by H. Barnard
“Sit down, boy, I’ve had enough of the Snake of Caledon trying to charm us,” Fergus spat. “Talorc, let’s be real. You need ships, the Saxons’ pirate fleet is not enough. You need Ulster, and Ulster wants land. I want Attacot land or I will return to my father and we will raise our goblets to you from across the sea while you fail in Britannia.”
Talorc ran his hand over his face. “Vortriu and Caledon can pay you in silver now.”
Brei frowned and glanced at Taran whispering to King Gartnait, who sat next to him.
Fergus shook his head and leaned his elbows on the table. “Land.”
“Ah, Caledon will…” Gartnait stammered and coughed. His son, Elfinn, stepped towards him and blocked Brei’s view.
Taran finished Gartnait’s sentence for him. “Caledon and Vortriu will offer silver to Attacot, in compensation for losing land to Ulster.”
“Talorc, this would be your son’s land,” King Derine said.
King Derine was as old as Gartnait, but he reminded Brei of the great King Uradech.
“So be it,” Talorc nodded.
King Derine shook his head. “Fine, take it, Ulster scum.”
Prince Fergus grinned and gulped ale from a silver goblet.
Talorc sighed, the darkness under his eyes betraying his exhaustion. “Then we are agreed?”
Kings Cailtram of Cait, Alpin of Ce, Coel of Damnnonia, Gartnait of Caledon, and Nechtan of the Maetae all nodded. The Saxon Prince Ælfric and Prince Fergus of Ulster bent their heads slightly.
The Eldar Druwydd waited at the entrance to the hall, but his appearance at the meeting seemed to have gone unnoticed. Brei raised his hand to catch Talorc’s eye, and he nodded towards the old man robed in white.
Talorc spread his arms wide. “And now we work out the specifics!” he yelled and beckoned the Eldar Druwydd forwards.
“Ale, first!” King Cailtram yelled.
Talorc grinned. “Yes, ale!”
Brei accepted a wooden tankard from a serving girl. As he took it, she bowed and avoided his eyes. He looked over at Taran, who clutched his usual silver goblet. Brei clenched his jaw as Taran turned and caught Brei’s eye, and he swung his long legs over the low bench and pushed through the crush of men towards Brei.
“All right, Brei?”
“That was a bit tense,” Brei whispered as Taran stood next to him, his muscled shoulder warm against Brei’s.
“No one has the motivation that we do. Except maybe King Nechtan. The Maetae were hit as hard as we were by the Romans.”
“Everyone else does it for greed?”
“Take or be taken from.”
Brei lifted his wooden tankard to his lips and gulped. He wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Prince Fergus was too harsh with you.”
“I don’t care what Fergus thinks of me. Do you think I do?”
Brei glanced at Talorc and the Eldar Druwydd conferring with three other Druwydds in white robes. “I just remembered what you said when we were in Caertarwos that every day you are making a claim and I didn’t want you to be disheartened.”
“Why do you care? Would you rather it was you who speaks?”
“No.” He sighed and looked at the grey stone floor. “And yes. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I wish I was like you.”
“You can always jump in first, Brei. It is your right too.”
Brei looked into his brother’s blue eyes. He is always going to be that boy I betrayed. The boy who protected me. “I know you want it more than me you have more heart. Merit and right have little to do with it. In the end it is heart that is the difference between winning and losing.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that when Gartnait dies, I will support your claim.” His stomach sank as he said the words. The room seemed to spin, and the voices faded. His body thrust forwards into Taran’s embrace, but he felt nothing.
“I hope you won’t be disappointed in me,” Taran whispered. But Brei could not hear him over the pounding pulse in his ears.
“We are agreed on the details, then?” The Eldar Druwydd sighed after over three hours of logistical discussions that drew progressively shorter and more slurred responses from the kings as the ale continued to flow.
