by Jacky Gray
Slater looked sceptical at this point, but she continued the story, telling of the legend Albion had told Rufus. A man with flaming hair and a pure heart would be sent by Solah to take the stones. He would create a great temple that would bring men from all over the world to be healed.
‘How did Albion know Rufus was the right man?’
‘Kind soul and red hair.’ She touched Slater’s hair and smiled.
‘How would the priest know he had a kind soul?’
‘Ordeals. Rufus won all.’ Aurala described the various trials Albion had set for him during his journey. The priest heard tales of his good deeds and wanted evidence, so he sent a number of spies disguised as poor and needy waifs. Rufus helped every one of them, giving them his time, effort and food. When he had nothing left, he even gave away his warm cloak.
Albion then sent a vicious storm which soaked Rufus, chilling him to the bone. When he was weak from hunger and fever, he came across an old blind man who had fallen in the road and dropped his sack. Collecting up the precious possessions, Rufus replaced them all in the sack, not even taking a bite from the deliciously warm honey bread. He refused the man’s attempt to reward him.
‘But the man was Albion, right? And he took him home and cured the illness.’
‘You hear story before? Why make me tell?’
‘Sorry, I was just guessing. Please carry on.’
She shrugged. ‘That all. Albion show Rufus how move stones. Use logs on land. More easy on river boats.’
‘So did Rufus bring the last stone? The one Tauroch put in the wrong place?’
‘Rufus dead many years. Only four hands of stones in Avalon.’ She opened the fingers on both hands four times to show forty stones. ‘Need more for Lunai.’
‘Lunai? Is that the moon Goddess?’ She nodded. ‘But I thought it was a temple for Solah.’
‘Need Solah and Lunai, work good. Solah for man, Lunai for woman.’
‘I can see that. But why so many?’
She shrugged. ‘Albion tell Rufus. He tell sons. They go Dyfed for more stones.’
‘So who is chief while his sons are getting the stones?’
‘Rufus four sons, three dead. Chief Rodsyn, die at Bealdyn. New chief on Solah weddung.’
‘Bealdyn? Oh, that’s your word for Beltane. Who will be the new chief?’
‘Roldan, Rufus son. Find magic stone in Dyfed.’
‘But he wasn’t there to see it placed.’ There were definitely no red-haired men anywhere near the temple, apart from himself.
‘Tauroch say he dead. Tauroch will be chief.’
Something about her expression said otherwise. ‘You don’t think he’s dead, do you?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ He watched as she shrugged and turned her face away, but not before he’d seen the tinge of pink. ‘You love him don’t you? Is he your boyfriend?’
After he explained the word, she blushed more deeply. ‘Not allowed. Aurala for Solah. Must be clean white.’
‘You mean you haven’t even kissed him?’
Shaking her head sadly, she looked down at her hands.
‘And yet you kissed me.’
He shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Need Slater quiet.’
Slater realised her actions were emboldened by her status as Solah’s bride and her expectation of dying that night. He lowered his voice.
‘But you wanted to kiss Roldan. Only now that’s not possible because he’s dead.’
‘Not dead. Roldan lives.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Roldan, Aurala …’ she held up her hand with two fingers twisted together.
‘Connected.’
She nodded. ‘Aurala know if Roldan dead. Feel.’ As she spoke, she raised a fist to her heart.
‘So where is he then?’
Shrugging her shoulders, she explained he was supposed to have arrived two nights before the others, but he hadn’t come. One of the slave girls spoke of a prisoner in a cave, but Aurala didn’t have a chance to find out more because Tauroch had kept her busy with preparations.
‘Send for her now, we’ll find out what she knows.’
While they waited, he went over his plan again, this time stressing that if it worked, she would be able to spend the rest of her life with Roldan. They could bring up a family in a tribe made prosperous by the good harvests which would come once the stone circle was raised.
‘You and Roldan must make sure the temple is used properly. If it is to be a place of healing as Rufus wanted, no more blood must be spilt. Tauroch will find many reasons for sacrifice; people will be afraid of him, but it’s not good. The Gods want respect, not human blood.’
