by Sam Taw
The twins locked stares, neither of them big enough to admit that Ren’s idea was the only solution. I was wind whipped, soaked through and frozen to my marrow, but better that than shot through with Duro bolts. The light was fading fast and the men grew tired of holding the boats together.
Only Tallack seemed to comprehend the gravity of the situation. “What say you, Brother? It makes sense to me.”
Blydh glowered and looked away, hunkering back down in his furs. “Do what you want.”
The moment Tallack nodded at the men, they released the oars and let Ren lead us further into the Severn Estuary. The currents were strong, eddying in great swirls and carrying us too far inland. The men dug in the oars and pulled hard, driving us against the tide sweeping us up the wrong river.
In the last of the daylight, the exhausted men repeated the procedure with the oars, until both vessels could be tethered together. Ren extended his rope length with ours, threaded one end through the hole in the flat stone and threw it overboard. The thick cable uncoiled rapidly, disappearing into the murky depths until there was no more to unwind. Snapping taut against the side of the boat, the rope stayed perfectly vertical. After a few moments, it was obvious that we were still moving towards land.
“Either the anchor isn’t heavy enough or the rope is too short.” Tallack said.
“That was my fear.” Ren muttered, but it was loud enough for us all to hear. “I’d heard that these waters were deep, treacherous too.”
His news was unsettling. Ren was our most experienced sailor. If he was concerned for our safety then we really had something to worry about. Even as he spoke, our boats were buffeted by the powerful surge of the spring tides.
Tallack thought for a moment, chewing a hang nail on his thumb. Without giving Blydh the chance to voice an objection, he said, “We should make for the mouth of the Avon and hope we remain unseen.”
I couldn’t understand what the problem was until we reeled in the anchor stone, unhitched the boats, and rowed towards the opening between two expanses of marshy grassland. Compared to the size of the Severn Estuary, the Avon was surprisingly narrow.
Now I understood Ren’s reluctance to enter the river mouth. Tribes from both sides had cleared the shrubs and trees. If any scouts were about, we had no place to hide. Even if Ren and Tallack could keep both boats in the central current, we were close enough to either bank for the eagled eyed archers.
I trembled in the stern of the lead boat with my furs pulled up to my chest. Neither Chief needed to tell us to keep quiet. The men sculled in silence, letting the tide take the bulk of the strain. Shifting onto my right hip, I peered over the side of the boat at the western shore. In the gloom, the rotted stumps of trees were black against the pale clay silt. Each one took on the ghostly shape of a Duro archer, quickening my heart and fuelling my fears.
We cleared the first bend without any trouble. It gave us hope that we’d not been spotted on our way along the coast. The second meander was some way off and obscured. In this comparatively calm stretch of water, Tallack decided to drop the anchor testing the depth in search of a raised sand bank. This time, the stone hit the bottom, stretching the line out behind us and slowing our movement up the river. Ren navigated the other boat alongside, readying the ropes to tie off.
“Rest while you can, lads.” Ren said in a hushed voice. “When the tide’s fully in, the anchor will be useless.”
I stared at him, my mouth gaping open. “But we’ll drift…” I gasped.
He nodded. “You’re right, we will. That’s why they need to rest. We’ll have to row against the currents to keep our position.”
“What, all night?”
He gave me a look that said, what else do you suggest? But he said nothing. We had rowed directly between two enemy tribes and all for the man in the helm, snoring at the front of the other boat. His lack of regard for our safety was puzzling. I concluded that the evil spirit from the Underworld must still have control over my nephew since I couldn’t bear the thought of his indifference. This was not the boy I’d spent many summers with, stitching his injuries and patching grazes as he learnt his clan’s ways. He was always the quieter of the twins, but never unjust.
As much as I wanted to help, my strength was no match for the force of the currents and eddies in the river. Keeping us between the tribal territories would require all our men’s efforts. Endelyn and I kept busy handing out salted pork and stale bread, water bladders and a few shelled hazelnuts we’d brought with us. Every sound seemed to magnify across the surface of the water, putting an end to any conversation.
