The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One

by Jules Watson

  ‘Those cursed Damnonii said they’d given up all their surplus cattle!’

  The second man nudged his horse to the edge of the path. ‘They’re driving carts, too, sir. Barley, no doubt, or rye.’

  ‘They said they had none of that left, either!’ The first man, the decurion, frowned. ‘We need that food. How many warriors guard it?’

  ‘They are ranged around the herd … but at least thirty.’

  ‘Thirty! They are not supposed to travel in such groups.’ The decurion turned his horse. ‘Pull half the century off guard, and half the diggers, and get them down here after me. I want those cattle!’

  ‘Who speaks for you!’ The decurion, barking out his demand in British, reined in just where firm ground gave way to mire. The cattle were plunging through the mud, lowing and milling around in great confusion, and the native warriors had worked their horses and carts around to the other side of the herd when they saw the infantry troop advance.

  One of the natives wheeled his restive horse. ‘I do!’ he cried over the bawling cattle.

  ‘These beasts are the tribute that we demanded, and were not paid,’ the Roman continued. ‘Drive them to the fort, now.’

  The native smiled, his dark eyes glittering with defiance. ‘If you want them, Roman dog, then come and take them!’ From somewhere near his saddle he pulled a naked blade and swung it high, letting loose an ear-splitting war-cry that was taken up by his men.

  With a sharp command, the decurion ordered his men forward, and they marched around the edges of the milling herd, pulling up in lines, shields overlapping, javelins poised for launch …

  Then the cattle themselves seemed to rear up with slicing blades, as scores of wild-eyed savages with blue tattoos burst from the cover of the herd, shrugging off hide cloaks to free their deadly swords.

  ‘Hold!’ the decurion cried, as the screaming horde hit the lines of shields with the impact of a fist. ‘Hold!’

  By the time the rest of Eremon’s warband came hurtling down on foot from the higher ground, another hundred of the Romans in ditch and on rampart had downed tools and run to defend their stricken brothers on the plain.

  Even as he raced, legs pumping, sword heavy in hand, Eremon’s cool head registered the hail of arrows from his archers, arcing in from two sides of the fort, and his heart swelled so much that the war cry burst from his throat: ‘The Boar! The Boar!’

  His lines held their wedge, driving right at the gate, and didn’t splinter into wild disorder. Taken by surprise, those defenders who were left could only turn and fight on the spot.

  Eremon struck down two soldiers in his initial rush, but the Romans were now outnumbered three to one, fighting in knots before the gate and stumbling in the ditches, and in only a few breaths he could pause to look down on the river plain.

  What he saw struck him like a blade to the chest. The Romans below were supposed to be chasing the cattle party, lured to follow them away from the fort by a false retreat. This would engage most of the soldiers, giving Eremon a chance to defeat those who guarded the fort. But instead, the sun flashed on swords among the milling cattle, and from afar he could just hear the war cry of the Epidii.

  And now, faced with such fierce fighters, all of the Romans were retreating, streaming back towards the fort. Towards Eremon’s men.

  ‘Gods, you dog, Lorn!’ he cried. But there was no more time, for the retreating Romans were now pouring up from the river path, shouting commands to re-form as they realized that their fort was under attack. Suddenly, the odds had switched, and they came at Eremon’s men like a hammer blow.

  Cursing Lorn with every slice and thrust of his sword, Eremon’s mind raced to find a way out. Around him, Epidii and Damnonii warriors both fell under the onslaught of the returning soldiers, who worked in unison to pin Eremon’s men against the palisade.

  The tip of a blade burned a trail across Eremon’s arm, but as he turned to defend with his shield, Conaire had already despatched the attacker. Then there were two more coming at him, and his sword glanced desperately off tightly overlapping shields, before he threw himself into a roll and thrust upwards. One man screamed and fell as his groin artery was slashed, his blood drenching Eremon’s eyes, blinding him, while the other tripped over the tangle of limbs. Conaire stabbed him before he could rise, and pulled Eremon to his feet.

  ‘We must retreat!’ Conaire cried.

  ‘Retreat where?’ Eremon spat the blood from his mouth. The Romans had them tightly surrounded, their backs to the ditch.

