by Bear, Robert
Kendrick smiled. “We will make for Carn Roz, just inside the harbor ahead. It is the village of my cousin Bannoch. He will feed us handsomely and find us comfortable beds. I long to visit him and his family.” With his decision made, Kendrick beckoned one of his crew to take over the steering.
“Your cousin Bannoch sounds like a generous man,” Joseph said.
“He’s actually a very distant cousin. Bannoch’s great-grandfather was the brother of my own great-grandfather. When he settled his family among the Dumnonii, the hillfort king granted him several hillsides on the east side of the harbor. Others of our people joined him later. This was before that dark day when Julius Caesar crushed the Veneti.”
“Did they purchase the land?” asked Joseph.
“The Dumnonii are a simple people. They do not understand money. Their peninsula is even more isolated from the rest of Britain than Armorica is from Gaul. The community owns the land, and the people give a tithe from what they produce to the hillfort king in exchange for his protection. Farmers and herders barter with artisans for tools and goods. We will need to make a gift to Bannoch in exchange for his hospitality.”
“Perhaps a roll of Roman linen from Lugdunum,” suggested Joseph.
“Yes, that will do nicely,” answered Kendrick. “The natives here turn flax into linen too, but it is much coarser than what we have. They will appreciate the lightness of your fabric.”
The ship sailed between the headlands that lay astride the entrance to the River Fal. A magnificent harbor, it stretched four miles north and south and about a mile east and west. In most places, rocky cliffs fell to the shoreline, but here and there, flatter stretches, with beaches and tidal pools, offered an easier landing. Half a dozen creeks and rivers emptied into the harbor. Kendrick said that a network of navigable waterways reached miles further inland.
Looking to the west side of the harbor entrance, Kendrick pointed out to Joseph and Pirro a fortification atop the headland. Called Pen-Dinas, the headland was nearly an island, connected to the mainland by a narrow isthmus, protected by the steep slopes leading from the water’s edge. The slope was not so sheer as to render an attack by sea impossible, but more than steep enough to weaken attackers trying to make their way uphill against a hail of arrows. Earthen and stone ramparts guarded the isthmus. “The hillfort consists of three ramparts laid out in concentric circles,” said Kendrick. At the very top is a clear meadow, commanding a view far out to sea.”
“That would not hold out very long against the Romans,” observed Joseph.
“No, it would not,” agreed Kendrick. “Most of the cliff forts in this land lie atop much steeper cliffs that are impregnable from the sea. Compared to most Celtic tribes, the Dumnonii are a peaceful people, although they don’t shy away from fighting when circumstances call for it. The hillforts here are simpler structures than in the rest of Britain. If trouble threatens, the people bring themselves and their cattle to the hillfort. Most of the hillforts lack any supply of water or sufficient land inside to graze the cattle, so they provide protection only for a few days while the king summons help from his neighbors. Only a few of the elite warriors are in the king’s permanent armed retinue; the men of the villages would do most of the manning of the ramparts.”
“What about the people on the east side of the harbor?” asked Pirro. “In time of danger, surely they do not ferry their cattle across the water.”
“They have a more traditional hillfort inland, on a small rise of land. The king sends his retinue back and forth across the bay to support both forts in times of trouble,” Kendrick replied.
As the ship rounded the headland on the eastern side of the harbor, it turned north. This brought the wind to the beam, allowing the crew to break out the main square sail to good advantage. They sailed past the entrance of the Percuil River, which emptied into the east side of the harbor, and soon they heard shouts of greeting from the boys of Carn Roz, who recognized Kendrick’s ship.
Kendrick sailed his ship into a tidal pool halfway up the harbor on the east side and brought it alongside a massive rock that formed a convenient natural quay. By now, the villagers had gathered along the shore to greet them.
