Pagan Revenge

by Sam Taw

  Our fleet had taken a serious beating. Only two of our smaller boats were still afloat, plus the foreign vessel, but that required significant repairs before it would be safe to take out to sea. The Novantae had timed their arrival to perfection. They lost not a single man nor boat in the skirmish.

  The thoughtful warrior had the common sense to tether three horses to the rear of the cart. At least I could ride alongside my patients while two crewmen rode behind us for protection. Kewri rode up front while another steered the cart. There was no room for the dead in such a small wagon. Tallack would need to send another party of his men out come dawn for the bodies.

  The journey back to camp was bumpy and exceedingly painful for those in the wagon. Their injuries were dire. I’d given them as much resin as I had dared to give them, but I doubted they would make it through the night.

  As we reached the southern gate and crossed the shallow tributary over the gravel banks, I noticed that the row boats were missing from their jetty further downstream. When the watchman called down for the gates to be opened, I saw that the row boats had been lifted from the stream and carried into the compound. It was a shrewd move, but one that informed me that Tallack and his surviving men, must have returned with the Novantae tribe.

  The whole island was surprisingly dark and quiet. Few torches lit our way and no noise came from the Long Hut as I had expected. Our losses did not deserve celebration, but I wondered why the usual hospitality had not been extended to the new guests. Faolan’s family had provided me with much comfort after my slave’s sudden sacrifice at their settlement. Faolan had even given me his hut as my own, treating us to unrivalled generosity. Tallack should have done the same in return.

  The moment the gates were secured behind us, I sent Kewri to feed and water my goats and to make sure that the horses were turned out in their enclosure. Exhausted and confused, I made my way to the Long Hut to find out what had happened in my absence while the warriors carried the dying back to their families.

  The wood panel was wedged in the doorway over the draped skins. It was hardly cold enough to warrant those kinds of precautions. I walked around to the rear entrance, where the cook slaves attend the roasting pits, but that too was shuttered. Annoyed and frustrated, I kicked out at the wooden panel until Renowden came to dislodge it from my path.

  “What’s happened? Where’s the chief?” I rasped.

  Ren didn’t answer. He pulled a face and flicked his head towards the top table and Chieftain seats. I hurried inside and noted that Ren returned the panel to plug the doorway behind me. The torches were lit inside, but they burned low, as did the central fire. Tallack sat in his bear carved seat with Treeve at his side. Both were coated in thick dried blood. Faolan and his daughter Sorcha took the guest seats next to the wolf’s head chair belonging to Blydh.

  Ren stood behind me and muttered into my ear. “The Chief didn’t want the elders or warriors to attend this private meeting.”

  I snapped my head around to look at Ren. What could be so delicate that it could not be discussed in the presence of the elders? Surely anything that critical should include Blydh’s opinions too.

  Tallack looked grim. He massaged his temples and peered up to see me. “How many did we lose, Aunt?”

  I looked directly at Faolan as I answered. “Difficult to tell exact numbers, Nephew. Many were washed out to sea, but certainly many more than we would have if the Novantae had hastened their journey here.”

  Faolan opened his mouth to object but Tallack silenced him by butting in. “Nevertheless, Aunt, they are here now and prepared to keep to their promises.” He too glared at the old Skotek wolf, before lowering his gaze once more. I took that to mean that Tallack had said all that he was going to on the matter, but I could not hold my tongue.

  “I did not see you in the ships, Chief Faolan. Where were you today?”

  He scratched at his ginger whiskers and looked towards his daughter as though she could rescue him from my interrogation. She just stared into the distance as though he was the last person in the world whom she would assist. “I was concerned that my old legs would not make it in time to the boats so I borrowed a horse but got turned about in the forest. By the time I found my way back, the battle was over and my boy Ealar had arrived with our ships and men.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “The forest is north of here, the estuary south. How did you manage to ride in the opposite direction to our row boats?”

