Origin of Druid (Druid's Path Book 1)

by Mark Philipson

  “Yes, when the spasms become regular then closer together the child is on the way,” Kermode answered. He asked, “Where is the midwife?” after he glanced around.

  “Breda, Elgin’s wife, went into labor early this morning,” Idellsa answered. She took a deep breath and let it out.

  So Elgin had used his wealth to insure the midwife tended to Breda. Kermode and Idellsa would have to fend for themselves. These thoughts left Kermode with a bitter taste in his mind’s mouth. He had been responsible in great part for Elgin’s accumulation of wealth.

  The evening wore on. Kermode left Idellsa’s side. He brought in two lit lamps and set them at the head and foot of the bed. He tossed more logs on the fire then lowered the shutters on the windows. The chill of the late fall night faded.

  When Kermode reached over to close the shutter over their bed, Idellsa woke and pleaded, “Please Kermode, leave it open.”

  “Very well,” Kermode stepped away from the window. “Do you want a blanket?”

  “No,” Idellsa answered. Her back lifted off the mat in a body wracking spasm.

  Kermode held her hands and wiped sweat from her face and neck. Idellsa tore off her clothes and tossed them on the wooden floor, moaning in pain the whole time. Kermode wiped the sweat off her naked body until the spasm passed.

  “Cover me please?” Idellsa asked.

  Kermode left her side. He returned with two woolen blankets: one for Idellsa and one for himself. By the time Kermode wrapped Idellsa in the blanket she was sleeping. Kermode chose that moment to lower the shutter. The warmth of the hearth crept into the room. Kermode dozed off.

  Kermode woke with a start. Idellsa had thrown the blanket off. She was writhing in pain. Her face contorted as she ground her teeth. “It burns,” she said.

  “Is that how it should be?” Kermode asked. “Does that mean there’s something wrong?”

  “Pain is pain,” Idellsa hissed through clenched teeth.

  Kermode wiped Idellsa down with a clean cloth. He made her breathe deeply, in and out, until the spasm passed. He covered her when she fell asleep.

  The next spasm came sooner than the one before. It was the worst one yet. Idellsa, her back arched, let out a scream right before the spasm faded. “That hurt more than all the others,” she said. Her hair was matted and stuck to her head from sweat and she looked like she hadn’t slept for days. “I think the time is near,” Idellsa said. “Look between my legs, Kermode.”

  Kermode held the lamp close. Idellsa’s lower lips were swollen and seemed to spread apart as he watched. “It won’t be long now,” Kermode said. In his mind he went over what Idellsa had told him: when he saw the outer folds beginning to open he will spread her legs and wait for signs of the baby’s head coming out of the womb.

  Five more spasms and Kermode saw a mass of flesh poking through the outstretched skin. It was the top of a small head. “The head is facing the right direction,” Kermode told Idellsa.

  “Good!” She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Kermode clutched the dragon amulet. His thoughts cleared as mind-numbing fatigue passed. He commanded Idellsa to breathe by looking at her and blowing air into her face. He’d return to the bottom of the bed to keep an eye on the baby’s head.

  The first light of dawn broke as Kermode got his hands on the baby’s head and guided it out of Idellsa’s womb. Kermode wiped the child down. It was a boy. It cried when it got its first lungful of air. Kermode handed the child to Idellsa. She suckled it to her swollen breast.

  “We have a son,” Kermode said. “What shall we name the child?”

  “Durst,” Idellsa said, “I want to name our child Durst.”

  “Durst,” Kermode nodded. “The bold one or the thirsty one,” he smiled and nodded. “Welcome to the family, Durst.”

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  The midwife arrived later that morning. She stayed with Idellsa while Kermode walked to Elgin’s farm. Kermode learned from Kane that Breda had given birth to a son. The child had been named Sativola. “My wife, Idellsa has given birth as well,” Kermode told Kane.

  “All the gods to you, Kermode,” Kane slapped Kermode on the back. “Boy or girl?” Kane asked.

  “Boy.”

  “And what’s the little druid’s name?”

