The Eagle and the Raven

by Pauline Gedge

  “Elect me, chiefs and warriors, and we will return to the ways of our fathers. We will make war and once more the Catuvellauni will be full of honor, hard and mighty. I will give you Subidasto on the end of my spear. The head of Boduocus will swing before my hut. Verica will be drowned in the sea, and all will be ours! What do you say?” He raised his arms and suddenly the chiefs surged into life.

  For years Cunobelin had held them firmly in check, offering them raids and cattle like tidbits thrown to a starving dog, but now Togodumnus offered them a hunk of meat as high as a mountain and they pounced upon it with ferocious hunger. They bawled his name screaming Ricon! Ricon! They rose to their feet, madness in their eyes, and in the rear Caradoc saw the traders stampede toward the door. He rose, Cinnamus and Caelte with him, trying to draw his sword, but the press was too great. He could hear Gladys shouting, and he saw Vocorio run to the doors, the little girls held high on his shoulders. Where was Llyn? Then he was swept against a wall. He pulled his knife from within his tunic and prepared to force his way to where Gladys had jumped on a table, brandishing her sword. “Caradoc has not spoken!” she was yelling. “Caradoc must speak!” Cinnamus and Caelte were belaboring the men closest to them with fists and knees, and the crowd swayed and gave.

  Then Caradoc saw Togodumnus. He was bent almost double, creeping through the outer shadows, knife in hand, to where Adminius was locked tight in the crush, looking about him with bewilderment. In another moment the knife would be buried deep in Adminius’s back and Tog would have severed the last ties of reason. Caradoc launched himself forward, kicking his chiefs out of the way. He heard Gladys scream, “Adminius! Look out!” Caradoc lunged for his brother and he and Tog went down. Adminius swung round, the babble began to die, and after a fierce spasm of resistance Tog released the knife and lay limp. Caradoc sprawled on top of him, feeling his hot, quick breath on his neck, his muscles jerking, then he scrambled up, taking Togodumnus by the arm and hauling him to his feet. Tog’s face was flushed. Sholto bent and swept up the knife, handing it to Togodumnus, but Caradoc smoothly interposed and took it himself. Adminius leaped forward, taking Togodumnus by the neck, shaking him as a dog shakes a rat, then he flung him backward, but he did not go for his sword.

  “You cowardly fool!” he shouted. “Is this how you will rule the tuath? A knife in the back for all those who will not do your bidding? Chiefs and freemen, take warning. How do you like your new ricon now?” He turned and left them and the people parted, so great was the rage and bitterness on his face. He did not call for blood. He knew a challenge would be useless, and though he might be the victor, still the chiefs did not want him for ricon. Gladys jumped down and ran behind him, her hand on his arm, but he swept out the door and into the fitful sunlight, Gladys following, caught in the eddy of his swift passing.

  “Now, Tog,” Caradoc said quietly, handing him his knife. “It is my turn to speak, and you will listen. Be ashamed, chiefs and freemen,” he called to them angrily. “To what ignominious end have we come that the Council should be held so lightly? Sit down. Sit down!” In silence they folded away from him and onto the floor, but Togodumnus walked to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “I will be ricon,” he whispered. “The chiefs will listen to you be cause they have been shamed, but you saw how they rose to me. They will not be leashed again, Caradoc.” The lean hand tightened, quivering with excitement, but Caradoc gently disentangled it from his cloak. To his right, where Mocuxsoma stood with sword at the ready, Eurgain and Llyn waited. Eurgain had removed her cloak and her fingers stroked the hilt of her sword, and Llyn’s eyes were fixed meditatively on his uncle.

  “Oh sit down, Tog,” Caradoc said lightly though his heart raced and his knees shook. “You are not Cunobelin and never will be.” He took a step that brought him into the full glare of the firelight, turning his back on Togodumnus, and Cinnamus and Caelte closed in behind him. “People of my kin,” he said quietly. “Lords of the tuath. Today you see a terrible thing. Brother against brother, greed and ambition where once there was harmony and friendship. You have rejected the claim of Adminius and I think you are wise to do so, but you have not yet voted for Togodumnus. Tell me, are you children, wild and thoughtless? Will you follow Togodumnus to war and strife?”

