by Ilka Tampke
They were untying their belts and pulling off garments amid drunken shrieks.
With a pounding heart, I flattened against the wall, trying to close my ears to the rut and grunt that followed. Mercifully, it did not take too long until I heard the familiar pant and rising moan that told me Ruther was close to the end. But the name he cried, when his pleasure reached its peak, was not Heka’s but mine.
‘What said you?’ Heka’s voice was sharp with fury.
‘I said nothing,’ Ruther muttered into his bedskins.
‘I heard you call Ailia,’ she spat. ‘Does that serpent poison all? Crawling even between me and the man I am fucking?’
‘Leave then,’ he commanded wearily. ‘You are not even a drop to her river.’
Despite her venom against me, I was angered by his dishonour of her.
When she had left, taking her hateful murmurs into the night, Ruther walked to the night pot. As he steadily filled it, I stepped out of my cover. ‘Donkey,’ I said softly when he had finished.
‘Ailia!’ he gasped, turning. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Waiting for you.’
He came to me, taking my face in his hands. Even in the dim firelight, the blue of his eyes was startling. ‘You are strengthened,’ he said, seeing the change in me.
‘And you also have risen since I have been gone—Tribeking.’ I pulled free of his hold.
He gathered his trousers from the floor and tugged them on. His chest and arms had thickened, hardened. His warrior stature stole my breath. He was worthy of a king’s title. But not this way.
With a loud sigh he sat down on the bed. ‘I have simply done what needed to be done. We are fools if we fight them and Fraid could not see it.’
‘Am I then to be counted in your band of fools?’
‘If you cling to a chariot that is speeding toward a cliff edge, then yes—you are a fool.’
‘Foolish is one who insults the Kendra of Albion.’
He looked up in surprise. ‘Is that who I see before me?’
For a moment I wondered if, here with him, I could hold myself to the title. His respect meant more than I had realised. I drew up, feeling my skin prickle with light.
‘Do not try and summon your glamour against me,’ he warned. ‘I will not be swayed by spirit-craft. But talk to me and I will hear you.’
I sat beside him on the bed. It was still warm and smelled faintly of his spill. ‘Why do you force your tribespeople to surrender to the invasion?’ I asked calmly.
‘You would sooner they were forced by blade?’
‘Then at least they die in the light.’
‘But what are they dying for? Why do you not listen to one who has seen? I have left the shores of Albion. I have seen beyond. If we fight, we are fighting to remain in the darkness. If light is your love, Ailia, you will find it in Rome. There, you may live like a god.’
I watched how his beliefs enlivened him. They were truly held, if poorly formed. ‘There is something I love more than light,’ I said.
‘Is it me?’
I had to laugh. ‘No, you fool, it is freedom. Their god’s life is bought by our freedom if we allow it. It is not for any man or woman to live as a god.’
‘But there is a new freedom in what Rome wil bring,’ he insisted. ‘In the cities, I see the vision of men set free—’
‘And what of the Mothers?’ I filled with anger. ‘Where are they to exist in these cities of men? Do you put your own creation above that of the Mothers?’
He turned to me, grimacing in his conviction. ‘Our creation honours the gods. Our greatness is theirs. If you could only see—’
‘Let me tell you what I have seen, Ruther. I have seen the Mothers at work. I have heard the songs that are the making of the very air we breathe and the ground we tread. If these songs are not honoured, there will be no cities. There will be no ground. There will be darkness. It may be falsely lit by men. But in time that will fail. Only the Mothers’ light will endure.’
He snorted. ‘The knowledge of the new world is no false light, Ailia. It is reshaping our world. Even the paths of rivers can be redrawn by this knowledge. The leaders of Rome are craftsmen, Ailia, and the world itself is their clay. Are you so wedded to our simple ways?’
I stared at him. He was as assured as the sun, ignoring all shadows. His certainty cast its own light and for a moment it blinded me. He was untouched by doubt, unwounded. I thought of Taliesin and the bruises that coloured him, his knowledge wrought by his wounds. I felt a rush of yearning.
‘Nothing is more sacred than the waters,’ I said steadily. ‘A fool’s risk is taken in reshaping them.’
He recoiled from my insult.
‘You call the ways of Albion simple,’ I continued, ‘but, forgive me, Ruther, it is your own wilful ignorance that sees it so. You know there is wisdom embedded in every stone and river. It is intricate beyond measure, beyond comprehension.’
He looked away. In the flickering light I saw traces of the boy he once was. ‘Why have you betrayed the old ways?’ I asked gently.
‘Because they do not serve me.’ He avoided my gaze. ‘Plautius has promised me leadership of Summer, Hod and even Ham Hill. All of central Durotriga, with his soldiers at my flank, if I stand beside him.’
I stared at him in disbelief. ‘You hunger for power, yet there is already power in you, equal or greater than any man.’
