by Sam Taw
I explained all that had happened since my last visit. Every one of the priests and maidens agreed to assist with the ceremony. Kewri and I led them back to the moor, using our horses to carry their belongings and hasten their return. Our people had the fires lit, the meats roasting and the shelters erected by the time we got back. Night had fallen, but the frost had not yet descended to chill us through.
Endelyn and her companions withdrew to prepare themselves for the ritual, while Kewri and I set out our own bedding and saw to the ponies. Tallack had already broken out the ale and was drinking far faster than he ought, given the ceremony to come. What irked me the most, was that Treeve sat in pride of place next to my nephew around the largest fire. He could not have looked smugger if he tried.
Our people were rowdy and relatively boisterous considering the high number of our losses. They danced and sang and filled up on flat bread long before the meats were cooked. When Endelyn and her companions had completed their circle preparations, she called to Tallack. I assumed that she needed to ask him for any additional instructions or requests, but when he returned to where we were sitting, he wore a smile that would not be dimmed. Endelyn had undeniable charm. She’d clearly won him over. I guessed that she’d secured her place at our compound with his blessing. She will need careful watching that one. She might charm us into ruin.
When the moon was full and fat, the drummers signalled the start of the ceremony. Those of us not involved, gathered around the circle with enough room for the maidens and priests to perform their tasks. Tallack stood at the far end of the avenue of stones, clutching the prisoner’s ropes. Sorcha shivered in her thin and wet tunic behind him. Her father, still naked, had collapsed to his knees.
The maidens skipped along the avenue and entered the sacred space, sitting on their allotted stones around the circle. The priests hovered behind them, some holding onto holly wreaths while others carried blades and axes. None of us were in any doubt how it might end.
As the pipers began a baleful tune, Endelyn nodded to Tallack to walk the offerings slowly forward. Sorcha wailed and shook, until the rope was pulled taut about her hands, tugging her along. Faolan was dragged on his face for a short distance under the force, until Sorcha scrambled to help him to his feet.
I expected jeering and shouts from our warriors as the pitiful Novantae passed by, but none did. All our tribe were hushed and reverent. Too much blood had already been spilled during the last half moon. I for one, hoped that this offering would mark the last. Despite having all his dignity stripped bare, Faolan found the strength to walk at his daughter’s side into the centre. He even voluntarily laid on the low altar stone at Endelyn’s feet. That almost had me undone.
Endelyn took the rope ends from Tallack. “Our most honoured Chieftain of the Dumnonii. What fate lies before these traitors and false fellows?”
Tallack held his hands out to each side and spun slowly around until all eyes were focused on him. “This wretch at your feet reneged on a binding deal made between our two tribes. We were allies and friends. We welcomed Faolan and his family into our hearts and the warmth of our homes. In return, he schemed with our enemies and plotted to take over our lands.”
“And what punishment will you lay down?” She said in a loud but clear voice.
“As a mark of respect, and consideration for the kindness his wife showed to my aunt and I, Sorcha will enter my household as my slave.” Tallack said, looking down at Faolan on the altar. The old man closed his eyes and I swear I saw a tear fall at the side of his face. Whether this was in relief or fear for her future, I could not say.
“And for this other creature?” Endelyn lowered the intonation of her voice to a deep and foreboding growl.
“I offer Faolan of the Novantae to the God of Death, Cernonnus, in gratitude for his favour during our recent trials, and in hope that he will bestow his mercy on my brother in his time of need.”
“So, it shall be.” Endelyn signalled her priests, who stepped closer to drag Sorcha away and prepare Faolan for his death. Though the flat altar was mounted on short stones, there was sufficient room to place a bowl at the head end alongside a series of grooves carved into the rock. Faolan had no trouble stretching out his legs, for it was large enough to accommodate animals as hefty as a bull. He neither struggled, nor complained, just laid there accepting that his moment had come.