  “Aye, we will have him,” someone muttered, and the mutinous whispers ran through the company and gained strength. “Togodumnus for ricon. A clean tuath, an honorable war.” But there were also angry voices. “Caradoc for ricon!” Caradoc raised his voice again before the sighs could become another eruption of violence. “Even among yourselves you are divided,” he said loudly, bitterly. “Some favor Togodumnus because they tire of too few raids and too many feasts, and some of you look to me for guidance, knowing my temperance in all things. We could sit here all day and all night and come to no decision.” He glanced at Eurgain and she nodded imperceptibly, her face white and her mouth drawn. “To you, chiefs, and to you, Tog, I propose a compromise.” The restless bickering died away and all eyes swiveled to him. “The tuath will divide.” He paused, and in the breathless hush he looked to his father’s corner, fancying that he heard a low, dry chuckle. “I will stay here in Camulodunon, with all those who choose to stay with me, and you, Tog, can go back to Verulamium, from whence we Catuvellauni first came, and rule in the west. We will strike coins together, and have treaties between ourselves never to make war on each other, and share the trade, but you and I will both bear the title of ricon.” He stood quite still. Now, he thought, will Tog accede or will he fling himself upon me? He felt his whole body become stiff. He did not turn his head but he felt his brother leave the shadows of the wall and stalk forward on noiseless feet, and he poised himself, watching the eyes of those who sat before him for a signal.

  Suddenly Togodumnus began to laugh. He leaped before Caradoc, his gay face contorted with mirth, flinging wide his arms and laughing. Then he embraced Caradoc, and roared at the startled company. “A compromise! Of course! What else should I expect from the wily Caradoc, true son of his father?” He burst into loud peals of laughter again but Caradoc, watching his eyes, saw that they were quite cold. Finally Togodumnus became calm. He lowered himself to the floor and Caradoc sat unwillingly beside him, while the chiefs began to rise, unsheathing their swords and moving forward. “I agree!” Togodumnus shouted. “Now all who wish to ride with me to Verulamium come now, and pledge me your swords. How many do you think will pledge to you?” he said softly to Caradoc, but Caradoc only smiled, his relief still too great for words. He knew that this might be just the beginning of his troubles. Tog and he would spend many hours thrashing out agreements and safeguards, and even then Tog might someday disregard them all and come sweeping over Camulodunon with his war band. But for the present, all was well and he watched the swords come clattering before his folded knees in a haze of weariness and deep, wrenching sadness. Eurgain laid her sword across his lap and knelt and kissed him, and Llyn flung his arms about him, but he was aware only of Tog beside him, chaffering the men and glee fully counting the swords as they fell. Then Caradoc rose and dis missed them all. They came and recovered their weapons, leaving the Hall in a satisfied silence, and Tog let out a sigh and leaned back, his chiefs settling beside him. Cinnamus and Caelte squatted easily beside Caradoc, and Eurgain sat far back, a glimmer of light in the dimness.

  “Well!” said Togodumnus, stretching and smiling into his brother’s face. “You managed that very adroitly, I must say. I would never have killed you, Caradoc, not really. You know that, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t,” Caradoc snapped. “And neither do you. I wish you would learn to control your impulses, Tog. None of us is safe around you. Are you pleased with my plan?”

  Tog grimaced. “Well, not exactly pleased, but I see your wisdom. Even if we had not fought, and whomever had been elected, there would still have been strife among the chiefs. This way is better. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it myself.”

  “You were too bus
y sizing up Adminius.”

  Tog sighed, and a queer light came into his eyes. “Ah yes, Adminius. We will have to kill him, Caradoc. Otherwise he will go on skulking about behind our backs, making trouble between us and stirring up the traders.”

  “I know,” Caradoc said reluctantly. “But it must be done properly and openly, and with the chiefs’ consent. Your way was utter madness.”

  “It would have saved us a lot of trouble.”

  They sat for a moment without speaking, Caradoc’s heart heavy with thoughts of his elder brother, and he felt Eurgain’s sympathy reaching him, a warm, invisible cloud of peace from the shadows. His chiefs squatted quietly, looking at the ground. The anticlimax was somehow paining and unsatisfactory, as if something had gone wrong, as if threads were left untied and unseen problems were not settled, and Caradoc felt his own formless anxiety battle with Eurgain’s hovering calm. He stirred.

