Pagan Curse (Tribes of Britain Book 2)

by Sam Taw

  “No!” My body sagged against the ropes; my despair complete. The pain inside my chest radiated out to all parts of me, enveloping me in a sadness beyond description.

  Every person there fell silent, my cries and wails filling the void. The High Priest seemed reluctant to go on, but Suliaman barked at him to continue before the connection to the gods was lost. The man in the low hood approached me carrying a cloth of fine green material. Slowly, and with tenderness, the holy man removed the mask and stacked it against the black pillar behind my feet. He dabbed the fabric to my eyes and cheeks, mopping up my tears before turning to face the centre of the circle.

  “God of our Phoenician friends, Melkarth. You have received your tribute. Lift the wicked curse from Byblos and set loose this man from its deadly effects.” The priest bent low and wiped the tear stained cloth over Suliaman’s brow. “We call on Airmed, Goddess of Healing and Herbs, to imbue these tears with the soothing balm of all health and happiness. May he be blessed.”

  In that moment I am not proud of all the wicked and evil thoughts I had for the Prince. I wished him a curse of my own, sentencing him to die over and over again in the Underworld in the most hideous and brutal ways that I could imagine. If I was not strapped down, I would have gladly scratched out his eyes and fed them to ravens.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t tear my sight from poor Jago’s body. His buckled limbs and protruding windpipe bubbled and frothed with blood. Those images etched themselves in my memory. Barring a few more incantations which I neither listened to nor heard, the ritual was over. Maleek knelt next to his father and flattened his hand in Jago’s blood. With the palm positioned on the grinning idol’s chest, he transferred the print onto the clay man. Melkarth took his fill, the pottery absorbing the blood in moments.

  Those around the circle were freed one at a time, but none spoke nor moved from their spot next to the stones. I suspected that one false move might render them the next in line for the curved blade. Suliaman lifted his quivering arm in search of Maleek. Father and son held hands for a moment, until Suliaman raised Maleek’s hand to his lips, depositing a kiss. “Thank you, son.”

  It was the last words uttered from the man of the east. All the damage that man had done, all the heartache and misery, and he passed into the Between Worlds moments later. Maleek stayed on the ground, clutching his dead father’s hand. There were no tears, no laments, just a stillness amid the flickering flames of the surrounding fires.

  The collection of priests started their procession back towards the settlement. One led the oxen. Its blood deemed unworthy of sacrifice. The High Priest gestured for us all to follow, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave Jago. I hovered over his twisted corpse, fresh tears stinging my face in the frigid temperatures. Tallack surrounded me with his cape, rested his arm along my shoulders and steered me away.

  Word must have spread among the settlers, as a kind woman from the house in which I had washed earlier in the evening, gave me honeyed valerian tea and placed furs across my knees. I sat and rocked myself next to her fires, oblivious of the discussions surrounding me. All I knew was that a young life, filled with love and laughter and the sharpest mind I’d ever known was stolen from me.

  I stayed like that until daylight broke over the Earth Mother hills in the distance. Tallack carried me from the jetty onto Faolan’s boat, and stayed by my side until we made it back to Novantae lands. Suliaman and Jago’s bodies must have been stowed on an accompanying boat behind us, since Faolan approach me to ask what funeral rites I would prefer. Even considering my options pained me. I couldn’t think straight.

  Tallack took charge and organised everything with Faolan as part of their trading agreements. They were becoming fast friends, which would benefit both our tribes. Faolan’s golden rivers and streams would see all our fortunes improve. The Chief arranged for Jago to have a full pyre with a mourning supper for all those in his family, alongside our friends.

  Maleek declared that he would need to take his father’s bones back to Tyre, to prove to his family that the curse was lifted. That meant defleshing and storing the remains in a sealed travelling jar. I was not about to volunteer my services in the accommodation of his wishes. My family had sacrificed enough.

  The following morning, Faolan ordered that Suliaman’s body be broken into limbs, torso and head, and then boiled until only clean bones remained. At first, when I heard this, I feared that Faolan’s tribe might have some disgusting custom which insisted that we must all partake in this Princely stew. My relief was quite evident, when the resulting meaty remains were turned out to the pigs. Nothing gave me more pleasure than seeing that selfish man scoffed by kept boar.

