Pathways of the Druids

by Christopher J. Pine

  What he said nearly made Rronish faint. But she leaned on the side of the cart and stared truculently at the cruel little dwarf as he strode off. She thought to herself that she would certainly try to escape tomorrow when a good opportunity presented itself. Starting to shake from the cold, wearing only the blue dress she had had on at the inn, she leaned into the cart and picked up a filthy blanket to keep herself warm.

  “I’d better eat whatever that horrible little dwarf has cooked for me,” Rronish muttered. “It might be some time before I get another meal.”

  She picked at the vegetables but they were burnt and tasted bitter. That only left the rabbit for her to eat. Soon she was very drowsy and confused, finding it difficult to concentrate and keep awake. It felt like her head was spinning. When Metris had finished checking around the camp for the night, he returned to find the girl had eaten the food he’d supplied and the potion had done its job. She’d fallen into a deep sleep.

  To protect his investment, he tied her hands and feet to prevent any chance of escape. When he was satisfied that he’d done everything, Metris built the fire up higher hoping that it would keep any wolves in the area away, then bedded down for the night.

  Later that night, as the wind blew the smoke from the fire up and around the tops of the trees, two female figures emerged directly from the trunks of two of the largest trees close to the camp. They were dryads, the spirits of the trees.

  “Sister,” hissed one of them, “I’ll deal with that fire, if you could look at the cart...”

  Making no noise, they slowly moved around the camp examining the dwarf, his cart and the donkey. One of them took the dwarf’s knife from him as he slept and threw it into the forest. Then she waved her hand over the fire and water was slowly drawn up through the earth; it bubbled up from the ground and with a hissing sound the fire was extinguished.

  The other dryad placed her hands on the wheels of one side of the cart and drew the life force out of the wood. The wheels suddenly seemed to age and they began turning into dust, breaking apart slowly as the cart collapsed onto the forest floor.

  Now the spirits of the trees turned their attention to the slave girl who was in a drugged sleep, bound hand and foot.

  “Sister,” one dryad hissed, “hah, this one is tied up. She must be the dwarf’s prisoner. He must be made to pay for these actions. We’ll take her into the forest and decide what to do with her later.” They gently picked Rronish up and carried her away.

  Metris awoke with a start. Suddenly he felt very cold. He looked at the fire, which had gone out. That was very strange, he thought, because he’d banked it up high to keep the wolves away. He put his leather cap on and got up to look more closely. The fire was soaking wet, yet it hadn’t been raining. He went over to the cart and was surprised to find so much damage to it. Then he realised that the slave girl was gone...

  “Oh no,” he muttered under his breath, “that girl has got loose and done all this. Now she’s run off and if she gets lost in the forest and dies, I’ll lose my money.”

  Suddenly a little scared, he reached for his knife. But the knife was missing.

  He looked around him. In the deep shadows of the trees, he could just make out the outline of two figures watching him. They had bright green eyes. “They must be dryads,” he thought. He noticed they were standing between him and the girl. She was lying on the ground some distance away from him, still unconscious.

  “Why are you are robbing me?” Metris challenged them, trying to feel brave. “Now, give me back my slave. I traded well for her, she’s mine. I own her. She belongs to me!”

  One of the dryads hissed back at him in a harsh voice.

  “Dwarf, because of your clumsiness you threatened the forest and us with fire. For this we shall keep the girl as payment. Now be gone, and don’t ever return to these woods, or you’ll pay a far greater trade.”

  Metris slowly backed away from them, then without giving the slave girl a moment’s further thought he panicked, ran to the donkey and rode back down the track the way he’d come.

  “This job’s too dangerous for me,” he muttered to himself. “When I get back home, I must seek justice for what’s happened here tonight.”

  The dryad spirits quietly watched as the little dwarf scuttled off down the track on the donkey. Then they retired back into the forest to search around the area for any more threats to themselves and the trees.