When the tide was at its highest and shifted directions, the anchor rope sat fully upright in the water and we started to drift back out towards the Severn Estuary. When the rowing began in earnest, the clouds above us cleared to reveal the moon. Its wide glow picked us out as clearly as a pimple on a bride’s face. We were completely exposed.
Endelyn muttered quiet oaths and incantations to her gods, promising extravagant sacrifices when we docked in payment for their protection. I had little faith that she’d secure their help. She had killed my white stag, my vessel of Cernonnus. Why would our gods favour us now?
When the moon was high and the men exhausted, a strong eddy carried us closer to the western shore. Another black shadow caught my eye, sending a flush of panic through my chest and neck. Inwardly, I scolded myself, remembering the rotted tree stumps from the cleared land. As I glanced back to confirm my thoughts, the shadow moved. Alerted to the possibility of discovery, I tapped Tallack’s leg and pointed to the riverbank.
In the light of the moon, more shadows lurked, each of them taking the form of our enemies. “Brea’s men?” I whispered to my nephew.
“Unlikely this far north. Probably borderland patrols.” Tallack raised the alarm, urging all who could to grab the oars and scull us out of range. Their archers would need the muscles of a bear and the sight of an owl to hit us, if we could just paddle out of the main channel. Despite their aching arms and backs, our warriors heaved us from the force of the currents until we were closer to the eastern banks.
A few Duro arrows whistled through the air and plopped into the water, missing us by some distance. We were safe from attack and not far from dawn, when the sun would reveal our white banners.
All we needed was a little luck to see us through the rest of the night. With every one of our eyes trained on the western shore, none of us noticed the small flicker of orange light on the eastern bank. When that tiny flame grew to a blaze that hopped from torch to torch behind us, Endelyn let out a little gasp. One by one, we turned to see what she had spotted.
There were more warriors than we could count along the river holding their torches high overhead. Between them, Belgae archers took aim and waited for their Chief’s order to loose.
How could we have been so naive? If the situation was reversed and they had taken a cruise past our lands, one or more of our scouts would have tracked their movements, while others sent word to our compound. This was a disputed territory, attracting a heavy guard in any season.
Our warriors’ instincts were to reverse our direction and scull as fast as they could, but there was no way for us to escape their archers’ range in time. Tallack stood up in the boat, rocking it from side to side. He steadied himself with a hand against my shoulder and held our white flag aloft for the Belgae to see. “We come under the banners of peace.” He shouted towards the centre of the row of painted men.
From what I could see in the torchlight, their faces were daubed in red clay across their foreheads. Their beards were long and plaited. Most of their belts glinted with the sharp metal of blades and axes. This was a rich and battle-ready tribe, despite their reputation for their religious practices. We were left in no doubt as to their intentions towards us.
In the middle of the warrior line, was a wooden jetty protruding a short way into the water. One young man stood at the dock, holding an upright spear. It had long braids of co
loured feathers and bones dangling from the tip that matched more suspended around his neck. At first, I thought him to be the Chieftain but I recalled Endelyn stories and this warrior was too young to fit the description.
When no response came from the river banks, Tallack tried again. “We are Dumnonii, travelled all this way to request an audience with the Chief of the Belgae. As you see, we are few in number and trust that you will honour the terms of peace under our flag.”
“And you chose the cover of darkness to make your approach?” It was the feathered man who spoke. “That would hardly suggest a peaceful mission.”
“We intended to wait until daylight to enter the river mouth, but the currents were too strong for us.” Tallack wobbled in the boat, before planting his feet more firmly in the narrow hull. “We seek permission to perform a healing ritual at your sacred springs on behalf of one of our people.”
