The Hadassah Covenant

by Robert Holdstock

  Urtha said, ‘My wife is dead, my son is dead, killed by a force of evil that I will not understand until I can return and seek it out. But I cannot return until Cunomaglos has answered for his desertion. If he had stayed true to me, my family would now be mocking me, for being a fool, and laughing at my blustering apology … not waiting by Ghostland’s river for news that their deaths have been avenged, so they may creep back into the world of shadows.’

  Brennos stared at me for a moment, an unnerving gaze. Then he said to Urtha, ‘Did you seek out this army to find me? Or to find this Cunomaglos?’

  ‘Cunomaglos. All other considerations, for the moment, are in winter hibernation.’

  ‘How will you find him?’

  ‘Two old friends will sniff him out,’ Urtha said, and he raised his arm. I heard the growl and bark of hounds, and suddenly Gelard and Maglerd appeared through the moving ranks, restrained on leashes by a sallow youth, cropped hair, pale-faced, dressed in brightly coloured trousers and shirt.

  ‘Is that a man or a woman?’ Brennos asked with a laugh as this slim, solemn figure stood beside him, whispering quiet words to the panting dogs.

  ‘Neither,’ Urtha said. As he said the words, fierce-eyed Niiv glared at him, but for a moment only. Her frosty, angry look was saved for me.

  Brennos called one of his captains to him, a squat man, cheerfully featured, his face covered with a ginger stubble, though his moustaches were preened and sharp, reaching below his chin. He was wearing the colours of the Tectosages.

  ‘This is Luturios,’ Brennos said to Urtha. ‘This is Urtha,’ he said to Luturios. And then again to my friend: ‘Find your Cunomaglos. Sniff him out. Do you think he knows you’re here?’

  ‘He soon will.’

  ‘Well, I can’t afford to have men watching their backs all the time. Find him, and Luturios and his squad will cull him from the pack. In a few days we’ll reach the sea. I will make a single exception for you, Urtha. At the sea, if you’ve found this wife-killer, you may fight him. And I’ll not stop that combat. And I’ll wait until that combat is finished. If you try to finish it before we reach the sea, Luturios will have a say in the matter. Luturios is very efficient at having such “says” in the matter.’

  ‘I’ll cut your fucking throat,’ Luturios said, by way of clarification, though he smiled as he said it.

  Urtha bowed in the saddle, then turned his horse and rode away from us, following Niiv, who was running with the hounds down through the column.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Combat of Urtha and Cunomaglos

  Urtha sought me out later, trotting beside me on a fine black horse as we clattered along a dry river-bed.

  ‘I want to find him myself,’ he said. ‘It may sound strange, but I need that moment of recognition. I need to see the look in his eyes as he sees me, and realises that I’ve come for him. If I know Cunomaglos, it will be fear, not mockery, that greets me.’

  I hadn’t been about to offer my services, beyond helping ride through the lines, but I guessed that Urtha was dissuading me from doing him a favour with charm.

  I nodded my agreement.

  ‘Why fear?’ I asked him.

  ‘Because the man was a man of honour, and he loved me as a brother. And betrayal will have been a spectre on his back from the moment he left the land.’

  There was no arguing with Urtha’s certainty. ‘You must ask me for whatever help you need,’ I said.

  ‘Search with me. Stay close. The dogs will sniff him out.’

  Niiv had slipped away again. She was keeping at her distance. When Urtha had found the abandoned chariot, still harnessed to its horses, he and Ullanna had used it to get ahead of the others, but had taken Niiv with them—she was so light she hardly troubled the animals that pulled them. The dogs had scampered behind.

  After the day’s pause, to confront a local army, however, the others of our crew had caught up, and Maglerd signalled their discreet arrival with a cheerful series of whines and howls. Rubobostes and Tairon came to our fire sometime in the middle of the night. The Cymbrii arrived soon after with the cart and Argo’s heart. Then Manandoun and Cathabach and the Germanii. Michovar, it seemed, had turned back after all.

  And Jason?

  ‘We lost him about two days ago,’ Manandoun said. ‘He took the strongest horse and rode towards the west. He seemed excited about something.’

