by Hall, Ian
Now all he had to do was wait for night to fall properly and go into the village itself.
He was clothed in jacket and trews, and had pulled his thick cloak around him, but he was still freezing cold. The light rain had turned to sleet and it had long since penetrated to his skin, making him shiver uncontrollably. In a while, when he felt that it was dark enough to venture forth, he would cross the short distance and try to find out who had joined Finlass in the wicker and wood hut, on the outskirts of the small settlement.
After arriving, Finlass had talked with a few of the clan then had entered the hut. A little while later a figure had ridden in from the east, and after receiving directions from one of the clan, had ridden straight to the hut, dismounted and quickly entered to get out of the rain. His horse had been attended to quickly and efficiently; he was obviously a frequent visitor. Both Finlass and the stranger had been inside the hut since then; no one joining them, and no one leaving.
Then Luck smiled on him.
Slowly the wind dropped, and the sleet turned to snow, which soon fell in large, lazy flakes. It was the perfect time to go into the village. The falling snow would help cover his approach, and if it fell long enough, would mask his tracks when he left.
He slowly stood, and made his way indirectly through the village to the hut. He walked casually, in case he was seen, head huddled partially against the snow and to preserve his anonymity. As he passed the hut, he slipped into a position at its side, between some barrels, under the extended lintel of the wicker roof, giving him some respite from the snowflakes. He pressed his cold ear against the hardened wall and listened intently, but could only hear the general sound of voices from inside. He persevered for a while, his ear almost frozen to the hut wall but could not make out any of the conversation.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
He slipped out one of his dirks and with care and patience split some of the wicker fronds apart with his dirk and peered inside.
He saw two figures sitting cross-legged on either side of a central campfire. No one else seemed to be present at the meeting. The one with his back to him was definitely Finlass, but he had never seen the other before. He considered that in itself strange, as he had traveled Meatae lands extensively, and thought that he had seen just about everyone who was in Ma’damar’s domain. The man seemed about the same age as himself, but couldn’t see his hands to tell properly, and had stripped to his bare chest in front of the fire. The stranger was sharp featured, clean shaven, and had his brown hair tied back in a tail, in typical warrior fashion. The two were indulged in a serious conversation involving much drawing on the earth floor of the hut between them, but no matter how he tried, Conrack could not make out what the two were actually saying. He tried to concentrate on the stranger’s lips to try to connect the movements to whatever sounds they were making, but could decipher only a few repeated words. ‘Finlass’, ‘clans’, and a few of the clan chief’s names were definitely on the agenda, but apart from that, he could tell no more.
The longer he crouched in hiding increased the chance of his apprehension but Conrack could not bring himself to leave.
I might still learn something.
So he waited and watched.
After some time, with Conrack no farther forward as to either the conversation or the identity of the stranger, the figures shook hands and stood up. This was Conrack’s cue to move, he would be vulnerable if any of the pair left the hut and came his way. Still he waited, squinting sideways to keep both figures in view as they moved about the hut.
But with a quiet sigh, Conrack concluded that the meeting was over when they both climbed into their respective beds for the night. Still he crouched, waiting for any resumption in the conversation, but it was not to be. When it became obvious that they had settled down to sleep, convinced that no further information was going to be forthcoming, he slowly got to his feet. He stood for a few moments, letting the circulation flow back into his feet and legs, then with a long look around to ensure that the settlement was still deserted, crept back to where he had tied his horse.
~ ~ ~
Techist, the village’s head man crouched next to the wall. “See Finlass; it’s definitely been attacked wi’ a knife. Look here; the willow’s been cut to let the bastard see inside.” Finlass and Calach stood, leaning for a better view.
“He’s listened in, right enough, Calach.” Finlass scoured the snow covered woods around the village with his eyes as he spoke. “We’ll have to think what we went over last night. If he’s heard anything, then we could both be in trouble. It all depends on what he heard.”
“We’ve got to assume that he’s heard everything we said!” Calach was inspecting the break in the wall more closely.
“Aye, that could spell trouble.” said Finlass.
“We’ll talk more before I leave. I’m going to get my things together.” Calach gave an acknowledging nod to Techist, then stalked round the hut and ducked inside.
Finlass turned to the head man. “I thank you Techist, for your observation, an’ you’ll remember not to say a word to anyone about our meeting, just as before.”
“Nothing much happened, just two clansmen receiving the hospitality o’ the village.”
“Thank you, Techist, I won’t forget what you’ve done.”
“My pleasure, Lud Finlass.”
Finlass slapped the head man firmly on the shoulder. “Could you ensure our horses get saddled? We leave immediately.”
The head man bowed his head slightly and walked off through the village. Finlass knew that Techist did not need to know the identity of Finlass’s partner, although he had probably pieced that together both from the conversations he had heard, and the Finlass’s use of Calach’s name. That his village had been chosen for the meeting place would be enough for him. Finlass would be clan chief one day, and it would do his village good to be owed a few favors from one in such a high position.
