Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part Three; The Coming of Age)

by Hall, Ian

  They had sailed home without a hitch, although they took a wider berth round Damon lands in case of an ambush. There had been none. They had sailed for nine days, there and back without sighting a single Roman sail. Finlass did not know whether to be happy or saddened by the fact.

  The same year, early that spring, the plan saw its third inter-clan marriage; the union between the Cerone and Epidd clans. Cam’bel had done as he had promised, and messengers were sent to Calach and Finlass to attend the festivities. Finlass and Conrack attended, and the absence of Calach withheld nothing from the revelry of the occasion and Finlass’s mood was considerably brightened with this new, unplanned addition to their scheme. The wedding of Cam’bel and Nevish’s niece however, was the marred by the death of Ca’duell, Cam’bel’s father, the next day. Although Finlass was saddened at the old man’s untimely death, he could not help feeling that part of ‘the plan’ had been realized. They now had a clan chief in their group.

  ~ ~ ~

  Calach rode swiftly into the darkened village, waving at the sentry as he did so. Although he slowed to a walk and shouted a greeting as he passed the man, he kicked his horse to a canter as soon as he was past. He rode through the village, rounding many huts, till he seen the one he was looking for.

  I’m sure that’s Finlass’s horse!

  A figure parted the curtain at the doorway and Calach recognized Techist, the village’s head man.

  “Lud Calach!” His surprise showed even in the dimness of late evening. “I was just saying to Lud Finlass that you may not be coming.”

  Just then the curtain opened again.

  “Calach?” Finlass asked. “Is that you?”

  Techist grabbed hold of the horses reins as Calach quickly dismounted. “We’ve got to hurry Finlass, they’re watching me; I managed to give us some time, but I don’t have long.”

  “Aye no problem Calach, come inside.”

  Techist began to lead the horse away.

  “Just leave him there Techist. An’ don’t take the saddle off, I won’t be here long enough for him to have any benefit from it.”

  Calach heard the “Aye Lud” as he slipped inside the hut.

  “You’re not staying here long at a’, are you?”

  “No, sorry, I’ve got a wee while, then back to Blane. Ranald’s man Durgal is drunk, but that doesn’t mean he won’t wake up early. I took the chance to get away when I could.”

  “How long has it been Calach?”

  “I’ve not spoken to you for more than a year. If it hadn’t been for Aysar getting through to you a couple o’ times, I might have given up altogether.”

  Finlass sat down in one of the three chairs in the hut, and motioned that Calach should do likewise.

  “Oh don’t give up now Calach; we’ve got three marriages together, and one chief! Cam’bel is chief now.”

  “Oh, so you don’t know about Mauchty then?”

  “Mauchty?”

  “Aye, Gillaine died in the winter, Mauchty was made Venicone chief immediately. No challenges.”

  Finlass laughed. “Well that’s two then!”

  “Alright Finlass I’d say this calls for a drink!”

  “So would I!”

  Techist was summoned, and some ale sent for. Finlass agreed to compensate for the village’s loss. The conversation, although conducted speedily because of Calach’s lack of time, still brought each other up to date with the others machinations.

  “The group’s expanding isn’t it Calach?”

  Calach wondered if Finlass’ words were just a jibe, but he still answered freely. “Aye, there’s Aysar and Mauchty; they both know the whole plan now, an’ both times I had to tell them. I had no choice.”

  “Well after the incident in the snow here two years ago, I kept my side of it pretty tight, but I’ll be glad to tell Conrack soon. If he’s not let into the ‘inner sanctum’, he’ll dig from the outside, an’ that’ll do us no good at a’.”

  “Agreed!”

  As the ale was poured, Finlass and Calach ironically agreed that apart from the Selgove in the far south, who had seen the preparations at close quarters, the main point against their argument for political union had been the Romans themselves. They had been very visible around the coasts, and even landed in the sparsely populated west, where Calach had met them, but they had not invaded. Various reports came that they were organizing an invasion, the dhruids at the ‘great gaither’ had been convincing, but as yet the Romans had remained resolutely out of the Norlands. With the exception of the Selgove and the Novants, who were at the most risk, and the newly promoted chiefs Mauchty, and Cam’bel, all of the Norland clan chiefs still had to come round to their way of thinking. The thought of invasion was far distant, there always seemed to be more urgent matters to attend to.

  In the main they confirmed that they had found support amongst the younger elements of clan culture, those who had yet to settle down to family life and had less to lose by such a venture. As they travelled around the country, both Calach and Finlass found that they had become more distant from their father’s generation on each subsequent return to their native soil.

  On Calach’s side, it seemed that arguments between the two factions of father and son had become more frequent, especially with his father’s constraints on his travelling. He reported that the age gap was growing wider as the younger warriors turned to Calach’s point of view.

  Finlass had no such problems, it seemed that Ma’damar was only too happy to hear his son’s views, and assisted him in his trips; the latest by the use of his new ship.

  It was a strange, quiet time for the Norlands clans.

  Although they had discussed nothing new, when Calach left, later that night, he felt much more secure in his position as part of the forthcoming union.

