from his spot on the riverbank, his moans and cries replaced by a black stare of pure hatred. I had no need to ask what the young warrior was thinking, nor did I have to guess whether their entire clan thought the same. The twins had made powerful enemies in the priests, and Paega would make sure that their wrath would be bloody and vengeful.