  Dangerous Choices

  Back in Britannia, the Celts are struggling to survive against the Roman onslaught.

  It was indeed a cold, bleak dawn that awoke him from a troubled sleep. The damp air had made the night cold and unpleasant. The druid Mestrathax was glad it was now morning as he threw off his wolf pelts, and went to wash and awaken his druid companions.

  They were accompanying the Ordoveteii tribe. Having made an alliance with another tribe, the Bolasates, as a combined force they’d engaged an entire Roman legion, the Ninth Hispania. After a savage battle of a day and a night they had succeeded in destroying them by ambushing them in the woods. The legion’s eagle and standards had been taken as war trophies by the Celtic tribes.

  The Roman commander, Petilius Cerealis, had fled with what remained of his cavalry back to their entrenchments. The procurator of the province, Catus Decianus, had also fled to Gaul in panic and Rome was now being routed from Britannia.

  This action had freed the northern territories from Roman rule. Another Roman legion, the Second Augusta, had just locked themselves inside their own fort to avoid battle and now waited to see the turn of events. The Ordoveteii were returning home to their own lands before continuing the war to free their island from Roman rule. The Roman plans to destroy the druids and wipe out all traces of their religion, to halt the worship of their gods and cut down their ancient sacred groves of trees, had left the druids no choice but to raise a rebellion.

  Mestrathax was a short man and a little overweight, his silver flowing hair and moustache rather unkempt. His eyes were a cold light blue and they hid a great depth of knowledge. He was dressed in a grey robe bound loosely at the waist by a heavy cord. By his appearance, he didn’t present an imposing figure. But as a druid he could control many things with just his mind. Many people had had to pay a heavy price because they had foolishly underestimated him.

  The war had been quite successful so far. Mestrathax stood on the hillside leaning on his staff of rowan wood. While he contemplated waking the tribal chief, his eyes quickly searched the countryside in the hope of seeing scouts returning with fresh intelligence. He studied the sky, looking for omens. The dark clouds and the flocks of circling birds looked ominous. Then a vision of flames appeared, engulfing all around him before quickly vanishing and leaving the air reeking with a dark, clinging feeling of impending danger.

  He immediately decided to awaken the Celtic tribal chief, Cestrathax. He was a tall, well-built man in his early fifties, with dark brown eyes, long brown hair and a large moustache. His body was covered in tattoos of fantastic beasts, though he normally wore blue and red check trousers with brown boots. He commanded well under stress.

  “Druid, what have you see in the omens?” roared Cestrathax. The tribal chief was already up and awake.

  “I believe some terrible defeat has befallen our forces. I’ll order my druids to scry out their fate. You should despatch a few long-range scouts and put your entire force on order to break camp, so we can travel before Belenus climbs above us.”

  “We can’t do that,” replied Cestrathax. “We must stay here. This is our first rest for days, and many are badly injured and tired. We need to rest here for some time.”

  The druid looked directly at the chief and spoke in a compelling voice.

  “Regrettably, time is what we do not have. You’ll have to do as I ask or all of these people may perish.” He walked over to his aide, waking him fr
om a deep sleep. “Shosterax, are you awake? Quickly, get dressed.”

  Bleary-eyed, Shosterax tried to concentrate on who was shaking him.

  “Oh, it’s you, Mestrathax. I’ve been dreaming all night that I was trying to wash blood off myself.”

  “We don’t have that luxury yet - you have a lot more work to do. Before you’ve eaten any food, you must scry out the people of this tribe who are fighting with Boudicca and find out what’s happened there. Then report to me immediately when you have some information. I’m going to tour the camp now, and I’ll return shortly.”