I wrinkled my nose in confusion as to why he’d referred to his own brother as just, one of our people. It was a little while afterwards when I understood his canny words. If the Belgae knew that they could capture and kill two Dumnonii Chiefs this very night, our lands would be over run and our tribe taken as slaves before the moon was full. Our tin mines were the envy of the whole land and even more so with those across the ocean. Caution was the first lesson Tallack learned in negotiating trade deals, and half-truths formed part of his arsenal.
Before the young warrior could respond, he was pushed aside by an older, thinner man with hair as white as mine. He wore no ritual garb nor weapons, but carried himself with all the dignity of a wily leader.
He strode out along the jetty and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. “If you are who you say, you will have brought something from your land to favour us.”
This was not a statement; it was a command. He wanted to see how much tin we had to give in tribute. Tallack looked at me and then at Ren. If the Belgae Chief saw the whole amount, he would give the order to slaughter us all and take the entire trove. Tallack crouched low and uncovered a single bar of tin, moulded to perfection as only our Alchemists could do.
“This is our finest grade of metal. You won’t find anything like it anywhere else. We offer you this and four more just like it, in the hope that you will grant us passage through your lands and an opportunity to converse with the gods at your sacred springs. This was a colossal gift to bestow upon any tribe, far exceeding any we’d given before. The number of man hours needed to dig, process and refine a similar quantity again was incalculable.
We bobbed about in the fast flow of the river, with the men doing their best to maintain our position. We’d thrown ourselves on the Belgae’s mercy, without a backup plan if things turned nasty.
The Chief walked closer to us along the jetty, the light of the torches behind him casting long shadows in his path. I could no longer see the man’s expression. There was no way of guessing whether he liked what he saw or wanted a closer view of our impending doom.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The leader of the Belgae peered into our boats, leaning from side to side as though he was looking for something specific. At length, he gestured for his men to step forward onto the pontoon.
He grunted and turned away. “Throw your lines in and tie off. We’ll speak on dry ground.”
Tallack saw this as a good sign, sitting down with his tin bars and packing them back into the travel bags. I was not so sure. It all seemed a little too simple that he would consent to our request so easily, especially after all we’d heard about him.
Their men took charge of our vessels and the tin, which gave me an uneasy feeling. As they tied the ropes to the jetty and helped me ashore, I heard my nephew instructing the men to stay with the boats. There were so many Belgae that they would be useless in protecting us. We had to rely on the honour of their Chief to respect the white banners.
I pulled the pale cloth higher up my arm, making sure that it was clearly visible to all and then clung to Endelyn while we navigated the rough terrain of the riverbank. Tallack and Blydh led the way, with us ladies in the centre and Ren and Hellyer bringing up the rear. Their warriors held torches high, marching in single file either side of us. The closer we came to their settlement, the more I saw evidence of their deeply religious ways.
This was a tribe who not only had barrows and burials along a nearby tributary, but could boast about having the largest of all sacred sites, Stonehenge on its borders, in addition to the famed hot springs. Theirs was a massive region stretching in a dog-leg shape from the Severn estuary to the south coast.
They protected their boundaries as well, if not more fiercely than we did ours. Carved wooden icons of vicious creatures stood either side of their compound gates, with the skulls of their enemies suspended along a cross beam. Some still had fragments of flesh attached, as if their owners were clinging on to them.
My first impression of the tribe’s folk was that they were suffering from an infestation of lice. Most of them had close cropped hair, shaved above the ears and up the back of their heads. It left them with just a tuft on top, even for their women. As we walked into the centre of the camp, I realise that this was their preferred style. Only the leader had long hair, woven into a thin white braid down his back.
Tallack and Blydh veered off towards the largest dwelling, expecting the old man to welcome them as his equal in status. When he continued walking, they had to scurry to catch up with him.
We stood outside a sturdy wooden structure with a solid door on thick rope hinges, where his men searched and stripped us of tin pouches, bags, and weapons. Tallack turned to speak, but before he could get out his words, the warriors pushed us inside.
Before the door was fully closed, Tallack cried out. “Please, Chief. My brother needs medicine. At least leave us the tonics.”
