by Sam Taw
My efforts were best placed with burns and cuts. It was fortunate that I had a stock of plantain paste in my stores. The lice infestation would have to wait for another day. When the homesteaders could see that everyone was treated fairly, order was restored. It was only then that Tallack showed his face. This was a side of him for which I was not proud. He’d washed his hands of the problem, allowing us women to arrange the solution.
I had just finished stitching a gash in a man’s leg when Tallack sidled up behind me and whispered in my ear. “The cooking pot is almost empty. There is nothing else to give them.”
He would not be content with an obstinate shrug from me this time. I had to say something about the Head Hunters and their dereliction of duty. “You know Vina and I saw the Head Hunters in the far reaches of the forest just yesterday.”
“Oh, did you speak to them? How much food had they stockpiled?”
“So far as I could see, just the one hoglet that was roasting for their supper while they snoozed the day away.” I looked up from my work and held my nephew’s stare. Handing my patient some willow bark to chew on, I waited until they had hobbled away and could no longer hear me before continuing my observations. “If you’ll forgive me for saying, Chief Tallack, I fear you may have problems with the Head Hunter Clan. Kitto has assumed control over them. He actively encourages discord within the tribe. They were in no hurry to find food for us all and looked set on staying away.”
His concerned frown turned positively sour. I wasn’t sure whether it was from me overstepping my boundaries again, or the news that Kitto was usurping him.
He took a noisy breath and sighed. “I’ll send Ren to track them down. They’ll listen to him.”
“Ren’s too weak. That might finish him off. Send someone else.”
“There is no one else, unless I go myself. Kitto is not easy to sway at the best of times. You’re right, Aunt. I’ve let things go unpunished for too long. Maybe I should make an example of him.”
That idea frightened me more than the thought of Kitto overthrowing my nephew as Chieftain. “Is that the best way to deal with him, Chief? Your father gave him missions and responsibilities to keep him at arm’s length. Would that not be better than turning the rest of the men against you for flogging someone they respect as a leader?” I’d said too much, not giving my choice of words enough thought, but it was too late to take them back.
Tallack sneered. “I’m the only leader of this tribe since my brother’s death, Aunt. Don’t you forget that.” He stomped away from the Long Hut in a southerly direction. Despite my warnings, he was intent on sending poor Renowden after the unruly clan.
By late afternoon, the smell of burning was so strong, it made us all cough. I tied a cloth over my face and carried on stitching and pasting until I was out of cattle gut and plantain. My back ached and my stomach felt as though it was trying to eat itself. I wandered out into the grassy space at the south of the island to stretch my legs and click my spine. Ren’s wooden panel was wedged in the doorway of his hut. That was sign enough that he’d followed Tallack’s orders despite his weakness.
When the sun dipped below the horizon in the west, the gate horn blew a second time that day. More tired and dusty homesteaders had arrived from their abandoned settlements around the moors. Senara loomed up behind me as the newest group of our tribe fanned out and started foraging for whatever they could find. “Secure your belongings, Senara, or you might find them wandering off. These are desperate people fallen on hard times.”
Within moments I heard the unmistakable sound of pigs squealing in the western wood. The loudest of them fell silent abruptly. One of the visitors had killed a pig. I hoped to Cernonnus that it wasn’t one of the suckling sows, leaving starving piglets to rear to add to our problems. Our islands’ delicate balance was shattered the moment the homesteaders arrived.
This must be how they felt whenever their homes were raided by neighbouring tribes. A few of the Sea Warriors captured the men making off with the hog and took them straight to Tallack. Treeve directed the Long Hut slaves to collect and butcher the sow for the pot. At least that solved the immediate food shortage, even if her little piglets went without a mother.