  ~ ~ ~

  Upon his return to Lochery, Uwan did not notice much having changed in the Norlands. His year of solitude seemed to have distanced itself very quickly as he was pushed into his new task; the learning of the Brigante language. He took to the task with the same enthusiasm as he approached any other; the reason for his learning the language was the biggest question on his lips, but he kept the question un-asked. Almost without his noticing, the seasons came and went, the year speeding by as he spent most of his day with the ‘black guard’ of the Brigante princelings. He saw little of Calach and the rest of his family; but that was normal for a learning dhruid. The sheep and cattle were brought back to the settlements in the late autumn after the festival of Samain, and quartered in pens around the outskirts of the town. The crops of wheat and barley, planted when he was studying the moon far away, ripened nicely and were harvested, stores of leek and turnip were put aside for the winter.

  Older, frailer members of the clans died, and others were born. Life in the clans of the Norlands was little effected by the fact that an invading army was massing at its southern borders.

  As usual, traders came through the Norlands. Some came singly, unobtrusively arriving; their wares displayed in the marketplace early one morning. Others came in groups; long convoys of colorful carts, with smiling jugglers, singers and story-tellers.

  They arrived, on time, with an audience of adults and children, drawn from the fields they had passed. They came at the optimum moment to allow them good weather to return south again, their carts full of Norland goods; cured skins and hides, smoked fish, salt, freshwater pearls. The trading time was limited for those of the far north.

  All travellers from the far south arrived with tales of the Roman settlements in the lands they had conquered. They told of great stone buildings which housed baths and theatres. They spoke of the improved townships and how the great Roman laws had brought prosperity to the southern peoples. They brought samples of the new woven cloth which was worn by the Roman overlords and new spices. They brought wines and new flavors of ale for the Norlanders to try. Some of the traders, when they had consumed much of the local brew, also found their tongues looser, and told of
the slaughter and murder of the southern tribes; the price that had been paid for all the prosperity.

  Uwan listened as some within the clans expressed opinions that the traders were not as numerous as in previous years. He sat in silence with Ishar and the Brigante warriors and listened as some of the Caledon people swallowed the trader’s tales of flourishing southern neighbors. Uwan and Ishar made sure that they also stayed to hear the drunken tales after dark of the savage new order under the Romans. Ishar and Uwan agreed that the latter was probably nearer the truth.

  As soon as the traders came, they seemed to leave and Lochery was peaceful again. Uwan settled once more to his work, and by the next spring found himself thinking in Brigante instead of the Norland tongue. He found that the more he reported on his progress to Sewell, the more extra work he was given, so took to walking to the circle at night. Inside the circle, he noticed that the alignments of the stones were not as complex as his circle farther north. As the moon went through its phases, he watched with interest as the missed parts were not followed by the stones.

  When the shortest day came near, and he played his part in the ceremony of the lighting of the fires, he stood by one of the stones, in his allotted place, and watched the moon rise with some relief. Exactly on cue, it rose from the top of the stone and steadily rose upwards. The alleviation of his concerns, however, was short lived as he was forced to ponder exactly why the circle was not as well aligned as his own.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You are finished” Sewell said it in such a soft voice, Uwan thought he had heard wrongly.

  “Yes, I feel I am now confidently fluent in Brigante.”

  Sewell smiled. “I fear that you do not grasp what I am saying Uwan.”

  There were six other dhruids in the room, on the second floor of the broch occupied by the order.

  “Let us all tell him.” Sewell looked round the room. “Shall we?”

  You are finished.

  Uwan flinched as the thought sprung unbidden into his head.

  You are finished training. You are one of us.

  The elation mixed with relief as Uwan relaxed, the tears falling unheeded down his face. For one instant he had thought Sewell had meant that Uwan was finished in the brotherhood, and was being banished. His theories of the moons phases had come immediately into his mind; this, he thought, might have been enough to provoke a severe censure.

  Welcome to the brotherhood of the dhruids.

  Uwan could contain himself no longer.

  YES! He roared.

  Uwan watched in dismay as Sewell and the other six dhruids physically recoiled after his outburst. Two fell backwards, to be supported by the wall and one collapsed limply in a dead faint. He quickly recognized that for the first time since beginning training four years ago, he had not moderated his thoughts.

  Uwan felt Sewell’s voice in his head.

  Careful Uwan. You must learn to control yourself.

  As the dhruids crowded round the member who had fainted, he apologized to all in the room. Sewell led him down the spiral stairway to the ground floor, then out into the chilly winter evening.

  “You are now free to do whatever you feel is right as a dhruid.” His hands grasping Uwan’s shoulders.

  “But I feel I still have much to learn....”

  What do I call you?

  Uwan looked at Sewell’s face as he asked the question. For a fleeting moment, he saw concern and fear flash across his features. Then the dhruid relaxed.

  “Just call me Sewell. You did as a child before you joined us, nothing has changed.”

  “But I feel....”

  I have so much still to learn!

  “You may have much to learn Uwan!” Sewell interrupted, “But we can teach you no more. You have learned all the basics that we know. You will learn more as you grow more mature, as we all did, but now you must find your own way.”

