by Hall, Ian
“I’ve never seen cooking fires like that.” Finlass replied. Like the others he was straining his eyes to see clearer.
“Maybe they’re melting the rocks in the town walls, strengthening their position.”
“I’ve seen that being done, but it needs strong winds.” Finlass replied, looking at the nearby trees. “It’s calm today. It can’t be that.”
“We’ll soon find out.” Calach pointed at two riders, quickly bearing down on the party from the direction of the smoke.
“Our scouts?”
“It must be.”
“It is.” Conrack said with authority.
The two riders violently reined their horses to a halt in front of the warrior band.
“There’s been a battle.” A Caledon facing Calach, reported to him.
“It was no battle; it seems as if it was a slaughter.” The other spoke to Finlass and Conrack.
“Any signs o’ life?” Calach asked.
“None.” They replied in chorus.
“Romans?” Conrack unsheathed his sword.
“We didn’t see any.” The Caledon scout looked to his partner, who shook his head in agreement.
“There may be survivors inside.” Finlass said. His voice was tense.
“We didn’t see anybody at a’.”
Calach shifted in his saddle. “They may have just been hiding from you.”
“So what do we do now?” Finlass asked. “How far to the town?”
“Just past those trees, the ground levels out.” The Caledonii replied. “A couple of fields an’ you’d be there.”
“There’s a river to cross, but our horses walked it easy.” The other scout added.
Finlass looked at Conrack, then Calach. For an instant he looked as if he was unsure of what to do. “We need to go in ready to run or charge.”
“A line, then.” Calach offered.
Finlass turned in his saddle, addressing the warriors behind them.
“Make a line!” He roared. “Two deep. Ready your weapons, but don’t draw.” He looked at the sword already in Conrack’s hand. “Put that away. If there are any survivors inside, we don’t want to scare them.”
Conrack nodded, and sheathed his sword.
“You ready?” Finlass said quietly to Calach.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Finlass spurred his horse to a slow walk.
Behind them, a few comments were passed as to the origins of the reek, but as they cleared the trees and got nearer it became evident to all that a battle had taken place. Soon they could make out details of the walls, breached in many places, burnt and broken in others.
Finlass, riding in front, kept the pace steady, making some of the riders grumble at his apparent lack of urgency. Nearer the walls, they began to notice arrows stuck in the ground, where they had fallen in volleys from the wooden ramparts. The arrows, spears and other discarded military paraphernalia became more frequent until at last they stood before the breached gates of the town.
“Calach an’ Conrack.” Finlass said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You come wi’ me. The rest o’ you come through in small numbers unless you hear a fight.”
Calach rode at Finlass’ side urging his hesitating horse to climb over the fallen timbers. As he advanced through the twists of the entranceway, he knew that this was when the party was its most vulnerable.
“We come in peace!” Finlass’s voice boomed out in the silence. “We come in peace!”
With the exception of Finlass’s declaration, they rode quietly into the settlement.
Once inside, no one spoke. The warriors, usually so ribald and vocal, carefully and silently made their way through the carnage. After finding themselves inside the gates, each chose their own path, their horses treading carefully between the bodies, littered everywhere. Each had their own personal viewpoint, their silence only hinting at the thoughts that each of them held deep within.
All around the inside of the settlement lay the dismembered, butchered people who had fought to the death to defend their homes. Their near-naked bodies lay in every position possible, their wounds atrocious, their faces an array of expression. Very few were lying as they had fallen, it was apparent that after their deaths most had been desecrated, their limbs or heads cut away, their bows and spears discarded or broken, their swords nowhere to be seen.
Confiscated for future reforging.
As he looked around, Calach saw evidence that some of the Selgove had been taken to the walls and executed, their bodies lying in small mounds, stripped and despoiled.
The source of the smoke was evident all around; most of the huts had been burnt, the larger ones were still smoking, their embers still glowing red through the grey of long burnt wood.
This happened only yesterday. We’re only one day late.
As more and more of the warrior contingent entered the settlement, their presence began to disturb the carrion birds, already feasting on the new food supply. The annoyed calls of the birds mingled with the sounds of the horses’ hooves on the packed earth, and the jingle of the weapons of war carried by the men.
The sounds through the town were out of place. Where the carrion birds called, the children should have been playing. Where Calach’s horse walked, clanspeople and traders should have walked.
Calach guided his horse through the litter of mutilated bodies towards the centre of the town, where he surmised he would find the chief’s hall. As he neared the larger structure, the number of corpses increased until eventually, his horse came to a halt, either unable or unwilling to continue.
“They made their final stand here.” Finlass said from behind, his observation directed to no one in particular.
“Aye.” Calach’s was the lone reply.
Calach’s eyes were drawn to the cluster of bodies which lay at the entrance of the great hall, the settlement’s main building. Their slashed and desecrated bodies had been pulled to either side to allow the victor’s access inside. He dismounted, leaving his horse untied and walked towards the hall. As he strode along the corridor of bodies piled two and three high to reach the entrance, he felt the contents of his stomach protest, and tried his best to ignore his body’s instinctive reaction. He reached the cleared area and walked into the building. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the overpowering stench of death, together with unfolding picture which greeted him, was one he never would forget.
