Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part Four: The Romans Invade)

by Hall, Ian

  Mawrin was more interested in Calach’s health. She jumped Aysar forward to Calach’s wound; whether they had been dressed correctly, and the length of time it was anticipated he would be in Bar’ton.

  As Aysar explained the care that Calach was receiving in Bar’ton, Ranald noticed two new names cropping into the narration. With a grin he remembered Calach’s tale of a tall Votadini girl, years ago, and wondered if it had been the same girl.

  Probably.

  The second name was very worrying for him; Elenin, Finlass’s sister.

  Another tie to Ma’damar. Another hold the old chief is trying to build to my son.

  Although Ranald was reeling inwardly, he still smirked as Mawrin questioned the mentions of strange women caring for her son. Aysar’s reassurances seemed to do little to offset her apprehension.

  “How long did it take you to ride from Bar’ton to here?” She asked.

  “Four days.” He replied. “We had changes of horses twice a day, it was a tough ride.”

  “An’ how quick could you get back there?”

  Even Ranald was surprised at her question. He watched Aysar swallow again.

  “I could leave today, an’ make the same time back.”

  “No son.” Ranald interrupted. “If Mawrin wants you to go back you’ll rest a day first.” He looked at the impatient look on his wife’s face. “That’ll be a’right, won’t it Mawrin?”

  “Aye, I’ll see to it that you get well fed an’ rested today.”

  “I can leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Good lad.” The parents chorused together.

  ~ ~ ~

  Back in Bar’ton, Tamoira supervised Calach’s recovery, offering assistance to the ever-present duo of Kat’lana and Elenin, who vied for supremacy at every juncture. As Finlass and Conrack began the long task of raising every available warrior to arms, Calach slept, and regained strength.

  Tamoira knew the danger of the young Caledon dying in Bar’ton and was taking no chances. The last thing the Norlands needed right now was Ranald’s army on their doorstep swearing vengeance.

  New recruits arrived daily, in ones and twos, and were soon put to work, building earthworks and digging ditches to strengthen their emplacements.

  Although Ma’damar realized the seriousness of the situation, he could not suppress a smile as he watched his two sons working together for the first time in their lives.

  Through Finlass and Conrack, Ma’damar sent word from his Meatae forts to the Epidds in the isles of the west, and the Cerones to the north, he asked for men and arms to fight the Romans. The memory of Kheltine’s identical appeal and its subsequent refusal were lost in his subconscious. In the far north, by the time the Caronacs, Lughs, Smerts, Cornavs, and Carins eventually heard the news, (most of these informed by word of mouth from the other northern clans,) the funeral fires of Shiels were long cold; at least two full moons having passed by. The clans of the far north and the islands were moved by the descriptions of the messengers, and bards made up songs about the heroism of the small warrior band who rode to challenge the might of the Roman Empire. Secure in their isolation, however, they did not feel threatened by the invading army, their remoteness being their defense.

  In the east, Pe’weric of the Votadini clan ignored the two returning clansmen totally, secure in the knowledge of a peaceful outcome, bargained for long before with the Roman scouts and their ambassadors. A horde of gold and silver coins was his reward for such an agreement, his greed matching his diplomacy and ensuring that his particular part of the Norlands received no Roman aggression whatsoever. He had already began the dismantling of the fort in Edin, a concession to the Romans wanting a secure port nearby. There would be no war for the Votadini people.

  Mauchty, secure in his Venicone crannog, received the news calmly, although he was dismayed to hear of Calach’s injury. In the case of the Venicone, the young chief and his advisors were of one mind. They debated the news for only moments, before planning the origination of the biggest amassing of warriors in their clan’s history. Mauchty was adamant that his clan was not going to succumb to the Roman’s advance. Their clan was the most exposed after the apparent destruction of the Selgove and Ordovice; there were only natural barriers between them and the Romans now. The defensive buffer which they had expected from the Votadini clan had dissolved and they needed to act swiftly. Chief Mauchty spent most of the day in the saddle. Coastal villages were either strengthened or joined together. New, higher walls were thrown up around the larger towns. He established a line of runners, ready to bring him news of any invasion.