  He stammered his words and coughed. Feigning a dry throat, he took a swig of ale from his cup and took his time swallowing. A loud banging on the main door panel saved him from answering me. Renowden rushed over and lifted the shutter out of the way. One of the watchmen muttered something to him. He leaned the panel against the thatch of the hut and returned to where the guests were sitting.

  “The hunting party are back with the white hart, Chief Tallack. Should I send them out with the cart to the estuary to collect the fallen with the others?” Renowden waited for Tallack’s nod of permission, before issuing his orders to the men.

  It was a solemn evening all round. The slaves delivered the food to Tallack and his guests and left to see to their own meagre offerings. I left soon afterwards. It was clear that there was still much to be said, particularly with regards to the Novantae’s part in the bloodshed, but this was not the time to press my luck. I piled two bowls high with meats and bread and returned to my hut.

  Kewri took his food from me with deep gratitude, although I deserved none. Blydh was less thankful, chewing a little of the goat meat before spitting it across the floor in complaint. Nothing I did for him seemed to make him happy. At first, I thought it was frustration.

  I’d seen something similar before with warriors who were too injured to fight, only to have their friends and family slain in their stead, but this was different. His anger seemed to be directed towards me, though I could not fathom why. Everything in my power to do for him, had been done. Short of direct intervention from the gods, nothing would return his sight to his left eye.

  Kerensa stayed for a while, fussing around him and encouraging him to eat the food I’d brought. Her smile was borne of knowing that Blydh was less attractive to the Novantae as a husband to Faolan’s daughter. She was a fine-looking woman herself, dark haired with toned muscles and a keen mind. She wore a necklace of connected feather quills. They were stacked neatly in a row forming a plate against her breast. A tiny tin bead separated each of the white tubes. It was something she always wore, night and day. Whenever I remarked upon its unusual appearance, she would smile and say;

  “It’s my treasured possession.”

  Certainly, the tin beads were worth a fair price, but the feather stems were common enough and the design easily copied. Perhaps it was valued for a memory or sentiment. Whatever its origin, she would not be pressed on the matter.

  She stayed until late into the night, but returned to Blydh’s shelter when the moon was high. I busied myself with redressing Blydh’s head, although he fought me every step of the way, and then turned into my bunk to sleep. I’d had more than enough of the day and wished it to be over with.

  Come morning, the camp was alive with activity. It was not a happy place to be. The men dragged wood into the compound through the northern gates, while the widows and children cried over their dead loved ones at the stream. There they prepared the bodies for the pyre that would send them into the Summerlands. Few elders could remember a time when women were among the fallen in battle.

  I recalled those days well. Women warriors were often fiercer than the men, but they were born into a tradition of training all the children to hunt, shoot and fight from the moment they could walk. The age of Aebba had left our tribe weak. Our children lacked the killer instinct of our forefathers. My brother taught me to fight. He was a fair few summers older than I, and already a warrior when I was born. It did not stop him from putting a blade in my hand and insisting that I learned how to slice throats. It was many cycles be
fore I was able to convince him that I could best serve by stitching wounds instead of causing them.

  Kewri was heaving enormous lengths of wood from the river for the pyre. When he saw me, he tipped his head to one side, signalling that he had something to tell me. I wandered closer to him and the group of men building the pyre.

  “Fur Benyn, I think you should speak to that young lad over there. He said he saw Chief Faolan before the battle yesterday.”

  The lad overheard Kewri and approached us both. He was keen to share all that he’d seen.

  “That big Skotek man with the fuzzy red beard took one of the Chief’s horses and galloped off towards the woods. He didn’t look lost to me.” The lad shook his head gently.

  “What makes you say that?” I asked, curious as to this boy’s intentions. We have our fair share of lads who think they’re men before their time.

  “I say he knew exactly where he was heading. He carried a pole with the white banner of peace flying at its top.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Are you absolutely sure, lad? It was definitely Faolan riding the forest trail to the north of our camp bearing the white banners?”

