by Beth Webb
Josephus nodded quietly. ‘He always be with you, whatever name you use.’ He kissed Tegen’s cheek and pressed a bag of nuts into Kieran’s bag.
Then holding hands, Josephus and Marah sang a hymn, and waved.
‘Thank you for everything,’ Tegen called out. Then with lumps in their throats, the travellers strode away between the vegetable gardens, and through the village to the long hill like a pig’s back that sheltered the shipping jetty.
Claudia called to them from the top of the path, bundles of food and leather bottles slung over her shoulders. ‘The boat’s waiting!’ she called out. ‘The captain says we must hurry because of the tides.’
Tegen nodded. ‘Just one last thing,’ she said, leading her friends to the little thorn tree that still bore a few milky blossoms.
Tegen cut four twigs. She put one under her own cloak pin, gave one to Claudia, and tucked a sprig inside the baby’s shawl. The last piece, she handed to Kieran. ‘Bind it to the top of your staff, it will keep you safe wherever you go.’
He looked at it critically, ‘Here, is this some of Josephus’s magic?’
‘Yes, he had a staff of that thorn.’ She rolled her twig between her fingers until she found one white and green bud, like a minute globe. ‘When he landed here, the rod’s heel sank in the mud. The top sprang into leaf and flower, even though it was midwinter. That’s how he knew that he and his companions must stay. It is good magic.’
Kieran pushed the blossom away. ‘Don’t want any foreign muck, ta.’ He wiped his hands down the side of his breeches.
Tegen pursed her lips and scowled. ‘All our ideas come from other places, other times. We mix them together to make the best, strongest magic we know. You must never scorn anything for being different – you’ll miss something sent to help you and that’d insult the Goddess!’ She thrust the leaves at him again. ‘You’ll find many things not to your taste in Ériu. If you can’t trust a simple magic like this, how will you survive in a new land?’
‘I’ll come home!’ he protested, clutching at his bags.
‘No. You won’t.’ Tegen replied. ‘Not ever.’
Scowling, Kieran snatched the twig, rammed it into a crack at the top of his staff, then bound it tight with a thread from his cloak.
Holding Gilda tightly, Tegen led the way down to the jetty where a currach was moored between two Roman trading vessels.
Midships, a tall, leather-clad man was readying the sails.
‘Hello,’ Tegen called out. ‘We’re here.’
The captain ducked the boom and reached out to squeeze Tegen’s hand. ‘Merrily met, Star Dancer.’
‘Goban?’ Tegen gasped. ‘I thought you’d just send someone – but it’s you!’
‘Whom else would Brigid trust with her own boat?’ he laughed, pointing at a small bundle of rowan twigs and berries tied to the prow. ‘Now, we must hurry. Those who want to harm you are hot on your heels, I smell them in the wind.’ He reached out to help the travellers aboard. Kieran tossed the bundles into the bottom and Gilda’s little dog leapt straight in after them. The boat rocked as they found their places.
Just then, a man’s voice yelled, ‘Oi you! Get back here, witch!’
Ignoring the two figures bounding down the steep hillside above, Kieran cast off. He leaped into the bows and grabbed an oar to push them away from the wharf.
Goban leaned on the tiller, the sails cracked and filled, the boat slid away from its mooring and out into the main channel.
‘Damn her, she’s getting away!’
A spear whizzed through the air and thudded into the planking of the bow. Kieran leaned over to wrench it out.
‘Leave it!’ Goban roared. ‘Get it out once we’re safely away. ‘Hold the sheet, pull hard, keep the sails taut.’
Midstream, they caught a stiff breeze and the boat flew into the middle of the grey choppy seas.
The men thundered onto the wharf and upturned a small coracle. Within moments they had splashed it into the water. Paddling urgently, they were gaining on the currach.
Tegen clambered over bundles and baskets, making her way to the stern where she knelt beside Goban. ‘Please, before you go to Ériu, take me back to my village. I need to face Suetonius. He’s about to murder everyone. Can you wait for me? Somewhere out of sight?’
He shook his head and leaned on the tiller. ‘I cannot take you to your village, Star Dancer.’
‘But …’ she began.