  ‘That rider,’ Tairon added. ‘The young man who called to him. He seemed to know him.’

  A rider had appeared on a rocky ridge, among wide-branched pine trees, and called to Jason. Jason had been transfixed by the vision, then powerfully determined to find out who the young man was. He had taken very little, apart from the horse, and galloped up the slopes. That was the last they’d seen of him.

  I asked an innocent question: concerning the sighting of birds at the time.

  Tairon frowned and shook his head, but Manandoun scratched his jaw, thought hard, then answered, ‘A few sparrows, or whatever passes locally for sparrows; and a rook, or some great black bird, a solitary thing. I’ve seen it before. I think it’s following the army, probably feeding on the dead.’

  I smiled at that.

  Feeding on the dead? Protecting a young life from the risen dead, more like.

  Urtha could see that I was unnerved by this news. When everyone was settled he whispered, ‘Is Jason in difficulty?’

  ‘He’s been tricked,’ I answered. ‘He thinks he saw his son. The question is, how quickly will he realise the fact; and where will he go next?’

  ‘To Delphi?’ the Celt suggested.

  Yes. Probably to Delphi. If Medea didn’t lead him to destruction first.

  Urtha drew his polished sword, rested it in his hand. ‘I remember thinking that I would use this without hesitation on that strange man, your old friend, old Lake Corpse. I was angry with him. But once the business with the dog-bastard is over, I’ll use this iron to help him in any way I can. This is not wholly altruistic, I hope you’ll understand. I’ve invited Brennos and a thousand of his men to come and stay in my stronghold. To feast on deer-flesh and partridges, if I remember myself and my large mouth correctly. That was a little rash, I think. Jason might be useful to have around.’

  ‘He certainly was, seven hundred years ago,’ I said, and Urtha nodded, as if nothing could have been more obvious.

  * * *

  The earth began to shake. The night sky was black, star-speckled, and the air filled with the scent of cedar and lavender. To wake in such a land is to wake as if newly born; there is a blossom of dew on the cheeks, cold wind in the head, and a vigour in every limb. That hour before dawn! If dark Hades was as charged with life as this moment in the day, no Greeklander would ever regret dying.

  The sun spread like fire to the east, above the tree-lined hills, picking out the shapes of rock and ridge, the old face of the world. I welcomed it, I remember welcoming it on that second day back with Urtha, as if there was a new season to the heart.

  I kicked him in his blanket. The Cymbrii were up and ready. Niiv was silent, pale face glowing in the dawn below her shorn head. She watched me like a cat, but turned her gaze away when I threatened anger.

  Earth shaking!

  After a night on the march, we had had a night of rest. Now the ten times ten thousand men and women in the army of Brennos moved again through the land, towards the promise of sea; to the certainty of death for many of them at Thermopylae; to the promise of rescue at Delphi.

  And as this great horde moved sluggishly to the south, Urtha and I, and Rubobostes on a lighter horse than his adored Ruvio, and Manandoun and Cathabach, faithful knights, rode steadily in the other direction.

  Looking for a hound with the face of a handsome man, and the heart of a bastard.

  * * *

  If we had had a jug of milk for every time we heard the words, jokingly expressed, ‘You’re going the wrong way. Delphi is south…’ we could have covered Greekland with cheese.

&nbs
p; Day after day we rode through and across the ponderous mass of mounted men, and men on foot, and trailing beasts, scampering children and lumbering wagons.

  Wherever we went it was assumed we were bringing information, or instructions, or orders for battle. Those at the back of the three columns had already created a great exaggeration from the fierce battle that had occurred at the front. They had seen the burial mounds, and smelled the fires. They had been aware of the dead. But they had passed, belatedly, over the bloody ground and only imagination had been their guide to what had happened in the distance from them.

  Maglerd and Gelard scampered and prowled between the creaking wheels and tired legs. They were popular dogs. Whole platoons of heavily armed men would suddenly stop, crowd around the great beasts and start to play. They were missing their own animals. Maglerd and Gelard relished the attention, until Urtha’s hard voice cut through their fun, and with slightly guilty, lolling looks, they returned to the hunt.

