Pagan Rage

by Sam Taw

  Endelyn spoke quietly to Rawley ahead. I heard little of their discussion, but I supposed that she was buttering him up with regard to our mission. I decided to try and make friends with the young warrior. “That’s a fine chest piece you’re wearing.” I pointed to the necklace of feathers and bones. “Does it symbolise something in particular?”

  He turned his face towards me with a sneer. “What’s it to you, crone? You Dumnonii care nothing for the gods. I saw your disgraceful behaviour at the last midsummer gathering at Stonehenge.”

  My mind whirled back to the time he mentioned. Our family had made a spectacle of themselves, it was true, but for good reason. I considered telling him about my niece and her treacherous plan to take over our lands, breaching all the rules of entering the sacred space. From his expression, I didn’t think he’d be receptive to my excuses. “It was an unfortunate event, I agree, but I am genuinely interested in your beliefs and practices. Won’t you tell me and make an old woman happy?”

  He returned his gaze to the path ahead. When we’d walked in silence for some time and I’d just about given up on him, he said; “They are the finger bones of my ancestors. My father gave it to me when I became a warrior, and his finger bone will be added upon his death. We carry them with us into battle, we carry them with us to hunt and we carry them with us home. I am the keeper of their spirits.”

  I recalled something similar happening with the leader of our Priest Sect when the twin’s father died. He was also keen to retain a bone from his thumb. Perhaps this practice was spreading across all the lands. I wondered whether it was some custom from across the sea, but I thought it prudent not to ask. “You do them great honour. I’m sure you are more than worthy of the task.” I looked across at the sullen young man. He didn’t smile, but I thought he’d started to look a little less severe. Perhaps I was making headway after all.

  At the end of the path, we reached the entrance to the long barrow. I’d seen barrows before of course, but they were usually only open for special occasions, such as the interment of a Chieftain. Here, women came and went as though it was part of their daily routine. I watched Endelyn remove a copper clasp from her cloak and lay it down on a flat altar stone at the entrance. She bowed her head and muttered a few indistinct words.

  I moved closer, trying to hear. If I was to repeat this ritual, I needed guidance. Offending these people was not an option. When Endelyn had completed her offering, they all looked at me. Plucking a tin clip from my hair, I laid it down next to the other offerings, and struggled to my knees. There were a couple of reasons for my decision to do this.

  My knees crunched and clicked, my balance almost failed me and I exaggerated the pain it gave me, screwing up my face into a grimace. I could see from the corner of my eyes; this lavish display of respect was well received. Old Rawley looked dumbfounded. While I was nose to nose with flowers, bowls of grain, carved wooden animals and our metal, I intoned a complete load of made up kawgh under my breath. To anyone watching, I was as devout and humble as any of the Belgae.

  Even when my knees felt as though they were crumbling beneath me, I waited there for far longer than was necessary. Endelyn came to my aid when I did finally look at her, hoisting me up to stand among them.

  Rawley narrowed his eyes. “What name did the gods give you?”

  I wanted to remind him that no god can bestow names on the living. That is the right of our parents alone, but I played along nicely. “I am Meliora, if it pleases you, Chief.”

  Endelyn chipped in; “She is known to us all as Fur Benyn, wisest of all the elders, best healer in the land and great aunt to the Chieftains of the Dumnonii.”

  When she boasts about me like that, I feel very small indeed. I never asked to be called a wise woman. Most of the time I am barely either. The young warrior had a better description of me - crone. If I’d been truly wise, Blydh would not be possessed by a wicked Underworld demon and we would not be begging this Chief for his favour.

  “Is that so?” Rawley smirked. “Wisest of all the elders? Hmm.” He flicked off his shoes at the entrance to the barrow and stepped inside. Endelyn and I looked at each other, waiting for further instruction. Rawley called out. “Paxton, bring them within.”

  We copied their leader and removed our footwear, stepping lightly on the rushes inside. The air was much cooler in this low cave-like structure; the atmosphere sombre and musty. From the wide entrance, we wandered around a stone plinth and into the main chamber. It was not set out as I’d expected.