  “Durst,” Kermode answered.

  Elgin came out of the roundhouse. He approached the field. “’I have a son from Breda,” he said to Kermode when he walked up.

  This was the first child from Elgin’s youngest wife. His wealth and standing in the tribe enabled him to take as many wives as he could care for.

  “All the gods to you, Elgin.” Kermode and Elgin clasped wrists.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  Over time, Romans from the southern regions moved farther north. Rome and Briton had had diplomatic relations since the first invasion by Julius Caesar. Soldiers traveled the countryside, enforcing tax regulations. Some of the tribes stayed, hoping to benefit from allegiance to the empire. Others, defiant of the increasingly invasive long-arm of Roman rule, headed into the hills or moved further north.

  Kermode chose to remain. With Roman taxes came the building of roads to carry people, livestock, and goods. Towering aqueducts brought fresh water from springs in the hills. As long as a family could afford to pay the yearly tax imposed by the Romans life was good.

  One day Kermode was summoned to see Elgin. “Gods to you,” Elgin said to Kermode as he entered the roundhouse.

  “Gods back,” Kermode returned. Kermode waited for Elgin to get to the point.

  “I have news from the Roman ambassador. The Romans are planning to build the first official and permanent settlement in the south. On the River Thames, close to the sea.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Kermode asked. He poked his chest with his thumb.

  “Once the Romans move in they’ll be plenty of opportunities to trade goods and sell wares to an increasing population of people with specie to spend.”

  “Again, how does this effect me?”

  “I will be the one to benefit the most from the Roman settlement,” Elgin nodded. “What I want from you ...” Elgin paused then added, “... and keep in mind you still owe me a favor.”

  Kermode pulled his collar away from his neck and cleared his throat.

  “I need you to work on the crops,” Elgin said flatly.

  “What do you want done?”

  “I want the wheat crops to grow to maturity in half the time,” Elgin said. “That way I can have two harvests in one season.”

  “Two harvests in one season,” Kermode muttered, shaking his head. “That’s a tall request, Elgin.”

  “I’m counting on you. A double harvest will put more people to work and more coin in our pockets. Everybody wins.”

  Kermode knew he owed Elgin a favor. He wasn’t sure he could do what he wanted when he said, “I’ll do what I can. There are no promises.”

  “I’ve seen what you can do and I know you can do this,” Elgin insisted.

  Kermode left Elgin’s roundhouse. He’d spent the last two years organizing fishing trips and tending to the needs of the people of the tribe. Word of Kermode’s healing abilities spread to neighboring tribes.

  Brisius had fallen ill and was too weak to leave his roundhouse. Kermode had taken over the Elder Druid’s duties to the community. Idellsa spent most of her time at home, raising the young child Durst and building jewelry when the child slept. Her pieces became more elaborate. She used mostly gold and silver as the basic building material. Romans with full pockets seeking intricately detailed tribal pieces were in abundance.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  “Do you really think this will work?” Kane asked Kermode as they buried a mixture of mackerel scales, a swim bladder, and the inner bark of a white oak.

  “I don’t know the answer to that,” Kermode shrugged. “I do know that the same potion works on the plants. I’ve added the bark because it symbolizes fertility and longevity.”


  “Very well,” Kane said. “I know Elgin hopes it works. From what I hear he’s got a lot riding on this deal.”

  “Hmm,” Kermode sighed. He hoped Elgin hadn’t stuck his neck out to far in his bargain with the Romans.

  Kermode returned the next day. The plants treated with the new mixture showed no signs of rapid growth. Mold clung to leaves. Ragged holes from insect bites dotted the surface.

  Kermode tried mixing the new potion with the first potion. The insects left and the mold vanished but the plants didn’t grow faster.

  More mixtures were tried. Each attempt bringing the same results: the plants grew at the same rate as before.

  “I don’t think Elgin will have a double harvest this year.” Kermode shook his head when he looked at the plot of wheat they’d been adding potions to.

  “That’s the bargain Elgin struck,” Kane said. He knitted his eyebrows.