Endelyn tucked her cloak around her legs and then knelt on the floor. She took off his bindings and leaned in close to his head. “Do you offer yourself freely to the gods?”
I always thought this a peculiar part of any sacrificial ceremony. Why priests always insist that the offering must consent to their fate is beyond me. As though a goat dipping its head to eat grain laid down for him proves that permission to kill them is granted. No one wants to die for the gods, just as no animal would allow you to slice open its neck if it knew what was coming. Nevertheless, the old man gave her a definitive nod. After the beating, starvation and long drag across land, I was sure that he preferred death to any more dishonour.
Sorcha sobbed and cried out for him as Endelyn slipped a noose over his head and tucked the end of the rope under her knees. She expected him to buck and writhe. I knew that he would not. Priests moved in to assist her should he prove difficult, but as she raised the pointed knife, Faolan closed his eyes to the world and waited for the end.
Tilting his head to one side, she located the thick tube in his neck and pushed the tip of the blade in until the blood gushed out. Faolan could not keep himself still. He twitched and shook. With each beat of the heart, his life force spilled out along the grooves in the rock and collected in the small bowl beneath. When it was half full, she picked it up and rose to her feet.
“You must drink it now, while the life within it is still potent.” Tallack grabbed the bowl, and without a moment’s hesitation tipped it into his mouth. Some of it leaked over his chin but not much was lost.
“Take in the strength of a great warrior along with the power from all his ancestors before him. You will absorb all that was given from the gods, and pass it to your children, and your kin down the ages.” We all watched as the steaming blood trickled down his fingers and cheeks until the last drop disappeared into his belly.
Faolan was still alive, just. Endelyn took two paces backwards and looked at each of the priests holding an axe. There were four of them. She stood firmly on the taut blood-soaked rope about his neck and gestured to the first of the men. They were slick in their procedures, making me wonder how many times they had conducted human sacrifice at this isolated spot.
Each priest stepped forwards in turn, lifted the axe high above their heads and slammed the blades down. The legs were the first to be severed; taken off at the groin and slung to the southern and western stones. The arms were sliced at the shoulders and delivered to the rocks at the eastern and northern points.
Miraculously, Faolan whimpered. He lived still, despite the brutality. The priestess removed the noose, now that he had no way of moving, and gave the last axe to Tallack. I hoped that he would be as swift as the priests and put an end to the old man’s suffering, but he didn’t. He walked around the stones, exhibiting the axe to his men. “This is not fit for sacrifice, no offence priestess.” He said, throwing it to the ground. When he unsheathed his mystical blade, it rang with a shrill note. The faces of his men were rapt. “This is the Sword of Cernonnus. With it, I shall take on all the Novantae wisdom, their strength and their cunning. I will never be deceived again.”
Our whole tribe roared. They yelled and cheered and whistled, stamping their feet on the barren soils, and concealing Sorcha’s cries with their noise. The drumming and pipers stopped playing. The crowd hushed once again.
Tallack rounded the altar stone and lifted the sword. “I send you to the Underworld, to be trodden on by the God of Gods for all eternity.” With one mighty swing, he cut through bone and sinew until Faolan’s head rolled from the rock onto the grass. The moment was over.
Tallack had his victory and Faolan’s life was at an end.
There was a short time, while Tallack basked in the attention and admiration. He jabbed the sword into the thin top soil and dug out his tin pouch to pay the priestess and her companions for their service. All in all, the messy affair was over, and our Chief had regained the respect of his men.
While the warriors and elders returned to the fireside and roasting hog, the priests mounted Faolan’s head on a spike at the centre of the circle. I still don’t know why the maidens needed to be present. Perhaps they simply enjoyed the spectacle, or ensured that they would receive payment for the ceremony. Either way, they were first to abandon their posts and dive into the food we’d brought along.