My wits were frayed, my bones ached and my muscles were sore. I returned to my hut and wedged the panel in the doorway. With so many strangers abroad, I no longer felt safe in my house. Kewri returned shortly after dark. When he discovered all that had happened, he vowed to protect my goats from anyone lurking in the night. I believed him too. If it meant staying up until morning, Kewri would guard us all. The reliable giant stood outside with a deer slung around his neck as though it was a collar to keep him warm.
Vina’s eyes brightened when she saw his haul. “Oh, thank Cernonnus!” She clapped her hands together at the thought of so much meat. “You are clever.” I could see that it slipped out of her mouth before she realised what she was saying.
Kewri gave her an uncomfortable grin. His cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. “I’ll bleed and butcher it around the back.” He went to step away and stopped. “If you like, in the morning, I’ll start preparing the hide for you.” She didn’t realise that he meant her, until he glanced back and smiled.
“Oh, yes. I’d like that.”
A part of me wanted to say, told you so, but I was too tired to argue with her. She’ll learn, or she won’t. The night was almost as warm as the day. The mild breeze dropped, leaving us all without relief. It was good to have Kewri back. At least we could reopen the door and wander to the cool stream to sluice ourselves down.
Cooking was impossible inside the hut. Vina built a fire while Kewri prepared the meat. I was too hungry to wait for a sizeable roast, and it didn’t seem like the decent thing to do with so many starving people about camp. We sliced thin strips of the venison and fried it in a pan with some duck fat I was saving. We had no bread to mop up the juices, but it was still the tastiest thing I’d eaten in an age. With prudent management, we would have enough to last us for some time, providing it was properly preserved with salt and dried. At least that was something Kewri could do without needing my instruction.
The morning brought more homesteaders from the north. Not such a large crowd as the day before, but still enough to have us bursting at the seams. Their reports were of vast fires skipping along the dry heath lands, sending the wild ponies racing off into the distance. Our loss would no doubt be the Duros gain. Tallack grilled their elders until he was sure that the fires were heading away from our island compound.
We were not at risk; for the present. I knew how quickly the wind could change up on the moors. In the blink of an eye, it could turn south and put us all in danger. There was enough panic in camp without me fanning the flames. Without ale, Tallack was sober, clear headed and fully aware of his responsibilities. He ordered his Sea Warriors to fell trees, gather materials and start to build shelters on the south-western training grounds outside the compound.
We all knew that being outside our palisade walls would set them apart from our community, but there simply wasn’t enough room to house them all within. Thanks to our new alliance they were safe from Duro raids, but without the advantage of integrating with the families and warriors inside the walls. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but Tallack assured them that it was a temporary arrangement. Some muttered their discontent, claiming that their tributes were worth better treatment, but they fell silent when some of the warriors closed in on them, heavily armed.
Tallack stood with his mother on his left and me on his right. Between the homesteaders and us was a wall of muscular fighting men. Their presence alone was enough to quieten the dissenters.
“Even if Massen comes back with the tin we need…” I said in little more than a mutter. “You know Fane won’t trade with you unless you give in to his request to bind with his daughter.”
“She’s right, son. Duty is duty. You’ll have to wed the girl.” Cryda said, backing up my statement.
“And make
a Duro Ruvane over our tribe. I’d rather slam my pintel between two rocks than let that happen.” His vehemence was understandable given all that had occurred between our tribes over the generations.
“Well,” his mother said, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “You won’t get an heir by tupping your crewman.”
I couldn’t stop myself. My snort of amusement almost erupted from me. None but his mother could get away with such a blunt insult. Neither could he deny her statement. What shocked us more was his solution to the problem.
CHAPTER SIX
“I shall bind with Endelyn. She already carries the heir to the tribe.” Tallack announced to us both, although thankfully, none of his men heard him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She has no Chieftain blood. She’s just some priestly spawn left to go feral on the moors. What good would that do for our tribe?” Cryda scoffed.
“She’s a Dumno, born and bred in our camp. She will make a fine Ruvane and our tribe will stay in good hands when the wolf cub takes over on my death.” It took a few moments for his plan to sink in, for I was sure he was teasing his mother. With every objection Cryda brought up, Tallack countered it with a sensible reason for his choice.