Around the circular tiers of bench seating were the bodies of around a hundred women, their tattered remnants of clothing hiding nothing, their bodies stripped naked. They had been tied to the benches and repeatedly raped, their positions and the bruising and blood on their bodies was testament enough to their sad fate. To put the final touch to their defilation, when their tormentors had finished with them, they had been beheaded, the heads lying where they had fallen.
The birds had not come inside the hut, but that had not stopped the flies. The buzzing echoing inside the room was almost too much for Calach to bear.
It took several moments for Calach to take in all the details of the scene, then the heat inside, the stench of the bodies, and the noise of the flies infesting the room took their toll, and he knew he had to get back outside or lose his morning meal. He felt the anger building from the pit of his stomach, his eyes clouded and his vision blurred. He had never felt such revulsion and rage before. This last affront to his people’s dignity had pushed him past his limits.
The bastards!
He violently brushed past Finlass, Conrack and the growing number of onlookers who had come into the hut behind him, pushing their bodies out of his way, and forced a path outside.
“Aaarrgghhh!” Calach cried at the top of his voice, kicking at the ground. “Why!” He buffetted his way through the crowd who were trying to push past him. He walked a few steps, past the corridor of bodies, trying to compose himself, then whipped round to face the gathering crowd.
“I want everybody....!” Calach shouted into
the air, turning his head from one face to the other. “Everybody....!” He started to spin in a slow circle, his hands half clenched, his features twisted in agony. “Everybody to go in there an’ see what those murdering Roman bastards have done to our women.”
The men who had already rushed inside were now causing a jam in the doorway trying to flee the scene. Their faces were white, at least one had been sick inside the hut, the retching was audible. Initially Calach had been disgusted in their voyeurism, but then decided that each man and woman had a right to see what was inside.
No. Not a right. A duty!
Calach quickly decided that he could turn the situation to his advantage.
This could help unite us!
He watched the crowd of warriors, trapped in the crush, forced to listen to his outburst. Everyone was transfixed; all eyes fixed on his.
Calach looked at every one of the watching men and women in turn, his head shaking with emotion. His mind was working quickly to seize the moment.
He pointed at Finlass.
“You Meatae!” Calach roared, “Will tell o’ this to Ma’damar. An’ then a’ the villages to the north.”
It is your duty!
He stabbed a finger at Aysar, who had an expression on his face that Calach had never seen before; a look of awe bordering on fear.
“Caledons will tell o’ this to Ranald an’ a’ the others you can find!”
As he looked from face to face, he shouted out the clan names.
“Venicone! Votadini! Taexal!”
He waved a finger in the direction of the hut.
“Every one of you will witness this...,” He struggled for the correct wording, “This..... Desecration! You’ll witness it, memorize it and take it back to your clan!”
Calach realized that his voice was rising in pitch, but was now so far into the emotion that he could not control himself.
“Every one o’ you will tell them a’ what you’ve seen here, I want this to be a memory that’s never forgotten!” Calach persisted, his finger now held within a trembling, tight fist, which he brandished at the watching warriors. “Every time you see a Roman from now on, I want you to think o’ this before you kill them, an’ send them straight to the depths o’ Hell!”
He spat towards a clear piece of ground, took three or four steps in the direction of the nearest rampart, then suddenly he stopped. Turning violently round, he drew his dirk and used it as a wandering finger to point at his audience. He again faced the assembly, who’s eyes had followed him since he had started his verbal tirade.
No one else had moved.
“If I find any man or woman here,” Calach continued, “Who can’t relate the exact details o’ this abomination to their clan,” He paused as if trying to find the correct words, his gaze was unsteady, his eyes bulging. “I’ll,... I’ll kill them myself!”
The dirk shook with the emotion of the moment.
“Understand?”
The last was more screech than scream.
“Every clan in the Norlands must know what we’ve found here!” Calach realized that he was almost hysterical. “This must be avenged!”
Turning on his heels, Calach walked resolutely away. He knew that the warriors at the main hut watched him silently.
“Burn it!”
As he walked aimlessly through the ravaged settlement, his rage gave way to an emptiness; a numbness which he could neither explain nor understand. He sat on one of the steps to the battlement walls and cried; the tears leaving tracks down his dusty face.
~ ~ ~
Finlass stood in the doorway, caught in the jam of bodies and listened to his friend’s passionate outburst, feeling the vehemence in his voice. He looked on as the tendons on Calach’s neck tensed and shook with the anger the Caledon felt regarding the desecration inside the main hall. As Calach reached the final stages of his diatribe, Finlass was as frightened of the young warrior as any of the assembled clansmen. His friend had demonstrated a side of his nature which no one present had ever seen before; the savage, cruel, vengeful part which had, until now, been dormant. From the corner of his eye Finlass could see Aysar, Kat’lana and Griffin, who all seemed to be as spellbound as himself.
The balance of leadership shifts again.