The men were beyond jubilant, guzzling ale and chasing the maidens who were more than happy to be caught. I sat close to Tallack, wishing that he would wash off the drying blood from his face. Its smell put me off my food. It wasn’t that it made me squeamish, it was that it seemed like he wore it as a badge of honour.
From across the fireside, I could see Kewri fill a bowl with bread and a few slices of meat. I thought he might be helping himself to another serving, but when he picked up one of his bed furs, I knew his heart had melted. For such an adept fighter, he was softer than snow inside. He approached Sorcha, still bound near the stones, and gave her the dish. His fur he wrapped about her shoulders before leaving her in peace with her grief.
Treeve was in fine spirits on the other side of Tallack. He gambled with the crewmen and drank more ale than I thought his slender body could hold. When I knew he could not hear me, I leaned in and whispered to my nephew. “What will you do about Treeve and him hiding Kerensa’s body?”
“Nothing.” Came his immediate reply. I was dumbfounded. This was the daughter of a clan leader, the favoured woman of his brother. How could he do nothing about her death?
“I don’t understand?” I muttered in total confusion.
“You do know that she was feeding the Duro scouts with information about the Novantae?”
My mouth sagged open but no sound came out.
“Treeve and Renowden saw her a couple of times, meeting with a man wearing the Duro’s neck tattoo. Ren carried onto the ship, while Treeve hopped out and backtracked along the coastal path to follow her.”
“And you believe him?” I managed to squeak, although could not think of another plausible explanation for her murder.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I wanted to say that she had the potential to become the next Ruvane, a situation Treeve would be keen to prevent, but I said nothing. If what Treeve claimed was the truth, Renowden would back up his side of the story when I next saw him. “But then, if she was a known spy in the camp, why did he go to such lengths to smuggle her body out into the marshes? Why not just confront her and carry out her punishment in front of the whole tribe?”
“What, with Blydh at his weakest? He loved the girl. That would have killed him off. It was my decision to keep it all hushed.”
Tallack may trust the little kyjyan, but I didn’t. That made at least two people he’d killed without remorse and it wouldn’t be the last. I made a vow to myself to keep my eyes peeled for his antics. He had cleared the path for his own tribal elevation to the top table. May the gods help anyone else who might get in his way.
My doubt cast a pall over the evening of entertainment. What was meant to be a grand celebration was tinged with too much sadness. The young may be able to shake off the deaths of so many, but us elders are closer to the grave than they. Every life lost is a reminder of our own mortality.
While I thank the gods that they have blessed me with so many summers, I fear for the ease with which these youngsters dismiss the pain suffered by others. Of course, youthful Chieftains like Tallack have to prove their worth as fierce warriors, but compassion shouldn’t be reserved for the giants among us, who care not what others think of them.
I slept poorly under my tent that night. The sight of Faolan’s dismembered body flashed before my eyes whenever I closed my lids. There was no room for error in this changing world. Now his traumatised daughter would wash Tallack’s clothes and build his fires, take his piss pot to the dye hut and weavers, and run his messages about camp. Perhaps that was my mistake. It might have been kinder to let her perish alongside the rest of her family.
On the ride back in the morning, Sorcha and a few of the walking elders were granted permission to ride in the cart. It made the journey less bothersome. Tallack was in a talkative mood, riding the bay mare next to my old pony. For the first time since we’d left camp, his concerns centred on his brother. Mine too, for although Blydh’s fever had dropped, he was still beyond waking when last I saw him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The kind weather did not last. Before we were half way home to the island, the wind picked up and delivered black clouds filled with rain. My cloak and tunic were saturated. All around me, people grumbled and whined, adding to the general bad temper of the ale addled tribe. Tallack’s crewmen and warriors seemed especially keen to get back to the compound.
I deduced that this could be because some of Endelyn’s maidens had altered their plans and decided to join our party with a view to settling on the island. There were few enough unwed women among our number, and Tallack was in an amenable mood when they asked permission. It would be nice to have some cheery faces around the place after a winter of ill health and tragedy. Perhaps this spring marked a change in all our fortunes.
