by Hall, Ian
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Ian Hall. Hallanish Publishing.
All rights reserved, and the author reserves the right to re-produce this book, or parts thereof, in any way whatsoever.
“Caledonii; Birth of a Nation.”
(Part One; The Great Gather.)
By Ian Hall.
Published by Ian Hall (Hallanish Publications) at Smashwords
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Table of Contents;
Introduction.
Chapter 1. Circal Rosich (The Rose Red Circle). Summer 74 AD.
Chapter 2. The Opening of Dialogue. Summer 74 AD.
Chapter 3. The Plan is Hatched. Summer 74AD.
Chapter 4. The Thickened Plot is Solidified. Summer 74AD.
Introduction.
The year is 74 AD. The Roman Legions have held control of Southern Britain for 19 years. In that time they have solidified their hold, and put down tribal rebellions by Boudicca of the Icenii, and Venutius of the Brigantes. They are advancing north, with their eyes on the whole of the Island.
In the Norlands, the dhruids have arranged a meeting of all seventeen tribal, or clan, chiefs.
Thus the story begins…
Chapter 1.
Circal Rosich (The Rose Red Circle).
Summer 74 AD.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
Conrack could sense the doubt and instinctive mistrust within the clansman’s question. The sentry’s eyes took in the details of his clothing; the faint red hatched pattern on his trews had definitely labeled him as a stranger.
I’ve come this far. I’m not letting this man stop me.
“No.” Conrack answered as he walked his horse towards the man. “I’m from the Selgove, I’m late for the great ‘gaither’.” The lie came easily to a youth, well-versed in the art. “I thought my horse had broken a leg, an’ fell behind the main party.”
“It seems alright now.” The clansman looked carefully at the horse’s gait.
“Aye, he’s walked it off.” Conrack advanced as he spoke.
“You’re Selgove, you say?” The man frowned. “You’re a bit off the trail then. It’s over towards the east.”
Conrack kept closing the distance between them, pulling on the reins of his mount. His only weapons were a sharpened staff and the dirk he had cut it with. No use for distance work. He cast his eyes quickly over the clansman’s weapons; he held a spear in his hand, and had a sword thrust through his belt.
I have to get closer. I have to be certain of the outcome.
“To the east?” He was closing fast. “That way?”
Conrack gestured with the staff, keeping his hand firmly over the point, masking the true danger.
Almost there.
“Aye.” the clansman turned his head, indicating the direction. “If you kept going along here, you would find a glen to the east soon enough.”
Fool!
It was just the opening he needed. Dropping the reins, he lunged quickly forward, and with a swift upward sweep of his staff, he caught the unsuspecting clansman squarely on the underside of the chin. There was a loud ‘crunch’ as his jaw and teeth were shattered, then his body went limp and he fell to the ground.
In an instant he stood above the prone clansman, the pointed end of the staff raised to quickly finish the encounter. But it was unnecessary. His opponent was unconscious, blood already pouring from his mouth. He looked around him, scanning the glen and hills on either side, but could see no one else.
With a sickening sound, Conrack drove the sharpened end of the staff into the man’s skull. He spat to one side and stamped the spittle into the grass. “This one’s for you Baal!”
After another long look around, he dropped his staff and quickly searched through the man’s clothes.
“Food would be good!” he said, as he rummaged through the clansman’s pockets. Finding nothing, he grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him upright and hoisted the corpse over his shoulders. He picked up the spear and started up the hill. It only took a few moments to reach the side of the escarpment; a scree slope leading down to the slow flowing river. With a heave, he dropped the man to the ground then kicked him roughly over the edge. He watched as the body tumbled and twisted on its way to the river’s rocky bank. Reluctantly he tossed the spear after him.
Nothing to connect me to this; not even the sword.
“He must have slipped.” he said, smiling, as the body came to rest, half submerged in the river far below. He looked about him again, searching the surrounding slopes for witnesses. Finding none, he retraced his steps to his waiting horse, retrieved his staff and continued on his way.
“A glen to the east,” he mumbled, “Thanks for the directions.”
As he made way, he laughed at his own joke.
~ ~ ~
Calach heard the bowstring’s release, felt the arrow’s impact in the grass beside him.
“Very funny Aysar!” he called, his patience being tried to the full. “Now quit mucking about an’ concentrate on the job?”
He glanced to his left, where the arrow had impacted. The brown feathers were arm’s length away, the arrow forced almost horizontal through the turf by its low trajectory.
Aysar was undeterred. “Was that close enough for you?” The muffled call drifted from across the glen.
Calach was determined not to encourage more horseplay. He adjusted his tone sternly. “We’re here to keep watch, no’ to play games!”
“Aye, but I’m bored. We’ve been here a’ day!”
“Come on Aysar, let’s not make this more difficult than it is!”
“Calach! I’m bored!” The shout, this time held no effort to remain quiet.