  When the skull was clean and dried, Faolan presented it to Maleek in his feasting house. I sat at the top table, next to the Chief, feeling the loss of my young friend keenly. Tallack sat in Jago’s seat, regularly jogging me alert from my reflections with a jab of his elbow.

  The offensive article lay along the table not far from where I sat. The curse had ravaged Suliaman’s bones. Where the skull should be smooth, with fine grooves where the regions met, his was rough and worn away. The holes for the eyes and nose were no longer separate, but joined by ragged channels into deformed shapes.

  Maleek took one look at the odd-looking skull and pinched shut his eyes. “My people must not see how this curse ate his face thus. It would cast a taint on all my kin.”

  Tallack piped up. “Would they tell the difference if you took a different skull home instead? I’m sure that Faolan would have some slave bones fresh enough to dig up.”

  Before Faolan could agree, Maleek shook his head. “That would never work. Melkarth would know and would punish me for the sin of falsehood.”

  I kicked Tallack under the table for trying to help someone who had betrayed us both. He yelped more in surprise than pain.

  Faolan had the solution. “Then coat it in gold. I have some of the finest smiths in all of Skotek. They will dip the article in molten metal and then build up the missing areas. By the time they are finished buffing, it will look like the skull of a god.”

  Maleek nodded his approval. “I like this idea.” His hand reached up to the golden torque around his throat, handed down through the generations of his family. “Please, ask them to reuse the gold from this.”

  I was shocked at how readily he gave up the necklace, knowing how he treasured the jewel. “But it belonged to your ancestors.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  Maleek glanced up with the doleful eyes of the bereaved. “A small sacrifice compared to yours.” His acknowledgement of my suffering was too little, and too late. At that time, I prayed to Cernonnus to take him and all his family down to the Underworld, and to torture them for all eternity. What use was all that kindness and healing if all it brought me was the death of Jago.

  It was more than I could take in one sitting. I thanked Faolan for his hospitality, pushed passed my nephew and sought out my bed for the night. Back in the same bunk as I was given before we set sail for the top of the world, I lay awake with a growing numbness shrouding my thoughts. Not the same lack of feeling Suliaman experienced with his curse, but an all cried out kind of ache. I had lost many people over the course of my life, and I grieved them all in my way. None were as painful as losing the boy who had overcome so much adversity and still brought joy to an old tired woman.

  All through the night, I heard Faolan’s slaves carrying and building Jago’s funeral pyre. Every dropped log and shout to watch out jarred my senses and quickened my anger. By daybreak, I’d slept no more than a dog nap.

  True to his word, the pyre was enormous and laid with holly, ivy and heather on the plinth, ready for Jago’s swaddled body at sunset. Tallack hovered over me all day, watching and waiting for me to explode, or to wreak my revenge on Maleek thus spoiling their trade alliance. I did neither, for the Phoenician noble stayed out of my way.

  Faolan’s family were a blessing duri
ng those brief days of meeting them. Their capacity for hosting troublesome guests unlimited and undiminished. My only regret was that I had little to give them in tribute. I offered them my largest bronze knife, after Brea had made off with my best, but they declined. Their justification made sense. What good was a healer who had no tools with which to heal. I was not sure that I deserved the title anymore. A healer who wanted to do harm was not a trustworthy one.

  At sunset, Tallack came for me. He led me by the hand as the honoured guest of the Chief and his family. We stood side by side as Faolan handed me the torch to light the pyre.

  “Would you like to say a few words about the departed?” Faolan enquired.

  I shook my head and sniffed. Jago’s entire body was wrapped in furs and skins. A privilege reserved for the family of Chieftains, and never for lowly slaves. I was glad of it. Seeing his face would have undone me completely. “No, thank you.” I said, trying to keep my voice from wobbling. “Those who knew him well, understand what has been lost.” Idina’s maidens erupted in tears. She patted their backs and shushed them. At least I was not the only one who loved him.