  Certain his clan were going to be next, he sent messengers to Ranald, asking him for his support, offering his in return.

  News spread north, through the Caledons, to their neighboring clans; the Vacomags to the east, the Taexals and Decants to the north. Their fates were intertwined with those of the much larger Caledonii clan; if Ranald was to fall to the Romans, they would surely be a much easier proposition.

  Most of the Selgove clan, who had been absent from Calach’s raiding party, lay scattered through the wild moors of the south. The Roman column which Calach and his band encountered had traveled from their fort at Carlisle and had decimated the clan as surely as the Ordovices had suffered in Kel’sar. Brogian, the chief’s wife, lay in pieces in the centre of Loch’rabie, the clan’s largest town; her husband, Torthor, lay dead where he had rallied the clan, his sons dead at his side. Before his wife had died, she had been mutilated and dismembered, being too old for the sport of the Roman conquerors. Some of the survivors fled east, only to meet with fleeing Ordovice clansmen and women. Some fled west and joined the Novants, swelling their numbers, some just stayed in their farms and villages, awaiting the orders from their new and foreign chiefs.

  Within the chaos and upheaval, however, there was also an unseen exodus from these newly conquered lands. The hardened warriors and woodsmen travelled north in ones and twos, heading for the mountains of the north. As they did so, none could really explain why they had chosen north as their beacon; the lands of the Novants were much nearer, but they journeyed nonetheless. Others in the small groups, remembered the young man from the Meatae clan who promised them safety and refuge in the rugged lands of the Caledons and Meatae.

  In various clearings and caves, the dhruids of the Selgove and Ordovice knelt, heads bowed, willing their clansmen to head north to the safety of the mountains. They did all they could to meet these fleeing warriors, personally urging them to travel only at night, and to hide and forage for food during the day. As the last of the warriors passed the dhruids’ hiding places, they hailed the fighting men and headed north with them.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kat’lana hurried to the chief in answer to his urgent summons, where she waited for what seemed like ages to be admitted into the main hall. She cursed under her breath as she paced beck and forth outside the chief’s quarters; didn’t Pe’weric know she was needed elsewhere? She felt so angry at being taken from her task that she felt like walking straight in on the chief and telling him so. She was so tired; she was irritable to the point of almost crying out loud.

  She seemed to have been working so hard lately, picking herbs, drying and sorting them, training with Winnie in the ‘older arts’. Then there was the preparation for war, and Aysar and Finlass insisting on asking her advice at every turn. Couldn’t they do anything on their own? She was under instruction to help Winnie with her stories, and then there was the all-important, never-ending attention to Calach’s wounds. Ah! And the constant intervention of that annoying blond Meatae girl, who seemed to disagree with every statement she made, and always appeared to be at Calach’s side, challenging her every diagnosis. She’d seen the way the Meatae looked at her Caledon warrior as he lay recovering. Didn’t she know that there was no chance of winning Calach’s heart when the mighty Kat’lana was there? She sighed when she realized that she wasn’t there all the time. That was the point! She had so many other th
ings to draw her away from Calach’s nursing.

  She sighed again and her shoulders slumped; she was so tired, she knew she needed sleep, but also knew that as soon as she gave in to her need, she would be gone from Calach’s side for over a day. She would collapse; simply black out. That was the way her body reacted when she gave into the exhaustion; it had happened too often before.

  Eventually she was called, and she made her way into the hall, to be confronted by a crowd of strangers surrounding Pe’weric, the chief. They turned as one to face her. The strangers were all clothed in dhruid grey, but she instinctively knew that they were not actually dhruids, but something else altogether. Their faces were all dark, but Kat’lana could make out a small crescent moon shape, tattooed on their foreheads. This was indeed strange; dhruids were not permitted to tattoo after they had been initiated.

  “This is Kat’lana!” Pe’weric shouted, much louder than he had needed to, pointing to her advancing figure.

  The strangers scrutinized her so completely and obtrusively, that she halted, and even took a few steps backward.

  “Yes!” Said one of the strangers, his eyes piercing through hers.

