‘I yield!’ Tangwen screamed. Britha opened her eyes. Madawg was standing over Tangwen. He looked angry.
‘Try and die with some dignity,’ he spat.
‘She fought well enough,’ Britha said. She was addressing Bladud, not Madawg. There were muttered agreements from the assembled crowd.
‘She didn’t fight at all!’ Madawg snapped.
‘It’s clear that she is no warrior,’ Ysgawyn announced loudly. ‘Clearly what skill she has is derived from stolen magics, and she should not be considered a warrior, nor treated as one and granted their privileges.’
Now there were more than a few angry cries from the crowd, particularly from those she had helped lead to safety, or who had fought beside her.
‘She fought a challenge. She has yielded. How is that different from any other warrior?’ Guidgen demanded angrily.
‘She made the challenge after Madawg caught her masquerading above her station,’ Ysgawyn retorted.
‘That was not the reason given!’ Guidgen cried. Ysgawyn looked confused, though it was clearly an act.
‘Clearly it was a simple ruse, any real dryw would have the intelligence to see that.’
‘Watch your mouth, boy …’ Guidgen spat, pointing at the so-called rhi of the Corpse People. Many of the gwyllion had their hands on their weapons now.
‘Enough!’ Bladud called. He pulled his hood down. ‘Tangwen did all that was required of her. The matter is settled.’
‘My insults stand,’ Madawg cried, playing to the audience now. ‘She has been judged by Arawn and her own weakling serpent god!’ Then he turned to Bladud. ‘I will rape her. She needs to know her place.’ There were howls of fury from the audience now. Britha could see from the set of Bladud’s body he was furious.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Britha said. She couldn’t look at Tangwen, couldn’t take the look of defeat and fear on the younger woman’s face.
‘It is my right!’ Madawg all but screamed.
‘This matter is over,’ Bladud snapped. ‘Your insults stand, nothing more.’ If he had planned this then it had gone wrong. He may have weakened Tangwen’s guardianship of the chalice, and by association Germelqart’s, Guidgen’s, and his own, but he had revealed himself to be in alliance with monsters.
‘She should be made an example of so that others know not to pretend to be warriors with unearned power!’ Madawg continued to harangue the Witch King. The Brigante present were grim-faced and angry. A significant number of the women in the crowd looked ready to attack, as did many of the men.
‘Madawg,’ Ysgawyn said quietly.
The furious warrior snapped round to look at his king. The anger drained from the champion’s face. ‘My apologies,’ he said to Bladud, and bowed. ‘My blood was up from the fight and the extent of her insult to those who risk all to protect the people.’ He turned and stalked from the circle, leaving Tangwen still lying in the bloody snow.
Britha moved towards her. The hunter’s wounds were like mouths, opening and closing as harming magic fought with healing magic.
Calgacus was shaking his head as he joined her. ‘This I do not like; we are brought too close to the gods.’ There were many others in the circle who had not witnessed Otherworldly magic first-hand before. They were spitting and making the sign against evil.
‘We fight the gods,’ Britha said quietly. She felt the Cait mormaer’s eyes on her.
‘Well, they’re going to write songs about us,’ Calgacus finally said, looking away. ‘You do not like these Corpse People, I think?’ he asked. Though he had no idea what had been said in the exchange after Tangwen had yielded.
‘No, I do not,’ Britha admitted, though Brys, the greybeard among the Corpse People who had died at Oeth, had grown on her when she had travelled with them.
‘I do not think I like them either,’ Calgacus said brightly. Britha sighed as they reached Tangwen and helped her to her feet. The younger woman said nothing. Britha couldn’t quite make out her expression as they started back towards where the Cait stood.
‘That one has not finished with her,’ Calgacus said. Britha looked around. Madawg stood with his rhi staring at Tangwen’s back. ‘Maybe I should kill him.’
‘You can’t beat him, he has drunk of my blood,’ Britha said, then she glanced at Calgacus. She could see the look of distaste on his face.
