by Hall, Ian
“Who told you about the warriors?”
“Your traveling companion sent word by another, then me. He was with the lookout who saw them first.”
At least Aysar had been alert whilst he had been ‘resting’.
Good old Aysar.
He pulled on his sandals and tunic, quickly crossed the room and opened the door. He saw that the messenger was a petrified middle-aged man, cringing with a combination of fear and the cold. There were clanspeople running in every direction; predominantly women, running in from the fields, gathering possessions, most of them holding children. The scene was utter chaos.
“Who’s left in charge?” Calach barked.
To Calach’s dismay, the man cringed at his question. “There’s no one left, Lud Calach. I can’t find anybody at all!”
“Right, I’ll take charge myself until somebody shows up!” Calach walked away from the hut trying to orientate himself, but the sun was hidden behind a blanket covering of thick clouds. He was temporarily confused as to the geographical layout of the village. “Where’s my friend Aysar now?”
“I don’t know, Lud. Last word was that he was with the lookouts.”
“Fine! Right, from what direction are they approaching?”
“Eh, south Lud.”
“Right! How long till they get here?” The man looked at the sky, then seemed to fumble for the correct words. “Come on man, how long till they get here?”
“No’ long, Lud Calach, I don’t think there’s time to gather a’ the folks together. I was told that they’re riding fast.”
“Is there a place we can defend? Come on answer me!”
“No Lud there’s no’! Even if we had men we couldn’t hold them, there’s no place at a’ like that.” The clansman was obviously petrified, glancing repeatedly in the direction he had indicated to Calach as if Baal himself was coming.
“Come on man, pull yourself together, there’s only six o’ them, we outnumber them easily!”
Small villages like Alland and Blane had no real defense system, they relied on flight into the hills to keep the residents safe. In all of his years, this may have been the first time that the man had been forced into any defensive move, Calach had to think fast.
“What’s your name?”
“Ras’cart, Lud.”
Calach was aware that the term of ‘Lud’ was being automatically inserted in the man’s answers, but felt he had no time to correct it. He would not carry that title until his father’s death and did not relish the constant reminder of such a day.
“Right Ras’cart, get every fit warrior to meet me here,” pointing to the edge of the village on the south side, “Send a’ the older ones to some safe place in the hills with the women an’ children. You must have a safe place, every village does. Get on with that right away!”
“Aye, Lud!”
“An’ find out where Aysar is!”
“Aye, Lud!”
He left Ras’cart running to organize the warriors that were left, and went inside the hut to finish dressing properly and get his weapons. When he emerged from the hut a few moments later, he looked the Caledon warrior in every way. He had trews and tunic, tied tightly to his waist by a thick leather belt which held his short sword, dirk and arrow pouch. He had tied his long hair behind his head and donned his bronze helmet. In his hand was his bow, strung, looking around the village, he unconsciously knocked an arrow to the bowstring .
He walked forcefully to the south of the village to see the rag-tag assembly of what could be loosely called ‘warriors’. There were around twenty in all, most were older or younger than he would have hoped, and six or seven of those were women. All carried an assortment of weaponry, but it seemed that only Calach was armed with a bow. Not the best odds against six mounted, fully-armed raiders, but a comfortable advantage in numbers alone. He noticed Sharra in the group, the extended eye contact was the only recognition he outwardly showed. He briefly compared her lightly muscled body with the tall athletic woman’s body of Kat’lana. Shaking his head to rid himself of the image, he shouted orders quickly.
“Sharra! Get some woad. We need to make sure we’ve got some nearby at least, in case things get serious.”
“Aye, Calach.” She meekly replied, then hurried away.
A thin coating of the viscous blue dye would serve lots of purposes. It would enhance the appearance of the party, making them appear fiercer. It would also ready the warriors emotionally for combat; the act of applying the woad was part of the warrior’s build up. Most importantly, however, it would act as a blood coagulant, quickly stemming the blood loss in all but the worst wounds.