  It was the dogs that made us accepted and welcomed as we searched through the clans, and asked for passing hospitality.

  Then the day came, as I’d known it would, when the hounds looked fierce, their shackles rising, their red maws flecked with spittle. I could smell them, even though they were standing a hundred paces away, staring down the line. Maglerd had dropped to a crouch and Gelard was so tense that I thought the poor beast would crack across the ribs. A hundred or so horsemen were riding past us, and from their shields I guessed them to be Avernii, from western Gaul, close to the sea that separated them from Urtha’s land. They were drooping and tired, dragging five cows and some weary horses. But among them, shrunk into their own horses, were a group of men who seemed to carry no colours at all. They had streaked their hair white, though the spines had collapsed slightly. They all seemed ill. Their cloaks were dark coloured, and it was strange to see them wearing them, because the days were hot, now, and most of the army rode or walked in very light dress indeed.

  Urtha stopped one of the Avernians.

  ‘Do you know the names of the other men who ride in your ranks?’

  ‘From near to Ghostland,’ the warrior said, looking Urtha up and down suspiciously. ‘They brought some fine horses, and some excellent cows. We’ve traded in the past. They are fine men. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m searching for an old friend. Cunomaglos. Of the Cornovidi. He looks after my hounds.’

  The Avernian looked down at the two stiffened beasts, then again at Urtha, shaking his head. ‘Why do you ask me such a question when your dogs have told you all you wish to know? And why do you lie? He’s no friend of yours.’

  And he snapped words at his compatriots; forty men on horse turned to look at us, scowling, then all of them drew away from the column, leaving the bedraggled troupe ahead of them exposed.

  The dogs began to bark, hackles rising. They were watching one man among the small party of warriors.

  Cunomaglos looked over his shoulder. He was just as I had imagined him, heavyset, umber-haired, mean-eyed and grim. He was wearing a mail vest over green linen, and short, striped trousers, his tattooed arms bare, his calves a mass of scars. He seemed shocked, then reined in, turned and suddenly screamed a curse towards us. He was unkempt, his dark beard untrimmed, his hair hanging thickly from below an undecorated leather helmet.

  I had walked the Path for lifetimes; I had seen the way fear and fury can mix in a man’s eyes to give him the appearance of something so wild that he will give pause to the strongest-hearted contestant in combat. I cannot describe in words what I saw in that man Cunomaglos’s eyes at that moment—murder and desperation, perhaps. Had he dreamed of the wreckage he had left behind when he had ridden away from Urtha’s family? Had the spirits of Aylamunda and Urien taunted him from Ghostland? Had the dead among his companions, the uthiin who had remained faithful, ridden him down and whispered abuse at him? Spectres on his back. Something had happened to this man, and he was now confronting the dread moment of his dreams: vengeance had ridden up to him and said quietly, ‘I’ve come to kill you for killing my wife and child. You stole my life, as I see from your eyes you already know. I’ve come to take it back.’

  Cunomaglos stayed as motionless as a statue, his pale eyes not blinking as he stared at Urtha, who abruptly turned and rode back to me.

  ‘Got him!’ the young king said with a quick smile. ‘And did you see the look on his face? He knows what must have happened in the fort. He’s frightened. Now, how far is it to that ocean? Charm me to it soon, Merlin. I cannot wait to rub sea-salt into that bastard’s wounds!’

  * * *

  As the ocean came in sight, a distant shimmer, specked with islands, the Celts began to break ranks, whipping horse and chariot ahead of the main army, bands of men exuberantly seeking the best beaches for games and races. By the time we were riding along the cliffs, not a single strand was in pristine condition, churned up by wheels and hooves as clan challenged clan to every conceivable competition; including swimming races to the dark rocks that rose, like a broken reef, at a distance from the shore.

  Throwing-games abounded, using lances, rocks and bulky pouches; the Iceni, from south of Urtha’s own land, and the Belgae from across the water had formed into two teams of forty players, and were reinventing gwdball, a kicking, jumping and punching game using an inflated bladder.