The oak panel fit snugly into the doorway and I heard them wedge it closed with an angled post. There was no way out. Blydh slumped to the floor with Endelyn rushing to fuss over him. Ren and Hellyer checked every section of the shelter and thatch for weak points, but found nothing to help us. A pail of water sat on the rushes in the centre, alongside another empty one. This was the extent of the Belgae hospitality.
Wrapping my cloak about me for warmth, I sat with my back to the wooden walls and let my eyes grow used to the darkness. It was almost easier to distinguish our people from their smells rather than their shadowy shape. Tallack and Endelyn were both fragrant and clean, Blydh wore the two-day sweat from constant pain and fretting, while Ren and Hellyer smelled of the sea.
The men paced about the small space, complaining, plotting, making guesses as to what the Belgae might do with us, and filling the shelter with more bad odours. When light seeped between cracks in the door, we knew that dawn was well underway.
I could hear warriors outside as they changed shifts in guarding us. They were not taking any chances. No doubt our men left at the boats were also heavily watched too. I shuddered to think how well our tribe would fare in the instance that Treeve and the twin’s mother were left to run things on a permanent basis. What if the Belgae reneged on the law of the land over our peaceable white banners?
Long after the cock crow, the door opened. The Chief stood there wearing a heavy scowl. Tallack rushed forward to speak with him but was dismissed with a flick of a hand. “Not you.” He grumbled. “I’ve heard all about the reckless twins of the Dumnonii.”
My heart fluttered in my chest. After all the care taken to choose vague words at our introduction, the wily old goat knew precisely with whom he was dealing. For a few moments, my hope failed me.
Before Tallack could protest, Endelyn rose to her feet and bowed her head to the Chief. “Fur Manow, thank you for receiving us. Long have I wished to witness your ceremonies and rituals. The rumours of their magnificence I’m sure are not exaggerated.”
I held my breath, wondering if he’d be swayed by her gushing praise.
One brow flickered up, dragging the corners of his sour smile
higher. “I’m pleased to see that at least one of your party has good manners. You may call me, Chief Rawley.” He gestured for her to walk outside from the hut. “Just you. I don’t care to hear what the others have to say.”
Endelyn skipped after him, tucking her hand under his elbow. “Chief Rawley, please would you consider hearing our own Fur Benyn? She understands the high politics of tribal leaders in ways that a simple girl like me cannot.” She gave him her best doe eyes until he agreed to her request. In no time at all, I too was ushered from the dark and damp of the shelter to follow the priestess and her new friend.
I was glad of the fresh air but keeping pace with them was hard going on my aching bones. We were followed by the outspoken warrior adorned with feathers from the riverbank. He strode alongside me, glaring the whole time. Their tribal compound was not so very different to ours, with tributaries snaking under the palisade walls, women bashing their laundry on rocks and the menfolk busy preserving and storing foods.
The only difference I could discern was the abundance of carvings and small offering posts to the gods. I recognised a few of the symbols but not many. This is a tribe who rely on priests for all their decisions; when to hunt, when to perform binding ceremonies, and when and where to inter their dead. As we walked out of the gates and along the River Trym, I could see the barrows in the distance. Their smooth slopes and flat tops were unmistakable.
I started to wonder why Chief Rawley led us along this path, until I saw the raised structures. Each of the wooden erections in the long row supported the rotting carcasses of their dead. The rooks and crows were not in the least bit disturbed by our presence as they scavenged and squabbled over the tenderest parts of meat. By the time we reached the end of the excarnation platforms, the bones were stripped clean.
At first, I thought that old Rawley was deliberately showing us how they dealt with intruders, but I saw the care with which the skeletons were handled by the women folk. Closer to the barrows, the bones were washed, dried, and carried in grass-filled baskets into the barrows beyond. Death was a laborious process indeed. This was not supposed to frighten us, but to illustrate the seriousness with which they took their religious practices.