Pagan Revenge

by Sam Taw

  PAGAN REVENGE

  Sam Taw

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2020 Sam Nash writing as Sam Taw. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book, or any portion thereof, may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher or author.

  Cover art supplied by Carantoc Publishing Ltd

  First edition, 2020

  ISBN 978-1-9163059-1-5

  Carantoc Publishing Ltd.

  www.carantocpublishing.com

  Please note that this novel was created by a British author. Except for Cornish words, slang and dialogue, spelling and grammar are corrected to British English. There are also scenes which may offend more sensitive readers. It is not deemed suitable for children.

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  Three unsuitable lovers.

  Two valuable metals.

  One critical mission.

  The Dumnonii have no copper for their forges. Without a new supply, there will be no more bronze weapons for the inevitable battle ahead.

  Joint Chieftain, Tallack, must cross the western ocean to negotiate an alliance with the obstinate Dathi of the Ivernii and complete an impossible task to gain his trust.

  Can he succeed where once his father failed?

  Join the young warrior and his crew in a lust fuelled, intense quest on the shores of Iwerdon and find out for yourself.

  This story takes place between book one, Pagan Death, and book two, Pagan Curse. Please be aware that there will be spoilers that might ruin the enjoyment if they are read out of order. Sign up here:

  https://www.carantocpublishing.com/sam-taw

  To my incredible family.

  My love for them is beyond description.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The encampment was vast. From what I could see, their rawhide shelters almost covered the valley floor. Some of the more permanent structures were constructed with woven hurdles and thatched with cut peat turf. Those were the huts for the important family elders. Great fire pits roasted whole goats, with rows of rabbit and hares suspended above. Their smith’s clanging hammers jarred my senses, and filled me with dread.

  At the far end of the camp, I could just make out the lines of young warriors practising their skill with axe and blade. Beyond them, the women strung new bows and cut lengths of wood for arrow shafts. Every clan within their tribe busied themselves with stern expressions and a determination that sent a chill right through me.

  It was as though the entire Durotriges Tribe had emptied their lands to settle along the border. This was no temporary camp on their way to another destination. This was a community built for one purpose, to revenge the death of their beloved Ruvane and wife of the Chieftain, Wenna.

  Tallack and I lay on our bellies at the peak of the escarpment. Below us lay the largest of the tents. Outside its entrance was a platform of rough-hewn wood, with three tall chairs in its centre.

  “I had no idea that their tribe was this large.” Tallack grumbled.

  “They have our Priest Clan to swell their numbers, don’t forget.” I scrambled along the edge, hiding on the leeward side of rocky outcrops and boulders to get a clearer view.

  Tallack was close behind. “Glad to see the back of those kyjyans. Nothing but hemp addled troublemakers.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes, but he was testing my resolve. “They’re still warriors, with vengeance in their hearts and sharp blades in their hands. We could have handled that whole affair better.” I used the term, we, in its loosest possible sense, for we both knew at what I was driving. Tallack and his twin brother had declared the leader of the Priest Sect guilty of fouling our water, with a swift and brutal punishment.

  Beheading the old man sent a ripple of discord through their clan. Banishing them to the moors with their half-brother to lead them, was a mistake. It needed thought and consideration, but my dear nephews are young and inexperienced. Sharing the role of Metern to the Dumnonii came too soon in their lives. Their father had little time to ready them for such responsibility.

  “Should have let Blydh kill that back-stabbing kyjyan, Paega as well as his grandfather.” Tallack spat on the floor. It was as though even speaking his half-brother’s name left a nasty taste in his mouth.

  “What’s done is done. Can’t change the past.” I squinted in the low sunlight, assessing the numbers of fighting men among the community of old, women folk and children. Paega was hard to miss, waving the long silvery sword about that once belonged to me. Seeing him with it brought back memories of my slave, Jago. I’d asked him to hide it in an abandoned mine shaft at the Bentewyn mining settlement.

  There was only one explanation for how it came to be in the hands of Paega. He must have followed my slave boy and stolen it away as soon as Jago was clear of the tunnel. Jago would never have betrayed me. He was true and courageous. He hated Paega as much as Tallack, particularly as he treated slaves with such hostility and contempt.

  “I have to say, they’ve got a pretty neat set up here; all the smiths and livestock downstream of the fletchers and carpenters, the families upstream where the sweet water flows.” Tallack pondered out loud. “It’s such an efficient system.”

  “Well, while your admiring them, perhaps you’ll take note of their stockpile of weapons. They’re not here for the scenery.” I couldn’t help but be sharp with him. “You think that dullard of a Chieftain organised all this? That’s your lover down there calling all the shots.” I gestured towards the young woman sitting at the side of the tallest chair.

  Brea’s fine tunic and expensive jewels showed her lofty status within the tribe. She must have taken advantage of the Duro Chief’s grief and swooped in to offer comfort and succour. No other explanation fit for how she came to be in such a prominent position so soon after Tallack refused to bind with her. Tallack said nothing. His thoughtless actions had brought about so much sorrow and pain.

