Pagan Revenge

by Sam Taw

  A vision of the woman whose guts spilled out over my shoes, whom I held until the poppy resin carried her on swift winds into the Summerlands, flitted through my thoughts. That memory served to sober me up in moments. The realisation that it was only the beginning of our troubles, took me past sobriety and into extreme anxiety.

  I had spent the day getting drunk with a friend to ease her woes, when I could have been preparing tonics and tinctures and seeing to the ails in camp. Guilt piled up inside like the stacked bodies on the pyre. Opposite where we stood, Faolan and Ealar glared at us. I suppose they too had searched for Sorcha. Tallack was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice, but young Treeve was not. He stood next to my nephew like a dog scent marking his territory.

  I recalled his words to Kerensa when the idea of Sorcha binding with Tallack was first raised. Threatening to murder one of our guests does tend to linger in the brain somewhat. Was he just mouthing off, or was he serious? After seeing him repeatedly thrust his knife into an enemy’s balls, I have no doubt that he is able to kill but would he really end the life of a noble daughter through jealousy?

  Most of the affected families remained around the pyre until it burned low. I staggered off to see if Tallack had closed the Long Hut for more discussions or whether it was open to all his warriors and elder families. If there was to be another important discussion regarding the Duros and the part Faolan’s men would play in the war to come, I wanted to be there.

  By the time I had made my way back towards the huts, the ale had worn off to leave me with an aching head. I nipped back to my own shelter for a little willow to chew and found Blydh sitting on the edge of the bunk, trying to pull on his leggings.

  “Kerensa told me all about our defeat. We lost too many of our people. I should have been with my men. Help me up woman.”

  My initial shock was not that Blydh was doing all he could to return to his warriors, but that his former fondness for me had vanished along with his calm temper. I was no longer his Aunt Mel, just a woman to be ordered about like any other. It gave me a cramping pain in my chest, that I should lose the love of my nephew after so many summers of warmth. Faolan warned me that he might be altered if he recovered, which was surprising since his heart was unharmed. It puzzled me how feelings should be seated in the head and not the chest, but there was no time for pondering the human body.

  What confused me more, was why Brea and her tribe of Duros had not attacked us while we were dealing with our fallen warriors. Our defences were down and our numbers weakened in grief. It would have been the perfect moment to surround us with their superior numbers and killed us all. What was the delay?

  I tried to help Blydh back into the bunk, but he gave me such a volley of abuse, I stood back and watched him struggle on his own. Rather than return to bed, he wrestled with his tunic and leggings and attempted to stand.

  As much as I wanted to see the little ingrate fail in his attempts, my familial bonds are too strong to allow him to falter for long. I fetched my stick and called to Kewri outside to come and help our injured Metern.

  In truth, I was glad to have Blydh out of my hut. His hateful words were taking a toll on my love for him. He could recuperate in his own shelter.

  I watched Kewri and my nephew hobbling over to the Long Hut and followed on some distance behind them. The door panels were stacked to one side, allowing the elders and warriors entry to hear what Tallack had to say.

  Kewri lowered Blydh into his carved tall chair and retreated to a respectful distance. The great lummox nodded at me as I entered, letting me know that he was keeping his beady eye on me. I slipped into the crowd of elders’ wives standing at the back. The top table was full to bursting. Tallack and Blydh sat either side of the empty Ruvane chair, with the Novantae visitors sitting to Blydh’s left. Treeve and Renowden sat to Tallack’s right hand side, squashed onto a bench fit for one.

  Cryda wandered about in the small space next to the back door, nursing and jogging the babe to quieten her down. Derwa and her mountain man sat at my normal bench below. The heat inside the hut was almost too much to bear. I took my cloak off and hung it over my arm. Other ladies of the elder families did the same. The stink of old sweat almost over powered us all.