  “But there are other dhruids who are older than me, who are still learning.”

  “And there are those who have reached the same stage as you and been younger still.”

  (Untruth.) No one has been as young and powerful as you.

  Uwan put a tight clamp on his thoughts. He had heard the last directly from Sewell, and he was sure that he should not have been able to. Sewell pointed to the setting sun. “Your learning is out there Uwan.”

  (Untruth.) Dangerous for you in Lochery.

  Uwan again felt the older dhruid’s thoughts as if he had a small personal window on his mind, then, just as abruptly as it opened, it closed. How could it be dangerous for a dhruid in his home town?

  “I must go from here today.” Uwan said, and watched with both distaste and distrust when Sewell’s face flashed with obvious relief.

  “But it is mid-winter, you cannot travel.”

  “I go but three days from here, to a village who helped me.”

  “Whatever you feel you must do brother.” Sewell’s happiness at his impending departure was obvious to Uwan, but did not show on the older dhruid’s face. Uwan felt it.

  His greatest day had been spoiled. Marred by a flash of his own inspiration.

  The dhruidry is corrupt. And I can feel it.

  With an overwhelming feeling of disappointment, Uwan walked out of the room and down the staircase.

  The dhruidry was corrupt. It began with the very man he had looked up to for too many years to remember, and went as far as the stones themselves. He thought of his circle, and how it differed from the one outside Lochery.

  The young man felt sullied, as if the clean garment of dhruidry had been degraded forever. He had glimpsed the dark, political, ruthless side of the dhruidic brotherhood, but that was not what made him wary.

  His wariness came from the fact that although Sewell said the correct things to him, and thought the correct messages to him, he held something back. Something which Sewell had considered private, but that somehow Uwan could sense.

  For some reason, Sewell was afraid of him.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Four winters Aysar!”

  Calach swung the heavy staff two-handed at the tree. There was a loud crack, which rang through the silent, snow-covered forest, then the snow from above fell upon Calach’s upturned face. He reveled in the chill of the snow against his hot, sweating brow; he tasted it, then wiped it from his newly grown beard.

  “Four winters!” He punctuating another two-handed swipe of the staff at the tree.

  “Four summers too Calach. Remember the summers.”

  Calach brought the staff against the tree for the third time and the staff split, sending the top portion flying through the trees.

  “Damn!” Calach snarled. He looked at the shortened length of wood in his hands. “That was a good staff.”

  “What did you expect you daft bugger.” Aysar had a guarded smile on his face.

  Calach watched his friends face as he tossed the remains of the staff to one side. With his eyes on Aysar’s, Calach reached behind his head and began to draw his broadsword. With a clear metallic ring, the sword slid from the well-greased scabbard. He clutched the grip in two hands, sending the heavy blade in slow arcs in front of Aysar’s face.

  “Oh come on Calach!” Aysar sighed. “Lets not waste a good sword as well!”

  Calach lifted the blade high above his head and paused it there, stock still; the ‘executioners pose’.

  “Four summers they’ve waited Aysar!” Calach kept the pose steady. “Four summers I’ve told everyone they’re going to invade, an’ what’s happened?”

  Then he turned and struck.

  “Nothing!” He screamed.

  The sapling fell, chopped clean through.

  “Not a bloody thing!” He thrust upwards through a low lying branch.

  “Nothing!” Calach chopped again, this time the tree fell towards him, and he ducked quickly out of the way, chopping it once more as it toppled past him, showering him in soft, powdery snow.

  “They’re making me out to be a fool Aysar
!” He shouted as he advanced on his next target. “People who used to listen to me, are starting to believe Ranald again!”

  He struck a thicker tree this time, expecting the blade to pass through, but the honed edge dug deep, sending shudders through Calach’s frame. He tugged it free, and with an almighty roar, chopped from the other side. The blade stuck again. With a twist, Calach pulled it loose. He swayed before the tree, panting. His breath now in clouds about him as he prepared the next stroke.

  Calach thought of the Roman he had killed. Last year? The year before?

  All that excitement, then this..... nothing!

  “I’ll kill again!” He shouted as he swept the heavy two-handed blade clean through the partly chopped tree.

  He thrust the sword into the ground at his feet then, panting, fell to his knees. He heard the crunch of the snow as Aysar came nearer.

  “Well are you happy now?”

  “Happy?”

  “A’ you’ve done is chop down some firewood, an’ give yourself a job to do tonight!”

  Calach was tired, and did not follow Aysar’s reasoning.

  “Job to do?” He asked, looking up.

  “Aye, you’ll have to oil your sword again or it’ll rust.” Aysar grabbed Calach’s tunic at the shoulder, pulling him to his feet. He looked at Calach’s blade. “Aye an’ you’ll probably have to put another edge on this blade again. It’ll not like being used as an axe.”

  Calach allowed himself to be turned towards home, and they began to walk through the snow, retracing their steps to Lochery.

  After a while Aysar spoke. “You know what would be easier Calach?”

  “What?”

  “If you got yourself a girl nearer home.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve only seen Sharra three or four times this year, an’ a man needs to..... you know!”