  I let the matter drop. My own decisions have been similarly poor of late, and the urge to make restitution gnaws at my innards daily, but how can I tell the Chief a secret which I know could ignite his temper and result in his hatred of me? I blocked it from my mind. We had more urgent business with which to tackle.

  “We must hurry back to the camp on the River Exe and warn the others. The Duros have at least three warriors for every one of ours.” I glanced at my nephew. He didn’t look worried in the slightest that their neighbours and enemies were gearing up for slaughter, and that they were better equipped and more prepared than his own tribe could ever be. Was this the hubris of youth, or sheer ignorance of battle on such a huge scale? His lack of reaction was deeply concerning. How could I make him see the dire situation we now faced?

  Tallack scurried back towards our horses, tethered in a sheltered dell. “We should poison their water supply and kill off as many as possible while we’re here.”

  I scoffed, treading on a high rock to heave myself onto the pony. “How do you propose we do that?”

  “Same way that the priests did on ours at the mining camp, shove a load of rotting carcasses in the flow upstream.”

  “Don’t be daft. Where would we get rotten meat from? Besides anything else, not even Paega is dumb enough to fall for that. He’d recognise the signs. And before you ask, no, I don’t have a poison strong enough to taint the brook. Forget it.” I mounted my steed and arranged my bundles around me. My medicine kit and knife wrap were all that I had left in the world, other than a couple o
f ratty old furs.

  Without thinking, I glanced about for Jago. It was a habit of making sure he was near me before setting off. For that single moment, I’d completely forgotten that he’d perished on the fateful trip to the healing stones at the top of the world. A wave of pain and anger swept through me. I wanted nothing more than to be left alone on some tor in the middle of the moor to cry out my anguish.

  “If not poison, we should find a way to dam the supply. With no water, they’d be forced to move on.” The young Chieftain smiled. One of those mischievous grins that made it impossible to be annoyed with him. He always knew how to get around me, even when I was feeling my most belligerent.

  “Fine, since we have to ride that way anyhow. Let’s just hope that it doesn’t encourage them to shift even closer to our compound.” I kicked my heels into the horse’s flanks and clicked my tongue to hurry the animal along.

  We rode side by side at a brisk canter, over the arid peaks and boggy valley floors of the moorland, until we could no longer spy the shelters from the Durotriges camp. Taking great care to avoid the patrols of scouts posted as lookouts on advantageous peaks, we picked our route along the water course, until Tallack could see a suitable way to divert the stream.

  From a high tor at the edge of the moor, he spotted an opportunity. “There.” Tallack pointed to a tight meander in the shallow waters below running through a narrow gap in the valley. “If we stack those rocks up to form a dam, it will sink into the banks either side and form a new pond.”

  I thought about his suggestion. “There is just one small flaw in that plan. The waters below this point are fed by lots of marshlands and peat bogs anyway. They will still get some water to the camp, but it’d be dirtier.”

  “Better than doing nothing at all. Come on, Aunt Mel. Why are you arguing with me on this?”

  I knew that he’d been tolerant of my glum mood for the entire trip back from the Skotek Isles, but I couldn’t shake myself from mourning the loss of someone so dear to me. Tallack was the joint Chieftain of our tribe, and as such, commanded my respect. He and his father before him, allowed me such privileges on account of my useful skills as a healer. I’d like to think it was also because I’d had earned a lifetime of wisdom and esteem from all the tribal elders. Discord between us had always been short lived and met with patience and forgiveness.

  Seldom did he treat me as though I was of lowly status, demanding that I observe the titles and hierarchy. To both he and his brother, Blydh, I was simply Aunt Mel. To the rest of our people, they came to call me Fur Benyn, or wise woman in our tongue.

  This day, I was in no mood for conflict. I led my horse down into the valley after him, and stayed mounted while he hefted the stones about the river bed. The early spring warmth of the afternoon sun did nothing to take the chill from the water. Tallack’s hands reddened and his joints locked up in the icy stream. Twice he bashed his fingers between the rocks, before muttering curse words and blowing on them to restore the blood flow.

  Stifling a cackle, I knew that I ought to get off my horse and help him, but watching his clumsy efforts was more fun. Guilt was beginning to get the better of me, when I heard the heavy hooves of many horses, thundering towards us. Tallack was still knee deep in the gully, hoisting another rock into place. I whistled, gaining his attention. He shrugged.

  “By Cernonnus, boy, can’t you hear that?” I hissed at him.

  “Almost done. One last stone should do it.” He waded back to the side of the stream and reached down to clasp his fingers around another rock.

  “Leave it. They’ll be on us in moments. Move!” Dragging his horse closer by its reins, I urged the headstrong Metern of the Dumnonii out of the frigid water before we were discovered. The noise grew louder. A hunting party were bearing down on us at a gallop.

  The first I saw of them was the chalky dust kicked up by their horses along the top of the ridge in the distance. Luck was with us. We had just enough time to dash into the cover of the trees at the side of the vale. Hiding among the thicket of scant shrubs and small trees, we did all we could to silence and steady the ponies, in the hope that the hunters wouldn’t notice the new dam in the stream and descend into the valley to investigate.