‘Slater speak true. Tauroch want people fear, want great might. I see Tauroch look Aurala. Not dare take Aurala, I Solah bride. If not …’ She looked down at floor. ‘Tauroch evil. Harm slave girls.’
Slater was horrified, but before he could say anything, a slave girl appeared at the doorway of the hut. She seemed uneasy, casting nervous glances in his direction. His reputation as a powerful shaman had obviously spread round the tribe. Aurala had a gift for calm and soon put the girl at ease as she told her tale.
Her brother Jenoti’s friend had been ordered to help some warriors who had captured a dangerous Kenit spy. Following the orders of the senior warrior, Benari helped them to transfer the prisoner, watching in horror as they beat him to stop his struggles.
The man was shouting, but they knocked him out. As they bundled him into the long barrow, his hood fell back, revealing red hair. Pretending he had not noticed, Benari sidled off, finding Jenoti as soon as he could. They had gone back to the barrow, but two men stood guard. As they watched from behind a nearby tree, Tauroch appeared and went into the barrow. Benari ran off in fear, but Jenoti stayed, wriggling along the ground to where voices were coming from a hole which led through to the cave. He heard the shaman taunting Roldan that he would never be chief, that Aurala would die as Solah’s bride. Tauroch would be chief and Roldan would die tomorrow. When the shaman left, Jenoti tried to talk to Roldan through the hole, but all he said was “get help,” then there was nothing.
‘But why didn’t Tauroch kill him straight away? Why wait ’til tomorrow?’
The girl just stared wide eyed at his strange way of talking so Aurala answered. ‘No blood before ritual. Evil omen. Fear Solah wrath. ’
‘Of course. He wouldn’t want tainted blood from a murder on his hands. Even if he ordered someone else to do it. That might give us a chance to rescue Roldan. But we need help.’ The trouble was, Slater didn’t know anyone, certainly no one he could trust. Aurala, however, seemed sure of the girl. Turning to her, he put his hand on his heart. ‘Slater.’ He pointed to her and she responded automatically, even though she still looked afraid.
‘Palita.’
‘Slater not harm Palita. Slater need Palita’s help.’ Despite his attempts to reassure her, the girl was obviously still unsure. He was too used to the complexities of speech to remember to simplify every sentence. Maybe a gesture would help. Kneeling down to show he was no threat, he pointed to the sun bride. ‘Aurala must not die. Roldan must not die. Palita and Jenoti help. Save Roldan and Aurala.’
She was startled at first by his strange behaviour, but as he made his requests in a language closer to the one she understood, her body relaxed and her expression lost the fear. ‘Palita help Aurala. Jenoti help Roldan. Not die.’
‘Thank you.’ He tapped his heart twice in a gesture she seemed to understand, responding by kissing her fingertips and offering them to him. He bowed his head. ‘Jenoti take Slater to Roldan?’
Nodding her head, she turned to go, but Aurala caught her arm, echoing the girl’s action. Slater realised that this offering of a kiss showed an expression of loving trust.
Aurala’s voice was gentle. ‘Aurala thank Palita and Jenoti for help. Roldan make free, slave no more.’ She kissed Palita, who hugged her then ran to fetch her brother.
&
nbsp; Slater bowed to Aurala as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. ‘Just in case I don’t see you until Solah dies, good luck. You know what to do?’
She inclined her head, looking like a golden princess with her solemn air and regal bearing, and then spoilt it by throwing her arms around his neck. Hugging him enthusiastically, she pecked his cheek as she pulled away. ‘Thank you. Tauroch make Aurala life end, Slater make life begin.’ Crossing her arms over her chest, she gathered up the protective energy, sealing it with a kiss then throwing it out to Slater as she smiled. ‘Much luck.’
As Palita arrived at the doorway, Slater had a worrying premonition of danger, but he ignored it as they went to rescue the rightful chief. Palita’s shyness returned as she walked a few steps behind with her hands clasped and head bowed. Slater thought maybe it was how slaves were supposed to behave, but everyone they passed stopped and mimicked her gesture in his direction. Surely they couldn’t all be slaves?