“You lot there,” He indicated the nearest half of the party, “Build up a barricade with anything that you can find, barrels, carts, anything. I want it to stretch between these two huts, here to here, but I want an upturned barrel in the middle to stand on.” Calach was planning to have only one line of defense, if it went that far. “The rest of you, gather anything that’ll stop a horse charging an’ pile it in a line across our front, about a spears throw away. Right move, all of you, we don’t have much time!”
Just then, a lone rider seemed to appear from nowhere, in front of him. Calach had been given such a fright that he had instinctively flexed his bow, aiming it up at the dark figure. He stood there, the weapon half drawn.
“Aysar!” Calach shouted over the noise of the barricade’s assembly. “What’s the news?” At least there were now two bowmen.
“Calach, there’s six mounted men; a’ dressed for a long journey, an’ well armed. They’re making steady progress up the valley, I kept just ahead o’ them, but they seem to know where they’re going. I stayed until I got a good look at them, but I’ve never seen such men like these before, they’re definitely no’ clan, an’ I would hazard a guess that they’re no’ Norlands either.”
“Romans?”
“Don’t know. They could be, but I’m no’ sure.”
“Are these alright Lud?” said a clanswoman, pulling partitions of wicker fencing towards the barricade area.
“Aye they’re fine, keep them coming!”
Aysar leant down from his horse and grabbed Calach by the shoulder. “Calach!”
Calach was shocked by the force of Aysar’s gaze. “Aye?”
“They’re a’ dressed the same. They’re wearing uniforms, dressed in black.”
Calach screwed his face at the comment. “An’ the point o’ this is what?”
“Maybe it’s a bad idea making a stand here. Wi’ this lot.” Aysar looked at his makeshift army.
“Here’s your barrel Lud!”
“Thanks.” Calach pointed at the centre of the barricade. “Put it there!”
“Lud?” Aysar’s face broke into a huge grin. “Lud is it?”
“It just happened Aysar. I never asked for them to call me it, they just did!” Calach’s embarrassment was obvious to his friend, and he pursued the matter no further.
“Sharra?” He roared over his shoulder. “Where’s the woad?”
There was a distant, “It’s coming.” and Calach turned to his friend again.
Calach quickly told him of the plan of defense, and with Aysar dismounted and helping the organization of it, the barricade was quickly finished. Just then Sharra arrived with a large clay pot, Calach quickly stripped off his tunic. Discarding the garment, he dipped his hand in the thick, blue liquid and spread it roughly over his torso, arms and neck.
“Come on, everybody!” He called. “We might need this.”
With slow practiced strokes he then traced his blue fingers in patterns over his face; his ‘angry face’ he called it. Aysar had seen the face many times before, but never in a real conflict situation. Aysar followed Calach’s lead and applied the woad.
Seeing that the rest of his warriors were doing the same, Calach picked up his tunic and used it to wipe the woad from his hands. Just as the last one had finished in applying the woad, he heard the noise of approaching h
ooves. He shouted to his force to take positions behind the barricade just as he caught sight of the horsemen for the first time, making directly for their position. He then stood on top of the barrel at the barricade’s centre for a better look.
“Positions everyone!”
He had hoped for some form of strategic advantage, but one look behind the barricade at his meager resources made that hope increasingly forlorn. After the first real look at the oncoming riders, Calach immediately knew that this force was not Norlands in origin. They were all clothed alike in black leather tunics and trews, with similarly colored long flowing capes, the first time that Calach had seen a warrior force in military uniform. Their mounts were also all a somber black, very unusual for Norland horses. Calach also took particular note of the armor plates the warriors wore across their chests, and the round shields carried at the ready.
These six warriors were ready for a fight. This made their task even more difficult.
Calach spoke quietly, almost without moving his mouth.
“Everybody get down really low, I want them only to be able to see me. If I get the chance to talk to them an’ you hear me say the keywords ‘at your peril’, fire everything you have at them an’ charge.”