Finlass looked at the evidence of the previous evening’s intrusion. The thick snow covering had hidden most of the signs of trespass, but it was still obvious that they had been eavesdropped on. Footprints in the slush were still evident at the wall.
Calach joined him, fully clothed for his journey back into Caledonii lands.
“What do we do?” Finlass asked.
“About what?”
“About the plan!”
“There’s nothing else to do but to keep on.” Calach’s expression was grim. “We don’t know the identity o’ our quarry, or who the information is going to; if anyone. We also don’t know why he was listening, or how much he heard, so in my opinion we’ve no alternative but to continue wi’ the plan.”
“Can you think o’ what we talked about last night Calach?”
“Not word for word, but we went over most o’ the plan at one stage or another.”
“Then we’ve got to assume that someone knows our plan.”
“Some o’ it, at the very least.”
Finlass fell silent. “One of us was followed.”
Calach was buckling his sword belt, and paused. “It couldn’t have been me. I left Aysar in Blane. One of us would have noticed something.”
“It wouldn’t be Aysar himself, would it?”
Calach shook his head. “He’s in my confidence. Aysar’s my man, I’d bet my life on it!”
The village was beginning to become busy, clanspeople passing the pair nodded deferentially.
Finlass leant closer. “So I have three possibilities; Dhruids, Ma’damar or Ranald.”
“Aye, Ranald could be getting suspicious. But I think it’s too soon for that, he thinks I’m in Blane exercising my.... you know.”
“My excuse too.”
“Could you have been followed?”
Finlass scratched his chin. “I don’t think so. I thought I was careful, but that accounts for nothing. Ma’damar, Conrack.... damn!”
A young clansman came running towards the pair and came slipping
and sliding to a halt in the slush between the two.
“Lud Finlass!” He waited until Finlass nodded for him to continue. “I’m the best tracker in the village. Techist told me to circle round and search for trail o’ any kind.”
“Aye lad, what’s the news?”
The young warrior gasped for breath, then continued. “I’ve checked round the whole perimeter, an’ both your tracks in last night are lost in the snow. But there’s another trail, on the west. Both in an’ out. I lost track in the drifts, but it goes up country to the west.”
His report finished, he stood awaiting orders.
“Right lad, thank you. I’ll tell Techist you did well.”
The clansman bowed slightly and left.
“Well Finlass, some of our questions are answered.” Calach frowned at his companion.
“Aye.” Finlass was staring into the mud at his feet, obviously furious, knowing that it was he that had caused the breach in security.
“At least it narrows down the suspicion to my side. I’m sorry Calach, I was positive that no one could’ve followed me. I must have missed something.”
Techist arrived with both horses, bridled, saddled and ready for their journeys. Calach inspected his bow, slung behind the saddle.
“We can’t let this stop us.” Calach mounted his horse. “Without the meetings between us, our plan wouldn’t proceed.” They shook hands vigorously.
“A goal that’ll advance next summer if Morro an’ Mauchty can be persuaded to take the next step.”
“Aye Finlass, but no’ every brother would give his sister for peace.”
“I’m no’ giving Llynn away to Morro just for the sake o’ peace; they’ve got to like each other as well, or it’s all off!”
They laughed together, the first phase of their strategy laid down in their minds.
“Till the Spring!”
“Aye the Earth Spirit’s snows will soon be upon us wi’ a vengeance.” Calach instinctively spat with the wind. “Have a good winter, friend.”
“See you in the Spring.”
“Spring!”
~ ~ ~
For some reason the mention of Llynn’s name made Calach think of Kat’lana, and that had brought Calach back memories from the summer before. He recalled with some emotion, the idyll with Kat’lana and her tender ministrations, their frenzied, but deeply spiritual lovemaking, the poignant and tearful goodbye. He vowed, not for the first time, to seek her out if ever the opportunity arose, but in his heart he knew that time was conspiring against the idea. Fate would have to take its own route.
He watched Finlass ride away quickly to the west, forcing his horse through the village and remembered the other, less enjoyable part of last summer’s visit to the Votadin capital; Kheltine’s prophesy. He believed the old dhruid when he had said that he, Calach, would have to lead the combined clans, but he had no idea how to bring the subject into a conversation with Finlass without having a re-occurrence of the dreadful headaches. Somehow he had to get himself into the position of chief of the combined clan army, if there ever was going to be one, but that would be a twist of fate if ever there was one. With his own father Ranald and chief Ma’damar much more senior and experienced than he was, and then Finlass more experienced and older by four years, he knew that he had a considerable task ahead; a task of his own within the conspiracy.
~ ~ ~
Finlass rode quickly back along the route towards Bar’ton like Macha the God of horses herself was under him. He demanded new horses at every village, barking out orders in Ma’damar’s name to the clansmen to speed up the change. For the first time in his life he treated the animals mercilessly, flogging every last ounce of energy from them.
As he rode, he attempted to analyze the facts available to him. As the countryside sped past him, he debated the situation down to two possibilities.