  “Your chiefs will want immediate action,” he said. “What will you do?”

  Tog gave him a wide smile of pure contentment. “I will war with the Coritani and finally subdue them. Then I will overrun the Dobunni. That should not take long. Boduocus sleeps all day. Then,” he rubbed his hands together. “Then for Brigantia! You know, Caradoc, I think that when I have beaten Aricia in war I will marry her.” Caradoc raised his head sharply, and in Togodumnus’s eyes he saw his own obsession mirrored. “Yes, brother of mine,” Tog said quietly, “I too am sick, and I have no Eurgain to apply soothing salves.” He straightened and laughed and the moment was gone. “What will you do? What of our plans for Verica?”

  “Verica will have to go,” Caradoc replied. “We need his mines. He won’t sell us his iron, he sulks, so we will have to take it for ourselves.”

  “And then?”

  Caradoc shrugged. “Then perhaps the Iceni, and the Cantiaci. Who knows?”

  Togodumnus struggled to his feet. “Who indeed?” he remarked lightly. “Will you continue to shake hands with Rome?”

  Caradoc rose, too, and stood thinking. If he assented he might be feeding the fires of conquest in Tog, fires that often leaped in him also. If he denied, Tog would wonder then whether all the fuss of the Council was simply in order to put Caradoc in Cunobelin’s place. He lifted his eyebrows, smiled, embraced his brother. “I do not know,” he said. “Let us deal with Adminius first,” and they linked arms and went into the damp, sun-drenched day, their chiefs pacing behind them.

  Adminius strode on down the hill with Gladys running after him. He passed the harness maker’s shop, and the blacksmith’s, and the kennels where the trainer called a cheery greeting, and at last he turned in at the stable. Gladys panted after him, stumbling as the sunlight was cut off and the steamy, pungent air enveloped her, then she followed the sound of harness clinking. To right and left the horses stood, tails swishing idly, munching on their hay, and normally she would have stopped by each one to stroke and speak quietly, but she moved on. Adminius was harnessing his mount, his fingers fumbling angrily with bit and leather, and she squeezed between his horse’s broad flank and the farther wall and watched him. He ignored her, his face a stiff scowl, the mouth pulled tight and the eyes black holes of burning misery. He rammed the bit into the horse’s mouth and flung the reins over its neck.

  “Where are you going, Adminius?” she said softly.

  He did not answer, bending beneath his horse’s head and pushing her roughly out of the way. Suddenly he stopped and laid his forehead for a moment against the rippling brown hide. “I am going to Caesar,” he said harshly.

  She stepped forward abruptly. “No! No, Adminius, how can you consider such a thing? Will you be like Dubnovellaunus then, hanging about Rome, bowing and scraping to the senate, suffering every indignity? And for what? Stay here.”

  “They will kill me,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Caradoc and Tog. In a moment they will remember that I am free and they will come for me. They cannot let me live, Gladys, and you know it. But I will be revenged. Caesar will listen to me. He’s mad, everyone knows it, and the right words can control him. I will ask for justice, and Caius will give it to me because I will tell him…” He swung away from her and mounted and she stepped out of reach of the sidling hoofs. “I will tell him that the Council elected me, and my brothers drove me out. The traders will back me up. I will tell him that if he does not help me all his trading connections in Albion will be broken.”

  “You dare not!” she flashed at him. “What of your honor-price, your freedom? Adminius, if you leave then the Council will pronounce you unfree, a slave, and all your riches will be forfeit. Is that what you want?” He sat looking down on her, teeth bared, hands clenching and unclenching on the reins.

  “What is the goodwill of the tuath to me?” he ground out. “Henceforth I am a Roman.” He wrenched the torc from his neck and flung it at her. It struck her on the cheek, grazing her, and then fell with a tinkle to the floor. “What are the Catuvellauni but a mud-caked rabble of quarrelsome, ignorant peasants?” he screamed. “When I return it will be to see you all ground under the boots of Caius’s legions!” He kicked his horse viciously in the ribs and the animal snorted and made for the door, Adminius bent low on his back. Then man and horse were gone and Gladys stood shaking, dabbing at her bloody cheek with her sleeve. The horses had stopped chewing and their heads had turned, the liquid brown eyes rolled toward her in enquiry. She calmed them automatically, with silly, soft words pouring from her lips, and she picked up the torc and walked unsteadily to the entrance, passing out under the sun. Already the men were running toward her, Caradoc and Togodumnus in the lead, and she waited for them, a hand on her cheek, her eyes squinting in the bright light. The shreds of cloud had thinned to nothing and the blue sky held only a white, warm radiance.