Realising they were all paying him some kind of respect, he figured the story of his deeds must have spread to everyone in the tribe. His instinct was to tell her to stop drawing attention, but his strange clothes and hair were already doing that. A stray thought clued him in: the more people were already in awe of him, the easier it would be later on. Once more, he assumed the mantle of an arrogant envoy to the Gods, inclining his head graciously in response to their obeisance.
Reaching the last hut in the village, she led him to an overgrown path which ended in a small copse. Gesturing for him to go in deeper, she scanned the path, but they hadn’t been observed. It was unnaturally quiet, as though nature held her breath: no birdsong or scuffling of small animals. Slater had an uneasy prickling sensation, as though being watched. Going deeper amongst the trees, he worried about walking into a trap. Why was she holding back? Was something terrible going to happen to him?
Looking backward, he bumped into an object which came to life. Arms grabbed him, pinning his head into a yielding mass of sheepskin and he heard a strange muffled sound, which he recognised as a childish giggle. But it was no childish grip which held him captive. He struggled to get away, berating himself for being so easily tricked.
7 – Captive
As he made sense of the babbling, Slater realised it was not as it appeared. ‘Jenoti hide, Redman seek. Redman find. Good play.’
‘Jenoti. Let Slater go. Slater good man. Help Roldan.’
At Palita’s words, the grip loosened and Slater fell to the ground. Picking himself up, he studied the huge man-boy. Although he was built like a man and was obviously several years older than his tiny sister, Jenoti had the innocence of a much younger boy. He didn’t appear to share his sister’s initial mistrust, keeping up a constant stream of repetitive nonsense. ‘Slater good man. Slater help Palita. Palita good girl, care for Jenoti. Jenoti help Roldan. Roldan good man. Like Jenoti.’
Palita put her finger on her lips and he did the same, continuing to talk through the finger. ‘Jenoti good boy, love Palita. Jenoti help Slater find Roldan.’
Removing his finger from his lips, she replaced it with her hand and he was finally quiet. It was obviously an old ritual between them as he removed her hand, kissed it, and then put his finger back. Satisfied with his silence, her voice took on a gentle tone as she explained. ‘Jenoti show Slater where Roldan speak. Jenoti not speak, like hide-seek.’
He waved his hand in front of her face as though asking permission to speak. Smiling, she nodded her head and he whispered, ‘Roldan hide, Slater seek.’
‘Yes. Jenoti not speak. Evil man harm Jenoti.’
Using the cover of the trees, they skirted round the village, heading out to the burial mound. Two tall yews – the trees most associated with death and the spirit world – stood sentry on higher ground, looking down on the tomb’s entrance. Between them grew a bushy rowan – a perfect hiding place. The three youngsters crouched behind, trying to work out the patrols, but there were none. With no one to challenge, the guards merely sat on boulders, listlessly throwing pebbles to see who could get the most onto a small piece of bark.
Palita had brought a skin of ale and some bread which Aurala had laced with sleep-inducing herbs including valerian, lemon balm and chamomile. Approaching the men, she offered the meal as a gift from Tauroch. Everything was going to plan as the younger guard took the food gratefully, but the second man was older and more experienced.
‘Bide.’ He sniffed the bread, looking for foul play. ‘Girl eat first.’ He broke off a piece which she put in her mouth, barely chewing before she swallowed. Satisfied, he split the loaf and gave the smaller piece to the other man who ate hungrily. ‘Now drink.’ She did not hesitate, but managed to give the impression of taking a huge gulp while only swallowing a few drops. Passing the skin on, the older man was not satisfied until the other guard had taken a long drink without obvious effect. Palita turned to go, but the younger man, emboldened by the ale, grabbed her hand.
‘Wardon no play Solah weddung.’
Slater worked out that Wardon was upset he would not be able to attend the ceremony when Solah took his bride. The older man finished a long drink of the ale with a noisy belch. He smacked his lips together and looked Palita up and down. ‘Tauroch send girl - Bannoch gift.’