As the crew secured the ship, Kendrick spotted Bannoch, a sinewy, mustached man standing with his wife, son, and daughter. Aside from the deference paid by the other villagers, the intricate bronze torc around his neck, his silver belt buckle, and his wife’s silver earrings distinguished the family’s station in life. Their work clothes, made of sturdy linen and wool, were similar to those worn by the other villagers, except cleaner. They all wore simple laced leather shoes.
Kendrick embraced his cousin. “Bannoch! I trust the season finds you well and prosperous.”
“The gods be with you, my friend.” Bannoch wore a checkered, belted tunic over dark brownish-red leggings. “You bring passengers. What brings them to our land?”
Kendrick introduced Joseph and the others. “They’ve come from a country far to the east, by way of the ancient Atlantic trade route.”
Bannoch raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing other than to invite the party to his home to refresh themselves. Kendrick knew Bannoch was too shrewd to engage in a business discussion before he knew more.
Bannoch’s son did not share the same restraint. The eleven-year-old had been among the urchins greeting them from shore earlier. Fedwig was a freckled, fair-haired boy. Undistinguished by any ornaments in contrast to his father, he nonetheless seemed to be confident of his station in life. Kendrick lifted him in the air, saying “Ah, Fedwig, how you have grown over the winter! I can hardly lift you.”
“I am too big for that now,” Fedwig replied, trying to maintain his dignity—to the amusement of all. “That will cost you a present!” True to his word, as soon as his feet were back on the ground young Fedwig began searching the captain. Despite Kendrick’s protestations that he had forgotten to bring anything, Fedwig soon was grasping a fine new cowhide ball freshly picked from Kendrick’s pocket bag. With a shriek of delight, he ran off into the meadow, accompanied by other boys, to play with it.
“Now, something for you, my dear Golia,” said Kendrick to Bannoch’s daughter, who wore a green tightly patterned sleeveless dress that reached a few inches below her knees. Kendrick pulled out a polished comb carved from bone. The girl was taller and more reticent than her younger brother, but her broad smile still betrayed her delight with the gift.
“You spoil them too much, Kendrick,” said the wife. She hugged Jesus and Daniel, welcoming them. She was a strong woman with a kind, freckled face.
“Forgive me, Tilda.” Kendrick laughed. “I cannot help myself.”
“Come, let us retire to our home,” said Bannoch. “Your passengers must be weary from their journeys, and I will not be having them thinking ill of our hospitality.” With that, Bannoch signaled to the others that the excitement was over for now and that they should return to their daily tasks.
Jesus
Tilda proudly showed off the family home. It was similar to the structures that Jesus had seen in the pirates’ lair, but instead of wattle and daub, the walls were of stonework integrated with the stone wall that surrounded the village proper. Although nothing was carved into the circular wall, pagan idols and trinkets hung from the rafters that supported the thatched roof. Animal-skin blankets covered a large bed for Bannoch and Tilda. Two piles of reeds were formed into crude mattresses covered with woolen blankets, evidently for the children.
A few of the villagers brought in more cuttings and quickly formed them into beddings. Tilda said that Kendrick and Joseph must take the big bed during their stay. Kendrick started to object, but it was useless to deny Tilda the chance to provide that measure of hospitality by giving up her own bed. The boys would sleep on the mattresses. Pirro volunteered to spend the night on the ship. Looking at Uncle Joseph, Jesus could tell Joseph was pleased for the chance to rest from his weary travels on a real bed.
Kendrick explained to Tilda
that Joseph and his young charges could not eat pig or shellfish, but would be more than happy with any kind of mutton, beef, or scaled fish.
“But why do they deny the hospitality of the village? Surely, they do not think I would serve them meats with any harm in them,” Tilda responded. Bannoch frowned but said nothing, evidently yielding to her position as undisputed mistress in matters of the home.
Kendrick shook his head. “It’s no reflection on your hospitality. Jews must obey the commandments of their God from the east.” He paused. “It is like the geisa imposed upon the greatest Celtic heroes. Remember King Conaire, who was forbidden to kill birds. He was not allowed to go south around Tara or north around the plain of Brega. He was forbidden to hunt the wild beasts.”