‘Listen, the men following us are being propelled by your demon.’
Tegen glanced over her shoulder. The coracle was splashing towards them at amazing speed. The men worked the paddles manically, eyes bulging and jaws set.
‘Can’t you and I join our magic together?’ Tegen asked.
Keeping his eyes intently on the sails, Goban replied, ‘No. The tide is too low. I couldn’t land this boat until evening, even if all was well. I’ll bring you to the trackway that crosses the marsh. It’ll take you home. Your friends have stabled Epona well, I will call her and she will be waiting for you. Now is the Time of Spirit. You must do what only you can do. You have the Lady’s blessing.’
Goban pulled the tiller back. Water slapped noisily at the hull as the boat swung to starboard. Ahead lay the rough line of the wooden trackway and they were speeding urgently towards it.
‘What are you doing?’ yelled Kieran from the bows. ‘Captain, you’re going to crash her!’
‘I’m getting off, here,’ Tegen replied. ‘I’m going back to my village.’
‘But you can’t, you’ve got to come!’ Kieran grabbed her cloak.
She tugged herself free. ‘No. I … I’ve got to go.’ Tegen’s throat tightened. Her breath came harsh and fast. ‘I’ll try and join you – later. I hope.’
‘But you can’t!’ he protested.
Tegen looked back at Goban.
He smiled, his dark eyes kind. ‘Death brings life and life brings death. Sacrifice with love creates hope, so it goes.’
‘I remember,’ she whispered.
He turned the tiller so the boat came alongside the planks and poles that spanned the marshy waters. He kissed her hand and squeezed it. A warm glow filled Tegen’s soul. ‘Oh, by the way, you dropped this.’ He slipped a cold iron ring over her bleeding finger.
She traced the simple inscribed design of sacred ogham. ‘But I lost that in the sea, how …?’
Goban ignored her. ‘Slacken the sail!’ he bellowed.
With a scowl, Kieran obeyed. The heavy leather sagged and the bow knocked against the planks of the trackway.
Tegen clambered forward.
Gilda held her arms out and Tegen hugged her. ‘Be good,’ she whispered through choking tears. Claudia held her hands briefly and Kieran bowed his head for a blessing.
Then Tegen sprang onto the wobbly walkway.
‘Take Gilda to Queen Étain of Tara, in Ériu. Show the queen Gilda’s blue glass necklace, it will prove she is Tonn’s child.’
‘Farewell, all shall be well!’ Goban called out.
‘And all manner of things shall be well,’ Tegen replied, then raising her hands she sent a spell for good weather and fair winds. ‘I’ll see you all soon – I hope,’ she whispered.
Goban took a deep breath and blew. The dark sail filled and they sped towards the open sea.
As Tegen ran across the wobbly wooden struts towards her village, a voice yelled behind her.
‘There she is! Ignore the currach! Get her!’
She turned. Her pursuers were scarcely an arrow shot away.
The two men paddled with demonic fury, their eyes bulging and their teeth bared. Closer and closer they swept, their bow wave lapping the wooden track.
Tegen turned and sprinted.
The Trackway
The planking creaked and wobbled under Tegen’s pounding feet. Slipping and skidding on the slimy wood, she slowed her pace.
The small boat splashed alongside – almost within arm’s reach.
Out of b
reath and with a stitch growing in her side, Tegen turned and raised a spell to tip the boat and drown the men.
But that wasn’t the way, and she knew it.
Remembering how Goban blew up a wind, she did the same.
The sudden squall hit the little craft, spinning it across the waves.
‘Taranis curse your blood!’ yelled one of the men.
As Tegen ran out of breath they paddled again, coming faster than ever.
Tegen wove herself a spirit shield and ran on over silvery pools and channels.
Beneath her boots, the sodden wood split and crumbled. She came to a stretch where the planks were rotted away. Tegen measured the distance and leaped. She landed, missed and slid into sucking mud. Grabbing an upright post, she hauled herself out. Her wet boots squelched and slipped worse than ever.
Behind her, the splashing and yelling was getting closer. Just ahead, the walkway rose onto a muddy islet covered with brambles and rough willows. Tegen clambered to the top and looked around. The waters were shallow and reedy. The coracle could not get close. She bent over and tried to catch her breath, easing the pain in her ribs.
