by Sam Taw
Tallack came out from his hiding place, followed by a number of his men. “That’s about as much as I can take, Aunt Mel.” He clamped his hand on my shoulder, using his grip to move me backwards. “Your father is dead, boy. His rebellion failed. If you don’t open the gates, you, your mother, and all your friends will die too.”
I heard a little gasp from behind the palisade wall, and then soft cries of despair. My heart went out to Kenver’s wife. She’d lost everyone except this young boy at the gate tower. I hoped that her panic and grief would be enough to talk the boy out of his stubborn revolt. It was not.
The lad screeched so that we could all hear. “Then you will pay for his death.” His cry was desperate and filled with pain. He ordered his little band of untested warriors to fire their slings and arrows onto us. Senara lifted her shield above my head. Tallack stepped aside as a rounded rock landed at his feet. A small volley of flint-headed arrows stuck in the gravel or were easily deflected by our men. None found their mark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Before the women and children could reload, Tallack nodded to a single archer on his left. I watched the warrior take no more than a moment to aim the nocked bolt before launching it at Kenver’s son. I heard it hit the lad with a familiar squelch of spurting humours, followed by a dull thud as his body slumped against the watchtower floor. I closed my eyes to the sadness welling up inside me. Loyalty to his father had claimed another life. Would he spend eternity in the Summerlands? I wasn’t sure. One so young would not have had the chance to earn his place at the side of those fallen in honourable battle.
Our men did not wait for Tallack to give further commands. They charged at the gates and forced them open before the pitiful attempts with sling shots could do any damage. When the miner’s wives and children realised that the insurrection was over, they put up no more resistance. They gained nothing by risking their lives. Kenver’s widow no longer held power over them. As soon as they were able, they handed her over to Tallack in return for leniency.
By daylight, Ren and the men had uncovered a massive trove of jewels, weapons, tin, copper, gold, and more importantly, a huge store of traded Frynkish grain. The bounty was so unexpected that Tallack ordered Ren to find a suitable sacrifice to honour the gods watching over us. We’d been fortunate indeed to have secured their favour in recovering the mines.
While Massen oversaw the transfer of grain and metal into Kenver’s ship to take back to the Exe, Tallack spoke to some of the Head Hunters. He tasked them with the job of helping Nectan while he began his new role as clan leader.
The Chief allowed me to select a few choice items from the hoard before the Sea Warriors carted them away. With the binding ceremonies looming close, I took two delicate brooches inlaid with amber beads and a jewelled dagger as offerings. I was also able to replace a couple of the knives lost to the Belgae from my medicine kit.
I suspect that my nagging doubts about Nectan had played on my nephew’s mind, since I overheard him tell one of the men to send word if Nectan did anything suspicious or untoward.
Before we set sail in Tallack’s vessel the following day, Kenver’s widow was brought before us. One of the other women had caught her with a rope suspended from a supporting beam in her hut. The noose was about her neck when they stumbled in and stopped her from taking her own life.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” Tallack huffed, sheathing his sword and gathering his bedding furs in a roll. “If she wants to die, let her.”
The women pleaded with him to take her back to the compound on the River Exe, to give her useful employment, but he would not budge.
“I’ve no use for the wife and mother of traitors. Tried that before. Won’t make that mistake again.” He lifted his things into the row boat and gestured towards me to follow. I knew to whom he was referring. The Skotek Novantae Chief and his sons had turned against us. It had been my idea to save the life of the troublesome daughter. I kept my mouth shut this time around. Tallack used to be so kind, so forgiving. This is what happens when you see your lover skinned and strung up for the crows. I wondered if he’d have shown more mercy if she had chosen another method to kill herself.
Nectan stepped up. “I’ll take her on, Chief, make sure she has food and shelter, but she’ll have to work like everyone else.”
Of course, he would take her under his wing. He would make her a slave after her family had treated his so badly. That poor woman had suffered so much in her time, she hardly deserved that fate. As we pushed off and rowed out to the bay, I watched her drop to her knees, sobbing. I doubted that she would live much past the solstice. Her grief was absolute. If she failed to take her own life once, her determination would be all the more pressing.