  Tallack leaned across to his brother and whispered something into his ear. Blydh nodded and then tried to stand. The moment his backside left the chair he lost his balance and crashed back down into the seat. Kewri lunged forwards to help, but Tallack gestured for him to stay put.

  “Rest brother. Speak from where you are.” Tallack was filled with concern. His eyes glossed over as though the sight of Blydh in reduced circumstances was his own fault. It could have also been the result of guilt, but I couldn’t be sure of either. All that I knew was that over the space of a full moon’s passing, they had bickered and argued until Blydh’s course of action almost took his life. Perhaps this terrible turn of events would see their sibling bond restored.

  Blydh took a mouthful of ale and swallowed. Clearing his throat, he addressed the visitors, elders and his men. He began by thanking them for all the well-wishing and his gratitude for the offerings made to the gods in his name. This was met with a good deal of foot stamping and cheers that he was on the mend.

  “I also have to speak with regard to our recent losses. There is nothing more tragic than losing fine warriors in battle, unless it is to lose warrior women too.” Blydh said, casting his only working eye over the crowd. They knew not of his impediment. To them, he was as fearless and dangerous as ever. I silently wondered how his altered state might affect his abilities in battle.

  When the murmurs died down, he continued. “Of course, this tribe has not lost women warriors since my grandfather’s day, when every boy and girl in the tribe were trained in warfare tactics, use of spear and bows and defence strategies. The blame for the loss of women in the estuary this quarter moon falls squarely on one person alone, my Aunt Meliora, who had no right to send untrained women into battle.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Every set of eyes trained on me, as the women of our tribe moved from my side, showing me cowering at the back of the hut. My own nephew blamed me for taking control at a time when his own brother was too struck with anxiety over Blydh’s injuries to make a decision. Now he was encouraging others to cast me as the villain for my initiative. The women were untrained because he and Tallack could not agree on a division of labour, not because I stated the obvious fact that we simply did not have the numbers to fight against our enemies.

  He had conveniently forgotten that the reason our neighbouring tribe were after our blood was a direct result of Blydh’s order to kill his own half-sister. Add that to the fact that the treacherous Lady Brea was spurned by Tallack and war was inevitable.

  They were all still looking at me, expecting me to apologise or atone for the sins laid at my feet. What could I say to confirm my innocence? Every phrase swirling about in my head was likely to anger Blydh all the more. Swallowing my fear, I stepped forward.

  “It was my suggestion to arm the women, yes. They need to train as hard as the men if we are to survive what’s to come. I make no apologies for my part in the tragedy, just as Blydh shouldn’t have to apologise for losing men during his failed raid that almost killed him.” Looking up to the broken man in the wolf’s head seat, I summoned my courage and continued. “I know not how I’ve offended you, nephew. I did all I could to patch up your skull, for better or worse. Hear me now, Chief, if you waste time casting blame about instead of making sensible preparations, then we are all done for.”

  His snarl was instant and violent. He spluttered with a rage that would not be quelled, struggling to get to his feet. Tallack raced from his tall chair to intercept his brother, muttering soothing words into his ear and persuading him back into his seat.

  What was clear to me most of all, was that I had lost the ear of my nephew. I ambled from the Long Hut, hiding my tears from the world in
the fabric of my cloak. By the time I was half way across the compound to my hut, Kewri had caught up with me.

  “Fur Benyn…?”

  “I’m fine, Kewri. Go back to the gathering. I will need you to be my eyes and ears at this time.” I didn’t look back at him, but I knew that he was standing with his arms limp at his side, unable to choose between comforting me or following my orders. When I said nothing more, he turned and retraced his steps.

  For all my previous moaning about being cramped, my shelter suddenly felt cold, empty and unwelcoming. I tried to bank up the fire and sort out the bedding to occupy my mind, but Blydh’s angry face came back into my thoughts to crush my spirit. My time of usefulness in the tribe was coming to an end.