‘Girl,’ Calgacus said to Tangwen, but she didn’t answer. ‘You didn’t lose because he was a better fighter, nor even because he fights dirty, though that’s part of it. You lost because he will do what you will not.’
Tangwen didn’t even acknowledge the mormaer. Germelqart met them as they reached the rest of the Cait and took Tangwen from Calgacus.
‘See them back to camp,’ the mormaer told two of his warriors. Then he turned to Britha. ‘Translate for me.’
She was paying no attention. The serpent child’s lack of reaction was starting to worry Britha. The ban draoi noticed that there was no trace of the effects of the yellow powder around Tangwen’s eyes. That had been the beauty of the ploy. The healing magics infused in Tangwen’s own flesh would cover up Madawg’s trick.
‘Britha?’ She looked down at Calgacus, and reluctantly nodded. The mormaer turned to face Ysgawyn just as the crowd was starting to drift back to camp. ‘Given their serpent tongue and their inability to fight, can I assume that we can ignore these weaklings, so frightened of life that they pretend to be dead? I am guessing this is so they can be overlooked among the fallen on a battlefield.’ Calgacus shouted. Calgacus looked up at Britha and grinned.
Britha sighed and translated.
‘Could you point out to our flea-bitten northern friend that we ignore those who talk in the tongue of animals, rather than the tongue of civilised folks?’ Ysgawyn asked, smiling.
Britha raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked. Ysgawyn glanced at Bladud, who remained silent, and then nodded. Britha translated.
The Cait cateran, as one, charged Ysgawyn, Madawg and Gwynn, the other surviving Corpse People warrior. The only one who did not was Calgacus’s tall, blonde charioteer. Britha had a moment to see the look of terror on Ysgawyn’s face and then her view was obscured. Some warriors grabbed for weapons, others sought to get out of the way, not through fear so much as it being none of their business.
‘Stop! Stop!’ Calgacus cried. He looked furious. The cateran skidded to a halt. ‘Did I say kill all?’ Calgacus screamed. Britha glanced at the blonde charioteer. She was just shaking her head. ‘We’re not in the north! These are civilised lands. You can’t do things like that, you’ll scare them to death!’
The cateran walked back towards their mormaer apparently sheepishly. Then Britha saw Ysgawyn. Madawg had brought his sword up ready to receive the charge. Gwynn had grabbed a shield and drawn his sword. Ysgawyn was shaking and had wet himself. Britha knew that the rhi of the Corpse People, while cautious and calculating, was no coward. She wondered if his experiences with the spawn of the Muileartach and the Lochlannach had broken his nerve.
Calgacus turned to Bladud. ‘I apologise. I will discipline my people.’ Bladud’s face looked like stone. Calgacus turned back to Ysgawyn. ‘You’ll catch your death if you don’t get out of those wet breeks.’
Of course the rhi of the Corpse People couldn’t understand what Calgacus had said. Britha translated for him.
‘Back to camp, all of you!’ he shouted at his men, and they turned to leave.
Calgacus had made his point but he had also taught Bladud a great deal about the Cait and their leader. It had been funny, effective, but obviously done as show of strength, and probably discussed amongst themselves before the challenge had taken place.
Britha frowned and looked into the mist. She was not sure whether she’d seen movement or heard it. She was about to shout a warning when three pyres burst into flames. They were set out in a triangle and had gone up so quickly that they must have been doused in oil, which meant it was an expensive display. The flames illum
inated the mist. Those who had been making their way to the camp stopped and turned back to look. Standing between all three pyres was a figure, a man, in the brown robe of a dryw, hood pulled up enough so that the top part of his face was in shadow. His beard was short, well-trimmed. Just enough of a beard that warriors will listen to him, Britha thought. He carried no staff but a sickle hung from his belt. He stood confidently between the fires, his arms crossed. His sudden appearance, and that of the fires, made the warriors nervous but Britha knew that the dryw could not have done it all on his own. She glanced over at the stony faced Bladud again.
‘I am Moren of Ynys Dywyll,’ the figure called. His voice silenced those present. He sounded young but confident. ‘I bring a message from Nils, arch dryw of Ynys Prydain.’