The Eldar Druwydd ran his hand through his long white hair. “One more time. King Coel will subjugate Gwoddodin. Gwoddodin is loyal to Rome, and if bribes do not satisfy them, King Coel and the Damnnone warriors will prevent them from attacking us as we travel through the south to the Great Wall. King Coel will also bribe the Roman soldiers on the minor towers on the Great Wall. We will wait by the wall next to the towers that have been bribed until they signal that it is time for the attack. Then they will drop torches along the wall for us to follow to where the big forts are, and they will let a small group of men through the wall. That small party will run ahead to the fort each kingdom is targeting and will sneak in and set fire to as many buildings as they can to create a distraction. King Derine will lead the Attacot to attack one fort, while King Nechtan and each of the northern kings will attack the remaining forts simultaneously. There are sixteen major forts, but our spies tell us that only six are garrisoned with enough soldiers to get in our way, so we will attack those.” The Eldar Druwydd turned to the Saxons. “And Prince Ælfric will lead an attack by ship along the eastern coastline.”
Ælfric drained his silver goblet of wine, watching the Eldar Druwydd in silence over the rim.
“And” the Eldar Druwydd bowed low to Prince Fergus, “the magnanimous Prince Fergus will lead the Ulster ships down the west.”
Brei smirked as he caught Taran’s eye.
Talorc pushed himself up from the table. “But that is just the initial attack. After that, our path will take us through the middle of Britannia. We will burn and plunder everything in our path.” Talorc smiled. “And in the spring, Prince Ælfric and Prince Fergus will continue down the coastline, attacking the coastal fortresses and towns.”
Talorc raised his silver goblet into the air. “The Gods have blessed us with a good harvest. We must keep the forges burning from now until long after Samhain. We need swords, spears, and arrow tips. There is work for all our peoples. Vengeance will be ours. We begin our attack on the winter solstice. Revenge or Tirscath!”
Thirty-Three
Summer, 367 C.E., Britannia
Sorsha, Dioras, and Nyfain travelled at night, sparing the one horse they had between them the exhausting summer heat. During the day, they found cool, leafy hollows and rivers to sleep by. The villages and towns they passed on the road were littered with buildings in desperate need of repair, and many buildings were abandoned. Villagers often warned them of marauding bands of robbers and murderers, and so with the denarii Sorsha had received from Cecily, she purchased a second-hand iron blade for Dioras and a dagger for Nyfain.
To ward off boredom, as they waited for the cool blanket of night to travel under, they would play at target-throwing with Nyfain’s dagger. One scorching afternoon, after waking from a heavy sleep, Sorsha walked to a bubbling stream flowing near the shaded spot she had been sleeping in and bathed her aching feet. She stretched out her arms and let the mottled light play on her skin as it filtered through the green leaves above.
Laughter rang from the trees as Dioras teased Nyfain. “So close! But not close enough.”
Sorsha turned to see Dioras give Nyfain a playful push towards the tree they were using as target practice. Nyfain retrieved the dagger from the ground, fallen just short of the old oak’s trunk, and handed it back to Dioras. He grinned, “Watch me closely this time.”
Standing side-on to the tree, he bent his front leg, drew his arm back, and released. The dagger landed with a thump in the “X” they had carved into the tree.
Nyfain shook her head, smiling as Dioras skipped to the tree to wrench out the dagger. “Here, I’ll show. It’s your arm. Need you to follow,” he said, handing the dagger to Nyfain. As he positioned her, his hands barely seemed to t
ouch her body.
Sorsha looked back at the river. It smelt fresh, and the sound of the water gurgling over pebbles and rocks was lulling her back to sleep. She leant on the ground, sinking into the soft silt as it took her weight, and dangled her feet in the cool water.
“Did you see that, Sorsha?”
Sorsha turned towards Nyfain. She had landed the dagger at the tip of the “X”. Sorsha smiled and closed her eyes again. Birds twittered in the trees above her, and she drifted to the vineyards on her parents’ estate. In her mind she chased her brothers along the rows of grapes, the sun catching the backs of their heels as they ran.
“Sorsha!”
She had just closed her eyes when Nyfain and Dioras started calling her again. Frowning, Sorsha struggled back into consciousness.
“Sorsha!” Nyfain yelled.
Sorsha’s eyes snapped open.
A grizzled-looking man stood over her with a lopsided grin. “Hello.”