“Yes, I remember what the druids taught me in my youth,” Bannoch interrupted. “King Conaire was like many heroes and kings who had so many prohibitions laid down on them that they could not possibly abide by them all.” He exchanged looks with Tilda. This was becoming a matter of honor and faith beyond his wife’s domestic authority; she would now defer to him. He withdrew his hand from his sword and smiled. “It is best to respect the obedience our guests render to their god. Otherwise that god might turn on us.”
Pirro happened to be standing next to Jesus. “Did you follow that?” Jesus asked him in a whisper.
“Kendrick lost me when he started going into the Celtic legend,” Pirro whispered in response. “The important thing is that he was able to appease Bannoch so quickly. The Dumnonii are incredibly gracious with their hospitality, but like all Celts they are quick to anger in response to any real or imagined slight. After a battle, they will even fight to the death in the banqueting hall if a warrior feels slighted because he is denied the best cut of meat—what they call the hero’s portion.”
“Very well,” Tilda said. “I must go to the banquet hall to prepare for a feast tomorrow, in honor of our guests.” She made a little bow toward Joseph, who nodded in return. “Golia, fetch some refreshments for cousin Kendrick and his friends.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Tilda left, and Golia turned to a little cupboard on the other side of the room and arranged bread and cheese on a platter.
“That looks delicious,” said Jesus, “and I appreciate your hospitality. But I’m not hungry, and if you will excuse me, I’d like to explore the village.” He turned to Uncle Joseph. “May I, Uncle?”
Joseph nodded his permission and said, “Yes, but don’t wander too far.”
Jesus leaned over to Daniel. “Shall we go explore?”
Daniel’s eyes remained on Golia. “Umm. No. I’ll stay here with…with Father.”
Joseph did look weary. And perhaps Daniel was hungry.
As he strolled through the hamlet, Jesus stopped occasionally to ask people how they worked their various crafts. About a dozen round huts built on similar stonework sides as the chief’s house made up the village proper within the confines of the surrounding stone wall. Other huts beyond the wall, where most of the workers appeared to live, had walls built from the same crude plaster construction he had seen in Bembont.
Most of the men and older boys had returned to their fields and herds across the hillsides. Those who remained in the village were mostly women, but a blacksmith and his helper worked on forging an iron plough tip in one of the stone huts.
A foul smell came from another hut, where a team of women tended a large, boiling pot. Jesus poked his head in and learned they were rendering water, animal fat, and ash into tallow for soap and candles.
In other huts, women worked spindles and looms, turning wool and flax fibers into cloth. A large, strong woman tanned hides while another made shoes. Some of the women worked outside, turning stone querns to grind whole grains into flour. In another hut, a woman brewed mead, which Jesus tasted and found rather to his liking.
Daniel
Golia placed the wooden platter on the low table in front of Papa and asked a question in her unintelligible tongue. Daniel knew something of the speech from his previous visit, but the dialect he knew was from the eastern side of Britain. His skill was also wanting after his long absence.
Pirro said one thing, and Papa another.
Kendrick tousled Golia’s hair as if she were a boy, and then apparently excused himself, for he walked out.
Pirro sat cross-legged on the floor by the table and shoveled food into his mouth. Golia brought him a cup of wine. Mouth full, he grunted something that might have been thanks.
Golia turned her ocean-blue eyes on Daniel and said a single word.
“Umm…sorry?” he muttered.
“She asks whether you want some wine,” Papa said.
“Are you not having any?”
He chuckled. “Despite Jesus’s reassuring teaching on the matter, no.”
“Ah. How do I say ‘no thank you’?”
Papa gave him the Celtic words, and Daniel repeated them. He helped himself to a piece of cheese and found it turned to paste in his dry mouth. He swallowed a half-chewed clod. “Gah…Wa…water?”
Papa translated, and he and Golia spoke for a minute.
She was perhaps fourteen, just on the cusp of maidenhood, with long flowing locks of golden hair rippling down her back. The hem of her dress left her slender ankles exposed.