Crossing to the far side of the islet, she looked across to her village nestling beneath the looming hills. There was no sign of smoke yet, but Suetonius was there. She could sense him.
Maybe she was a bargaining counter? Her capture in exchange for the village?
‘Not that I can see Suetonius missing the chance of a good slaughter,’ she muttered wryly.
Then, to her horror, she saw the men had paddled ahead. They were standing on the last stretch of trackway, waiting to catch her, scarcely a stone’s throw from land.
Tegen shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun and squinted. Light glinted on long knives in their hands. She pursed her lips. There’s no way around them, she thought. If I jump in the water they’ll simply haul me out.
For a moment, Tegen was surprised at how calm she felt, but with Goban’s ring warm on her finger, and his kiss on her cheek, she was not afraid.
‘I’ll think of something,’ she promised herself, stepping onto the final stretch of wooden track. This part was made from tightly woven hurdles laid over sucking marsh. On both sides, the water was lapping and swirling. The tide was turning.
Just a short way ahead, the men waited, grinning through plaited beards.
Sprinting forwards, the taller man yelled, ‘Come here girly, we ain’t gonna hurt you. Need you alive, see?’
Under her breath, Tegen muttered,
‘Slip and slime, this trackway’s mine.
Slime and slip, have a good trip!’
She clicked her fingers. The next plank tipped and the man slid sideways.
‘Shit!’ he bellowed, splashing into the water. Moments later he re-emerged, spitting mud. ‘You bitch, I’ll kill you for that!’
His companion stretched out a hand.
‘Leave me, get her!’ he screeched, waving his fist.
The second man nodded, then crept forward, dagger in hand, eyes intent on his quarry. His lips were moving silently.
Tegen narrowed her eyes and strengthened her spirit shield.
Just then she heard a frantic neighing. Glancing ahead, she glimpsed Epona at the end of the track, pawing at the ground. Goban had been as good as his word and sent the Lady’s horse to her aid.
‘Don’t fret old friend,’ Tegen murmured, ‘I’m coming.’
The man finished his spell, and with a grin of triumph, he set all the planks and hurdles shaking.
Raising her hand, Tegen sent the spell careering back. The wooden path shivered and creaked. Stakes and posts popped, splinters span into the air, stinking mud heaved and gurgled.
The trackway was gone and both men were now chest deep in the water. But they were laughing! ‘We got you good and proper now girly!’ one taunted. ‘How you gonna get away from us now, eh?’
The second man turned and gave an ear-splitting whistle. Far across the meadows, Tegen saw a group of men sprinting towards them. It was only a matter of time until someone found another coracle and rope and …
Putting her own fingers in her mouth, Tegen whistled louder.
Epona whinnied and sprang into the water.
Then Tegen’s heart sank; there was neither saddle nor bridle. ‘Never mind, I rode like this as a child. I can do it again – I just have to hold on tight.’
As Epona came within reach, Tegen curled her fingers in the mare’s thick mane and swung onto her back.
With wild arcs of spray, Epona splashed her way ashore, then stopped.
Guessing what was coming, Tegen clung on with every muscle as the horse lowered her head and shook herself dry.
‘Come on Epona, to the village,’ Tegen urged. ‘You’ll dry as you run.’
The mare flared her nostrils and broke into a trot. Under Tegen’s knees, her strong shoulders and flanks rippled as she gathered into a canter across the meadows, away from the men in the water and their furious friends.
The thundering rhythm of Epona’s hooves pounded into a full gallop.
Tegen lowered her head and clung on.
The rough ground rose steeply to meet the wooded mouth of the valley. There, on a small hillock, stood the decrepit remains of Witton’s old roundhouse.
As Tegen drew close, she smelled smoke. She looked up. Flames cracked and spat through the rotten thatch, the roof fell in, sending sparks flying into the autumn air.
Just then, a tall black stallion trotted from behind the mound. On his back sat an upright figure in a roman crested helmet and eagle-embossed breastplate. He turned his face towards Tegen. A dark scar ran down his right cheek.