  “Indeed,” Kermode nodded. He touched the dragon amulet. He felt no warmth pulsating through the tips of his fingers. No tingling traveled up his spine.

  “What do I tell Master Elgin?” Kane asked.

  “Nothing,” Kermode answered. “This is between us. I will tell him.”

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  “I don’t think I can make a mix that will give you what you want, Elgin,” Kermode said.

  “What?” Elgin asked.

  “I said I don’t thi—”

  “Enough,” Elgin cut Kermode off. “I heard you the first time.” He shook his head and said, “I just didn’t believe you. No double harvest this year.” Elgin rubbed his forehead. “My Roman buyers will not be pleased.”

  “You can tell them I failed.”

  “I will,” Elgin smirked.

  Kermode left Elgin’s roundhouse. Breda and young Sativola stood in the yard. Kermode waved to them as he walked away.

  The tide seems to be turning, Kermode thought as he walked to the harbor. A fishing trip had been planned. As of late the sunken amulet was drawing a lesser number of fish to the net. Had the white stone embedded in the dragon’s belly lost its power? Had the change been in Kermode himself? Kermode chased these thoughts away as he approached Judocus on the beach.

  “Gods,” Judocus said.

  “Gods,” Kermode replied.

  The fishing party rowed the net offshore. Once the net was lowered they waited for the first fish to come to the lamp at the center of the net.

  Time passed. No thick schools swam to the net.

  More time passed. No signs of silvery tails.

  The sun was well beyond noon when Kermode said, “Pull the net.”

  The fishermen picked a few small fish from the net. Crabs had wandered over the webbing and became entangled.

  “A poor catch,” Judocus spit on the beach. “Even for one man with a small net.”

  Kermode left the beach with the fishermen muttering behind him.

  Eight

  Roman Justice

  KERMODE ENTERED BRISIUS’ roundhouse. The old man lay on the straw mat. The woman tending him whispered in his ear. Brisius struggled to pull himself up. “Kermode, come forward,” he said, propped up on his elbows.

  “You summoned me.” Kermode pulled his hood back.

  “The time is right,” Brisius said, stifling a cough. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around.”

  Kermode knew this moment would come someday. He only wished it had come at a time when he was riding high on the power of the stone.

  “Kermode, you must win back the respect of the tribe,” Brisius nodded.

  It is as if the old man can hear the words in my head, Kermode thought. He quickly cleared his mind upon this realization.

  “How can I do that, Brisius?” Kermode asked. He added, “You know I had help from the white stone given to me by Judocus,” when he saw the the old man staring at him through narrowed eyes.

  “Let me tell you something, Kermode,” Brisius said. He reached out and found the strength to pull Kermode closer.

  Kermode felt the old man’s hot breath on his face. He stunk of raw garlic.

  “Do you think it’s powers from beyond this world that give the White Druid his power over the people?” Brisius asked. Before Kermode could answer Brisius went on, “It’s the—” Brisius trailed off. His grip relaxed. His hands fell to his sides. His head slumped back on the mat.

  Kermode leaned in. No breath escaped from Brisius’ mouth and nostrils. The pupils of his eyes were pinned like two dots under the light of the lamp. Brisius the Elder, the White Druid, was dead.

  Once the body had been cleaned and wrapped in white linens, Brisius was carried to a clearing in the forest. A massive oak tree stood at the edge of the clearing. Men and women scoured the woods, setting piles of kindling at the foot of a white ash funeral pyre taller than three men.

  When the last bucket of pine resin doused the kindling, Kermode, unlit torch in one hand, stepped forward. He set the cloth wrapped end in a fire pot. The oil soaked fibers wrapping the end burst into flames. Kermode tossed the torch onto the nearest bundle of kindling.

  Flame leaped up the base of the support pillars then crept higher. Fire moved across the packed piles of kindling like a flickering wave. The crowd stepped away, feeling a blast of heat on their faces. Flames climbed high. Smoke drifted high up into the sky.