  But suddenly more cries came of, ‘The Mare!’ and Alban warriors from the plain were flinging themselves from the cover of the trees in all directions, and the Romans were pinned now between the two wings of Eremon’s forces. Sensing victory, the fragile discipline of Eremon’s band disintegrated, and they threw themselves against the Roman shield wall with renewed vigour.

  In the middle of the wild fighting, Eremon had to leap back from the hooves of a Roman horse, rearing above him. On its back, Lorn whooped and spun his sword.

  Eremon looked straight up into his eyes, as the fighting swirled on past them. ‘You were supposed to draw the soldiers off before circling around!’

  Lorn wiped blood from his cheek with one shoulder, as the horse shied. ‘Run away? Urben’s son does not run! I am an Alban, and I fight!’

  ‘You could have killed us all!’ Eremon stormed. ‘Because of you, the Romans went into retreat, back here to me, pinning us against the fort! Do you realize what you did?’

  Lorn’s pale eyes were on fire, and his face dripped sweat. ‘Yes,’ he cried, surveying the slaughter around him. ‘I brought us victory!’

  And then he was gone, and above the last knot of fighting Romans, Eremon saw his silver hair flying.

  Agricola received the news of the raid while inspecting his troops.

  Samana was lounging on a seat at the edge of the field, sheltered from the sun beneath a parasol – a Greek invention she had quite taken to. But as the messenger leaned close to talk to Agricola on his horse, and she saw the shock flicker in his eyes, she sat up.

  Later, as the details were dissected by his officers in the command tent, Agricola maintained a stony reserve. It was not until he and Samana were alone that he let his feelings show at all.

  ‘Gods and all in heaven!’ He paced back and forth, striking the hilt of his dagger into his palm.

  Samana had never seen him lose his composure. ‘The prince of Erin will have led it,’ she remarked. ‘You know it – they must have scouted the land when they returned home. You should have chased them when you had the chance. I begged you to—’

  Agricola whirled on her. In the light of the brazier, his dark eyes blazed. ‘I would thank you to keep your mouth closed, lady!’

  As the answering spark leapt to Samana’s throat, she bit down on it. Seeing the look in his eyes, who knew what he might do to her?

  Agricola turned his back and went to the tent flap. From behind, his shoulders were taut with anger.

  Samana waited a moment, and then said in her throatiest tone, ‘You must raid north again now, my lord, and put down Eremon and his rebels. If not, he will do it again.’

  He said nothing for a long moment; only his harsh breathing filled the tent. And then slowly his shoulders relaxed to their normal level. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ She was incredulous.

  When he faced her, he was composed, although the line of his mouth remained grim. ‘I have orders to consolidate this frontier, and that is what I will do. Personal revenge does not come into it.’

  ‘I cannot believe this!’

  He held her eyes. ‘That is how I lead, Samana. Not with emotion; with clarity. I have no intention of being drawn into a hide-and-seek game with your Erin prince. At the moment, I do not have the hold on the lands that I need. In the mountains, his men can pick mine off one by one.’

  She tried to swallow down her fire. ‘Then at least allow me to put greater pressure on my northern … cont
act. More goods will assure his co-operation; we may need to keep a closer eye on unfolding events.’

  His gaze was hooded. ‘Use any means you wish. When the Emperor gives me leave to move north again, we will already have weakened them from within. Then, there will be only one way to proceed.’

  ‘Which way?’ She knew the answer, but loved to hear him say the words.

  The coldness in his eyes was Otherworldly. ‘I will goad them, and taunt them, until I bring them all to bay in a place of my own choosing.’

  The danger in his voice thrilled her, and she put down her wine goblet and joined him, pressing up against his hard chest. ‘And then?’ she murmured, breathless.

  ‘And then we will crush them.’

  Chapter 38

  When Rhiann trotted into Linnet’s yard, her aunt’s maid Dercca was walking to the hut with a bucket of water. The dying sun cast long shadows across the earth, touching the mossed walls with gold.

  ‘Lady Rhiann!’ Dercca jerked in surprise, and water sloshed over her dress. She put the bucket down, tutting to herself as she pulled the clinging wool away from her legs.

  ‘Good evening to you, Dercca.’ Rhiann swung herself from Liath’s back. ‘Is my aunt here? I have heard nothing from her.’

