Age of Iron

by Angus Watson

  The boy stepped forward, holding open the top of the sack. Maggot delved a hand into it. Dug almost laughed when he pulled out a fistful of wriggling maggots.

  “Ah, hence the name.”

  “No, actually that’s just a coincidence. I’m called Maggot because I have a small penis.”

  “Ah.”

  “And that was a joke. I’m actually hung like Kornonos.”

  “I see. What are the maggots for?”

  “They eat dead and infected flesh, not the healthy bits. You’re infected. That’s why you stink. With these, the infection will be gone before you know it.”

  “And without them?”

  “You’ll be dead in three days.”

  “Hmm. So you’re going to cure a big animal’s bites by getting a bagful of wee animals to bite me?”

  Maggot nodded happily. “Great, isn’t it?”

  Dug looked at the crazy-faced druid. To his surprise, he trusted him. He couldn’t have said why. It was probably the cider. He nodded.

  Maggot’s smile widened. He pressed the handful of maggots into the largest of Dug’s chest wounds, then grabbed another handful.

  It was disgustingly ticklish. Dug had to battle the urge to yell, sit up and brush the horrible little fuckers away. But he closed his eyes and twiddled the bed sheet, trying to concentrate on how the woollen fibres felt between his fingers and how they rubbed against each other. Distraction, he’d found, was an effective pain relief.

  When the bag was empty, Maggot placed a few layers of cloth of a type Dug didn’t recognise over the writhing larvae, then bound the whole lot up in the woollen blanket.

  As he tied the last few knots, Lowa walked into the hut.

  Maggot stood aside and Lowa bent down. If she noticed the smell, she didn’t show it. She kissed him gently on the lips.

  Dug had had a hot mud bath once. Lowering himself into it, he’d groaned with pleasure and relief as warm comfort eased its way into every pore. Lowa’s kiss felt a lot like that.

  “How are you treating him?” she asked Maggot.

  “Maggots.”

  “Good.” Lowa seemed unsurprised. “Anything I can do?”

  “Judging by that grin, a kiss like that every now and then should help. Otherwise, leave him to rest. I’ll go now. Please let him sleep soon.”

  “Sure.”

  Maggot’s jewellery jangled as he left the hut.

  The sunlight through the opened door was bright in her hair. “Are you really OK?” she asked.

  “Never better. Is Spring all right?”

  “She went fishing with some people in a boat. She looked happy. They looked nervous.”

  “Good. You all right?”

  “Course I am. I’d better go and let you sleep. You get well, OK?”

  “Aye. I’ll be up and at ’em before the day’s out.”

  Lowa leaned over and kissed him again. Dug breathed in her musky scent and went to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Lowa pushed the hut door closed, then leaped out of the way as a man carrying logs came careering towards her, so intent on watching his feet on the wobbly island floor that he didn’t see her.

  “Gods, sorry!” he stammered. “I…”

  Neither spoke for a moment, but Lowa found herself smiling broadly, first at the man’s honest horror at having nearly bumped into her, but more at how preposterously attractive he was. His strong dimpled chin was almost comically heroic, his neat hair casually ruffled as if today’s wind had been created solely to produce the effect, and his eyes shone with vigour. Under his clean white flax shirt was the outline of a lean, muscular torso.

  “I’m Lowa Flynn,” she said. “I arrived this morning.”

  “Ragnall,” said the young man, gripping the logs with one arm and reaching out a hand. “Ragnall Sheeplord.” He had the confident region-free tones of a ruling family. Lowa took his hand.

  “Are you a local?” she found herself asking, her usual dislike of small talk put aside for a moment.

  On finding that they both accompanied recovering invalids, Ragnall suggested that they go for a walk up nearby Gutrin Tor. Lowa acquiesced. She couldn’t see any massive problem in spending the day with a charming, good-looking young man.

  They reached the summit tower. As they’d climbed the hill, her mood had soured again. She wanted to kill Zadar and she shouldn’t have been arsing about on recreational country walks, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not come up with a plan.