Slater watched in horror as Bannoch grabbed her away from Wardon and ripped the front of her tunic.
Three things happened at the same time.
Palita screamed, Jenoti shot down the slope, roaring at the top of his voice, and a large hand clamped over Slater’s mouth as his arms were trapped behind his back.
Slater struggled to get free as the great oaf lumbered toward the two men, bellowing like a charging ox. But the man’s grip was stronger than Jenoti’s had been, and it tightened even more against his wriggling. In the end, all Slater could do was watch as the scene unfolded.
It was no contest, an unarmed youth against two skilled warriors. Bannoch didn’t relax his hold on the writhing girl, casually raising his spear and plunging it into his attacker’s thigh. Jenoti was so fired with battle rage; he didn’t even pause at the injury. Turning to retaliate, he was hampered by the length of ash sticking out of his leg.
He kept up a torrent of angry words. ‘Evil man free Palita. Not harm Palita. Jenoti harm man.’
Wardon was in no hurry to tackle the raging bull, selecting a large rock, and waiting for a chance to trip him. He dropped the rock on the fallen boy’s head and Jenoti charged no more.
Palita screamed and pulled away, surprising her captor and ripping her dress even more. Bending over the motionless body, she sank to her knees with a huge sob as the blood flowed down his face. She shrieked his name as if to rouse him from the dead. ‘Jenoti wake, help Palita. Jenoti not die.’ But it was no use, his limbs were limp and she hugged his chest, wailing.
The younger guard hovered behind her as though wanting to help, but Bannoch just spat on the ground to counter any evil coming from the boy’s spirit. Taking another long swig of the ale, he belched loudly. ‘Jenoti man? Dead man not good for woman. Palita need live man, full blood.’ He grabbed his crotch to show exactly what he meant and laughed at his own joke.
‘Jenoti brother, not man. Jenoti slow. Evil man slay blest one. Curse evil man.’
Wardon crossed his arms, spitting and turning three circles widdershins. The older man was unconcerned, swigging the ale with a shrug. ‘Curse not harm Bannoch.’ Grabbing Palita, he pulled her toward him. Laughing as she struggled, he forced a kiss on her unwilling lips.
This was the distraction Slater had been waiting for. Although he had only been watching the goings on below for a few minutes in his captor’s steely grip, he had spent every second trying to suggest compliance so the man would not think him a threat. But he could stand by no longer while the foul man hurt Palita. He prayed he had submitted long enough to take the man by surprise with his move.
With a trick learnt in warrior training, he kicked back with his right foot while jerking his left elbow in
to the man’s gut using as much force as he could muster. Somehow, his adversary anticipated the escape attempt, thwarting him easily. He was thrown to the ground, his arms still trapped as a heavy weight landed on top of him and a voice rasped in his ear. ‘Still or die.’
Pausing in his struggles, Slater tried to work out what was familiar about the voice; he had heard it recently. Closing his eyes, he went through the last few hours’ exploits, trying to remember. Apart from Tauroch, he had not heard many men speak, certainly none with such a deep bass tone. A breeze rippled a strange scent past his nose, confirming it was the giant Maxoli – Tauroch’s henchman. Probably sent to spy on him and report back to the shaman.
Slater’s arms were tied behind his back; a heavy weight prevented his legs from kicking as they were similarly restrained. A piece of leather was forced into his mouth and tied in place, a coarse hood put over his head. As he was trussed, he heard no sound from the burial mound below, so when the girlish scream rent the air, it sounded doubly loud. The giant did a curious thing then, rolling Slater onto his side and angling his head so it was not stretched at an unnatural angle.
The man circled round to the front of the tomb – he was surprisingly agile for such a huge man. Slater barely heard the light footfalls, but when Palita screamed again, his imagination ran riot as he speculated on all manner of things they were doing to hurt her. Straining against the cruel bindings, Slater tried everything he could think of to work them loose. It was no good; all he managed to do was damage himself. Smelling the metallic blood where the thin tie had cut through his wrist, he stopped, focusing his ears on the scene a dozen paces below.