  “She is the one!” Said another, with a touch of venom in his voice.

  Then they all bowed their heads and started chanting, even Pe’weric joined in the dirge. Her head was suddenly filled with an image of the standing stones all over the country, raising from the virgin turf, pushing through the grass, their grey surfaces slick and wet from their time below the earth.

  Filled with alarm and an unshakable feeling of immediate danger, Kat’lana turned on her heels and ran outside.

  She ran until she reached the still smoking ruins of Kel’sar, where the smoke burned her eyes, making her feel even sleepier. She absent-mindedly sat at the town wall, laid her back to it and wondered why everyone wouldn’t go away and leave her to sleep.

  Why was Winnie insisting she do so much lately? With Calach to attend to and all the plans for war going on, why was she so insistent that Kat’lana be present when she picked her herbs? She looked around the battlefield looking for the Bannith, and picked a few leafs of meadow sour which were growing within reach.

  ‘Strange’, she thought. ‘That plant didn’t flower in the summer!’

  Suddenly the blonde Meatae girl appeared at her side; Elenin! That was her name!

  “That’s my meadow sour!” Elenin said bitterly, and grabbed the leaves from Kat’lana’s hand and stormed off in the direction of home. Kat’lana was going to argue that the leaves she had taken were not in fact meadow sour, but rabbits’ ear. Then she remembered picking the meadow sour, looked at the broken stems still clutched in her hand, and in her confusion, the words died on her tongue. She was too tired even to argue. Looking at Elenin’s quickly vanishing figure, she wondered where Winnie was.

  She then decided that since Winnie was nowhere to be seen, that maybe Kat’lana could sleep, just for a few moments. The child within her took over and she nuzzled into the warm grass and slipped a thumb lightly into her mouth. She closed her eyes tightly to block out the bright sunshine, and settled to sleep. Preoccupied, she sucked on her thumb; she was tired and needed comforting.

  The thoughts of the rising stones were soon forgotten as she began to dream of her first days with the Votadini clan and being taken in by Winnie, the first mother figure she could remember. Then she realized that Winnie was trying to tell her something. It was important, as the Bannith was standing over her, shouting.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Kat’lana!” The voice had urgent need in every syllable. “Kat’lana! Wake up now!”

  She sat up quickly on the bed, shaking the sleep from her confused and dizzy head. “What is it?” She mumbled loudly, looking around the room for the source of her torment. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I was sent to get you!” Kat’lana could identify the voice as a young female, but could narrow down her identity no farther. “Calach’s trying to get up. He won’t take no for an answer. Elenin says you’ve got to come quick.”

  At the mention of her tormentor’s name, Kat’lana stumbled out of her sleeping furs, and quickly donned her jacket and trews. Pulling a belt tight around her middle, she rushed barefoot to the hut where Calach was being kept.

  “I tell you I’m going, an’ that’s that!” She heard the yell from inside, Calach’s voice carrying out into the settlement. “An’ there’s no slip o’ a girl going to stop me!” He was beginning to roar.

  “Sit down!” Kat’lana shouted as she entered the hut. “Sit down, now!”

  Calach was so bewildered by her manner towards him that he simply sat down on the bed, open-mouthed, searching for words. “Kat,....I....”

  “Enough!” She walked over to him and started to pull his legs up onto the bed, taking no notice whatsoever of his protests. “What do you think you’re doing Calach? Trying to kill yourself?”

  “But Kat, it’s only bruising, it won’t be harmed by me moving around.”

  Kat’lana looked at Elenin’s tearful figure, standing in the corner. “Oh an’ now he’s

  an expert on wounds too!” She couldn’t resist the temptation to put her Meatae rival in her place. “What were you doing letting him get up Elenin? He could’ve done himself real harm.”

  “He just wouldn’t take no for an answer Kat’lana!” The young girl replied. “He wouldn’t do as I told him.”

  “Kat’lana.” Calach had found his composure once again. “It’s only bruising. I’m not an invalid.”

  “Oh, it’s only bruising is it!” she moved forward to the sitting warrior. “I think it’s time we changed these dressings anyway. Elenin, would you send for some clean water?”