  How long would it be before I was branded a burden on our people? I could better serve the tribe by waiting on the moors for Cernonnus to call me to the Underworld. There would be no sacred space in the Summerlands for me. I was never a true warrior like the shield maidens and fierce champions of my forefathers and without the grace of my family’s tin supplies, I would not have any wealth to pay my fare.

  I am ashamed to admit that I indulged in self-pity. I ate a little ground oatmeal steeped in warmed goat’s milk and crawled under my furs for the night. Kerensa or Cryda would have to see to Blydh’s wounds while his rage was still so hot.

  The sound of hammering woke me at dawn. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and my head was sore from the ale. When I went outside, I saw Kewri skewering the soft ground with hazel poles. From the shape they made in the soil, it looked to be the foundations for a new hut next to mine. He was building himself a home. Was this his subtle way of informing me that he’d abandoned me too?

  The crushing ache in my chest pained me all the more, knowing that I’d lost his respect. All around camp, people were busy at their chores, laying boardwalks over the muddiest stretches of ground, fletching more arrows and smelting more bronze, sharpening blades and practising their aim at targets in the training ground beyond the western gate. Each of them had purpose and knew their place within the tribe. It seemed that the dual Meterns had settled their differences after all.

  I wrapped some cheese and a little dried pork in a waxen cloth and loaded my pony up with all the possessions and medicines he could carry. Kewri didn’t even notice I was gone. I took the northern gate towards the forest, stopping to pick the new shoots and leaves of useful plants as I walked. As soon as I was clear of the woods and marshes, I veered west along the beaten trail heading for the northern fringes of Dartmoor.

  It being a well-trodden route, some of the travellers noticed me passing by. I was fairly well known in these parts, especially those with sickly children or ailing old folk under their roofs. One or two homesteaders stopped me, asking for aid and trading what little food they could spare for my ointments and tonics. I cannot afford to be as generous as I once was. Hunting is for the young. I would have to ration what little grain I had and make it last me.

  When the spring sunshine was high overhead, I stopped to eat my cheese and give the pony a rest and a drink before the long climb to the top of the hill. This was always the worst part of the track. Despite wanting to stop several times before reaching the peak, I knew that it would be unwise to do so.

  Plenty of travellers have been robbed as they tired from the lengthy hike. For the rest of the day, I kept good pace through the homesteads of those whose young folk now trained in our compound on the Exe. If only they knew that I was kin to the Chieftains, I’d not be welcome through their lands.

  Crossing the River Taw through the dense forest was a little tricky, what with the fading daylight and my eyes playing tricks on me. At one point, I felt sure that I was being followed by woodland sprites. No doubt they hoped to lead me into a forgotten dell for some unknown mischief of their own.

  I passed through unscathed and began the steep walk up to the moorland peak between boulders and rocks. As the sun set below the ridge, I could hear the priests beginning their nightly rituals. Their fires were a welcome sight, as were their shelters that looked large enough to accommodate visitors to the Nine Maiden’s and their stone brothers. Before I came into view, I slipped a couple of copper beads into my pocket from the pouch hidden under my medicines. I was keeping what little tin I had left for emergencies.

  At the entrance to the sacred site, I tethered my horse and stepped up the avenue towards the priestess awaiting near the end. She greeted me with early meadow flowers and a little bread in exchange for my copper beads, and ushered me into the circle.

  I was glad that I hadn’t stopped for a ritual cleanse in the freezing waters of the River Taw, since the priestess looked me up and down, and judged me to be a lowly old medicine woman without kin. Her pity for me induced her to return my copper beads into my hand. Beckoning me towards her fire, she ladled hare stew into a bowl and sat with me while I ate.

  “May Cerridwen bless you, priestess.” I said, patting her hand. After such a long walk, I was ravenous. It was salty and strong in flavour, but the meat was surprisingly tender. She even offered to smear a little of the skimmed lard onto my bread. It didn’t do to be so suspicious, but I couldn’t fathom why she had singled me out for her kindness. There were others who looked to have travelled far longer than I and all they received was a chunk of bread in exchange for their offering.