‘What message do you have for us?’ Bladud asked. It was a farce. She’d seen bards less well rehearsed. Moren pointed at the Witch King.
‘You have been summoned for judgement over your past acts,’ he said.
‘I am here waging a war against a foe that is a threat to all,’ Bladud explained.
‘Are they not besieged?’ Moren demanded.
‘Not really,’ Britha muttered to herself.
‘They are,’ Bladud said.
‘Are you so important that you can deny the arch dryw? Are all else here incompetent and disloyal?’ Moren raised his voice just a little. There was an angry murmur from the assembled warriors.
Calgacus was at her side. ‘What is this?’ he asked.
‘Another ploy, it would seem,’ Britha said.
‘They are not,’ Bladud said, letting a little anger creep into his voice. ‘And I would not deny Nils, or the gods!’ Bladud emphasised ‘the gods’.
Britha could feel the trap tightening around her.
‘I will leave the warband in the capable hands of my wife Anharad, and Clust of the Trinovantes,’ the Witch King announced.
Britha explained to Calgacus what was happening.
‘It’s a sore thing to do, to leave your warband during a siege, but winter has set in early. I doubt we’ll fight until spring,’ Calgacus said. Britha knew that Calgacus was effectively trapped in the south until the spring came.
‘Did you not see the giants? How their wounds close? The Lochlannach don’t care about the snow, they don’t feel the cold. The only mystery is why they have not attacked us already,’ Britha told the mormaer.
‘Britha!’
The ban draoi looked up at her name. It was Bladud who had called. ‘It is rude to talk in another tongue when a messenger from Ynys Dywyll is present.’
‘I was just explaining to Calgacus what is happening. He does not speak any of the southron languages.’
Calgacus beamed at the sound of his name.
‘You have also been summoned,’ Moren informed her.
‘I’m sure you mean invited. Your arch dryw has no authority over me.’
There was an angry buzzing from the crowd. She noticed that Guidgen was smiling, however.
‘As have all dryw!’ Moren shouted. The smile fell from Guidgen’s face. ‘You will bring this Red Chalice with you.’
Britha turned to glare at Bladud. ‘No,’ she said simply.
‘The agreement was—’ Bladud started.
‘The agreement was to leave the chalice in the hands of Tangwen and Germelqart until the dryw send someone to make judgement. Your words, Witch King, not mine. They have not. They have sent a messenger.’ She pointed at Moren. She raised her voice. ‘But if you wish to explain to your army why you would deny them their greatest weapon before a battle, then by all means do so.’
‘You would mince words—’ Bladud began.
‘Like you? Yes, when there is the need.’
‘You would deny—’ Moren tried.
‘Oh shut up,’ Guidgen snapped, as he made his way towards Britha. ‘The gwyllion stand with Britha on this.’
‘But she has put herself beyond—’ Moren tried again.
‘Look, just because you can find some wood and oil doesn’t mean we have to go along with your plan to kill everyone here,’ Guidgen said. Britha thought he might have been laying it on a bit thick but she could see a number of the gathered warriors nodding in agreement.
‘I do not understand this,’ Guidgen said quickly to Britha. ‘Nils is no fool and I can’t see him ruling in favour of an oath-breaker like Bladud. He certainly won’t hand over the Red Chalice to him.’
‘Should we go?’ Britha asked.
‘I have no choice, but neither does Bladud, that’s why I don’t understand the play.’
‘If the dryw have demanded the chalice then we should take it from those who would deny them,’ Anharad shouted.
‘Do you challenge?’ Britha asked. Then in Pecht to Calgacus: ‘I may need you to posture.’
‘I thought so, I’m good at that,’ Calgacus said.
The Cirig and the Cait had fought more than once, and come close to war on many more occasions. She was gratified that Calgacus was offering her unconditional support. It was probably because they knew her, and she was from the North, and even during the warfare and the raiding they had dealt fairly with each other. She was still quite pleased that Eurneid had been stepped on, however. She suspected support would not have been so forthcoming if the old woman was still alive.