  He nodded so emphatically, there was no room for error. There was only one explanation for this peculiar sighting; Faolan went to treat with the Durotriges while our men were being slaughtered in the estuary. I was so incensed I couldn’t speak. I asked the boy’s name and told him not to leave the compound until either Chief Tallack or I had spoken to him again. He was my only proof that Faolan was a duplicitous traitor.

  That would account for the delay with the Novantae reaching our shores. Were they further down the coast all along, just waiting for a signal to sail into the river mouth? It wouldn’t take much to figure out the extent of our scouts’ reach. Fuming, I returned to my hut to think of a way to tell Tallack that would not anger him into acting unwisely.

  Blydh was still being an awkward patient. Each time my back was turned, he tried to get out of the bunk to walk. Every attempt he made resulted in him crashing to the floor. With Kewri helping to build the funeral pyre, I was left alone trying to heave him back into bed. It was very tempting to give him enough poppy resin to keep him quiet for a few hours, but I couldn’t afford to get the dosage wrong. The last thing I needed was to send him into an eternal sleep.

  Running around after my nephew made my head spin. I couldn’t think clearly. As soon as Kerensa appeared to check up on his progress, I charged her with the unhappy task of cleaning him up and remaking his bed. When Kewri had finished his labours, I intended for him to carry Blydh back to his own shelter. I was more than content to dress his wounds twice a day but to have a constant stream of visitors plus his growing anger towards me was not in either of our best interests. Kerensa could watch over him until he was back on his feet.

  After I’d refilled my healing kit, I went to see how the injured from the estuary were fairing. Two had made it through the night and looked set to make full recoveries. The third had just enough time to say his farewells. His family were making offerings to the gods when I arrived. I slipped the warrior’s mother a few grains of tin to pay Cernonnus for his crossing into the Summerlands and some dried valerian to soothe her frayed temper.

  Kewri and a dozen other men worked all day to build a pyre large enough for all our dead. In the end, they had to stack the bodies on struts like shelves or the fire would have been large enough to engulf all the shelters and woodland on the island. At the southern end of the compound, I saw the strong posts hammered into the ground enclosing the majestic stag. The men succeeded in trapping the white hart, and brought it onto the island for sacrifice.

  I’d hoped that my nephew’s thirst for blood had been sated after losing so many the previous night, but he was determined to complete the ritual. I watched him yelling at the smith near to the southern gates. He expected his axes to be ready so that he and Blydh could anoint the blades with the deer’s blood. I should never have told him about the mystical sword that Paega stole. Now he was obsessing over matching the weapon with two of his own; a pair of axes blessed by the God of Death himself.

  Sorcha moped around the camp, watching the horses gambolling about their enclosure as though she was debating whether to take one and ride off into the wilderness. I can’t say that I’d blame her. Her father was about to give her to a stranger in return for a trade agreement. That’s if he hadn’t also promised her to the Duros for another reason, such as betraying us and taking over our lands on behalf of our enemies.

  The whole situation made me sick. There had to be a way out of our deal with the tricky Skotek Chief. What I find so hard to stomach, is that he was so kind to both me and Tallack while we rested at his home settlement. You couldn’t have found a more loyal and generous man. What had made him turn on us so quickly?

  Standing next to the skittish white hart, I tried to calm myself, tipping out a handful of grain from my pocket; a final meal for my vision of the gods. He didn’t deserve to die, but then neither did anyone else from camp. If only we knew for sure whether the gods existed or not, we could ask them what gifts and offerings they would prefer.

  Sorcha leaned on the fence and lowered her head to her hands. Was she in tears? Making my way over to her, I touched her shoulder and the skinny maid jumped with fright.

  “Shush now. It’s only me.”