  Ragnall nodded hello to the guards and they headed up, leaned on the south wall and looked at the huge view. Lowa walked off and looked over all the other walls in turn. Yup, spectacular. She came back and leaned against the wall next to Ragnall. “Why are you and Drustan here?”

  The tall young man looked down at her.

  “Same as you and your man.”

  “I wouldn’t call him my man.”

  “Oh, you’re not … er … together?”

  “You mean are we sleeping with each other?”

  Ragnall coloured. “No, I just assumed…”

  “I don’t belong to anyone. Neither does Dug.”

  “OK.”

  “So, how did you end up here?”

  “We were on our way to Dumnonia when Drustan got a lung disease.”

  “Is that home?”

  “No. It’s complicated.” His eyes were grey, shining with energy and youth.

  “Tell me. I have nothing else to do today.”

  “All right,” he said, nodding to the south-east. “The reason we’re heading to Dumnonia lives over there somewhere in the world’s most impenetrable hillfort”

  Ragnall told Lowa a brief life history and what had happened, then about Maggot’s opinion of Drustan’s motives and his indecision over what to do next.

  “What do you think?” he asked when he got to the end, fixing her with his intense stare. His curly hair shifted softly in the wind, other than where sweat from the climb had pasted tendrils to the sides of his strong face. He was, Lowa thought, a bright young man as well as a handsome one. The important word there was young. He was maybe six years younger than her, but the differences between their lives made it more like a hundred. With his parents newly dead, his mentor incapacitated and no other teachers around, he clearly needed someone to tell him what to do. If she ever managed to devise a plan, she’d be able to use him. How, she wondered, should she play it?

  She knew first hand about his home’s destruction. She’d led the charge and been first over the wall, shooting arrows into the peace-softened bodies of the ineffectual defenders. She’d killed a lot of people that day, possibly – probably – more than anyone else. Chances were she’d killed at least one of his brothers. From his description, she was pretty sure she knew who Anwen was. She’d been taken alive from Boddingham.

  “I was in Zadar’s army,” she said.

  Ragnall blanched. Lowa heard his teeth grind.

  “Why didn’t you … before I…?”

  “I wasn’t part of the raid on Boddingham. I was in a small band of archers with my sister and some other women. My sister was the only family I had left, and the women were my only friends. We did more hunting and scouting than fighting, and we were away scouting when Zadar attacked Boddingham.”

  “But you were still part—”

  “Exactly. Were. A few days after Boddingham, at a place called Barton, Zadar had my sister and my friends slaughtered. They tried to kill me but I escaped. Now I only have one desire – to kill Zadar.”

  “Barton?”

  “Yes.”

  “My father … I found his body.”

  Lowa shook her head. “Yes. I don’t know why Zadar had my women killed, and tried to have me killed, but it may have been because I spoke out about your father’s treatment.” She had in fact thought that Zadar’s treatment of Kris Sheeplord was distasteful, but she’d been a long way from caring enough to say anything.

  The young man seemed appeased, however. “Do you know
what they did with Anwen?” he asked, eyes full of puppyish misery. “Drustan said she’d already be halfway to Rome.”

  “I don’t know. She might be. But it’s as likely she’s still at Maidun. Is she good-looking?”

  “Beautiful, the most beautiful—”

  “Then it’s very likely she’s at Maidun.”

  “Why? What will they be doing to her?” Ragnall gripped Lowa’s shoulders and shook her. He stopped shaking when he saw the look on her face. He took his hands from her shoulders and reddened. Lowa paused to let him stew in his own awkwardness for a moment, then continued.

  “If she’s as beautiful as you say, chances are she’ll be in Zadar’s harem.”

  “Oh Danu…”

  “It’s the best place she could be. She’ll be treated well there.”

  “But she’ll have to—”

  “He won’t rape her.” She didn’t add that people were generally so grateful to escape slavery and be placed in Zadar’s harem that they seldom needed coercion to sleep with their charismatic rescuer.

  “OK. Thanks. Sorry for grabbing you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But … But why should I believe anything you say? You’re with Zadar.”