He spoke with more conviction than he felt, the whole situation looked steadily worse. He looked at the clan warriors crouched and lying down on the wet muddy surface, waiting on the command. Sharra stole a look at her lover, her bare blue-painted breasts deflecting his thoughts for an instant. Calach permitted her a smile, although his stomach was churning; aware that this wasn’t play-acting, this wasn’t training in the hills with his clan. This was real.
“Aysar! If you see me even getting ready for a bowshot, get up and try for the ones furthest on the right, I’ll try for the leader, then aim for the riders on the left.”
“I hear you!”
He heard his friend’s serious reply, then resumed his grim look forward.
He heard Aysar take command behind the barricade. “Ras’cart, Sharra, everyone.” Aysar said. “Get ready with those spears, if Calach an’ I start firing, or you hear the key words, you let fly with the spears. There’s only six o’ them. If Lugh is on our side, an’ if we time it right, we’ll get a’ of them with our first throws, an’ we won’t have to fight them.”
Calach hoped that Aysar’s exaggeration of their ability would inspire more confidence than he felt himself.
“Aye, Lud.” came the general chorus. Even without looking back, Calach had heard Aysar’s new title and knew that he would be grinning from ear to ear.
The reality of the situation was slightly more serious; six fully armed, mounted warriors were going to be a handful for Calach and his band to deal with.
The horsemen rode steadily nearer until they were within bowshot range, Calach made sure that he stood perfectly still. It was his intention to lure them inside spear range, then try and parley with them. If the parley did not go as he would have wished, then he would slip the coded words into the conversation, all their spears would be thrown, and kill as many as he could in the first few moments.
There was a shouted command over the sound of the horse’s hooves and the six reined their horses to an abrupt and disciplined halt, just out of spear range. Calach cursed under his breath that they hadn’t come a little closer. These men knew what they were doing. If things went wrong, he had only two bows to try and make a difference. For an instant, he felt like he was a young boy, facing men.
One rider detached himself from the group and approached slowly; the parley was about to begin. Calach gripped his bow tighter, he was tense, but not as much as he would have been had the warriors themselves carried bows; they only seemed to carry spears and swords; a true warrior band. Even if this personal interview did not go well, he hoped that he could disable the leader and maybe one more before the main force could reach their improvised barrier.
The black clothed warrior halted his horse very close to Calach, his sword still in his scabbard. Then the unexpected happened.
The warrior started to speak in a strange language of which Calach understood absolutely nothing. The Caledon warrior stood on the barrel with his mouth opening wider in absolute astonishment. The warrior leader started his story again, and seemed perplexed when his message obviously was not getting through to the young Caledon. He then seemed to try several permutations of his message with no effect, animating his conversation with gestures to himself and his warriors. He then tried individual words, which he obviously meant to begin some kind of discourse, but still Calach was rooted to the spot. He glanced down at Aysar for some kind of inspiration, but even his friend just shrugged his shoulders and frowned.
Eventually, with slumped shoulders the mounted warrior tapped his chest and said:
“Ishaar.” Then a pause, “Breegantay!”
“Brigante?” cried Calach, letting the tight grip on his bow to slacken. This was not going the way he had planned at all. “Did you say Brigante?”
The warrior nodded vigorously and indicated with his hand that the rest of his party also belonged to the tribe so terribly massacred by the Romans.
“Aysar! He says he’s a Brigante!” Calach looked from the warrior to his friend, still crouching behind the barrier.
“Well!” said Aysar. “You’re the leader. Do something!”
“What will I do?”
“Tell him who you are!”
Of course.
“Calach o’ the clan Caledon!” he said to the strange figure. The Brigante’s questioning look made him talk slower, more clearly.
“Calach. Caledonii.”
At the sound of the clan name, the warrior whipped round in his saddle and shouted to the others, “Caleedon.” The other warriors visibly relaxed, some smiling. The leader turned back to Calach. He had a large grin on his face, which turned serious as he started to speak again.