  As Kat’lana slowly undid the bandaging around Calach’s body, he tried to engage her in conversation with limited success. She kept repeating the phrase “only bruising is it?” under her breath. Eventually, she only had the poultice to remove, and when this peeled away, it revealed a horizontal cut in Calach’s ribcage, the width of a swordblade. It had been stitched very carefully back together, the join was a little red and inflamed, but was nonetheless clean and mending nicely.

  She took great delight in Calach’s incredulous gaze at his wound.

  “But it was only.....”

  “Aye, only a bruise Calach!” Interrupted Elenin, from the doorway, bringing in a small bowl of water to clean the stitching further. “Kat’lana cut you open to pull out your ribs an’ reset them.”

  “They were broken an’ pressing on something inside.” Kat’lana took on the narrative, irritated beyond belief at Elenin’s presence. “You were spewing up blood for three days. You only just made it through Calach; we nearly lost you.”

  The already muted patient, grew even paler, and sat perfectly still for Kat’lana to apply the new poultice and replace the bindings. “I had no idea.” He said apologetically and lay back on the bed. He gazed from one woman to the other. “How long have I been here?”

  “Six, seven days.” Elenin said. “No more.”

  “What? I’ve got to warn everyone!”

  “It’s all been done Calach.” Kat’lana’s hands pushed firmly on his shoulders. “The messengers are out rounding up the whole clan system, there’s nothing else you can do but get better.”

  Partly with dizziness from rising too quickly, and partly from Kat’lana’s strong relaxing pressure on his shoulders took all the struggle out of him. Meekly he lay down again.

  ~ ~ ~

  Calach watched as Kat’lana pulled her saddle tight. “Why won’t you let me come wi’ you?” Calach’s exasperation did not mask the worry behind the question.

  “We’ve been through this before.” Kat’lana sighed and hoisted her saddlebags onto her mount. “It’s far too dangerous for you to come home wi’ me.”

  “But I’d only stay long enough for you to pick up your stuff......”

  “No Calach!” She flashed him an angry look. “We’ve been here! You’ll be
recognized by one o’ the clan for sure. You never kept a low profile last time did you?”

  “Aye, but that was.......”

  “Never mind what it was!” She snapped, tugging the ties tight. The horse shied away and Kat’lana quickly grabbed the reins. “Look, we’ll be crossing territory held by the Romans. You’re up on your feet, but I don’t think you’re up to a prolonged chase if we get caught.”

  “You could leave your ‘stuff’, an’ send for it later!”

  “An’ who would I get to bring it to me?” She sighed again, an edge of exasperation creeping into her voice. “Who could I trust to bring it back, Aysar?” She finished tying the saddlebag and turned to face him.

  “Calach, my Lud, this is one thing that I have to do myself. No one else will do. This has to happen or I can’t come and stay with your clan.”

  Kat’lana walked over to him, pulling the horse behind her. Even after being with her for a while, he was still surprised by her height, her build and her beauty. The fight against her leaving drained out of him like dry sand spilling through his fingers. He held her face, then kissed her deeply. They stood for a moment, motionless.

  “Apart from that,” Kat’lana continued, tears in her eyes. “You have to go home. If you stay away for any longer your Ma’ is going to come looking for you!”

  They both smiled, glad that humor could break the tension. Concentrating on her saddle, she mounted, ready to ride.

  “But you’re on your own!” He said, plaintively.

  “That’s the way it’s got to be Calach.” She raised her hand to the other warriors. “Fight well! But keep ‘him’ safe for me!” She smiled and kicked her horse to a chorus of farewells from the rest of the group.

  “I’ll not be long Calach!” She shouted over her shoulder as she rode away.

  ~ ~ ~

  In a dark and dimly lit hall, Sewell strode back and forward, his hands thrust into the sleeves of his dhruid’s tunic. His serious, deep expression made it obvious to the three sitting dhruids that he wished to think undisturbed.

  Uwan and the other two dhruids had just returned from Luguualium. Getting through the Roman occupied countryside had been more difficult that he had envisaged.