‘Woah, steady girl.’ Tegen slowed Epona to a trot.
The man stopped and threw aside the torch in his hand. His stare spread into a cruel smile of recognition. Without speaking, he turned his mount back towards the village.
Heart thudding, Tegen straightened her back and followed.
Somewhere close by, people screamed and shouted, children wailed and dogs barked. Step by step, the noise swelled.
Tegen rounded the mound. The village palisade stretched before her. Every detail she had seen in the fire was true. The gates were pulled off their hinges. Inside the fence, terrified women and children huddled together. Swords drawn, soldiers corralled the men into a pigpen.
The air smelled of salt-sweet blood.
The mare danced sideways. ‘Come on girl,’ Tegen urged, squeezing Epona’s flanks. ‘You’re safe with me. I just want to see …’
She rode towards the village. Between the roundhouses slimy corpses of goats and geese were strewn around – all hacked and bloody.
Suetonius rode to Tegen’s side. He pointed at the carrion. ‘I think your people understand what will happen to them if you don’t co-operate.’
‘Tegen!’ Ula yelled, ‘They’ve got Derren, and your Da!’
A soldier slapped Ula’s face.
‘You know her?’ Suetonius smirked. ‘Bring the woman.’
The man yanked Ula forward. She sagged and stumbled. Her belly was huge.
Tegen guessed her baby could come any moment. She twisted her fingers more tightly in Epona’s mane. ‘Ready?’ she whispered.
Epona tossed her head and nickered.
Drawing herself tall, Tegen wove a fresh spirit shield. ‘Your quarrel is with me. Let her go,’ she ordered loudly.
Suetonius ground his teeth. ‘Surrender, or the villagers will die. One by one. This woman first.’ His accent was thick, but his meaning was clear. He nodded and soldiers pressed their swords against their captive’s necks.
Women screamed. Men swore.
Tegen’s eyes flashed fire. ‘Stop!’
Bareback
Silence fell, every eye turned.
Epona shifted nervously.
Tegen laid a reassuring hand on the mare’s withers. Her mouth was dry and her heart pounded. ‘Let them go Suetonius Paulinus. I agree, I will surrender’
Su
etonius smirked.
‘But only if you catch me!’ Tegen taunted as she kicked Epona smartly. The horse sprang straight into a gallop, bounding away from the village and uphill through the woods.
Tegen flattened her body over Epona’s back, willing herself to become one with the mare, muscle by muscle, and bone by bone.
Screwing up her eyes in delight, Tegen pressed her face beside the mare’s neck and whispered, ‘To the caves!’ In her mind she imagined the path the funeral processions took: the stony climb beside the stream, crossing it twice, then the steep stretch through the rocky coombe, ending by the great yew tree that guarded the entrance to Tir na nÓg.
‘Can you see the way, Epona? Take me there!’
The mare put back her ears and bolted.
Together they galloped – a single being – bound by thrill and terror.
Epona’s iron shoes sparked as she sprang up the path. Twigs and boughs scraped her flanks. Her coat was soon sticky with sweaty froth and her mane whipped at Tegen’s face, twisting painfully with her hair.
Low branches caught Tegen’s cloak and legs. Her back hurt, her eyes watered, her face and hands smarted, her legs screamed with effort. But she held on, clenching her knees tightly, yet letting her body flow as one with Epona’s.
On. On.
With a sudden bunching in Epona’s quarters, she leaped.
The lurch left Tegen’s stomach behind.
The mare landed with a crunch of wet gravel and surged ahead. Tegen bit her tongue painfully and yelped as she slithered forward. She must not fall! Somehow she shoved herself upright and eased once more into the flow of Epona’s strides.
That’s the first stream crossing, she told herself.
Suddenly she thought she saw Derowen, blocking the path ahead. She was dressed in blue with her hair combed loose, as she had for Gilda’s funeral.
As Tegen approached, Derowen spread her hands
Tegen sat up to slow Epona, but the mare ignored the signal and smashed through the vision. Pebbles and mud sprayed from her hooves as she pounded up the twisting track.
With another sharp turn and bunching muscles, Epona leaped the stream once more. Tegen’s stomach twisted, but she was ready for the landing this time.