Kewri and Senara were given the choice of vessel in which to travel. I urged my giant friend to sail with Massen straight back to the compound at the Exe. His injured back needed time to heal, not more trudging across moorlands under the relentless sun. Senara was keen to be present at the binding ceremony to support her friend, and I suspect, her lover, Endelyn. Somehow, I couldn’t imagine Senara wearing a colourful robe with flowers woven into her hair. I could be wrong.
Our trip back along the coastline was swifter in this direction. Both the current and the wind was with us and the mood of the menfolk buoyant and cheerful. We rattled along at such a pace, we overtook Massen in Kenver’s boat and pulled into shore where the River Yealm empties into the sea.
It was late in the day when we arrived, but it being so close to the solstice, there was still plenty of sunlight left. There was another half day’s walk to Gutter Tor on the moors ahead of us. The black smoke of heath fires billowed into the sky. I was convinced that we were all thinking the same thing; to get back on the ship and sail to the Exe and safety, but no one spoke.
When my nephew’s mind is made, there is no convincing him to alter course. He promised his mother, Endelyn and the father of the new Duro bride, that he would be bound by midsummer’s day, and he was determined to keep his word.
The problem lay before us; how could we cross the moors to the sacred circles by the tor without being burned alive? None of us knew whether the womenfolk and elders would even be at the stones, given the dangers involved. Even though we’d had word from a messenger that they intended to set off from the settlement on the Exe, they could easily have turned back.
Tallack’s jaw clenched. He scanned the horizon and pointed to a trail leading north. “We’ll skirt the edge of the moors until we can pick up a safer route heading east. The onshore coastal breezes should keep the fires at bay until then.”
I knew that he’d planned to trade with local homesteaders for horses to speed our journey, but the moorland settlers had long since abandoned their fields. Those in the surrounding regions had fled to our camp on the River Exe. The place was deserted. We had no other option but to walk the charred landscape over ridge and valley, kicking up the ash and snagging our ankles on the brittle stalks and branches left behind.
The going was tough, and I’m ashamed to say that I slowed them down, particularly where the shallow valleys gave way to steeper ones. How I longed to be on horseback, keeping up with the men and earning my place with my skills at healing. They did their best to hide their frustrations, but I could tell they resented my presence.
Ren and Tallack took us on a longer route not just to avoid fires, but to accommodate my aching joints. I implored them to go on ahead, happy to catch them up at my leisure, but Tallack would not hear of it; I’d saved his life and he felt he owed me.
At dusk, we rested for a while next to an abandoned chalk pit. I knew this countryside well. Under different circumstances, I would have collected some of the white dust to thicken my balms and scour my cooking pots. The eerie orange glow on the horizon kept us moving. It lay in the opposite direction to that of the setting sun, and reduced us all to an anxious silence as we walked. Shortly after dark, we picked up the course of the River Plym, making our nav
igation to Gutter Tor easy.
“Which of the sacred circles did Endelyn choose in the end?” I asked.
Tallack’s head tipped forward. He stared at his toes treading cautiously along the winding riverbank. “Um… I can’t recall.”
“But there are four sets of stones surrounding the tor.”
He flapped his hands in my direction. “Don’t fuss. We’ll just look for their fires.”
He couldn’t see me roll my eyes in the darkness behind him. How in the name of Cernonnus were we supposed to distinguish between the orange glow of a few small fires from the moorland blazing in the west? I felt the warmth of Ren’s hand brush against my arm. It wasn’t comfort so much as food and rest that I needed, but I didn’t rebuke his kindness.
The River Plym snaked to the west, steering us ever closer to the angry skies and stinking air. Two of the stone circles were close by. The area where I knew the first to be was dark and lifeless. The second circle was above us at the peak of the hill beyond. We had no way of knowing if our elders waited for us there. Senara volunteered to run up the hillside and scout the circle for us, leaving Tallack, Ren and I to rinse ourselves down in the cool water of the Plym.