“There still could be one group to pass this way.” Calach lowered his voice. “Ma’damar could still come through here, an’ I’m not being held responsible for missing him if he does!”
“If Ma’damar’s coming through here, he’s leaving it pretty late!”
“Look Aysar, just shut up!” Calach hissed, just loud enough for his friend to hear.
“Bugger off.” Came the muffled whispered reply.
Calach settled back down, pressing his body hard into the ground, his bow in the grass in front of him. They had planned their position days beforehand, and were hiding in an area of rocks and long grass on either side of the long glen which was the main route north into their clan’s territory; the perfect place to keep watch over its full length. In parts the floor of the glen was quite wide, but at the end where they lay, the walls narrowed dramatically.
It was the perfect sentry position.
He had matted his long brown hair with dried mud and ash, carefully mixed to the same grey colour as the surrounding rocks, and pulled the grey tendrils forward over his eyes to camouflage his face. With the mix through his hair and rubbed into his shoulders, he was undetectable.
Damn him to Lugh; he’s interrupted my concentration. Now I have to start all over again.
He let the view of the glen go slightly
out of focus and “felt” forwards and outward with what the dhruids had called the ‘hunter’s eye’. As he let his senses drift, he tried to take in every detail; the grasses shifting slightly in the breeze, the droning and clicking of the insects, the smell of the heather and the earth beneath him. He took stock of the birdcalls, the scratching of a hare. With his hunter’s eye, every living creature became almost incandescent to him. He could see their positions in his mind. When he brought all the visions together, they worked in harmony.
Such a skill did not come naturally to everyone; some could not perfect the art at all. In Calach it had almost become instinctive.
In a hunt, this extra sense was a huge advantage. Calach had even loosed his arrows with eyes closed, and found the mark.
Calach repeated the dhruid’s mantra; “Become a part o’ Baal the Earth Spirit. He’ll shield an’ protect you. Feel the Earth Spirit, feel his hands moving over you, pulling you down into the earth. Feel Baal making you part o’ the earth, part o’ the rocks.”
As he recited the litany, he had the distinct feeling that he could feel the Earth Spirit’s icy hands wrench on his gut pulling him down onto the rock and grass where he lay. A lock of his hair lay scattered somewhere in the grass just beyond his bow, a sacrifice to Baal. The words were familiar, comforting and gave him confidence; helped him concentrate on his task.
He knew, however, that his feeling of chill may just as easily have been the cold air; evening was approaching and Calach could already perceive the moisture begin to drift down from the rocky peaks above. Even though spring was almost over, with the feast of ‘the long day’ not far off, the deep glens still held a cold air after the sun had fallen behind the mountains and even in the heights of summer, a frost was not uncommon.
The lingering winter retreated slowly and reluctantly from the lands of the Caledonii. If you listened to the older clan members, it seemed to return quicker and colder every year.
Two of the clan chiefs had passed by the sentries already. They had been visibly startled when the two sentries rose as one.
“Who travels to the land of the Caledon?” Calach swept his hair back as the words echoed across the narrow glen.
The delegations of three men had announced themselves as Clan Damon and Clan Novant, both from the far south; the lands known as the ‘flatlands’. Calach had welcomed them, checked them for weapons, and indicated the way to Circal Rosich.
As each delegation rode north, the two sentries settled themselves back into their concealed positions.
Only one chief expected to take this route remained; Ma’damar, chief of the mountain clan Meatae from the west of the Caledon lands. Calach had been given Ma’damar’s description, and none of today’s travellers had looked remotely like him. It was Calach’s allotted task; as the Caledon chief’s son, to escort Ma’damar to the stone circle where the gathering was to take place. This was why Calach had been positioned here, and he knew it. That way, it would be the chief’s son of the Caledon clan who would meet the chief of the next largest clan, thus giving the important visitor no reason to think that he had been slighted in any way.
“There’s something wrong,” Came a sudden, alarmed call from Aysar.
Never moving his head to acknowledge the warning, for a few moments Calach could see nothing, then, as his eyesight adjusted, he could discern a thick, misty, grey area at the far end of the glen. The thick cloud seemed to blend in to the mountain sides, Calach couldn’t see what was in or around it.
“It’s just mist!” He shouted across the ravine to Aysar.
“I don’t think so!”
The haze seemed to spread slowly up the glen, but as it got closer Calach slowly realized that the scene was wrong; the slight evening breeze was in the opposite direction.
“It’s blowing the wrong way!” Calach snapped. “It’s dhruids’ work!”
Someone is already in the glen! It must be dhruid’s mist!
Having such a firm grasp of the hunter’s eye, it was an easy jump for Calach to envisage the dhruid’s having more power than him. Sewell, the senior Caledon dhruid, had told Calach and the other elder boys that such a power existed, and the litany to repel it. Now Calach was seeing it manifested for the first time.