  The priestess waited until my bowl was empty and shooed away the noisy drummers and pipers dancing all about. “How may we help you this night?”

  It was a long story and one that I didn’t really want to divulge, but I knew that I had to make my peace with the gods or be damned for all eternity.

  She sensed my reluctance to share. “Have some ale and have a think about it. We can come back to your requests when we’ve dealt with the simple ones.”

  I looked across to the other fires around the circle. There was a couple with a babe in arms that coughed as though it were its last breath, an older man with an injured cart horse, and several warriors. When one of their number turned around, I saw the mark of the Durotriges Tribe tattooed on his neck. They had come to ask the Morrighan’s blessing for their planned assault on our lands. I bowed my head in case they recognised me from my trip into their camp before the last midsummer gathering. Not that they would remember an old crone like me.

  It made me wonder if my niece Wenna had the same markings when she was bound to their Chieftain. I didn’t recall seeing it on her neck, but then who knew whether it was a choice for them or not?

  I took the priestess’s advice and sipped her ale at her fire while her maidens and priests led the warriors into the circle. Why had they ridden into our lands to seek the god’s blessings? Surely there were plenty of sacred spaces for the Durotriges to speak to the Morrighan in their own territory?

  Whatever their reasoning, they were deeply focused on the ritual. Each man paid for a sacrificial offering, and carried their creatures to the maidens standing in front of the short stones. They were exceedingly pretty young girls and quite a distraction for the men.

  The priestess had to bark at them to hand their ducks, rabbits and geese over to the young women sitting on the stones. After a fair bit of screeching and flapping, the girls held the birds and animals tightly in their arms, while the priests intoned the blessings.

  “We ask the Morrighan to watch over these men in battle, to favour them with her good grace, and to seek out their enemies to drag into the Underworld in their place.” The priests looked up towards the stars and babbled and wailed in a garbled tongue, speaking the language of the gods. It was hard to believe that such animal noises could be understood by our sacred deities but who was I to judge? Whether they could hear the priests or not, I had to make amends for my past insults.

  The warriors waited for the signal from the priestess, before they unsheathed their blades and slit the bellies of the animals for which they had paid. The squawks and screams of the creatures lasted mere moments. Their blood and entrails spilled down t
he maiden’s legs and the drummers and pipers started their noisy playing once more.

  The priestess danced around the circle waving her arms in an elegant manner. At each maiden stone, she dipped her thumb into the animal blood and made a mark on the tiny brother stones either side of the girls. Her second time around the circle, allowed her to anoint the warrior’s foreheads with the sacrificial blood. This took some time, since there were nine warriors, nine maidens and a whole host of brother stones to mark too.

  I’d begun to think the priestess would run out of blood. When all was done, the men ate and drank and celebrated their coming victory.

  The priestess returned to face me. “Are you ready to speak your woes, Fur Benyn?” I looked at her in shock. How did she know my nickname? Was it sheer coincidence that she’d chosen to call me a name bestowing respect or did she really have the ear of the gods? I must have betrayed my surprise for she giggled and returned to the bench at my side.

  “I grew up at the compound on the Exe. Don’t you remember me, Fur Benyn?”

  She had long straight hair clipped to the side of her heart-shaped face, bright eyes and a clear skin. Concentrating hard, I tried to place her from my memories. It wasn’t until she gave me the benefit of her beaming smile that I recognised her. That unmistakable gap between her front teeth. “Little Endelyn?” I gasped. She chuckled all the more. “But you were a tiny tot when I last saw you. How in the name of Cerridwen do you remember me?”

  “Everyone in camp knew you, and those beyond the walls too. You used to give me honeycomb in the late summer and berries in the autumn. I could never forget you.” She poured me more of her ale and squeezed me about my shoulders with her draped arm. “I knew who you were the moment you walked up the path to the stone circle.”