by Hall, Ian
The gathered crowd began to talk amongst themselves, the fever of impending action countering their respect for the dhruid. Quen’tan raised his hand to call silence.
“I need only say one thing more! Do not argue amongst yourselves on this venture. When you meet with the other clans, let old scores remain buried with the dead who disputed them. You fight for the Norlands. Not for the Meatae!”
A huge cheer of ‘The Norlands’ rang around the battlements of Barton and the silence afterwards was broken only by the sounds of horses being saddled and the rattle of weapons.
For speed, only mounted men were to accompany Finlass. Ma’damar’s fear of warriors on foot being caught in the open by Roman cavalry was one they had thought better to avoid. Around a hundred had come forward willingly to ride with Finlass, mostly young unmarried warriors who had yet to settle with another skill, or lesser chiefs from the outlying Meatae lands who thought to ingratiate themselves with Finlass and Ma’damar. Whatever their reasons for going, they were ready for war on a grand scale, and Finlass hoped that as they crossed the lowlands to meet at the stone circle of Ston’lin that others would swell their number further.
The two brothers mounted their horses side by side, a firm shake of hands and a deep and meaningful look between them conveyed more than words could have.
“Men of the Meatae!” Finlass shouted, receiving instant silence. “You know where we’re going. If anything should happen, and we get separated, we meet at the stones of Ston’lin. You should know the way; the older ones amongst us have raided there enough.”
There was a spontaneous burst of laughter from all through the warrior ranks.
“If we meet any from the flatlands that dispute that we have leave to pass, we go round them, or you leave the talking to me.” Finlass looked at his brother. “Alright?”
A chorus of ‘Aye’s’ and ‘To Shiels’ and ‘Norlands’ filled the air. Finlass turned his horse towards the gates and kicked it into a trot. He saluted to Ma’damar with his shield as he rode through the gates. The other warriors did likewise to the old chief standing on the ramparts, who secretly wished he could ride with them.
~ ~ ~
No matter how hard he tried, Calach could not rid himself of the feeling that they were making too much noise. He looked back at the column stretched through the trees behind him. There were over a hundred clan Caledon in all, swollen by a contingent of Taexal, under a man called Lintty, whom they had met the evening before. Behind Calach now rode almost a hundred and fifty warriors, mounted and bristling with weapons of all descriptions, swords, spears, lances and bows.
They were riding south at a steady pace away from the fringes of Caledon lands towards their rendezvous point with the Venicone, but as they had entered the long defile and began the descent towards the plains of the ‘flatlands’ Calach had been appalled at the clamor of horses hooves, armor, and weapons, not to mention the ribald speech between the excited warriors. Out in the moorland, where the slightest wind carried all noise away from Calach, he had not realized the cacophony of such a group of fighting men. In the steep, narrow valley, with as yet no stream to provide any background sounds, the clamor of sound was reflected from the gorge’s walls back to the riders.
He could not believe that he was the only one to notice.
At the bottom of the hill, as the slope began to lessen, the group advanced slowly into the woodlands which covered most of the lowlands.
Calach ordered three of the warriors to ride ahead, to scout the area. “Remember. We’re not in Caledonii lands anymore. We’ve got permission to cross; that’s a’.”
The scouts nodded acknowledgement and rode off.
That evening they halted by the side of a wide, deep river, much wider than the Tayme which they had rode across a day before. There was only one way to cross this one, and that was to swim with the horses. Realizing that they would be riding on with wet clothes, Calach decided to cross first and camp on the other side, drying their clothes by their night fires. The crossing was without incident, but a few items not strapped properly to the horses were swept away in the strong tidal current.
As they pulled themselves out to the sandy marshland on the southern side, Calach pondered that they were now firmly out of Caledon lands, and onto the fertile plain disputed by three clans at different times.
They were stopped early the next morning by a band of traders, who asked their purpose, and were dismayed at what they were told. They could not believe that the Romans were actually invading. The leader of the traders asked Calach’s protection, but his request was firmly denied. Leaving the traders looking bemused behind them, the warrior band carried on southwards at a quick pace.
The rest of the morning passed without incident and Calach was taken by surprise when one of the scouts rode headlong into the front of their column.
“Gregor?” Calach asked.
“Lud Calach! Strangers up ahead. They’re waiting at a fork in the trail.” He paused for breath, pulling on the horse’s reins. “There’s about ten I think, they’ve got horses wi’ them, but they’re all dismounted. Kitted for war just like us.”
“Are they Roman?”
“No, they’re Norlands, probably flat...... lowlanders by their clothes.”
“Where’s the other two scouts?”
“They’re waiting for us just before the fork.” Gregor replied.
Calach turned in his saddle to face the rest of his force.
“I take it you heard what Gregor just said.” Calach’s serious face was reflected by the rest of the men. “Weapons at the ready. We don’t know what’s ahead.”
Calach’s nervousness was alleviated somewhat when he saw the strangers properly. They were just standing or sitting around, some attending to their horses. There seemed to be no threat posed to the Caledons at all. Calach counted only five figures as they rode nearer. They were dressed in a variety of shades of brown, but all had a blue and green pattern as some part of their garb. He could not place it properly, but he knew that he had seen the pattern before. As Calach and the first Caledons approached, the group made no effort to adopt any kind of defensive strategy, so he simply rode his warriors to within easy bowshot range.