  At other sites such as this, bones of the ancestors were sorted into various piles, skulls in one chamber, long bones in another, backbone bits and pieces in a third section and so on. Here, their builders had constructed wooden shelves from the lowest level to the highest. I could tell from the size of the skulls, that the little mounds of bones were that of children.

  What was even stranger, was that a number of women were cooking over the fire inside the chamber and ladling bowls of stew from a cooking pot. We watched them toiling away, chopping more roots and meats to add to the broth while others laid the steaming bowls in rows along the shelves for the dead children.

  Did they really believe that this was a portal to the Underworld and their fallen kin could return to their bones to eat their mother’s food? It took all my strength not to react to such wastage. Was this entire barrow devoted to throwing good food after the dead, and more importantly, had these children perished from the harshness of nature or were they taken before their time as an offering like my white hart?

  A few seasons ago, I’d never entertain such thoughts, but my notion of common decency was drastically altered after my encounters with the Phoenician noblemen. Now I believed men capable of anything. I looked upon these women with heartfelt pity. If supplying their bones with nourishment gave them peace and comfort, who was I to judge?

  Despite the new light this trip had thrown upon the Belgae, I was no closer to understanding why Rawley had brought us to this site. I glanced about the torch lit cavern, looking for signs of adult bones but saw none. In my fascination, I completely missed Paxton leaving the barrow and returning shortly afterward, clutching a rooster by the neck.

  Endelyn forced a smile and touched her palms together. Clearly, she knew what they had in mind. Paxton grappled the bird until it lay flat against a large wooden bowl. When Rawley plucked a blade from the warrior’s belt, their intention dawned on me. Our fate would be decided on the bloody entrails of a freshly killed chicken.

  “Cernonnus, hear us. You have led these faithless men to our shores for a reason we cannot fathom. They intend to desecrate our sacred springs with their ungodly ways. Though you send emissaries to speak for them, I am not convinced of their sincerity.” Rawley drew breath, the chicken tried to peck at him until Paxton thrust its head down with the heel of his hand. The two men exchanged glances. I didn’t need a priest to tell me that it was not a good sign. The kyjyan cockerel was just as defiant as my nephews.

  I closed my eyes and sent a silent plea up to the God of Death and the Wild Forest. Please spare my nephews from the wrath of the Belgae. If they must sacrifice someone, let it be me instead. When I looked up once again, Rawley dug the blade into the belly of the flapping creature, spilling out its guts and gizzard into the wide bowl. Paxton unhooked one of the finger bones from his necklace and dropped it into the stinking mess.

  The Chief prodded the entrails with the blade, and then with his fingers. “I need more light, son.” He muttered to Paxton, who obliged by retrieving a torch from near the wall. Under the flickering flames, the old man seemed to come alive, his face animated for the first time since we’d met him. Endelyn leaned in, examining the slippery guts and the shapes they made in the bowl.

  She took in a sharp breath, suddenly afraid. What did it show? I squinted at the chicken guts but saw nothing but ingredients for supper. Endelyn hung her head and sighed.

  “What?” I blurted before I could stop myself. “What did you see?”<
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  Endelyn shook her head violently, biting her lips and refusing to answer.

  I looked up at Rawley for an explanation. “It is decided.” He said, straightening up and rinsing his hands with a jug of water. “Come.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The walk back to the settlement was over in a flash. I scuttled along after Rawley and Paxton badgering them for an answer, but neither were prepared to say anything. Endelyn lagged a little way behind and was equally silent. I hold no faith in superstition and priestly nonsense, but Rawley did and that was all that mattered. Our fate was decided, for good or ill. Whatever was present in the reading of the entrails, Endelyn saw it too.

  Filled with a sense of desperation, I stuck close to the old Chief and his son, hoping to steer a positive outcome. Belgae warriors stood guarding the wooden structure that housed our companions, each of them wearing belts laden with weapons. Our men were unarmed, exhausted and starving. I doubted whether they would have the strength to fight the Belgae off, if Rawley gave the order to kill.