He whipped to face me, ignited by my praise. Our eyes locked and then, before I could halt it, we were embracing, drawn by an animal bond I could not sever.
‘You weaken me, Ailia,’ he said, pulling away. ‘Listen—’ he gripped my arms, ‘—the legion will be here in two, perhaps three days. They will arrive peacefully. I will ensure it. But even so, they will seek you out. They do not trust the journeypeople. You and Llwyd will be killed.’
I stiffened. ‘I am not afraid.’
‘You should be.’ He swung to the floor before me. ‘I asked you once and you refused me but there is still a chance for us. The townspeople will follow you. Will you join with me to rule these tribelands under the law that will be strongest?’
The fire made a soft silhouette around his head.
‘You are the bravest fighter of Summer,’ I said. ‘The Mothers have gifted you courage and skill but you will not repay them for it. I will join with you, Ruther, but only for one purpose. I ask you now for the last time: will you stand strong with me against the Romans?’
‘As husband?’ His voice was unwavering. ‘Do you offer yourself to me as wife if I turn on Rome as you request?’
My thoughts swam. Was this what I must do? Marry him to turn his mind? The sacrifice was too great. ‘I cannot,’ I said. ‘I cannot offer myself as wife.’
‘Then damn you, Ailia,’ he said in a low whisper. ‘You will die when they come and I will not seek to stop it.’
I stared, stunned, then rose to my feet and walked to the doorway.
‘Wait,’ he cried, following me and grabbing my wrist. ‘I did not mean it. I am sorry.’
‘Do you want a wife wh
o lives against the very core of her conscience?’ I spluttered. ‘Is that what you seek in a woman?’
He shook his head, his expression anguished. ‘I want you.’
We fell against each other, exhausted.
‘Stay,’ he murmured into my neck.
‘You have just been spent, and with Heka of all people,’ I said, pulling away.
‘I took her because she is sharp-witted like you, and well practised in the coupling arts,’ he said, holding me firm. ‘But she is not even your shadow.’ He kissed my throat.
Despite the heat that flared in my centre, I pushed him away. ‘I cannot lie with you.’
‘Am I not good enough for a journeywoman now?’ he jeered. ‘In Rome a man may take his woman as he wishes without penalty.’ He reached for me again but I strode to the door.
‘I spit on your Roman ways.’
I walked back through the silent township and mourned for the waste of him.
‘How did you fare, Journeywoman?’ Fraid greeted me at the farmhouse door.
‘He is resolved,’ I said. ‘He will not fight the legion. He has already met with envoys to plan his succession.’
When I walked inside there were twelve or fourteen tribespeople gathered around the fire with Fibor, Etaina and Llwyd. They were councillors and warriors of Cad, weak from Troscad, but now hungrily eating bowls of a rich-smelling stew. Among them was Orgilos, Ruther’s father. They dipped their heads as I stood before them. ‘Why do you eat?’ I asked in astonishment. ‘Have you broken Troscad?’
‘We no longer oppose the decision of our leader,’ said Orgilos, gnawing a knuckle of bone.
‘But Ruther’s position is not changed,’ I said.
‘We are loyal to another now.’ Orgilos’s eyes met mine. ‘If the Kendra will bless the battle, then we will fight.’
‘I have sent word to many townspeople, many warriors,’ said Fraid, making room for me on the log at the strong place. ‘Although they will not admit it to Ruther, I still have their loyalty. When I told them of your initiation, they pledged to support you. See here—’ She lifted a basket filled with tokens: arrowheads, spearheads, knives. ‘They are ready to fight for Summer. They need only the Kendra’s word on the battle outcome.’
My chest burst with pride at their courage. ‘Ruther said the legions are two or three days from approach.’
‘Or closer,’ said Fibor. ‘Some scouts report they have already left Hod Hill.’
‘They could take one of two paths,’ said Fraid. ‘I suspect that they will move on Mai Cad first. They will know it is a threat.’
‘Our only choice now is to move the farmers into the hillfort and defend the ramparts,’ said Fibor.
‘Ruther must not learn of it,’ I murmured.
‘How are our weapons stores?’ asked Fraid of the warriors.
‘I have spoken to the makers,’ said Orgilos. ‘They are ready to work hidden by night to ready us for battle.’
‘We will need to position our weapons and stock the ballista,’ said Fibor. ‘This, too, must be done at night. By the time the Romans are upon us, Ruther will have no chance to intervene. There will be war and he will have to fight, either with us or against us.’
‘Ailia.’ Fraid turned to me. ‘We need you to sight the battle and secure it with your blessing.’
The blood quickened in my neck. ‘Perhaps it should be Llwyd—’ I stammered. ‘He has blessed many battles.’
‘No,’ Llwyd said. ‘You are the Kendra. I will assist you, but you alone can foresee this battle’s outcome.’
‘There are few hours left until dawn,’ said Fraid. ‘Let us all take sleep. Ailia, you will have but one day to see and sanctify this battle.’