One of the strangers detached himself from the party and began to approach.
“It’s you Calach!” He said. “We didn’t know who to expect, but we knew someone would be coming along this way.”
“You’ve got the advantage on me.” Calach replied, still remaining mounted.
“The name’s Griffin.” He held his hand out, which Calach gripped lightly. If Griffin was going to haul him from his horse, he was going to get a mouthful of sword for his pains. “We’re the only men you’re going to get from Votadin lands I’m afraid. Well, men and two women,”
At last Calach was beginning to put the picture together.
Votadini! I hadn’t even considered the possibility!
“We’re glad of a’ who can join, Griffin.” Calach said. “I’m sorry, I still don’t recognize you.”
“That’s a’right lad, it’s hardly surprising. You were unconscious at the time!” Griffin grinned broadly.
“Thanks for reminding me!”
The look of embarrassment on Calach’s face prompted Griffin to continue.
“I watched when Kat’lana an’ Winnie lifted you from Kheltine’s hut. But you wouldn’t remember.”
The mention of her name caused his heart to pause. He looked over the Votadini’s head.
“How many are you, Griffin?”
“Seven.”
Calach looked at the band of Votadini, who were paying more attention to their weapons and horses than this exchange.
“You’ve travelled a’ the way from Tra’pan to meet us.”
“Aye, our dhruid told us you’d be here. He’s no’ often wrong.”
“Is Kat’lana with you?” Calach continued, trying to hide his growing anxiety.
“Aye, she is, lad.”
&
nbsp; Calach couldn’t help his face turn into a smile from ear to ear.
“Out scouting just now, she’ll be back soon.” Griffin continued as Calach’s eyes wandered all around the Votadin warriors. “Call your men in Calach, an’ we’ll have something to eat before we’re on our way. We were told the Stones of Ston’lin’ was to be the meeting place, but we knew you’d pass by here on the way.”
Griffin took hold of the reins of the first two horses and began to lead them into their temporary camp.
Then a thought crept unbidden into Calach’s head.
What happens if she’s married someone else? It has been four years!
~ ~ ~
“Don’t expect any more help from the Votadin, Calach.” Griffin said at the end of a long conversation. “There’s nobody else coming.”
“Chief Pe’weric thinks he can reason with the Romans?” Calach replied.
“Oh, it’s probably more than that.” Griffin drank from his goatskin. “A lot o’ us are actually o’ the opinion that he’s already done it. There’s more Roman money in Tra’pan than anywhere else I’ve been.”
“But we have no proof.” Another Votadini countered, “Have they Griffin?”
“No Tranter. They haven’t.”
“You see Calach,” Griffin pointed in Tranter’s direction. “Even here, Pe’weric has his stalwarts. Tranter here thinks there may be more to Pe’weric than meets the eye.”
“I am his cousin Griffin!”
“Some would call Pe’weric a traitor; selling his clan for Roman gold.” Calach took a swig of the ale offered. “If that’s what he’s done.”
“Aye. An’ some would call him a realist. It depends on your point of view.” Tranter’s voice raised slightly.
“Aye, an’ some would call him a coward, Griff!” Interrupted a female voice, the volume just above what would have been considered protocol.
“Kat’lana!” Calach jumped to his feet. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been fine, my Caledon.” Her lips mashed on his, smiling at him. “Missing you, but fine none the less.”
They held each other at arm’s length, the whole of the assembled company looking on with amused expressions. It took a few moments for the two to realize that they were the centre of attention.
“Shall we go somewhere a little more private, Kat?” Calach offered, temporarily embarrassed.
“I think that it would be best, Calach.” She replied, and arm in arm they walked off into the surrounding woods.
“I’m just going to find the best places for our sentries, Aysar.” Calach said to his friend.
“Aye, I’ve heard it called that before, Calach.” Aysar and a few others laughed.
~ ~ ~
“I thought that you could have married, you know.” Calach lay beside her, his head cradled in her armpit. “Maybe found someone else, forgot about me altogether.”
“I couldn’t do that to you, Calach.” Kat’lana smiled down at him and adjusted his hair from his forehead. “There’s been many that have tried to make me forget, but somehow I always knew that we’d meet again.”
“I’m glad you did.” He raised himself on one elbow, looking at her.
“Me too.” And they kissed again.
Calach broke the embrace reluctantly. “We’ll have to go back to the camp you know.”
“I know. We’re not safe out here on our own.”
“But I’ll tell you one thing lass.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll sleep wi’ me tonight.”
“Oh I will, will I?” Her mischievous grin wiped away any malice in the remark.
“Aye, you will.” He kissed her again. “I need someone to keep me warm.”
“Aye. That’ll be my job from now on.”