  “Was. Was with Zadar. And I was never fully with him, and when he killed my sister and my friends I became a different person.” Lowa gripped his arms much harder than he’d gripped her shoulders. It shocked Ragnall into silence. “Nothing matters to me, nothing at all, apart from killing Zadar. Help me with that, and I will help you find Anwen.”

  “But Drustan…”

  She loosened her grip but kept hold of his muscled arms. They felt good. “Drustan will have you running to Dumnonia while Anwen suffers in Maidun. Now remind me, which epic tale tells the story of a hero reacting to the kidnap of his woman by running in the opposite direction?”

  “You have a point.”

  “I do. Who knows what will happen? Yes, people are saying that Dumnonia will attack Zadar, but the Murkans might equally conquer Zadar and save Dumnonia the job. Or the Murkan tribes might unite with Maidun to attack Dumnonia. People say a lot and people are often wrong. Even if they’re right, it won’t happen this year because it’s only a couple of moons until harvest. Maybe it won’t happen next year or the year after. Maybe the Romans will get here first. Going to Dumnonia now is no way to get Anwen back. Come with me. Come to Maidun.”

  “I’ll … think about it.”

  “Do that. You have some time. I want to wait until Dug is healthy enough. But while we’re here, don’t speak to me, or anyone, about me being in Zadar’s army. That time is over, I swear.” This, she thought, was not a lie: she really was a changed person, appalled at what she’d done for Zadar.

  “All right.” the man-boy nodded.

  “So,” said Ragnall as he climbed into the boat to paddle back to Mearhold, “you only met Dug a few days ago?”

  Lowa smiled. “Maybe five days ago. I lose track.”

  Chapter 5

  Dug’s hut was one of three squatting in a semicircle on the southern edge of Mearhold’s man-made island. From his door in the central hut Dug had a view across cleared, shallow, wildfowl-busy water. About a hundred paces away there was a fringe of reeds, then spindly but leafy birch and alder trees reaching out of the swamp like the hands of trapped, drowning men. The image made him shiver. But that’s the injury talking, he thought, and its treatment. Having creatures crawling around in your chest and being hungover for Toutatis-knew-how-many mornings in a row is bound to dredge up melancholy thoughts. The trees probably looked lovely to most.

  Beyond the trees, a good few miles beyond, low hills loomed. Off to the left was a long lozenge of a mound which presumably led to Gutrin Tor, but he couldn’t see that far from his sickbed.

  It was his third day of lying flat on his back being chewed by a chestful of worming horror. Much of the time he distracted himself. He watched the birdlife on the water – fowl swimming, swifts dipping, kingfishers plopping. Ducks landing was his favourite avian spectacle. They came down panic-faced with mad flapping wings, looking like they were going to land with all the grace of a horse thrown off a pier. But instead they slid onto the surface with a musical splash and sailed off as if they’d planned it that way all along, eyes forward and beaks haughty.

  Often the splashes and quacks of the ducks lulled him to sleep, but mostly he lay awake, thinking. Sometimes he mulled over memories of his wife and daughters, for the millionth time fantasising about what would have happened if he’d got home in time to meet the raiders who’d murdered them. Mostly, however, he fantasised about life with Lowa. He’d kill Zadar and they’d go north, maybe back to his old broch or, even better, to one of their own. He’d always get stuck however on how he was going to kill Zadar. To kill a king, you have to get close to him. How were they going to do that?

  Maggot changed the maggots every morning and dropped by throughout the day. “If I don’t take ’em away and put new ones in, they’ll turn into flies and they’ll fly you away, man, across the sea,” he’d said that morning before telling Dug about the land of giant leaf-eating bears that lay on the other side of the ocean. “Two, maybe three moons in a boat, man, you’ll be there. I might go myself if this Zadar ruins the peace any more.”

  Spring hadn’t been around in the day at all, but Lowa had popped in a few times. Always with the young man Ragnall. Ragnall, he’d found, was polite and intelligent. He was interested in Dug and had interesting things to report about Mearhold. He was a decent, charming, well put-together young chap who was helping to keep Lowa from boredom. Dug didn’t like him at all.