Of the assembled warriors, only Conrack showed any emotion other than fear of Calach. His lips still held a slight sneer of distrust, although he had been as moved by the scene inside the hut as any who had seen it.
Finlass watched his Calach until he was out of sight.
“Right!” Finlass said quietly, breaking the silence. “You heard what Calach said. Everybody that’s no’ been inside, do it now. Memorize every part o’ the scene. You’ll a’ have some telling to do when you get home.”
“Are you just going to do what he said?” Conrack whispered in his brother’s ear. “He’s not in command. You are.”
Finlass turned to Conrack. “I’m not going against him just now. Are you?” He offered Conrack a grim smile. “Because I’m not. I’ve never seen someone so angry, an’ I’ve seen Da’ a few times.”
“But....”
“At this moment in time, brother of mine, Calach is in charge.” He turned slightly away, then back again. “An’ if you look around, you’ll see that everybody else thinks so too!”
Conrack looked around at the pale faces of the warriors. “What do we do now?”
“We do what Calach has told us to do. We burn the bodies. We send them to the afterlife wi’ some form o’ dignity.”
“Shouldn’t that be done by dhruids?”
“Aye.” Finlass gave a wry grin. “But do you see any dhruids here? Any brave dhruid bodies? There’s none, is there, an’ we can’t let them rot.”
“Not to mention the birds an’ the flies.”
“Aye an’ at night will come the dogs and wolves. Only the fires kept them out last night.”
The brothers watched as the warriors took turns, filing in and out of the hut. There were a few that were nauseous, but most came into the light of the mid-day sun with a firm determination in their eyes.
Finlass’s grudging admiration for Calach’s control of the situation grew.
Eventually, all of the warriors were outside, a feeling of unrest was beginning to grow, as their hunger for quick revenge began to fester.
“Get the bodies burned!” Finlass shouted, breaking the mood, he needed practicality from the warriors before their thirst for retaliation was realized.
“But Finlass!” Conrack moaned. “There’s thousands o’ them!”
“Brother, if it were Bar’ton. Would you like to be left to the crows? Burn them!” He roared.
Aysar was spurred into action.
“Come on everybody. You heard the man!”
Finlass slapped Aysar on the back, a thanks for his support. “Here’s what we’ll do!” He raised his voice. “Get everything that’ll burn; wood, reeds, wicker, anything. Get it into a huge pile here. Put the bodies through the wood; we want layers of bodies an’ layers o’ wood. We want them to burn to a cinder, wi’ nothing left. Then we want fat and tallow, anything that’ll keep the fire alight longer. Soak each layer as you build it.”
He took a deep breath, sighing deeply.
~ ~ ~
Even Kat’lana’s tender ministrations could not rid Calach of the anger and frustration he felt. Calach had spurned her offer of a shoulder to lean on and made it clear that he had wanted to be very much alone with his thoughts. As his fellow clanspeople piled the bodies high, ready for cremation, he absent-mindedly swung his long sword at any inanimate object which merited his attention. Finlass had started the organization of the pyre, he could finish it.
As the morning lapsed, Calach began to pick over the remains of the conflict with care and consideration, frowning as he went, but he missed no detail. He made quick appraisals of the number of casualties the Selgovae had suffered, the possible number of Romans involved, the apparent speed of the victory and many other such s
alient points. As his companions came close to him, he would point out some new piece of information gleaned from the carnage of the battlefield.
“Finlass!” He called.
“Aye?”
The Meatae warrior picked his way across the settlement towards him.
“We need to send out scouts in every direction.” Calach began. “We need to check the possibility of nearby Roman troops, this funeral pyre’s going to cause a lot of smoke; it’ll be seen a long way away.”
“There’s sentries posted already, Calach.”
“Aye, I know. But we’ll need some distance to make our escape. We need it scouted wide.”
“Alright, I’ll see to it.”
As Finlass turned away, Conrack came striding between two houses. He was dragging a struggling girl who, by her petrified looks at Calach and Finlass, was sure she faced as horrible a death as her clan.
“What are you doing?” Calach as he advanced to the pair.
“Look what I found.” Conrack said gleefully. “Skulking in one o’ the huts!”
“For the sake o’ the gods themselves! Leave her be!” Calach roared, face to face with Conrack.
“She’s a coward, an’ should be treated as such!” He shouted back. His spittle flicked into Calach’s face.
“She’s just a wee girl Conrack. Look!” He grabbed her hand. “One finger showing! She’s only eleven, for Lugh’s sake!”
Both now had their hands on the handles of their dirks. From the corner of his eye, Calach saw Finlass approaching.
“Let her go brother.” Finlass whispered.
Finlass took the girl’s hand, and began to prize Conrack’s fingers from her wrist.
“What she is.” Finlass said quietly into his brother’s ear as he released her. “Is information.”
Conrack slowly shifted his gaze to Finlass. The look of hatred did not diminish as he did so.
He took the petrified girl’s hand and placed it into Calach’s. “Take her away from here. We need to know what happened, but she’ll not talk here. Not this close to death.”
“I’ll take her to Kat’lana; she’ll know what to say to her.”
“Aye.”
“An’ Calach?” Finlass added.