~ ~ ~
Their camp was interrupted early next morning by another detachment of riders from the east. More than twenty Venicones under Eorith’s brother Er’gin arrived, tired from their ride through the night and wet from the river crossing. By the time they compared tales of the journey south, and shared a cooked breakfast, the sun was getting high in the sky. As he signaled them to mount, Calach’s column now numbered almost two hundred.
The ‘Stones of Ston’lin’ were just a half day away.
They broke camp and rode in column again, Calach and Kat’lana near the front. One of the scouts rode in from the south.
“Riders coming from the west! A lot o’ them.”
“It must be Finlass.” Calach said. “Will they meet us?”
“Aye, probably.”
The terrain was moor, with a few trees. Calach rode to the nearest high ground and looked west.
“They’re in column, riding straight for us.”
Aysar turned to Calach. “It’ll be Finlass, it can’t be anyone else.”
“Lintty, Er’gin, Griffin!” Calach shouted over his shoulder. “Men from the west arriving. Stay here.” Without a backward glance, the two galloped off to meet their allies from Bar’ton.
Lintty. Er’gin. Griffin. Already the command structure is getting clumsy, and I’ve still got the Meatae to come!
Calach and Finlass shook hands as the warriors came to a halt. “Well met.”
Conrack sidled his horse closer, offering his hand to Calach. “We saw your fires this morning, and decided to intercept.”
Finlass nodded. “Any time saved might save lives later.”
In good humor the friends chatted to each other, then the columns were joined and they resumed their ride southeast. Calach and Finlass rode in front, with the clansmen riding behind in a haphazard three-four abreast arrangement, most from the same clan sticking together, but most chatting quietly as they travelled. Calach slipped back to spend some of the journey with Kat’lana, but the trip was never going to be a convenient time to talk. They resolved to leave the talking to the evenings.
Conrack had taken charge of the ten man scouting group; all of them Meatae. He came back at regular intervals to check the main column’s progress.
“We’d be better off wi’ more scouts in front, Finlass!” Conrack said, just back from another sweep. “The trees get denser farther on, we’re spread too thin!”
“What do you think, Calach?” Finlass asked. “We’ve already got ten up front, do we need more?”
“What are you asking him for?” Conrack snapped, showing his old ways. “He’s not in charge! You are!”
“Conrack, let’s not start anything!” Finlass tried to soothe his brother’s fiery temper. “No one person has seniority here. We all know that.”
“No we don’t ‘know’ that at all!” Conrack persisted. “Come on Finlass! You’re older an’ more experienced than he is.” Conrack cut in again before Calach could begin to defend himself.
“Listen Conrack.” Calach said quietly. “The only person we need in charge right now is you! You’re in charge of the scouts. If you need more, go down the column an’ ask for two from each clan. That should be enough for you.”
The friends watched Conrack open his mouth as if to start to speak, then wheel his horse around and rode off, shouting for additions to his scout numbers.
Calach recalled Kheltine’s words, and without the accompanying pain, wondered how he would broach the delicate subject of command.
“He’s going to prove trouble later on.” Calach said, quiet enough for only Finlass to hear.
“Aye, but he’s only voicing the question that’ll be asked by everyone soon.” Finlass stared ahead.
“The leadership?” Calach’s eyes lifted to the sky.
“The Leadership.”
“Aye well Finlass; you’re older right enough, but there’s more Caledonii here than anybody else”
An’ we’ll only win wi’ me in charge! Why wasn’t life easy?
~ ~ ~
Sewell sat back on his heels. “There was not as much time to prepare as we had hoped.” He squinted over at Quen’tan, who’s features flinched as Pell’s question came th
rough.
But you have done your duty? The riders are on their way?
“Yes Arch-dhruid Pell, they ride even as we speak. They should be close to Shiels.”
Good, we shall see if the omens are accurate on this important occasion.
Quen’tan moved his lips slightly as he sent his thought.
“We have done all we can, Arch-dhruid, they ride with speed, but we must watch their safety. They would fare better if we watched over them.”
These men are not your babes! They are but tools of Lugh, to be used as he sees fit!
Both sitting dhruids flinched this time.
The omens are enough! We need care for them no more.
Sewell’s brows came together. “But Arch-dhruid, without our aid, surely.......”
They are gone from us! They will need us no more!
“Yes Arch-dhruid.” Sewell’s and Quentan’s voices together.
We have much more to do.
“Yes Arch-dhruid.”
Join with me now, we must urge all our dhruid brethren in the Selgove clan to move away from the towns and villages. They must hasten to the hills; to safety. If the Romans attack, they must be away from all fighting. If the Romans are successful, they must be available to guide the survivors northwards.
Sewell bowed his head, feeling the familiar mental touch of the other brothers as they joined the group. Together they sent the messages to as many of the Selgove dhruids as they could find.
For all Sewell had cut the entrails, and cast the white stones, he could not help wondering how Calach and his friends were.
Chapter 14.
Spring 80AD.
Shiels.
For most of the morning as they had approached the main part of Shiels, they were conscious of plumes of smoke rising from the town. Their forced pace of the last few days was now sedate and cautious. Finlass had given the order for the column to bunch up closer. They now rode five and six abreast; the last thing they needed was an ambush.
“Cooking fires?” Calach ventured.