  As he walked off, a tall young woman silently stepped out of the shadows and discreetly followed him. She was dressed in green trousers and a loose leather jacket. There was a small shield slung across her back, she carried a short throwing spear and a sword was strapped at her waist. Her hair was jet black, her skin pale, her eyes sharp and dark like coals. This was Rianna, a spear maiden and an instructor in the arts of war. The order of priestesses at Avalon had sent her here with just one purpose, to become Mestrathax’s protector at the cost, if necessary, of her own life. Rianna would indeed go everywhere that the druid went. She was fully sworn to this sacred duty of protecting him.

  As she followed him, Rianna remembered how she’d been told of this service. Summoned to a meeting with a high sister of Avalon, she had walking slowly into the stone hall where the high priestess she knew so well, and who had taught her so much, was sitting waiting for her. Frienjen’s hair had once been dark brown but now was mostly grey. Her hooded robe was also a dark grey, loosely tied at the waist with a grey sash. Rianna had slowly bowed to the priestess and sat down on the chair that had been placed there for her. A low fire was smouldering in the central hearth and a sweet smell of incense lingered in the air.

  “Welcome, Rianna,” said Frienjen. “You have become our foremost shield maiden - you have learnt your lessons well. Now I have to tell you that the time has come for your training to be tested. Your skills in war are now needed in the wider world.

  “We live in perilous times. The druids are raising a rebellion in this land and all our lives have been placed in the hands of the gods. I am sending you to the Ordoveteii tribe, where you will become the protector to an important druid who is guiding them. In the coming struggle, he is our best hope for the future. Once you’ve taken this charge, you should consider yourself already passed from this world and ready to walk the path of the dead with no regrets.”

  There was silence for some moments before the high priestess continued.

  “All of us here will miss you, Rianna, and my thoughts will always be with you. May the Goddess always walk with you.”

  The memory faded as she followed the druid, her eyes closely watching everybody’s movements around him.

  As Mestrathax wandered around the camp he could see that a lot of the tribe’s people were in shock and really needed to rest. He’d read the omens, and there was a cold feeling inside him that told him death was coming here, and these people must leave or be destroyed. During the course of the battle they had incurred losses but not too many, because they’d achieved the element of surprise. Mestrathax could see that some of his younger druids were working as healers and trying to raise the morale of the tribe.

  Dark smoke was blowing in the wind from several of the large funeral pyres that were alight. The druids were overseeing the cremation of those who had died of their wounds and all these souls would now be on their last journey, travelling to the Otherworld. There were other druids busy placing magical wards around the camp to stop the Roman priests from being able to discover the tribe’s location.

  He needn’t have worried about moving the tribe, for Cestrathax had followed his advice. He had indeed issued orders for his people to eat only a small meal and then to break camp. They were tired and grumbling, but they were indeed moving. Mestrathax turned around and headed back to see what Shosterax had found out; hopefully some of the scouts had also returned. Then maybe they could see their way forwards and plan their next move. Rianna never spoke. She just quietly followed him back, always thinking of what could be up ahead.

  “Shosterax, what have you seen?”

  Shosterax was sitting on the ground, in his lap an empty bowl the inside of which was coloured jet black. This was what he used as a scrying tool to help him in the task of obtaining information. Pictures of events that were happening now or in the future could be viewed this way. After he’d taken a drink of water, he got up and turned to face Mestrathax, his face white from the strain of the work.

  “I couldn’t make out too much detail,” he said. “I felt that the Roman priests were blocking me on the shadow plane. I’m just too weak at the moment to break through. Later I’ll be able to do more, but I believe something terrible must have happened - it just feels like a disaster.

  “However I did receive what I believe is a true image. I managed to locate a few of the force that were sent with the Iceni. What’s left of them is in complete disarray, they’re now prisoners and in great peril, moving on foot and as yet some miles away from us. Perhaps we could rescue them. I could go with some chariots and cavalry to help in finding them, then take them on to the Ordoveteii hill fort. When they’re rescued and we arrive home, they can tell us exactly what’s been happening to our allies.”

  Mestrathax indicated to an aide to step forward.

  “I need you to go and wake Gwydion. Bring him here immediately.”