“What about the Duros? Fane will see it as a slight on the alliance.” I said, interrupting the mother-son dispute.
“That’s easy, Aunt Mel. I’ll take his daughter as my second wife. He made no mention of her becoming Ruvane, nor did he say that I must take only one wife.”
I couldn’t argue with his logic. There was a certain beauty in that arrangement for all parties involved. Endelyn would have the status she so craved and reassurance that her son would one day lead our people. Fane’s daughter would become a wife in name only, while Tallack and Treeve could continue their relationship right under the noses of the whole tribe. I couldn’t see Treeve taking the news well though. He looked set on being the first ever man-wife of a Chieftain, making the Dumnonii a source of derision and mirth among the Chieftains at the midsummer gatherings. That would never do. There was little more I could say or do to alter his mind, not that I had the energy or will to see it through anyway.
For the rest of the day, Vina and Kewri went in search of more willow, plantain and goose grease, while I prepared the back strap from a couple of hares for stitching and fresh leaves to cover burns. Every child I examined seemed to be riddled with lice, making me scratch my own head every few moments. I was sure that the mucky creatures had given them to me too.
Every now and then I wandered to the south, squinting at Ren’s hut to see if he’d returned with the Head Hunter’s. Each time I was left disappointed and concerned.
Although Vina and Kewri had set off at different times to complete their tasks, they returned to camp together. I couldn’t make out if this was just a happy coincidence or whether they had designed it that way. Were they finally starting to warm to one another?
Everyone around the compound was industrious. Sea Warriors put their superior carpentry skills to use building new shelters, slaves toiled over huge cooking pots of watery stew for the extra mouths to feed, while elders and their families kept a weather eye on pilfering and potential looters.
It was as orderly as you could expect, considering the cramped conditions and intolerable heat. The calm turned back into a storm when Massen rode in through the northern gate, leading two horses by the reins with his two crewmen slung over their backs. One of the men was still alive, just. The other man had three arrows embedded in his back. Screams from the womenfolk brought people from their huts, including the Chief. One glance was all it took to convey their failure in collecting tin from Clemo at the northern mines.
Massen’s horse skidded to a halt in the dust. It foamed about the mouth and neck. People ran from all directions to lend a hand, lifting the men from their steeds and carrying them into the Long Hut. I went straight to the man with only two arrows sticking from his leg and side. He’d lost too much blood. There was little I could do to help him, but I tried. His mother shrieked her distress and tried to tug the bolt from his side.
“No! You mustn’t. Take that out and he’ll lose the humours he has left.” She deferred to my experience, sobbing quietly into her husband’s neck behind me. Vina brought clean binding cloth, while I made a small cut in his leg to remove the less dangerous of the two arrows. There was such a crowd around me, it was hard to concentrate. If I could get the arrow out of his side, he would either bleed out in mere moments and die, or live long enough for me to slip a few stitches into any of the leaking guts inside and hope he lived out the rest of the day.
With his life in my hands, I decided to try and give him long enough to say his farewells. Kewri moved the crowd back, giving me space to work. I lined up my best bone needle and finest back strap next to Kewri’s knife. It was sharper and easier for me to handle than Tallack’s dagger. After a quick blessing from Endelyn, I took hold of the shaft in one hand and braced his ribs with my other. “This will hurt. Try not to move.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I yanked with all my strength.
The warrior wailed loud enough to summon spirits from the Underworld. I had to work fast or he was set to join them there. Blood gushed in great spurts, hot and bubbling. It told me that he’d punctured the bag of humours sitting under the lungs. Try as I might, I couldn’t get my fingers inside the hole to find the fissure. A quick nick with Kewri’s knife gave me more room, but the cavity was filling up fast and obscuring my view.