  Now Brennos gave instructions to throw up earthworks on the land side, and set up picket stations. For two days another army had shadowed our own. They were spread out across the hills behind us, and moved south in parallel with us. Their intentions were unclear. Brennos had established a very large force of heavily armed men at the rear of the column.

  Luturios and his keen-weaponed brigade escorted Cunomaglos and his own men inland, to the far bank of a river that curled and rushed through the rocks towards the edge of one of the beaches. They found a place where there was grass and wood on both banks, backed by craggy rocks, and where the water was waist deep.

  Urtha and Ullanna arrived on the near bank, with the other Celts from Argo. Tairon and Rubobostes had stayed behind to guard the Spirit of the Ship.

  Luturios and his men withdrew seawards, along the shallow river, and set a fire, sitting down to watch from a distance. If this combat was conducted in the proper fashion, they would be no more than spectators.

  * * *

  Urtha and Cunomaglos laid out their weapons, then approached the river. Cunomaglos had shaved his cheeks and waxed his hair into a single, thick braid. Trousered, naked to the waist except for tattoos, he was formidable. All that earlier weariness and fear had vanished. His arms were huge, ridged with veins. His eyes were so deep in his skull it was hard to tell where he was looking. Perhaps everywhere.

  Urtha wore a kirtle and a short blue cloak, drawn around his body and pinned at the shoulder with a hound-faced brooch. He had slung his father’s gold lunula on top of this, and it was clear that Cunomaglos was aware of that family totem, as it glinted. Was he wondering what it was doing on Urtha and not on the druid, whose ended life had given it up?

  It was time to negotiate. The Celts adopt the battle-talk when facing single combat, formal and laconic; and they indulge in exaggerated metaphor as well as insult.

  Arms crossed, each man examined the armoury that was opposed to him. Then Cunomaglos shouted, ‘I see you have begged, borrowed and stolen a fine array of weapons. Those big shields are impressive, but they won’t hold me back.’

  ‘I’d be surprised if you came with that array of weapons all the way from your home. You’ve been doing some begging yourself. Is that a stone groinplate I see? You must be truly scared of the strength of my blade.’

  ‘I will lend you the stone with pleasure, if you promise not to use the unfair thrust.’

  ‘Only a coward like you would contemplate the unfair blow. Keep the stone. I’ll use it to weight your dead body in the sea, when I bury you.’

  ‘In fact,’ Cunomaglos retorted, ‘I had planned to carve it in memory of a brother,
and lay it on the earth over your cold, blood-drained corpse.’

  ‘Then don’t concern yourself with practising with hammer and chisel. On the matter of the fight, this ground is wrong for chariots.’

  ‘I agree. I would have enjoyed challenging you by chariot, but it would be unfair on the horses.’

  ‘I would propose only two weapons at a time, the choice to alternate between us.’

  ‘I’m quite happy with that. We must decide on whose side of the river we begin. And I propose that we keep the river itself for the fifth encounter, though that is just to be clear in the rules, since you will be crow-feast after the first.’

  ‘Four on land, then the fifth in the river until it’s done, until the death. Yes. And no matter what is happening, how far the fight has gone when we fight on land, when the last edge of the sun disappears behind that hill, the fighting is ended for the day.’

  ‘I agree with that. Clewvar, who has sharp eyes, will stand the watch for me. Only if we reach the river will we fight to the end of it. Lexomodos will guard my weapons.’

  ‘Cathabach will watch on my side. Ullanna of Scythia will watch my weapons.’

  Although two of Cunomaglos’s men laughed quickly at the suggestion that a woman would supply weapons and armour to a man in combat, it was taboo to insult a woman relative at such a time, and Cunomaglos stayed silent and stiff until the inappropriate insult had been silenced.

  Urtha went on: ‘And one further thing: since Brennos’s man Luturios brought us to this place, neither of us can be considered to have arrived first at the ford, and therefore have the right to decide the weapons. I suggest we decide by throwing a spear at that olive tree, growing up the stream, by the grey rock, there. The winner whose throw comes closest to the point where the lowest branch divides.’

  ‘I agree.’

  Each man took up a light spear. They threw together. The shafts came close to touching, but each point found the tree unhindered, and Cunomaglos had made the more accurate cast.