When the warriors had departed and we were preparing our beds, I asked Fraid where Sulis was.
‘She left for the Isle,’ Fraid answered.
‘By night?’
‘She would not stay.’ Fraid smiled as if to reassure me. ‘She holds her knowledge too firmly,’ she said. ‘Do not heed her.’
I had not heeded her. And I hoped I was not mistaken.
At daybreak, Llwyd and I walked to the Oldforest, where we could work unseen. An ovate followed, carrying the pots and herbs, and leading the calf whose blood would summon my sight.
Llwyd led us to the pool where I had twice met Taliesin.
‘Here,’ said Llwyd.
As we positioned our tools, the familiar mist rose up from the water, obscuring my view to the other side. I knew Taliesin waited beyond it. But I could not call him now. I had to wait until I was alone. I had to wait until the battle was fought and won.
While Llwyd sat in silence, watching for portents of birds or hares, the ovate prepared for my seeing. Deftly he slayed and skinned the calf and set about making a broth of its blood over a fire of oak.
I sat on the forest floor, facing the sunrise, the river gurgling before me. The ovate laid the calfskin, fleshside out, over my head. Beneath this heavy tent, I smelled the dung warmth of the animal’s pelt and the tang of its blood. I was handed a cup of broth and I sipped, closing my eyes.
It could take many hours to bring me to sight. With the ovate and Llwyd keeping vigil beside me, I began the deep, rhythmic breaths, and the chants I had learned from Steise, to coax open my eye.
Soon there were moments of sight: Ruther’s face, Taliesin’s. I saw fragments of Cookmother, Heka, then at last there were soldiers in red tunics at camp. See! I commanded myself, but I pushed too hard and the image slipped like vapour. I needed the raven eye to make clear sight. I needed to change form. ‘Heat me!’ I cried to the ovate.
They fuelled the fire, setting steaming bowls beneath my calfskin, and passing me medicines. I dizzied with heat and dripped with sweat, but the raven form would not come. I changed with the Mothers, I anguished. Why not here?
And yet I knew why. My doubts had been founded. I was free with the Mothers, but here I could not take form without skin. Then why? I agonised. Why had they chosen me? Here I could not take form without skin.
I laboured to see what I could, grasping at the wisps of sight at the edges of my vision. I saw Ruther gathered with two men of the legion, talking with purpose, but I heard no sound. ‘I cannot hear what is said!’ I lamented aloud.
Llwyd’s voice came as if from a great distance. ‘Call to the Mothers, Ailia. Make sight of the battle. Make sight of our success—’
Images of our fighting men painted for battle, eyes alight, flashed before me then faded. ‘It is a blur!’ I cried. ‘It does not come.’ I weakened, near fainting beneath the heavy cloak.
‘It will come, Kendra, do not desist.’
But it did not.
Though Llwyd asked and coaxed, I said nothing more as I sat and waited. It could not be known that my eye would not open.
Finally it neared day’s end. Exhausted, I pulled the skin tent away from my shoulders.
‘Do you have an answer for the warriors?’ asked Llwyd.
I had heard the song. I knew it must be defended, whether or not I ha
d sighted the battle. For why else had I been chosen? ‘Yes,’ I said.
We walked back to the farmhouse in dusk. All the way, I silently crafted the words that would give the warriors strength.
‘Have you seen us victorious?’ Fraid asked as we arrived.
There were several more warriors gathered around the fire, including some with tartans from townships in greater Summer. Among them was Uaine, Bebin beside him, a plump boy child squirming in her arms.
I looked around at the faces staring at me. They had asked me to guide them. Their future hung on my answer. What I could not find with my sight I would create with my words. No one would know that the sight had not come.
I bade them be seated and stood before them in the strong place. Then I began. ‘Our fighters are fewer in number than Rome’s but we hold one incontestable weapon.’ I paused to quell the shake in my voice. ‘That weapon is truth.’
A long silence greeted my statement. But they were listening.
‘If you strengthen truth, it will strengthen you.’ I took a deep breath, drawing on the words of the Mothers, of Taliesin, of my own heart. ‘If you guard truth, it will guard you.’
As I looked around at the warriors, I saw a kindling in their spirits.
I stepped onto the bench so that I could see, unobstructed, all to whom I spoke. ‘If you honour truth,’ I continued, ‘it will honour you. If you defend truth, it will defend you.’
My heart quieted. I was clear in what I must tell them and the words rose up from my learning like water. ‘For it is through truth that great tribes are governed.
‘Through truth every law is beautiful and every cup is full.
‘Through truth, mighty armies of invaders are drawn back into enemy territory.’
Their eyes were ablaze.
‘For so long as you fight for truth, it will not fail you and you will not perish.’ I paused to take breath, the will of the warriors pliant in the fire of my words. ‘As Kendra, I tell you that we will fight, men and women of Summer. And truth will make us indestructible.’