‘Will there be an actual fight?’
‘Possibly,’ Britha told him.
‘How many on their side have drunk the power from your blood?’ he enquired.
‘Less than on ours.’
‘In which case, still yes.’
Britha laughed. Guidgen was following the exchange. She would need to introduce them later.
‘It is rude to speak in whispers,’ Bladud said, and Britha felt a moment of guilt at this but Guidgen turned on Bladud.
‘Your wife threatens war on those who would fight the Lochlannach—’ Guidgen started.
‘I did not—’ Anharad cried.
Guidgen pointed at Moren. ‘And this one claims that the arch dryw himself is in league with Crom Dhubh and would see us disarmed.’
‘I said no such—’
‘So we were briefly discussing strategy. My apologies. We are ready for your attack.’ He looked at Britha who nodded to Calgacus.
‘Form a shield wall now!’ Calgacus snapped. The Cait cateran did just that. Guidgen nodded and the gwyllion readied their weapons. Guidgen walked into the circle. None of the warriors from the other tribes seemed to know what was going on.
‘Those who fight with Crom Dhubh form up!’ Guidgen shouted. Not even the Brigante seemed to know what to do. Britha was pleased to see the old Guidgen back. Bladud started clapping. Guidgen pointed at him. ‘You wish to lead, Witch King, then lead. This is just divisive.’
Bladud stopped clapping. ‘Whatever Britha may think, we are still subject to the gods. Tomorrow we travel to Ynys Dywyll,’ he said, and turned to walk back to the camp.
Britha saw Guidgen sag for a moment. ‘And if they attack while you are gone?’ Britha asked Bladud’s back.
‘They are under siege,’ Bladud called over his shoulder. ‘I do not think you understand the ways of war.’
After all they have seen they still do not seem to understand the nature of their enemy, she thought. Still, she was sure the Lochlannach would only attack if it would be of advantage to Crom Dhubh, yet he had seemed interested in the Ubh Blaosc. For all she knew he had already attacked the inside-out world, though she could not imagine how even the Dark Man could fight all the magics of the Otherworld. Britha was half ready to leave them to their folly except that she did not have the strength to wrest the rod from Bress and Crom Dhubh herself. She would need the power of the Red Chalice and the help of Bladud’s warband. She thought on the quickest way to get what she needed.
‘I will come with you,’ she told Guidgen, who nodded.
‘Calgacus, will you look to Tangwen, help her keep the Red Chalice?’ Britha asked.
‘Aye, though I want
no part of that thing. It seems to be driving all mad. This is no way to fight a war.’
Guidgen nodded in agreement.
‘I will have my people do the same,’ Guidgen said. ‘We can have Germelqart act as translator between my people and the northerners.’
Britha was once again looking in the direction of the cave mouth that led to Annwn. She could still only see mist.
11
Now
‘Are you a really insecure person?’ Beth asked as she walked into the secure gunroom in the castle’s cellars. ‘Could you not have collected wine or something?’ There were weapons in racks, boxes of ammunition, bullet presses, workbenches, tools and an extensive ventilation system.
‘It’s a mixture of multiple redundancy, me never throwing anything away, and different weapons having different purposes,’ du Bois told her, sounding more defensive than he had intended. She was looking at his old Nock flintlock pistols, his cavalry sabre hung underneath them, the broadsword he had carried to the Holy Land above those.
‘I thought they only had the one purpose,’ Beth said quietly, then she turned to him. ‘Are you sure it’s not a fetish thing?’
Du Bois ignored her and opened a polished wood case to remove his Purdey bolt-action rifle. Based on the Mauser, the walnut stock, engraved custom rifle was chambered for 7.62mm NATO, the same as his carbine. He’d had the end of the barrel threaded to accept a suppressor, and he’d mounted a Leupold scope on it. It may have been a hunting rifle designed for the rich, but it was so accurate that most snipers would have killed for it. He laid the moulded armoured back sheath on the workbench next to it. He would secure that to his pack.
The Beauty of Destruction Page 15