  “Where is he?” Togodumnus panted, coming up. “Where has he gone?” But she turned to Caradoc, meeting the dark eyes calmly.

  “He has gone to Caligula,” she said. “He has gone for vengeance.” She turned away then to hide tears, while Togodumnus burst into derisive laughter. Caradoc came and put an arm about her.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked gently, and she shook her head, mutely holding the torc out to him. He took it in wonderment. “Does he knew what he has done?” he said, and she nodded, Adminius’s own words falling from her lips like poisoned berries.

  “Shall we go after him?” Sholto asked eagerly, but Togodumnus spoke.

  “Let him go, the arrogant fool,” he said scornfully. “Caius cares no more for us than Tiberius did. He will not make war for the sake of one more disgruntled chieftain.” He spread his arms expansively and raised his face to the benison of the winter sun. “Now we can proceed! Let the war band come to arms! Oh, Caradoc, an empire as great as Rome’s for you and me!” Cinnamus met Caradoc’s wry smile with a whimsical, quick grin, and Gladys stifled her tears and moved away.

  “Where are you going?” Caradoc called to her as she passed under the black shade of the stable’s entrance, and she paused and said contemptuously, “To the sea.”

  Chapter Seven

  CARADOC, Togodumnus and all the tuath prepared for war on a great tide of excitement. Not for thirty years had the war band gathered, but now Camulodunon hummed to the sound of impending battle. The blacksmith’s forge glowed day and night. The Great Hall was full of people who hung about to gossip at all hours and watch the freemen run in and out on their errands, and the big fire was always hung with boar or steer. The chiefs spent much time by the river, dashing up and down in their chariots, and their freemen sharpened and polished the bright swords and massive shields. The women were restless also, caught up in the constant, feverish flux, and fights often broke out among the wives of the freemen’s circle, as the bragging and strutting men drew their women into their own heated arguments over who deserved the title of champion.

  Caradoc and Togodumnus had decided to divide their force and strike simultaneously at the Coritani under Tog, and at the Atrebates under Caradoc. The spies crept back to
Verica and the Coritani, and those tribes made their own preparations, cursing Caius Caesar for his lack of interest in their plight, and cursing the Catuvellauni for their rapaciousness. Llyn spent all his time begging Caradoc to let him fight too, and the little girls chased each other around their house with wooden sticks. The women were not going to fight—Caradoc had decided that they were not needed—but they would, of course, follow the warriors with the children in wains, and watch the excitement from the nearest high point. Caradoc and Tog were blithely convinced that no tribe would be able to stand against their own. They spent hours in Tog’s hut, drinking wine, talking of how the enemy chiefs would fall before the chariots like wheat before the shining blades of the reaping scythes, and any misgivings Caradoc may have had were swamped in Tog’s enthusiasms.

  Eurgain said little to him of how she felt. Vida stormed and cursed at Cinnamus because she was not to draw blade, Gladys spent more and more time in her cave, watching the breakers roll in and weaving her own strange enchantments, but Eurgain went about her duties quietly and dumbly. Caradoc tried to tease her out, but she seemed to be withdrawing, drifting back to the time before he had married her. She once more sat by her window in the early afternoons, chin in hand, her blonde hair stirring in the cold winds, and her eyes fixed broodingly on the distant, tree-covered hills. She still played with the children, and rode and hunted, and attended the Council meetings. She still went into his arms with the same warm willingness, wrapping her sweet freshness around him. But she and Gladys no longer sparred though the other women battled on the practice ground, and Caradoc was too busy to unravel the tangled obscurities of her mind. He and Togodumnus had decided to strike in the spring, when the tribes would be busy with sowing and birthing. The Catuvellaunian peasants who wanted to fight were to be armed, at the chiefs’ expense, but many of them were to stay on the land to see to the cropping and the stock.