  The Durotriges are skilled with horses like no other tribe. Folk say that their children learn to ride before they can walk. Their territories support enormous herds of wild horses roaming the plains. Unlike we Dumnonii, they have no need to breed their stock. They can ride out at any time to round up a stallion with all his females ready to break into work. That’s unless they stray into the much larger territory of the Belgae. If that happens, they risk the wrath of another enormous and powerful tribe if they decide to retrieve them.

  The closer the hunters came to our copse, the more I had to fight against praying to our gods. Since the ordeals at the top of the world, I struggle to believe they even exist. I can’t think why they would be so cruel to us mortals unless it was solely for their entertainment. As the party of hunters drew level with our position on the valley floor, one near to the back of the crowd pulled on the reins of his horse.

  The hunter came to a full stop, churning up the thin soils under his horse’s hooves. His head was shaved at both sides, leaving a long thick tail bunched from the top of his head. To me, it looked no different from the arse of his pony. Perhaps that was his aim. As comical as he looked to us, it was clearly not shared by those in his party. He possessed a high degree of authority over his men, for they too noticed his decision to remain still. They turned their horses with some difficulty on the ridge top and trotted back to his position.

  I stared for as long as my old eyes could cope without watering, but I couldn’t figure out what they were watching. Was it the slight movements of our horses within the shelter of the bushes, or something else that had caught their attention?

  “I think we need to prepare ourselves for the worse, Aunt.” Tallack whispered, unsheathing his short sword from its scabbard hung from his pony. He moved to the edge of the copse and crouched down as the riders dismounted and sneaked a little way down the hillside. There was no way Tallack could fend off such a large group of seasoned warriors. I prepared myself to surrender or to accept the end of my long and tiring life, when I saw two of the men nocking arrows into their bow strings.

  They aimed further down the valley from us and let loose. As their bolts found their targets, I realised that they’d spotted a family of hares. Two lay dead before them. I pulled Tallack back into the cover of our trees and directed his gaze to their catch.

  “They haven’t seen the dam, keep your head and we’ll escape without any trouble.” I muttered. Sure enough, the hunters collected the hares and strung them to the rest of their catch. Pleased with themselves, they galloped off towards camp, leaving us dizzy with relief.

  “Nothing like a near miss to get your heart racing, ay Aunt?”

  I blew out my cheeks. “Can we head home without any more of your crazy stunts to put us in jeopardy?”

  Tallack chuckled and helped me up onto my horse. We raced off as fast as we dared into the next gorge in a southerly direction. Despite the lengthening days, light began to fail before we could get near to the compound at the River Exe.

  We made camp for the night, safely within our own territory and well beyond the moors. Tallack traded a small quantity of tin for a couple of eels from the fishermen where the River Creedy twists itself about the bends of the River Exe. They’re not my favourite food, too many bones for my liking, but after all the watery porridge and scrawny game, it made a nice change.

  Tallack built up the fire and watered the horses, while I mixed up a bit of flat bread to cook ready for the morning. It was all the flour I had left, but I figured we could afford to use it up, being so close to home. Neither of us had much conversation left that night. I sensed that Tallack was just as apprehensive as I, now that we’d had time for everything to sink in.

  He finally understood the peril our people faced, wi
th the tremendous horde of Durotriges on our border, led by a wild and vengeful Chieftain, and advised by the most traitorous woman from our family. She may be Ordoviches Tribe by birth, but we welcomed Brea into our tribe as one of us. Well, most of us did.

  Being so close to the site of our old Chieftain compound made me anxious. I could hardly sleep, despite the warm fire and the full belly. I had held on to the secret about Brea for too long. Only she and my slave knew the nature of her treachery. The more I ruminated on it, the more I realised that I had to come clean. Both of the young warriors needed to know the truth, no matter how they might react, or what punishment they may exact upon me.

  At daybreak, we ate the hard flat-bread and bundled our furs back onto the ponies. We were on the homestretch of our long journey and Tallack was keen to see his kin. I dawdled, knowing what lay ahead of me. My meal lay heavy in my gut as it churned to give me discomfort.

  We followed the course of the river, cutting across the meanders to save time. I tried on several occasions to stop and harvest the early spring growth for my medicines, but Tallack wouldn’t indulge me. He began to suspect that I was causing the delays on purpose.

  There seemed little point in angering him further, especially in light of what I had yet to tell him and his brother. As we passed through the last bend in the forest, I was shocked to find that our new compound which Blydh had pledged to rebuild with his warriors after the raiding party of Duros had burned it down, was barely complete.

  It had no gates, nor watch towers. The tall fence was not yet half finished and there were few huts with roofs or walls. It looked little more than a travelling camp. From my nephew’s expression, I could see that he was seething with anger. What had Blydh done with his time since we parted?

  I could see that Tallack was spoiling for a huge row with his brother. That would make them even less receptive to my news. What punishment would I have to endure for withholding the name of their father’s killer?