Someone either knew in advance of my meeting with Calach, or they followed me from Bar’ton.
It appeared that those were the only two scenarios. As he was convinced that he had not been followed, then the former must have been true; someone knew about his meeting, and had followed him to Alland.
If this was the case, they must have started their journey from Bar’ton after he left. As he rode, one aim dominated his mind; he could beat the culprit home.
There was also the question of who wanted the information. Ma’damar was the immediate suspect, but Finlass could not rule Conrack out either. He also knew that the dhruids could not be trusted to keep out of clan affairs.
So it was either the family or the dhruids, those seemed to be the only two groups Finlass could think of who could have such an interest in such information. The fleeting suspicion that the Romans were behind it flashed through his mind, but he dismissed it just as quickly; the only Romans he had seen were on board their ships as they sailed the river.
He rode steadily through the night, glad of an almost full moon to light his way, changing horses on four occasions. The clansmen had been so afraid of the serious faced Meatae that hardly a word had been said in protest at being roused from their beds.
It was just past dawn when he rode into the hill fort at Bar’ton. He had made the one and a half day journey in well under a day. He immediately set about gathering information on who was out of camp, and who had left recently. He mentally crossed off suspects as he found them, from Ma’damar to the lowest of dhruids. Eventually, by midday, exhausted and sore, he lay on his sleeping furs with a list of four possible suspects. All four had left after him, and had not yet returned. Instead of solving the puzzle, however, the list only aggravated Finlass’s dilemma.
Firstly there was Ma’damar’s personal friend, Creich, who had left to sort out a personal problem up country somewhere; he was a major suspect if Ma’damar was involved. Secondly Conrack was missing, but that was not unusual, and no one had actually seen him leave. He could easily be the guilty party, although what he might do with the information, Finlass had no idea. The last two missing persons gave him the most cause for concern. Two dhruids had left four days ago to attend to a sick colleague near Larich and hadn’t been seen since.
Finlass knew then that unless he became more careful, the plan was going to come undone before it had begun. If his suspicion was a taste of what was to come, as well as uniting the clans, the plan was going to split his family. As he drifted into a deep sleep from the rigors of his long ride home, he hoped it was worth the sacrifice.
~ ~ ~
Calach roused himself. The light of early morning was entering the hut in thin shafts under the wooden door. He shifted his arm, gently moving Sharra to one side. As he lay on the sleeping furs in the small hut, he ran his fingers through Sharra’s dark brown hair, feeling a trace of guilt creep into his contented smile. Guilt for the feelings of longing he had for Kat’lana when he and Sharra made love, and guilt for manipulating the young Caledon girl, who looked at him so lovingly.
He had never said to Sharra that their attraction was anything more than physical, but he knew in his heart that he was using her. To ease his conscience a little, he brought goods to the small village every time he came, which would raise Sharra’s ranking. If she were to fall pregnant, the bastard son of a chief would not be an unwelcome addition to the clan group, elevating the village in the eyes of the surrounding people. The son of a chief, however conceived, gave the village prestige, not to mention a little advantage over its local rivals when it came to favoritism at the clan councils.
Sharra rolled over, uncovering her hip and most of her long legs. “Why did you choose Blane?” Seeming to catch his emotions.
“What?” said Calach sharply. “What do you mean?”
“Well, why me? Why Blane, o’ a’ places?”
From the events of the last day, his wariness in answering was understandable. Sharra had never questioned him like this before, she had always seemed to accept the situation. Calach realized that he was being overly suspicious, but could not help himself.
>
“I told you, it was just pure chance. I rode this way to get a glimpse o’ the Meatae lands, an’ stayed here the night. We met. It was as simple as that.” He let his hand fall to her shoulder and down to her breast. Her skin was white in the dimly lit interior. He wondered absently if she would tattoo her breasts when she became of age; many women warriors did and Calach found it exciting to see.
“Oh no you don’t, Calach, I can’t.” She grimaced in mock pain, then kissed his cheek. “I’ve got to get some work done. Maybe later, if you can stay.”
The hope in her eyes soon was quickly dispelled as Calach said that he had to leave soon. She sidled up to him in the warm hut, and they embraced, Calach slowly drifted off to sleep.
~ ~ ~
“Lud Calach! Wake up!” He woke to the realization that he was alone in the hut and that the male voice had come from outside. There was a violent knock on the wicker door.
“What is it,” he cried, throwing off the furs and hurriedly pulling on his trews.
“Lud Calach!” A voice shouted, “There’s riders,... coming in from the south,.... six of them. We need,.... We need to rouse everybody!” The voice stopped to draw breath every few words. As Calach’s eyes adjusted to the darkness in the hut, he could see the silhouette of the figure now, through the splits in the wickerwork, waiting for a reply. He immediately wondered why there was so much panic in the man’s voice over six warriors.
“Does the head man know?” said Calach.
“No, he’s out wi’ a hunting party an’ won’t be back for a while yet.”
