by Sam Taw
Most of the elders sank to their knees, making their own promises to the gods. Gytha scampered across the henge and into Tallack’s arms for protection. At the time, I wondered what had induced such folly, when her brother was but a few footsteps away. It was when I saw the expression on my nephew’s face that I understood her actions. He wrapped his arms about her slender young body and whispered words of comfort into her ear.
The flames ate vast swathes of the dry sedges along the valley floor, creeping closer every moment. Ren pocketed his offering and walked over to me. “We must dowse ourselves from the river and walk along its course to safety.” He wasn’t prepared to wait for our Chief’s instruction. Grabbing my hand, he tugged until I followed. We led the charge for others to leave with us.
“Wait!” Endelyn yelled, turning her face skyward. When no one listened to her command, she repeated herself. “Wait! Can’t you hear it?”
We stood still and tried to ignore the roaring of the flames. A bright flash illuminated the sky, blinding us all for a single moment. The deep, continuous rumble, echoing throughout the valley, made us all gasp.
Heavy raindrops fell shortly after, flattening our hair and leaving us all with our mouths agape in wonder. By the time the clouds burst, the elders and their wives were all in awe of Endelyn’s powers.
“She is favoured,” said one woman.
Her husband agreed. “She has the ear of the gods.”
Another shouted, “We are saved!” More of them began chants of, “Bless you, Endelyn. The Mother has chosen you.”
The priestess spun slowly in the centre of the henge of life, taking in the collective adoration. My attention stayed on Tallack and the Duro girl. She was sobbing with relief, her lack of tears masked by the rain streaks down her face. Tallack saw only the bedraggled bride in his arms. Our Chief was utterly smitten.
When the clamour finally reduced, the priestess urged everyone back to their positions in readiness for the ceremony. Ren and I waited for a signal from our Chief, a nod or smile permitting the continuation of the binding.
“Chief?” I shouted above the cracking thunder and forked lightning overhead.
Tallack inhaled sharply, jogged from his witless state. Taking the Duro girl by the shoulders, he held her at arm’s length and gazed into her deep blue eyes. “I’ve changed my mind.” He announced. “Gytha will be the new Ruvane of the Dumnonii.”
Ren shut his eyes and sighed. “Here we go again.”
***
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Historical note from the author.
Recent studies into the genetic makeup of Bronze Age Europeans suggest that they did not possess the genes to enable full digestion of milk as adults. While the data set was extremely small, it would indicate that an intolerance to animal milk was present in the general population for many thousands of years. This being the case, it is reasonable to assume that despite an intolerance, such a readily available food source would not necessarily have been dismissed, nor would it have affected all within a community. With this reasoning, I have chosen to include the use of milk and milk products in the series, mainly due to archaeological evidence supporting the production of cheese for millennia. According to Dr S Charlton, from the department of archaeology at the University of York in 2019, processing the milk into other products reduces lactose and makes it more palatable and easier to digest.
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PAGAN FURY
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.
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About the Author
Sam Taw is the pen name for fiction author Sam Nash. Sam is committed to delivering novels in two distinct genres, historical thrillers and a unique blend of science fiction and international espionage stories.
She lives in a small village in the south of Northamptonshire, in the UK but dreams of one day owning a woodland on the Cornish coast.
For information regarding the work of Sam Taw, please visit:
www.carantocpublishing.com
For information regarding the work of Sam Nash, please visit:
https://www.samnash.org