I soaked a cloth and wrung out the excess, passing it to my nephew. “Is there a wood henge at Yellowmeade?” I asked him, my memory hazy from the trek.
“No, but there is at Drizzlecombe, down in the gorge to the south of the stones.”
“Then my best guess is that Endelyn will have chosen that for her binding ceremony.” I slipped off my shoes and dangled my feet in the river. The sensation was blissful.
“Why do you say that?”
I looked at Tallack and frowned in disbelief. “Do you know how much preparation she’s put into this ritual? Becoming the Ruvane of our tribe is all she can think about. She’s occupied all the Long Hut slaves for the best part of a full moon’s cycle, stripping the alder trees and dying expensive fabric for her gown and those of her maids. She sent out messengers to look for her old priest friends from the Nine Maiden’s circle, and probably many others besides.”
The Chief scratched the tiny flies crawling at his hairline. “So?”
There were times when he was beyond my patience. “The stones at Drizzlecombe are blessed by her clan. The henge in the valley nearby is beautiful. There are so many flowers and shrubs, it’s almost as though it’s under the protection of the goddess.”
“Not if the heath fires get there first.”
He had a point. Most of our journey was across a blackened wasteland where heathers and shrubs once grew in abundance. Only when we reached the Plym River, did the grass and mosses return to cushion our steps.
I waited for Senara to return with a growing sense of dread in my chest. As I predicted, she did not find the women and elders at the top of the rise. We marched on late into the night, ever westward and closer to the red blaze in the summer sky. The breeze had picked up, cooling our faces. When the moon was high above our heads, we could see the flames licking the ridge top in the distance.
Hurrying along the opposite bank of the Plym, my jitters increased with every step. Ahead of us, we could see the elders scattered among frightened ponies, trying to gather their belongings ready to flee. Endelyn was in the midst of them, her arms high, her head tipped back in one of her customary poses where she claimed to be communing with the gods. I could see her bulging belly silhouetted against the fire light. The child inside her was growing fast.
As we drew near, The Chief’s mother shrieked at the elders and their wives to pack up and leave. They were all so fraught, few noticed our arrival. Senara dashed over to the priestess and together they pressed their foreheads together, sharing a moment of joy. It was a touching scene. Even their puppy bounded towards the young warrior in greeting. Behind them, the wooden henge of life was lit up with torches and decorated with flowers and ivy tendrils, carted all the way from the Exe.
When the priestess turned to welcome Tallack and me, I saw her gown in all its glory. The robe was almost as vibrant as the curls in her hair. The sunset colours from the alder bark dye framed an arrowhead shaped section of deep purple cloth, stitched from her chest to her swollen belly. I couldn’t suppress my smile. Endelyn had taken the pennant from Tallack’s ship to incorporate into her bridal gown.
Her attending maids were similarly clad, with paler gowns of their own. Theirs differed only in the absence of the purple strip of fabric. She had created a magnificent setting for her ascension to the position of Ruvane, spoiled only by the threat of the wild fires.
“Thank the goddess that you’ve arrived.” Endelyn exclaimed, cupping Senara’s face in both hands before approaching the Chief. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.” She stroked Tallack’s chest and wound her arms about his neck in an enforced embrace. “We should begin the binding ritual immediately.” Endelyn nuzzled her face into my nephew’s neck and looked set to stay there.
Tallack peeled the priestess’s limbs from his body and stepped aside. “Mother!” He called out to Cryda. “Did you bring the Duro bride along as I asked?”
Endelyn slumped, her freckled face puckered in dismay while all eyes turned to the fair-haired girl on Cryda’s arm.
“I did, son. Her name is Gytha.” Cryda held out the girl’s hand, encouraging Tallack to clasp it in his own. I don’t suppose I was alone in seeing the alteration to the sullen Duro from when we first saw her at the crossing on the River Sid. Her yellow hair was pinned in curls around her radiant face, her blue gown cinched at her narrow waist, her pale limbs dressed with a single golden armlet. Even I could detect the impact it had on my nephew. The poor dazed dolt took her hand in his and blinked so slowly I believed him to be drugged.