For myself, I urged my horse to trot faster since I wanted to see whether Blydh had made it through the night. The reduced numbers of guards at the towers had given rise to the decision to close the northern gate and lift the moving bridge upright to prevent entry. We followed the bend in the tributary around the western edge of the compound near to the charred debris from burning the bodies of the Duros. The rain washed what was left in little black rivulets, staining the water course downstream.
As I glanced to the south, I saw a single row boat sculling in our direction. The joyous grin upon seeing us was a welcome sight. Renowden had brought the Phoenician ship back to the estuary, along with a sizable catch of fish. We dismounted, and I let Kewri sort out our horses.
Tying off the row boat at the jetty, Renowden caught hold of the largest cod fish by its gills and jogged over towards us. “Ho there! It’s good to see you.” He gushed. “I’ve been out of my wits with worry. All I could see from further along the bay was the glow from massive pyres. I didn’t know whether you were alive or dead.” He grappled Tallack’s forearm and then Treeve’s, but was not sure what to do with me. In the end, he bowed his forehead to mine. “Am so happy that all is well.”
“Well as can be expected.” I said, patting his back with affection. “All things considered; the gods protected us.”
We walked together as a group through the western gates, Ren dragging the tail fin of the fish along the grass.
“I saw Faolan’s ship, or what was left of it. I take it they perished on board in the fire?” He said, keen to discover more. I told him the gist of the ambush and how it played out. As Tallack and Treeve walked ahead, it gave me a chance to ask him about Kerensa.
“Oh yes. Hard to believe isn’t it? She must have made friends with Brea while we were all in the mining camp during the winter. What was she thinking? Surely everyone knew that Brea could never keep her promises. The moment she decided to spy for her, she sealed her fate.” He looked at me as though he was assessing my feelings for the girl. I had formed an attachment to her and I was sad that she was dead, but there was nothing I could do to bring her back.
“I’m sorry to have missed the gathering at the Nine Maidens though.” He said. “It sounds like it was quite a celebration.”
I nodded slowly in response. It didn’t seem fitting to explain how harrowing the entire evening had been.
Ren seemed to pick up on my reluctance to talk about the sacrifice. “Tallack had no other option, Fur Benyn. It
had to be that way. Word will spread that he’s as formidable as his father, and that should go a long way to protect us from further attacks, especially while Blydh is laid low.” We’d almost reached my hut. “How is he by the way?”
“I honestly have no idea. That’s where I’m heading now.”
“Here.” He said, lifting the cod into my arms. “I was just coming to hang this in your eaves, but you may as well take it now.”
I blinked repeatedly, processing what he’d just said. “Wait… it was you all along? You have been leaving me food, the pheasants and rabbits and such?”
His grin spread across his kind old face. “Whenever I was able to. I thought you could use the help.” He shrugged. I almost cried. This hardened sailor of more summers than he could remember, had filled my larder for all this time without so much as a thank you. I am indeed blessed. After I’d expressed my deepest gratitude to him, I stood in the doorway of my hut, hoping that some of my good fortunes had spread to my nephew.
My relief was profound when I entered to find him awake and sitting up in his bunk. I wanted to throw my arms about him and squeeze the air from his lungs, but he batted me away. I suppose that was understandable. His head must have given him much pain and it looked most tender.
Blydh spoke little and smiled even less, as Tallack and I tried to update him on all that’d happened since his collapse. The list of developments was long and complex. The only thing that seem to cheer him was the thought of Paega trapped in a cage until he could decide what to do with him.
“Derwa tried to rescue him and escape with her rat-faced husband, so I banished her for all time to live with the Ordoviches.” Tallack regaled, sitting on the end of the bunk.
“Good riddance too.” Cryda smirked. “Little kyjyan was forever stealing my trinkets and jewels from my hut. Maybe now I can hang on to my things long enough to wear them”