  The Chief gave a deep sigh and signalled his men to open the door. As soon as the wooden panel was removed, Tallack and Hellyer barged the warriors aside, yelling and flailing their arms in defence. The Belgae men stepped aside, allowing them to skitter past unharmed. When they came to their senses and saw Endelyn and I unmolested and unrestrained, they frowned. Ren helped Blydh into the sunlight, blinking and shielding his eyes.

  Tallack approached the Chief. “What’s the meaning of this? We come here under white banners and you treat us like livestock. We gave you our most precious commodity in tribute. A gift worthy of the gods.”

  “And the gods have made their wishes known to me.” Rawley bellowed back. This was the first time he’d raised his voice to us since our arrival. Far from being a serene, retiring kind of ruler, he had a formidable presence. All those around him believed he had the ear and favour of Cernonnus, not in a benevolent way such as my white hart gave to me, but as the weapon of vengeance. In the eyes of the Belgae, our series of insults to the gods deserved punishment. Endelyn moved closer to me. I could feel her torso trembling against my arm.

  “What did the entrails reveal?” I whispered to her, giving her my most impatient of looks.

  Her fist shot up to cover her mouth, as though speaking the message from Cernonnus would damn her for all eternity. She uttered just one word to me, before closing her eyes and sobbing. “Death.”

  The humours trickling through my body ran cold. A shiver traced down my spine. There had to be a way to convince him that our motives for visiting their sacred springs were true. “Chief Rawley,” I began, not knowing how to frame my gambit. “Forgive us this trespass on your time and lands. We heard that you were both honourable and fair or we would not have approached with this request. Please know that we respect your traditions and customs and would never do anything to jeopardise relations between us. Blydh is terribly ill. I beg you, Chief, allow us passage through your lands to the sacred springs.”

  Rawley switched his stare from me to the men in our party. Tallack and Hellyer looked to be preparing for a fight, Ren had both hands full keeping Blydh upright, and Endelyn was resolutely downcast.

  Rawley analysed each of us and returned his attention to me. “I think you are not as wise as your name suggests. We Belgae have no ties with the Dumnonii, and as my son said, you have only ever shown disdain for our beliefs.”

  I bit my tongue. The old man had heard every word of my conversation with Paxton. Nothing I said would make the slightest difference to his decision. We all waited for our penance. If the entrails were to be believed, one or all of us would die.

  Rawley cleared his throat. “I have no wish to cause undue animosity between our tribes and hope that in time, we can sit down and talk of trade. For now, I thank you for your gifts. Rest assured that the tin and jewels we found in your boats will be put to good use, as will your blades and axes. In return, and for the fine manners of your women folk, I give you the gift of your lives. Go now, paddle out to sea and never set foot on Belgae land ever again.”

  Tallack began to argue but the Chief had heard enough. He nodded to his son who in turn gave orders to the warriors. While our men complained and resisted the ardent shoves towards our boats, my relief was overwhelming.

  Patting Endelyn’s back as we walked towards the jetty, I noticed that she was not pleased with the outcome. “Why so glum? We can forge new blades, refine more tin. He will not kill us. Barring him actually granting permission, this is the best outcome we could have expected under the circumstances. Old Rawley defied the gods’ message of death.”

  “You don’t understand.” She sniffed, welling up with tears. “He doesn’t need to take our lives. Death is coming for us anyway.” She stepped into the second boat alongside Ren and Blydh, before I could ask her for clarification. The Belgae warriors cut our moorings and kicked us away from the pontoon.

  Tallack took hold of the tiller and steered us out towards the mouth of the river. I relaxed in my furs, thinking that we’d seen the end of our mission to the springs. Turns out, I had that wrong too. Paxton’s men followed us for some distance along the riverbank on horseback, making sure that we did not land further along the estuary.

  When we were at the confluence of the two rivers, Tallack called out to Ren. “Pull in close to us. We need to talk.”