  Kermode stood by the funeral pyre all night. Only a pile of embers glowed in the early dawn. Brisius’ words: “The Druid’s power does not come from beyond this world,” ran through Kermode’s mind all night long. He asked himself the question: “What is it that gives the Druid his power?” until his legs and back ached from standing in one spot.

  Shortly before dawn Kermode found the answer he was looking for. A druid will only have magick as long as the people following him believe he has magick. He must devote himself to the ways of the plants and herbs. If the tribe wanted to believe simple things growing in the soil held powers from beyond, so be it.

  Kermode vowed to himself and the memory of Brisius the Elder to work hard for the tribe.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  Kermode spent the remainder of the day sleeping.

  The next morning, Kermode took a bath in hot water laced with leeched potash powder. Kermode scrubbed the lye infused water into his skin with a stiff horse hair brush. He walked back into the roundhouse. He picked up the bright white robes laid out on the mat and put them on.

  On the way to the village a man approached, “Gods to you, Elder Kermode,” the man said.

  “Gods in return,” Kermode replied.

  “A man has killed his wife this morning. You are needed to pass judgement.”

  “Where did this happen?” Kermode asked.

  “In the market, early.”

  “Did you see this?”

  “No,” the man answered. “I spoke to some who saw it happen.”

  “Save it,” Kermode said, raising his hand. “I want to hear it from ones who saw it with their own eyes.”

  A crowd of people milled about in the village square. They stepped aside to let Kermode pass through. A woman lay face down in the dirt. Pieces of brain pushed out of a massive splintering crack in her skull. A trail of blood ran through blood soaked hair and pooled on the ground. A jagged rock, pointed at one end and thick on the other, lay next to the woman.

  “Did anybody see what happened here?” Kermode turned and asked the crowd.

  Three members of the tribe stepped forward: two men and one women. The witnesses told the same story. They saw the accused return from the side of the road carrying a rock in his hand. He walked up behind the dead woman and smashed her head with the sharp end of the rock.

  The woman must have been dead before she hit the ground, Kermode thought as he knelt to cover the body with a blanket.

  The next two witnesses told the same story, the only differences being in the angle of their line of sight to the murder. One witness saw the man pick up the rock and return to strike the woman. One witness only saw the man cros
sing the path and strike. One only saw the man striking the woman.

  Kermode turned to the accused, “Why did you do this?” he asked.

  “The bitch disobeyed me,” the accused answered.

  “Did anybody hear this act of disobedience?” Kermode asked the witnesses. He looked at the faces in the crowd. Some shook their heads. Only a few stepped up and said, “No.”

  Kermode knew he had to make a quick decision about this man. Tribal law stated a man could kill his wife for disobedience or adultery. There was no sign of either. “Who among you can vouch for this man?” Kermode asked. No one stepped forward or raised their hand.

  It was as Kermode expected: the man was alone in the tribe. Not even his mother or father would stand up for him.

  At that moment Kane stepped forward, “I will vouch for this man on behalf of Elgin,” he said.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  Two days later Kermode stopped at Elgin’s farm. He stepped off the path and onto the grounds. As he walked across the field he heard the sound of hoof beats. Clouds of dust rose in the air. A detachment of Roman cavalry thundered off the path and into the property. Kermode recognized the secretary of the Roman ambassador riding among the soldiers. As the soldiers dismounted Kermode noticed a man he’d never seen before. Tall and muscular. Clean shaven and close-cropped dark hair, the man eased himself down from the white stallion gracefully. He wrapped his dark red cloak around his shoulders to keep from trailing on the muddy ground.

  The stranger shot Kermode a quick glance as the Romans entered Elgin’s roundhouse.

  “Who are those men?” Kermode asked Kane.

  “That was the secretary to the regional Roman ambassador,” Kane answered. “I thought you knew that.”

  “I do. I’m speaking of the other man,” Kermode answered. He added, “Tall, piercing eyes and nose like a hawk,” when he remembered the way the man looked at him as he went inside Elgin’s house.

  “The man you speak of is Albinus Norvano Architectus. From what Master Elgin tells me, he will be designing and overseeing the building of Londinium, the first Roman settlement.”