Sorsha sat up, taking in his tattered tunic and military-issue metal vest. He reeked of ale and stale urine. She looked up the bank to the trees, where two men held Dioras and a third restrained Nyfain. The hilt of Sorsha’s sword hilt dug into her side. Has he seen it? “What can we do for you?” she asked, not moving from her seated position on the bank of the stream.
“So much, lovely, so much,” the man leered. He turned to his companions. “Won’t these two do so much for us, lads?”
As he laughed over his shoulder, she shifted her weight and leant back over the scabbard and entwined it under her leg.
He turned back to her and crouched down. “Now, what is a pretty girl like you doing out here?”
“Let my friends go, and I’ll tell you,” she said.
He stood up straight, laughing with a harsh crackle. “Should we let them go, lads?” He turned again to his companions.
She crossed her left hand over her waist and clasped the hilt of the sword while the other men laughed. They seemed young, almost boys.
“No, no, there’s not enough of you to go round for what we have in mind, lovely. And anyway, this Gaulish bull here will fetch a pretty coin at the slavers’ market.”
“Fine,” she said, raising her chin, “but let her go, at least. I can guarantee I’ll be enough.”
He smirked. “And why do you think that?”
Sorsha motioned with her finger for him to come closer. He crouched down, and she rose onto her knees, smiling. “Do you know what I’d do first?” she whispered.
He licked his lips. “Tell me.”
“Well…” She grabbed his hair and, at the same time, pulled her sword out from its scabbard and jammed the blade against his neck. The man just spluttered, shocked at how quickly he’d lost control of the situation. Sorsha jumped up, yelling “let them go” to his companions.
“Go on then, do him! Less of us to share you with,” said the blond man holding Nyfain, while one of the men holding Dioras pulled out a dagger and wedged it against his throat. Blood dribbled from the cut and down his neck.
Sorsha’s heart raced. Don’t panic. She let her hostage go and kicked him to the ground, then ran towards Dioras and Nyfain.
The second man holding Dioras stepped forwards and thrust out his sword to meet her. When she was upon him, she ducked beneath his arching blade and slashed at his legs. He groaned and fell forwards. She looked up at Dioras, but his wide eyes darted behind her and he shook his head. Before she could turn, a blade crushed against her throat. She looked up and saw the first ruffian glaring down at her, blood streaming down the side of his neck. Fuck.
“You filthy bitch,” the man snarled in her ear with rotten breath.
The other man was struggling to stand. She squeezed her sword. The blade against her neck was cold, and from the corner of her eye she saw Nyfain. Tears streamed down her face. A wave of nausea rippled through Sorsha’s stomach and she looked up at the sky. May the Gods give me strength. She wrenched her body forwards, and the blade pushed into her neck, gouging through the skin and veins. The ruffian sliced the blade across her throat as she swung her sword wildly behind her and made contact. With a thud, he dropped his sword and fell on the ground groaning.
Sorsha crawled away and tried to stand upright. She convulsed, and blood sprayed from her mouth. As she held her hand to her searing throat, she stared at Nyfain and Dioras, still held captive. Steaming blood spilt down Sorsha’s neck and Dioras’s eyes told her how grotesque she must look. Heat flowed from Sorsha’s heart, down her arm and into her hand, but she could not finish the healing as the first ruffian lunged for her again. She adjusted her grip on the hilt and leapt towards him, slashing the blade across his neck. Her arm jarred as the sword wedged into his spine. It’s stuck. She lifted her boot onto his chest and wrenched the sword out of his neck.
The man collapsed, and she turned to the other man just as he sprinted towards her. Shit. At the last moment she dropped once more and slashed at his already bloodied legs. He stumbled, and she jerked her sword up into his abdomen. Screaming, he fell to the ground, clutching his stomach. Blood gushed through his dirty linen shirt and oozed through his fingers.
Sorsha panted as she glared at the two remaining men holding Nyfain and Dioras. An intense rage pulsed through her. The same compulsive intensity as when she healed people, but now it was the inverse. It was an insatiable desire to kill.
The man holding his blade against Dioras’s neck shuddered. “Stay back, stay back, witch, or I will end him!”