  ‘Yes, lady.’ Dercca took up the bucket again without meeting Rhiann’s eyes. ‘She is at the sacred spring. Perhaps you would like some honey cakes?’

  This last was said in a rush, and as Rhiann tied Liath’s reins loosely to the fence, she glanced over her shoulder at Dercca. Now that she thought about it, the woman’s reaction to her arrival had been rather strong for a frequent visitor.

  ‘You could always tempt me with your honey cakes, Dercca, but I’m afraid I really do need to speak with her now.’ She stared hard at the maid. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Oh yes, lady!’ Dercca smiled brightly, but her cheeks were stained.

  ‘Then I’ll let you get on with your duties.’

  Shrugging to herself, Rhiann took the path that led up from Linnet’s dwelling to the sacred spring. Rhiann made no effort to hide her approach, but when she reached the spring, Linnet was seated on its stone-built rim, staring into the water, as if she had not heard her. Was she seeing?

  But no, for as Rhiann paused at the circle of birch trees, Linnet started and looked up.

  Rhiann fell back a step, struck by her aunt’s haggard appearance. Beneath her tightly-wound braids, Linnet’s eyes were dark and huge in a white, drained face. There were smudges of shadow under her lashes.

  ‘Daughter!’ The colour flushed back into Linnet’s cheeks, and she rose. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you! Did you not get my messages? I sent two!’

  Linnet blinked, as if awakening. ‘Oh, I … yes, I did.’

  ‘So why did you not come? Or return my message?’

  Linnet looked down into the water. ‘I’ve been so busy, that is all.’

  Rhiann sat down on the edge of the pool, its lip built of smooth river pebbles. What was wrong?

  ‘Have you heard any news of the raiding party?’ Linnet reached over to pick a stray leaf from the water, but her hands trembled.

  ‘Nothing yet. Have you seen anything?’

  ‘Alas, no.’ Linnet edged around the pool, collecting up the flowers she had scattered during her rite.

  ‘Is that all you have to say?’ Rhiann rose too, striding around the spring to take Linnet’s hand. ‘You’re shaking! What’s happened?’

  And at last Rhiann saw something clearly in Linnet’s face. One flash, very subtle.

  It was fear.

  ‘Aunt, you are worrying me! I ask you again – what has happened?’

  Linnet sighed, and pulled her hand away. ‘Rhiann, this girl of yours … this Caitlin. When she was … found … did she have any tokens to identify her?’

  ‘Well, she was wrapped in a blue blanket, I think she said, and had a necklace of shells, though they are long gone.’

  Paleness washed over Linnet’s face, and the sudden flare of pain in her eyes hit Rhiann in the belly. ‘You know who she is, don’t you, aunt? It’s in her face. I’ve been thinking it over, and it seems she has the look of our house. Is she distant kin to us?’

  With a gasp, Linnet turned and wrapped her arms around herself in the same way that Rhiann often did.

  Rhiann’s blood began to surge. There was so much pain here; it filled the clearing as the spring filled the pool, throbbing in the air. There was more, obviously, much more, to Caitlin’s mystery than the curiosity of shared kin. Linnet was shocked, torn, fearful.

  Why?

  There could be only one reason. For one wild moment, Rhiann wondered whether she should just flee from this place, and leave Linnet to her secrets. No one needed to know about Caitlin. What did it matter?

  It matters to me.

  ‘Aunt,’ she said in the priestess voice, the commanding voice that she had never used on Linnet, ‘tell me whose child she is!’

  Linnet’s shoulders vibrated with one spasm of emotion, and the flowers fell to the ground, crushed. Then she put her head up, and turned, surrender in her face. ‘She is mine.’

  The world lurched, and Rhiann clutched the lip of the pool. ‘No!’

  Linnet said nothing, holding her eyes, and so Rhiann knew it was true.

  ‘I thought she was dead!’ Linnet cried out.

  Rhiann shook her head as if to clear it. ‘You have a child? You had a baby, and I never knew? You kept this from me?’

  ‘I thought she was dead,’ Linnet repeated in a whisper, and her hand crept to her mouth.

  Rhiann was still shaking her head. ‘Of course! She looks like me; why did I not see it?’