  King Vole had visited the previous evening. He was prematurely balding with a haughty bearing, but, half shitfaced as he was on Maggot’s medicinal cider, Dug hadn’t paid him much attention. Reasonably enough anyway, the king had been more interested in Lowa than Dug. So it looked like Lowa was being courted by a king and a young lord, which wasn’t ideal.

  “Hello.”

  His reverie was broken by a visitor. He hadn’t seen him before, but Dug knew who he was. In the evenings, while Lowa was out with Ragnall or sitting on her bed quietly fletching arrow shafts, Spring had told him at great length about everyone in the village. She’d said the wisest-looking druid she’d ever seen was ill next door. With his long white beard, wrinkled face and brightly inquisitive eyes, this had to be the guy.

  “Hi. You’re Drustan the druid. I’m Dug. Good to see you up. How are you feeling?”

  “I am surprised and pleased to tell you that I am almost fully recovered. Do you mind?” Drustan gestured towards a three-legged wooden stool.

  “Please do. Before you sit though, could you grab me that cider off the side, please?”

  “A pleasure.” Drustan handed the cider to Dug and sat down.

  “Aye, it’s meant to be this evening’s dose, but I’ve drunk the afternoon ration already and I can still feel the wee buggers. Anyway, you’re looking well? Spring said you had a lung sickness?”

  “I did. But that Maggot is a talented healer.”

  “And a strange one?”

  “Perhaps. Ragnall told me about your maggots. I have heard the idea, but it is intriguing to see it put into practice. You are very brave.”

  Dug laughed gently.

  “What?” asked Drustan.

  “Bravery is jumping into a storm sea to save your dog, something like that. Tolerating treatment for illness or injury isn’t bravery. It’s life.”

  “Yes, yes. I had never thought that through, but you are right. What an interesting fellow you are. Perhaps you could tell me what you are doing here, if it is not too troubling for your chest?”

  Dug liked the old man already. “The pain’s almost gone. It’s my last day with maggots. But I am fairly drunk?”

  Drustan chuckled. “The best stories are told after a drink or two.”

  “Or six or seven?”

  “Or indeed, six or seven. Perhaps you coul
d tell me the story of how you met Lowa, and how you came to be on Mearhold? She is intriguing. I’d like to know all about her.”

  “I bet you would.”

  Drustan chuckled. “Not like that. One’s skin is not the only thing that droops with age. It is her story, and yours – and Spring’s – that I am interested in.”

  “OK, I’ll tell you how we all ended up here.” Dug closed his eyes. “It was a sunny day and I didn’t think there was going to be a battle…”

  Chapter 6

  Weylin held his breath, light-headed with anticipation. After all those boring, boring miles, finally it was coming, it was coming … He crested the ridge. He kept his head lowered and screwed his eyes shut to tease himself. He waited, waited, then opened his eyes and boom! There it was. Maidun Castle burst from its brown surrounds like a giant molar tooth, bright white against the blue sky, a giant fist raised in defiance of people and gods. He felt joy bloom from his stomach and almost cheered. He’d pictured it so often, he’d dreamed about it every night, but every time he came back, the first sight of Maidun always struck him like a bucket of cold water to the face.

  It was so awesome. Even from this distance, just seeing its triple chalk walls topped with a stout palisade would put a wobble in the stride of any attacker, no matter how great his courage or his army. Get up close, and all hope would flee like hares from a wolf. Oh, would hope flee! Get up close, and the most courageous strutting hero would feel his mighty balls shrivel into rotting hazelnuts and his bowels churn with slurry.

  They said that people had started to flatten the top of Maidun hill and carve out walls from its flanks thousands of years before, before even the end of the Great Winter. Over hundreds of generations, thousands upon thousands of men, women and beasts had dug and cut and carried the chalk rock to create today’s magnificent, impregnable fortress. Thinking about the time it must have taken, the amount of work that must have gone into it, hurled Weylin’s mind into a spin.