Without taking her eyes from the bandit, Sorsha walked to within a foot of Dioras. The ruffian’s lips trembled as she leaned forwards and whispered. “You touch him, you hurt a single hair, and I will pull the guts from your body. Slowly, ever so slowly. I’ll string out your intestines until I can find my way back through the forest with them.”
His eyes widened, and she struck his face with the hilt of her sword. Screaming, he released Dioras and dropped his blade. Dioras scrambled to pick up the fallen dagger as the bandit slipped while trying to flee. He grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair, yanked his head back and sliced his throat.
Sorsha, smiling, stepped towards the final man, who was holding Nyfain. “Now I’m wondering why you’re still here.”
He screwed up his face and spat at Sorsha.
“Drop your head,” she said to Nyfain in the Ancient Tongue. Nyfain obeyed as Sorsha swung her sword up from the left to plunge it into his neck. He released Nyfain and slid to the ground, the sword wedged into his flesh. Sorsha pulled the sword out of his neck and swung again, but it became stuck in his neck once more as he fell forwards onto his knees.
“You’re not strong enough.” Dioras unsheathed his sword. Drawing the blade to his ear, Dioras swung his sword across the bandit’s neck. The head leapt off its neck and fell with a thud onto the ground. Sorsha looked at the straw hair, flecked with blood.
“Those villagers weren’t joking,” Dioras said as he held Nyfain.
Sorsha wiped the spit off her face and clutched her neck to finish the healing. The rage dissipated like a fog withering under the sun. As her breathing returned to normal, a tremor spread across her hands and fingers. Dead eyes across the clearing stared up at her. Waves of nausea crashed through her stomach, and she collapsed on the ground and pressed her head against her knees.
“Are you okay?” Dioras asked.
“I barely remember what I did. I just wanted to save you both.” She looked up at Dioras and Nyfain. “Everything sort of blurred… I didn’t mean to…”
“They would have used us and killed us, Sorsha,” Nyfain said, her voice choking. “They were bad men, and they deserved what they got.”
Sorsha nodded, but her hands still shook. She curled them into fists and dug her nails into her palms until they bled.
The sun was now setting and the purple sky swam with orange. “We should go,” Dioras said. “Take everything we can from them and let’s get out of here before there’s any more trouble.”
Nyfain foun
d a pouch with a hoard of silver denarii in a saddlebag while Sorsha strapped a shiny dagger to her boot. As they set out onto the road on the ruffians’ horses, under the milky light of the moon, the milestone to the Great Wall was marked “XLI”.
“We’ll reach the wall by morning if we hurry.” Dioras clicked to his new horse and pushed into a gallop.
Thirty-Four
Summer, 367 C.E., Caledon
Talorc raised a silver goblet in the air. “When the snow starts falling, we go through the wall!”
“Revenge or Tirscath!” Taran yelled.
The hall echoed with cries of “Revenge or Tirscath!”
“And” Talorc raised his hands. “And! I have more news.”
The kings and princes fell silent, many utilising the pause to fill their mouths with ale.
“I am pleased to announce that my sister, Eithne, and my much begrudged but still loved cousin Naoise are to be bound!”
Naoise, who had been dwarfed by Ælfric and his Saxon cousins Wulfraed and Edmund, popped his head out from behind them and leant forwards across the table to grasp Talorc’s hand.
“I will return Eithne to Caercaled along with my army when we march, and they will be bound here in Caercaled before we depart for the wall. Eithne says she wants to delay it for as long as possible. No doubt she is hoping Naoise will perish in battle, and she’ll only have to put up with him for one night.” Talorc winked as the hall filled with laughter. Then he raised his goblet once more. “To my Neesh and Eithne.”
“To Naoise and Eithne!” the princes and kings cheered.
Whistling reverberated around the hall and Brei wondered if he could slip away to Anwen and the twins, who had remained on the third floor, along with Aífe. Brei surveyed the stone hall to see if anyone was looking, but no one seemed to notice as he nudged his way behind King Cailtram and escaped up the dark, spiralling staircase. The noise from the hall below was still deafening, but his shoulders relaxed as he pushed open the wooden door to his floor. Anwen and Aífe were sitting by the fire talking to the twins, and it sounded as though Anwen was telling them a story about faeries. He smiled and sat on the ground by Anwen’s feet.