  Linnet jerked as if struck.

  ‘Dear Goddess! She is of the king’s line!’ Rhiann could not suppress the wave of hurt that welled up. Then she could have married, not me. I wasn’t the only one after all!

  Linnet buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. And at last her distress penetrated Rhiann’s own shock, and with that, she felt the chasm yawn again. ‘Aunt,’ she said, terror suddenly stabbing through the hurt, ‘Aunt … there is more, isn’t there?’

  Linnet slowly raised her face. It was ravaged by tears, and the fear that Rhiann had seen earlier was there, no longer subtle, but naked and raw. ‘Rhiann, she is even closer kin to you … than that.’ Her brow crumpled with pain, willing Rhiann to understand.

  And Rhiann did.

  The dawning of it sparked across the space between them. If before the shock had been a blow, now it was a spear thrust.

  Her father. Linnet and her own father.

  ‘No!’ With one moan, Rhiann turned, stumbling blindly, feeling Linnet’s hands grasping for her.

  ‘You must understand!’

  ‘Understand?’ Rhiann whirled to face her, and all the shock and pain coalesced into one burning font of rage. ‘You said you loved my mother! But instead you betrayed her!’

  Linnet recoiled. ‘No, no! Listen to me!’

  ‘I won’t! Everything you ever told me was a lie! A lie!’ Rhiann’s heart was in her throat, choking her. ‘And when did this happen? When did you lay with him? Is she older than me? Younger?’

  ‘She is older by six moons.’

  ‘So you did take him from my mother!’

  ‘No!’ Linnet took a deep, shaking breath. ‘She did not love him, Rhiann, though she had to marry him for the alliance. I did not betray her heart; I never would. You cannot know of the love your mother and I held for each other—’

  ‘No, I cannot! I cannot because I never had a sister. Although now, apparently, I do!’ Rhiann’s voice cracked, and tears welled over. She wiped them away impatiently. ‘How could you, of all people?’

  Linnet’s jaw was tight with pain, and she grasped Rhiann by both arms. ‘Daughter, please! When your father came here from the Votadini I fell in love with him. I fought my feelings for so long … and then, once, I was weak. It was foo
lish, but it never would have happened if she had loved him, too. Don’t you see? She had everything I wanted: a home, a man …’

  Rhiann shrugged her shoulders free. ‘But you rejected all of that – the chains of the hearth – for your faith!’

  Linnet’s smile was bitter. ‘No, Rhiann. I fled to my faith when I lost it all. The baby, the man, and your mother.’

  ‘But you hated the thought of being a wife, a mother. Goddess! I envied you. I envied you this place, this peace, the lack of ties and obligations. You betrayed me, you made me hate it too!’

  ‘I never made you hate that world, Rhiann. And if I did not betray your mother, then I did not betray you.’

  ‘It’s all just words! I don’t know you any more!’

  ‘I’m the same as I was. Rhiann!’ Linnet’s voice softened, and her eyes filled again. ‘It was my pain, and my loss. It cut me deeply, more than you will ever know. Have a care for that! What have you really lost?’

  What have I lost? The words echoed around Rhiann’s skull. ‘Everything,’ she whispered, rubbing her hands over her face. ‘I must go.’

  ‘But it’s getting dark. Stay and talk with me!’

  ‘Not now – I cannot!’ Rhiann caught up her cloak from the pool and strode to the edge of the clearing.

  ‘Rhiann.’

  She paused, and then turned. Linnet’s still form was outlined in gold; the last rays of the sun picked out the tears on her face. ‘When she returns, send her to me. Tell her who she is, and send her.’

  Rhiann nodded once, coldly. ‘She has a right to know.’

  The journey home passed in a blur of dark shadows under the trees, and flares of moonlight on her hands, tight in Liath’s mane. Darkness and light, shifting, confusing her.

  The scrap of peace she had won had now been torn away. She no longer had a mother, for that mother, whom she’d trusted with all her heart, had lied. All along, the woman she worshipped, the woman she followed on unsteady, baby legs had been someone else. She betrayed Rhiann’s real mother, seduced her father … and worse, the worst thing of all, kept the secret from Rhiann, whom she was supposed to love like a daughter. The hurt was sickening; it burned.