Red bubbles fizzed about his mouth and he struggled to breathe. A shattered rib must have sliced through his lung too. All about me the crowd went silent as the warrior’s life ebbed away before our eyes. I had just one chance to save him. I plunged my fingertips inside his chest and felt about in the soft innards. Poking my finger under his ribs, I located the hole in the blood bag. I pinched the two sides of the gap together between thumb and forefinger and the flow lessened. Holding tight I screamed at Kewri. “Get me a jug of salted water and all my clean cloth from my kit.”
For such a big man, Kewri was remarkably nimble. He stood at my side, jug in one hand and rags in the other, awaiting my directions. I couldn’t afford to let go for one moment. Pouring just a splash at a time, Kewri flushed and dabbed until the innards were as clean as we could get them. My knuckles were white with the pressure of holding his entrails together through the narrow gash in his side. I squeezed so tightly; the poor man passed out from the pain. Those around me gasped, thinking it was all over and that the man had fallen into the arms of Cernonnus. I knew better. His chest still rose and fell, albeit too quickly for my liking.
Vina threaded the fibres of back strap through my bone needle and handed it to me. It was a fiddly job, but a few over stitches were all it took to secure the hole in the blood bag. Whether he would survive having lost so much fluid was another matter. I closed his skin as fast as I was able, not caring about my messy stitching. When I had finished, I looked down at my tunic. It was drenched in the warrior’s humours. So too were my hands. I even had dried globs of the stuff on my chin.
The crowd waited for me to speak. I knew he would not last out the night, but that was not what they wanted to hear. His parents and siblings were trembling at the front of the group, their hands clasped together in anguish.
Facing them, I looked directly at the warrior’s mother. “I have done all I can, the rest is in the hands of the goddess. May she bless him and restore his vigour so that his mother may hold him again.” The poor woman understood all and crumbled into her husband’s arms. Endelyn stepped forwards with her coloured clays and paints and daubed a smudge of ochre on each of the foreheads of his family.
She was gifted at exploiting people’s attention. Normally, I would have scoffed and wandered away from her antics, but this day I was glad of the distraction. Death was hard for me to reconcile. Grief was too close to the surface for me to cope with anymore. I slipped away to the stream to wash myself, ridding my skin of the dying man’s blood. There was no
t much I could do about my tunic. After a quick change back in my hut, I left the cloth to soak out the stains and returned to my patient.
Tallack was standing near to the door watching the elders and their family’s response to Endelyn’s rituals and chants. She summoned just about every god in living memory and asked each and every one of them for their favour, throwing her head back and babbling the way she always did when she was pretending to converse in gods’ speak. The crowd lapped up her fervour with metals and jewels thrown at her feet in offering, as though they could buy the life of the warrior through the priestess.
I turned to my nephew. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to make her the Ruvane?” It was a risky question, given his terse warning back in his hut to mind my own business. It seemed such a drastic step to give a priestess such power over the tribe.
“Of course, it is. She’s lovely. Look at how the tribal elders adore her. She soothes them after troubles and we’ve had more than our fair share of those recently. Look how she dealt with the whole Blydh incident. I’d say she possessed remarkable maturity. She’ll make a fine Ruvane.”
I’d seen these blind infatuations of Tallack’s before. His judgement of character was worse than mine. His love for a Phoenician Prince did not end well, and this decision gave me an ache in my belly; a sense of foreboding that I couldn’t quite define. We watched them for a while, the elders and their wives kneeling in adoration with Endelyn prancing about in her thin tunic holding them in thrall.
Senara stood near to the priestess, guarding her with pride, the puppy on a leash at her side. I knew that the shield maiden was bright, but I didn’t realise her skill in manipulation. In a short space of time, she had earned my trust, broken Kewri’s heart after claiming deep affection for the giant, and now stood to become the most trusted adviser to the next Ruvane. I couldn’t help thinking that given enough time, those two women could end up ruling over half the land in the whole world.