  Dropping the torch into the dry straw at my feet, I watched it catch fire and surge along at speed from the oils and fats Faolan’s slaves had laid down. When it reached the pyre, the flames spread to four clumps of thin kindling before igniting the oil coated wood under his body.

  Black smoke filled the compound, billowing in whirling eddies about the settlement huts. Through the crowds, I could see Maleek standing on the opposite side of the pyre. In his hands, lay the shining golden skull of his father.

  My fury boiled over into rage. With a disturbing calmness I issued a direct order to Faolan’s sons, and clapped my hands together to speed their return. Within moments they appeared, carrying the bloodied half-god Melkarth and his treacherous masks. Stepping forwards, I dislodged a long log from the pyre, its end fully ablaze.

  “This is what I think of your kyjyan gods!” I yelled at Maleek, drawing my arm back and smashing the log across the torso of the idol. It cracked into several parts, making it easier for me to crush it under my feet. Stamping my wooden pattens down on the grinning faces, I took out all my bitterness and hatred on the clay items, before picking up the shards and tossing them into the fire.

  With a final hocked spit on the pot remains. I stuck my fist into the air in defiance. “You can tell your baby killing god, that he’s not welcome in my homeland. Keep your uncivilised practices to yourselves.” As I stormed off towards the guest hut, the sound of rhythmic foot stamping filled my heart anew. The Novantae supported me. I hoped that my nephew would too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Come daybreak, I expected some sort of retaliation for my actions with the Phoenician deity. There was none. The Novantae treated me with the same, if not more respect than they had shown me previously. Whether Chief Faolan had spoken to his family or Tallack, I have no idea, but the whole matter was forgotten as though it had never taken place.

  Faolan himself came to my hut in the morning, bringing fried pork and fresh bread and cheese, along with more sweetened valerian tea. I knew that it was his wife’s doing, but in truth, I was glad of the calming effects of the herb. He sat on my bunk while I ate his food, and explained all that he’d agreed with Tallack. He intended to sail with us on our return journey, to exchange gold for tin. It was such a relief to know that I would not have to ride all that way back to the Dumnonii.

  The preparations took two days, with me keeping much to myself in the hut and leaving the arrangements to my nephew. I occupied my time stitching some decorative motifs on fabric to give to Faolan’s wife. A small tribute in thanks. She was such a comfort to me in my grief, I couldn’t begin to repay her compassion. Their compound was peaceful, and it did give me time to reflect on all that had happened, but I was eager to return home regardless of what we might find there.

  Blydh’s battle plans would be well and truly underway by now. The signs of spring buds and a winter thaw would have the Durotriges keen to invade our lands. Tallack collected me when it was time to leave for the ship, carrying my bundle and kit as though I was too weak to manage it myself. “Give it here.” I jostled him to hand me my medicine bag. “I’m not that fragile.”

  Tallack grinned at me. Perhaps he thought I’d already bounced back from the turmoil. I hadn’t, but wallowing in self-pity was no use to anyone. Maleek stayed at the front of the ship, clutching his repulsive golden skull, while I spent my days near to the tiller with Tallack and Chief Faolan. He was good company and had fresher tales to tell than those of my dear nephew. Cade and Idina, Renowden and the maidens sailed with us, along with Faolan’s younger son, Ealar. Greum, his eldest, was charged with maintaining Novantae affairs and protecting their woman folk. It was a bit of a squeeze granted, the ship being considerably smaller than Tallack’s fine Phoenician vessel, but we managed.

  Faolan could only take my mind off Jago for a short time. While he and Tallack were busy navigating with Renowden, or drinking ale and laughing at their bawdy japes, I was left to ponder on our homelands. I was more convinced than ever that Cernonnus had visited me in the Catuve-Llauni forest that snowy day in the form of a stag - that warning of death that Tallack persuaded me to ignore.

  So many opportunities to abandon the quest, all of them dismissed as nonsense. If only I had stayed at the mining settlement at Bentewyn, maybe Jago would have lived. There was also the possibility that Brea could have slaughtered us both in our sleep the moment Tallack set sail. I shall never know now. What is known, is that Brea escaped us all on Cade’s horse, with my tin pouch and best knife.