“Feetashoosh, Beenleech.” He looked as if Calach would know what he meant; he repeated the words again to the young Caledon. “Feetashoosh, Beenleech.” He made a cradling motion as if holding a young baby, then raised two fingers.
“Feetashoosh, Beenleech.” the warrior repeated.
Calach looked over his shoulder at the warriors lying in wait on the ground.
We need an interpreter.
Then an idea occured to Calach. “Ras’cart, Sharra, do you have a Brigante here in the village?”
Sharra was the first to reply. “Aye Calach, but they’ll a’ be out wi’ the hunting party.”
“Bethsna’s married a Brigante.” said one of the older men. “She might know some o’ the language. She’ll be wi’ the other women, back at the refuge.”
“I’ll go,Calach.” interrupted Sharra, “And I’ll be quick.”
“Go an’ get her then, she might be able to help us. Take Aysar’s horse.” She nodded and ran off.
Calach turned back to the Brigante warrior to find him quizzically looking at Sharra’s retreating figure.
“She goes,” said Calach, gesturing with his hands. “To get Brigante, to let us talk.”
He nodded, seeming to accept the story, and supposedly assured that she was not running to get re-enforcement’s, with a wave of his hand reigned his horse round and galloped back to the others. Once there, they just stood in a group, waiting.
Having established that the horsemen were doing nothing untoward in the meantime, Calach said absently, “Keep an eye on them Ras’cart. They seem genuine enough, but you never can tell these days.”
“Aye, Lud.” said the man of many words.
Calach found himself exchanging perplexed looks with Aysar.
“This is strange Aysar.”
“Aye, but better than helping do the work in Lochery!”
Eventually, after what seemed like ages, Sharra returned with another, older woman in tow, riding double, back to the now-relaxed company at the barricade.
In between heavy breaths, Sharra said; “This is Woarna, her man’s Briga
nte.”
“Thank you. Come with me Woarna, you’ve got some translating to do.”
“Yes, Lud.” She said, following him round the barricade.
They walked towards the horsemen and were met halfway by Ishaar who had left his horse with the others. Calach made the very basic introductions, and in doing so asked Woarna to find out all she could about their presence in the area.
The pair talked, hesitantly at first, then with some form of fluency. Every now and again she brought Calach into the conversation, explaining the translation to him. Some of the concepts were difficult to put together, but he could glean that the company were definitely Brigante. They were of some kind of royal guard to the King. They had fought with Venutius against the Romans, and when he had fallen, had transferred their loyalty to his eldest living son Stravius. Stravius and his band had harried the Romans for four summers, but then he had been killed at the end of last year. Ishaar and the remaining royal guard (just the six of them) had determined to find the surviving sons to proclaim the eldest King, and had wandered northwards, searching for the boy for most of the year. When Calach asked, through Woarna, why they didn’t enlist the help of the dhruids, as that would have made their search easier, Ishaar made such a face of disgust that Calach thought it prudent to drop the subject quickly.
Ishaar’s quest was to find Fetasius and Benelek, Venutius’s only surviving kin. It transpired that since the death of the entire Brigante chief’s kin, they now considered themselves the personal property of the new boy king.
After a while, Calach was sure of the lack of threat from the force, and invited the remaining warriors to enter the village for something to eat. The women in his own ‘warrior band’ swapped weapons for cooking implements and set to work to prepare a hot meal for their esteemed guests. When they had eaten, Calach announced to the whole assembly that he would take the Brigante back to Lochery to end their quest to be united with their new ‘king’.
As he prepared his own horse for the journey, he contemplated on how much his life had changed since the ‘great gaither’ last year. The secret pact with Finlass and all the travelling it entailed kept his mind alert, if nothing more. The matter with Kheltine’s visions worried him more. If he was to lead the Caledon clan, how was he to achieve it? He could either be chosen as leader or he could force the issue; either way he would be opposing his father. Things were becoming complicated very quickly.