“Aysar?” Calach half whispered, half shouted. “It’s Dhruid’s mist.”
It took a few moments before Calach recalled the exact words to attempt to disperse the mist, and called across to Aysar to add weight to the chant.
“Winds blow, the enemy show. Winds blow, the enemy show.” Even as Calach spoke, he heard a similar mumble from Aysar, catching his phrasing, chanting together
After a few moments the grey mist began gradually to clear until Calach could distinguish two, then three figures on horseback riding very slowly through the mist at the far end of the valley.
“Ah see them Aysar!” called Calach quietly across to his friend, “There’s only three, I think it’s alright. It must be Ma’damar.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aye. The gall of the man; endorsing the powers.” Calach had better eyesight, and easily identified Ma’damar from Ranald’s description. He rode proudly in front, not looking to left or right, his thick red beard and mustache dominated his face, even at a distance. Ma’damar wore a red and green flowing robe with matching trews. On his head was a simple conical silver helm.
Next was a dhruid, dressed in the customary drab grey. He rode slowly, head bowed in concentration, the cowl of his cloak pulled forward over his face hiding his features.
In the rear, rode a young warrior, his long reddish hair thrown back from his face. He wore simple jacket and trews, and looked warily from side to side at the rocks and heathers around the glen. He was the only one of the party to pay any attention to their surroundings.
Although both Ma’damar and the warrior had shields slung low on their horses, they carried no weapons that Calach could see.
Ma’damar and his warrior companion exchanged comments as the horses picked their way ponderously over the valley floor, but the chief resolutely kept his eyes looking forward to the defile between Calach and Aysar. The young warrior seemed to examine every crevice in the sides of the glen, offering minute direction changes to his chief as they advanced. Calach could visibly see the restraint shown by the party as they neared the end of the glen where the sides were steeper and came much closer together.
Suddenly the dhruid lifted his head, sweeping his hood back with his free hand. His shaven head and large hook nose would make him recognizable anywhere. He stared directly at Calach, reining his horse to a halt, with a word to the others to do the same. Ma’damar and the warrior followed the dhruid’s gaze to Calach’s position and all three sat upright in their saddles looking towards the series of rocks in which he lay concealed.
Fighting panic, Calach calmed himself with the knowledge that at best the dhruid could only sense him. He knew that he was physically invisible from that part of the glen, his camouflage was complete. That, however, did not remove the feeling of discomfort as he felt the dhruid’s eyes staring into his.
It might be a good idea to just get up now.
The thought, coming unbidden into his mind, was a shock. Calach fought for breath.
“Baal protect me.” He whispered repeatedly. Quickly the Earth Spirit’s power calmed him as the dhruid fought for influence.
We could just stand up now; it wouldn’t make much difference.
Again, hearing the voice in his head, Calach railed against the action, and fought against it. They would remain hidden until the group came nearer.
Stick to the plan.
The dhruid said something to Ma’damar, and after a short conversation, the three continued on their way up the glen. When at last they had come within hearing distance, Calach gave a quiet whistle to Aysar, and both stood up slowly, leaving their bows lying on the ground. Calach swept his matted hair back over his head and extended his hand, palm forward, in the universal gesture of fri
endship. The horsemen stopped as one.
“Who travels to the land of the Caledon?” Calach spoke the protocol clearly, never moving from his position.
~ ~ ~
From far above, Conrack watched in alarm as the sentries stood up. Even from his elevated position to the south, he had not seen the two Caledons until they had moved. There was an initial moment of alarm as he realized that the three horsemen were in danger, then, as the exchange took place, he relaxed.
“Calm down.” He said aloud into the slight breeze. His words comforted on his lonely outpost. “It’s normal sentry stuff, and I’m too far away to do anything about it anyway!”
He had caught sight of the trio in the afternoon after killing the clansman. It had been hard work, keeping up with the three horsemen, maintaining his surveillance and keeping hidden, high on the slopes, but he had relished it. It was a chance to put years of training to the test.
From his vantage position, far above the glen’s floor, he could see the trail easily. He saw the path go onward, to the north. Above the hills behind the sentries, he could make out the faint wisps of cooking fires. Even the sight of them made his stomach protest. His meager breakfast of berries seemed a long time ago.
Tonight, he would catch himself a hare or quail, and risk a small fire.
Tonight, when the sentries have been relaxed.
A deep, wicked smile spread slowly over his face. “Maybe I’ll sneak into the camp and get myself some of that food. They’re bound to have too much!”
~ ~ ~
It was the young warrior who answered, indicating the leader. “It is Ma’damar; chief o’ the clan Meatae, who rides on Caledon land.”
“All welcome Ma’damar, chief o’ clan Meatae. Welcome to you an’ your people.” said Calach, clearly and strongly. He had rehearsed this part, if anyone was going to ruffle the feathers of this important guest, Calach was determined that it was not going to be him.