  Gwydion heard someone talking to him as he woke up from his much needed sleep, being told to report to the chief. Gwydion was a man of stocky build with long red hair and a large drooping moustache. His eyes were blue. Grandiose otherworldly tattoos of birds were on his chest and back. Cursing his lack of sleep, he got dressed quickly in green check trousers and brown boots, and went to look for his second in command. He found Tristan eating in his cousin’s tent.

  “I knew I’d find you eating!” said Gwydion. “Quickly, follow me.”

  Tristan took a swig from a wine sack and went to pick up some meat. Some of the wine dripped from his chin and ran down onto his shirt, as he looked up and grunted.

  “I’m starving. Can’t it wait until I’ve eaten this?”

  “No, it can’t wait!” Gwydion retorted. “Forget your stomach for once. I’ve been summoned, and it involves a druid. That can only mean trouble. Bring that meat and drink with you, if you must...”

  On their way to the chief’s tent they could see that the whole of the tribal force was in turmoil. The smell and noise of frightened animals mixed with the odour of many people who had cooked and eaten, but had no spare time to wash before they had to pack their possessions for another march. When they arrived, the chief was already busy talking with a druid.

  “Get in here, Gwydion,” Cestrathax roared. “We don’t have any time for ceremony.” Gwydion indicated to Tristan to wait outside, and as he entered the tent Cestrathax continued speaking.

  “Come over here. I need to send you out on a rescue mission. There’s a druid who’ll be going with you. His name is Shosterax and he’s going to be your guide in this. You must listen to his advice closely. Then you will carry it out to the best of your ability, and as fast as you can.” Cestrathax pointed to a man at the back of the tent and slapped Gwydion on the back as he left the tent. “I’ll leave you with him, and may the gods go with you.”

  The druid walked towards him.

  “Hello, Gwydion. I’ve been told that you’re the man we need to lead this raid. My name’s Shosterax and I’m going with you. Please listen carefully because we don’t have much time! We believe that Boudicca may have lost the battle, and we need to get some real information.”

  Gwydion breathed in with shock.

  “They’ve lost? How could that be? We ourselves have beaten one Roman legion and our allies the Iceni have forces far beyond our number.”
/>   Shosterax looked Gwydion straight in the eyes.

  “Yes, the Iceni force is vast, and I myself have heard about their victories. They burned the cities of Londinium, Verulamium and Camulodunon to the ground, slaughtering all who were found there. But I’ve heard that they’ve been destroyed. Listen, I don’t want what I’ve told you repeated outside this tent! At this moment we’re not sure of anything, and I don’t want to start a panic in the tribe.

  “Now, I need you to organize a fast mobile chariot and cavalry force. With this we’ll rescue some of our men who have been captured. I’ve seen exactly where they’ll be in a short while. We must save them, and take some prisoners for interrogation.

  “But Gwydion, before you go there’s something I have for you.”

  Shosterax gestured with his left hand and guided him to a table at the far end of the tent. As Gwydion approached the table, he could see there on a cushion a solid gold torc. It was engraved at both ends with winged horses. In the early morning light of the tent, the torc appeared to be glowing with a pale blue light.

  “I want you to wear this. It’s been magically charged to strengthen your mind and increase your ability to command. Now, you have a lot to do so please go and organise all this quickly and I’ll join you shortly. We shall leave as soon as you’re ready.”

  Tristan was waiting as Gwydion came out of the tent.

  “What’s happening, Gwydion?” he asked. “If they’ve given you one of their torcs to wear it must be very dangerous.”

  “I’ve been given command of a war band to rescue some of our men. And yes, you’re coming with me. Now, we have a lot to organise in a hurry. Luckily our ponies and horses have been rested overnight. We’re taking a force of ten chariots and seventy-five cavalry. Because of the distance involved, the charioteers will have to leave their mail-shirts behind and dress only in their normal trousers, green shirts and helmet.