Cryda shot me with a wicked grin. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
All Tallack could manage in reply was a satisfied hum, similar to that emitted whenever he ate roasted boar.
His mother was not finished with her introductions. She lifted a graceful arm towards a warrior who bore the neck tattoo of the Durotriges. “This is her brother, Hedley, come to assure the safety of his kin. He brings with him some charming young men too.”
Tallack bristled at the notion of a Duro warrior having enchanted his mother in such a short space of time. The Chief released his new bride and took the forearm of the brother he would gain from the ceremony. The two men regarded each other with suspicion. Hedley, being shorter, had to stare up at my nephew. I could see that the Duro had greater strength in his grip. Tallack flinched from the pain as Hedley dug his fingers into our Chief’s muscles and squeezed.
“Glad to have you take such good care of my… our kin, Hedley. You are most welcome.”
The Duro nodded in return, careful to retain his stern expression. “A long-overdue union between our tribes, Chief, but under the circumstances, I think it prudent to retreat from the moors and conduct the ritual elsewhere.” There was something irksome about his manner, as though he expected our entire tribe to jump at his suggestion. He dropped the Chief’s arm and turned his back to us, in readiness to leave.
It may have been common sense, but his manner of delivery only served to rile Tallack even more. “Scared of a little heath fire, Hedley? We have ample time for the ceremony.” The fearful mumbles and muttering among the elders grew loud enough to warrant a venomous glare from the Chief. “Make ready, Priestess,” Tallack called out. “We’ll have this matter sorted in no time at all. We can celebrate with a feast when we return to the compound.”
People scurried about the place, gathering posies and offerings, moving agitated horses from the henge of life and preening for their part in the joint binding of Tallack to Endelyn, followed by Tallack to Gytha.
Recovered from the Chief’s slight, Endelyn rallied at the thought of finally becoming the most powerful woman of the tribe. “Tallack, I have asked my friend from the Nine Maiden’s circle to conduct the ritual. I should very much like you to be friends with him too.” She beckoned the willowy c
reature over for a formal introduction.
“Not now, Priestess. Let’s just get on with it.” He waved them away and trotted through the tall uprights of the henge to his position at the farthest end. Scowling, Endelyn picked up the fabric of her trailing gown and summoned her maids to assist her. They fussed about, carrying her flowers and tending to the fallen tresses curling over her shoulders.
Hedley and I exchanged an exasperated look, before taking up the eastern and western sides of the inner circle reserved for close family members. Cryda and Ren took a northern and southerly point, while the elders claimed random places in the outer fringes of the henge.
The priest picked up a long staff and untangled the braid of beads, bones and feathers attached to the end, before strolling at a casual pace to the centre of the circle.
I heard one of our most revered elders bellow to him. “Move faster, won’t you, before we are all burned alive!”
He only said what we were all thinking. The wind had altered direction, fanning the flames onto the slopes of the valley in which we stood. It brought thick black clouds to cover the sky and a chill that we’d not felt in more than four moons. Tiny hot embers travelled on the breeze, igniting the parched shrubs all around us. Some of the elders stamped on the burgeoning fires but there were too many sparks to stop them all.
Before Tallack could call an end to proceedings, Endelyn handed her posy to one of her maids and glided into the centre of the inner circle. “Do not fear, my people. All will be well. I shall ask the goddess to protect us.” Throwing her head back, Endelyn began her tiresome chanting in a mystical language known only to the highest of priests from her clan.
Babbling and muttering for a few moments, she then tipped her head forward to speak in our tongue. “Cerridwen, Mother of All Life, hear me now. Grant us your wisdom, your protection and your blessing, so that we may forge a new generation of peace and prosperity among our people and those of our new friends, the Durotriges. May the fruit of this union continue the line of Dumnonii from this day until the end of all days.” Her voice rose until she was yelling the last part above the noise of the crackling blaze that sprang up a short distance behind her.