  My trip to the Frynkish port only succeeded in providing enough herbs for part of our journey. Even the supplies I traded for from the wolf lady had not lasted long. If I was to be of any help in the coming few moons, I would need to forage widely and with care.

  None of us slept well on the journey home. Idina came down with a bout of sickness, using up the last of my hops. She attributed the nausea to the rolling waves, but I knew better. That devious Prince put the notion of having a child into her head when he gave her the carved wooden panel. No doubt she did all that she could to make the idea come true. Not that Cade seemed displeased by her change of attitude towards him. Perhaps that evil old man did something worthy by bringing them together after all. She even seemed content to have kept her hair, which could have a lot to do with the fact that Cantii women never shave.

  After a full day of sailing against the current, Renowden suggested we made port at a tiny island off the headland of Kembra. None of us knew which of the Kembran Tribes laid claim to the land, but Renowden assured us that it was so remote as to be deserted. We all hoped that he was right. After all that trouble with the copper supplies from the Ordoviches, and the subsequent nuptials of Tallack’s sister to the Ordo heir, the last thing we wanted was to upset any alliances forged.

  A roasted fish supper and a chilly night’s sleep on soft grass meadowland and we were good for another day of rip tides and tacking. When at last we hit the prevailing currents from the massive western ocean, Faolan and Tallack struggled to maintain our course. Renowden kept his eagle eyes landward, waiting to spot a safe place for us to make port. The tide dragged us into a bay which Renowden recognised.

  “This is on the edge of our borders. The moors are just over yonder.” He pointed east from the estuary where we dropped anchor. Cade and Tallack swam ashore in search of a smaller row boat to carry us all to dry land.

  Idina sat with me while we waited for the men to return. “Cade and I will travel over land from here with my ladies. We have no axe to grind with the Durotriges and so with a small tribute, we’ll be safe enough to pass. It’s no trouble for Maleek to journey with us too.”

  I grabbed her hands and squeezed them tightly. “Thank you and bless that child growing in your belly.” She blushed, but did not deny my claim.

  Renowden shuffled closer. “You know, it’s not a bad ide
a to let the Chief keep his ship here for a time. A little gold would pay for a whole bunch of trusted settlers to help Ealar guard its safety. Better here than on the southern coast. The Duro’s will be keeping watch down there if Blydh has rebuilt the compound.”

  I gave it some thought, and then relayed the plan to Faolan. “This bay is almost due north of our place on the River Exe. We can walk the borderlands and get there quicker than sailing around Land’s End and back east again. What say you?”

  The Chief was not keen on the idea of leaving his ship in the hands of strangers with his youngest and most inexperienced son. I don’t blame him. There was enough gold on board to warrant betrayal from even our most trusted warriors.

  When the men returned with a row boat, a compromise was reached. Faolan would sail around the edge of our land and meet us at the mouth of the Exe. Renowden agreed to stay aboard to direct them into safe harbour.

  We were almost home. Weary, and with little food in our stomachs, we scrambled up the rocky cliffs to seek out horses with the little gold Faolan had given to us. Some homesteaders allowed us all to spend the night in their cattle shelter and were only too willing to trade for their horses and a few meagre bundles of food to see us all on our way. At a hill on the borderlands the next morning, we stood and said farewell.

  Tallack made a lunge at Maleek, thinking that he would break his faith in order to embrace him. He did not. He stepped back, making my nephew a fool for ever loving such a man. I could hardly bear to look at him. This was a person who condoned the killing of infants for a malevolent god. With his father gone, and him set to inherit the entire city of Tyre, I’d hoped that we had made an impact on his beliefs, perhaps allow for a little leeway in their brutal practices, but I was wrong.

  He turned to me and made eye contact, the first time in days. “I know that you will never understand, nor will you ever forgive me for carrying out my father’s dying wishes, but he would want you to know this. You restored his faith in people from Inglond, and showed him that women are equally shrewd and intelligent as the tutors who came to our city to teach my father and I.” He held out his hand to me, urging me to take it in mine. “We are bound together through Melkarth. I shall never forget you, Meliora, and I thank you for all your kindnesses.”