  Tallack’s puckered mouth and clenched jaw told me all I needed to know. I’d seen that look of determination before. Both he and Blydh would not allow anyone to tell them what they could or couldn’t do. To them, having a fellow leader, a Metern of the Belgae, dictate their actions was the highest insult. It was akin to being sent to bed before a Long Hut feast.

  The tide was out upstream in the Severn Estuary, allowing us to row hard through the strong currents to a sandbank and drop anchor away from the shore. We were out of the tribe’s view by a considerable way, unless they had the sight of eagles. Here we ate a little of the salted meats the Belgae had left in our packs and drank the last of the stale water from the bladders. Having some food in his belly, Blydh perked up. He was revived enough to catch up with all that had occurred, adding his own brand of aggression to the talks.

  “He has no right to deny us access to the sacred springs. If they are as godly as that kyjyan says, they belong to everyone in the land.” Blydh helped himself to a gulp from our dwindling supply of water.

  “The same could be said about our tin mines, brother. You can understand why he’s so protective of the site. If a simple incantation can summon those from the Underworld, then you’d need to keep it under close guard.” Tallack’s reasoning was sound, but Blydh was not receptive to common sense.

  “I say we go anyway. Ren, which stretch of this coastline is closest to the springs?” Blydh took another long swig from the jug, leaving us all short of drinkable liquids. Both the Avon and the Severn were too salted where we sat to be of use to us.

  Ren stole a glance at Tallack. He was slow to respond, choosing his words carefully. “There are no safe places to land along this coast, Chief. Not unless we go home.”

  “That’s not an option. My head will not be right until I have had the blessings performed at the sacred spring. Isn’t that correct, Endelyn?” Blydh spun about to face her, but she was nursing her snotty nose and reddened eyes. She didn’t answer him. Blydh grunted. “How far away are they by land?”

  Again, Ren took his time. “We’d never make it across land on foot. Whichever way you approach, we’d be spotted by Duro or Belgae scouts and slaughtered before nightfall.”

  Bless Renowden for his mastery of the situation. He all but told them how stupid they were being, without them realising. Just as I was confident that he could change our Chiefs’ minds, Tallack piped up.

  “Didn’t you say it was a short walk from the Avon River, further upstream?”

  “I did, but…”

  “Then that’s how we’ll get there. We’ll stick to the original plan, permi
ssion or not.” Tallack grinned, leaning across to the second boat to swipe the water bladder from his brother’s grasp. “We’ll wait until the tide goes back in and it’s nice and dark and sail right past the lot of them. I sighed and glowered at Endelyn in the other vessel. It seemed that the gods were not finished with us yet after all. The chicken entrails were not a message, they were a warning.

  Ren did his best to dissuade the twins, but they wouldn’t listen. Hellyer sided with our Chiefs, even to the point of whipping up the rest of the men into a roar of cheering. Each of them took turns in swigging from the bladders and munching on the rations so that by the time the tide changed, we had nothing left to eat or drink.

  Tallack deferred to Ren’s experience, asking him to navigate the strong currents of the Severn Estuary shortly after nightfall. The Avon mouth was a flea bite compared to the vast width of the channel between Kembra and Belgae lands, but Ren’s skill carried us along in the dim light until we were within spitting distance.

  I kept my eyes trained on the Duros bank, while Endelyn and Blydh looked to the east. I was under no illusions. We would surely be spotted by scouts from both sides of the river. The whole plan was foolish from start to finish.

  I’m ashamed to admit that I crouched low in the boat, keeping my head beneath the sides to avoid stray arrows. None of the men could afford the same luxury. They had to row like the Morrighan was on their tails, carrying us through the widest part of the river mouth and into the fast-moving current of the central channel once again. Ren knew its ways better this time, navigating by instinct rather than sight.

  The clouds dulled the moonlight, shielding us from the sharpest eyes of the Duro and Belgae scouts. I held my breath, waiting for the torches to reappear on the bank side. We passed the first meander without any sign of us being seen. The next two, were sharper and deadlier.