  She lifted her face towards mine, letting the tears fall freely down her cheeks. She had no need to tell me what was on her mind. It's an age-old problem for the daughters of Chieftains in this land. They could be as strong and courageous a warrior as their brothers and twice as intelligent, but they would still be considered as chattel for their fathers to sell to the highest bidder. As tall as she was, the girl threw her arms about me and held on as tightly as a limpet, sobbing into my neck. If I thought we’d get away with it, I would have gladly given her a pouch of tin and a horse with which to flee.

  My own memories of a similar situation crowded out my reason for a time, before I came to my senses. Faolan would blame me for Sorcha’s disappearance, and by association my nephews. It would most likely begin a feud that would last for generations to come. Knowing that did not make it any easier to hear her despair. At least she would not be forced to bind with a rough man twice her age with gout and stinking sores. Both Tallack and Blydh were young and attractive, even though one had lost the sight in an eye.

  When at last her upset petered out, I took her by the hand and led her into Blydh’s storage hut. The guard on the door didn’t even blink as I pushed my way past him. I suppose I do abuse my privilege in the tribe at times, but on this occasion, I deemed it necessary. There were no cups next to the jugs of ale, for fear that the guard on duty might be tempted to drink his way through the entire stock. It didn’t mean that we couldn’t take a few swigs straight from the jar.

  “How did the discussions go with Chief Tallack last night?” I asked her, hoping to gain an insight into the mind of her father.

  “Not well. My father wanted Blydh for my husband until his injury. I still haven’t seen him, so I don’t know how bad the scars are or the effect on his temper, but now my father is demanding that Tallack binds with me, or he’ll take us and our ships home to Novantae lands in Skotek.”

  “Do you not like Tallack, Sorcha? You seem to get along nicely when you gave us both shelter during the winter.”

  “He’s not a monster, I know that. He’s nowhere near as bad as the son of the Carvetii Chief, who father first wanted to give me to. He looks like his mother was a wild hog with rotten tusks.” She grinned for the first time since her arrival. I couldn’t stop myself giggling at her comparison.

  “It’s not that, Fur Benyn.” She continued, handing the jug back to me. “It’s, well…Tallack doesn’t much like girls, does he?”

  And we all thought my nephew had been discreet. Once my chuckling started, I found I couldn’t stop. “Oh, believe me, child. Tallack does like g
irls, and boys and most likely anything else that takes his fancy.”

  Sorcha’s eyes widened along with her rosy pink smile. She burst into cackles of her own and snatched the jug of ale to pour down her throat.

  “At least he won’t make unpleasant advances towards you. It could be a blessing in disguise.”

  I have no idea how long Sorcha and I were in there for, but it was dark when we staggered out laughing and tripping over our feet. A different guard watched us zig-zag across the compound towards the northern end of the island. That was when I remembered the funeral pyre. I tried to shush Sorcha, tugging on her sleeve and whispering as loud as a wolf howl to be quiet. Our revelry was disrespectful to the dead.

  The glowers and scowls we received put paid to our amusement. Every member of the camp encircled the pyre, waiting for Tallack to light the kindling. Doing my best to focus my blurry eyes, I scanned the area in search of the white hart. It was not near to the pyre, nor tethered nearby. My best guess was that it had been spared for the evening, whether because Tallack’s special axes were not ready, or he thought it inappropriate to mix the funeral rites with a request for favour from the God of Death, I knew not.

  Suitably chastised, Sorcha and I held one another upright as Tallack said a few words about all those who had fought with honour and courage, before lighting the dry rushes under the wooden structure. While we all tried to ignore the smells of roasting warriors, and show our respect, Kewri shuffled closer to me.

  “Where have you been?” He muttered quietly. “I looked everywhere for you.”

  Sorcha almost lost her composure. Her snort turned into a chuckle, thinking about us rolling around Blydh’s ale and meat store for most of the day laughing until our bellies and faces ached. I jabbed my elbow into her ribs and she regained control over herself. This was a tragic occasion for so many people of our tribe, not least since for the first time in generations, women were among the dead.