“She has only wine and mead in the house, but will draw water for you if you want.”
“Don’t go to any trouble on my account. What’s mead?”
“A drink made from fermented honey,” Papa said.
“Is it forbidden?”
Papa thought about this a moment. Golia stared at them, wide-eyed.
“Under the circumstances, I think not,” Papa said. “You may have some, if you like.”
“All right, then, I’d like to try it.” He looked at her as he spoke, hoping his smile didn’t look too foolish.”
Papa relayed the request, but when Golia turned to the table to fill a cup from a pot-bellied clay jug, Papa leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Daniel, no flirting with the goy.”
Daniel’s cheeks burned, and he longed for the drink.
Jesus
The largest structure in the village was a well-used banqueting hall, constructed like the stone huts with a base of stone, but on a larger scale, with two circular rows of pilings supporting a framework for the thatch. Jesus passed this by and wandered further down the pathways of the village.
He found Kendrick greeting a strange-looking man dressed in pristine linen garments that were of a finer material than those of the others. Unlike the other villagers, he showed no inclination to talk to Jesus, giving him instead a long stare before going on his way.
Kendrick stepped closer to Jesus. “That was Belenus, the local druid. Don’t worry if he seems mysterious and unfriendly. All the druids are that way, particularly with strangers. They are supposed to be all-seeing and all-knowing, so they need to maintain an air of mystery.”
“I read in Caesar’s account that the druids counsel the Celtic kings. Is Bannoch required to consult Belenus?” Jesus asked.
“It goes beyond that. While Bannoch is the undisputed chief of the village, to the druidic way of thinking, Bannoch may act only in ways that are consistent with the plans of the gods. It follows that he cannot ignore or refuse the druid.”
“So it seems the druids hold the real power. Kings and chieftains are mere figureheads.”
“Not so. Although the kings are subject to the laws proclaimed by the druids, the druids must do as the kings and chieftains ask, unless they determine it is an impious thing. This mutual dependence between king and druid goes back to the beginning of the world, as the Britons understand it. Another thing that keeps the druids in check is the common belief in their infallibility.”
“Doesn’t that strengthen the druids’ power?” asked Jesus.
“The people have been known to turn on the druids when they meddle in secular affairs, particularly when they are caught in errors. So they are usually
content to leave it to the kings and chieftains to make the mistakes that are inevitable in governing—particularly in the conduct of wars and diplomacy or in planning the crops. Queer as it might seem, infallibility can be quite a burden.”
Jesus paused to consider that. “I see your point,” he finally said. Jesus was about to ask Kendrick more about the druids, but the captain put him off. “My ship is still tied up in the tidal pool. I must attend to it before the retreating tide leaves it high and dry.”
Jesus walked out beyond the walls to a village common. There he encountered Daniel trying to understand Fedwig and Golia. Daniel leaned closer to Golia. “Sorry, again?”
She prattled on for a while about a Celtic game called “Hide-and-seek.”
Jesus listened to the rules and translated them for Daniel. “Sounds a bit silly,” Jesus muttered, “but Golia is very eager to play.”
“It sounds like fun,” said Daniel.
“Does it?” Jesus said.
“Come on,” Daniel muttered.
Fedwig and Golia led the two strangers to their favorite spot, a small meadow on the edge of the forest that offered various hedges and trees for hiding. Fedwig began his count, and the others took off in different directions.
Jesus ran into the woods. With the voice of Fedwig fading behind him, he felt a sense of freedom and contentment he had never known before. There was something about this land of the Dumnonii that he could not put into words. His feet sprang across the soft ground. Maybe it was the smell of the wildflowers or the warmth of the afternoon sun. He looked back at the village with the smoke of its fires wending through the thatched roofs; they might be crude by Roman standards, but these were good-hearted and welcoming folk. They had no tax collectors; they did not even have money. As he looked over the rolling hills, he felt like running for joy as far as his legs could carry him.
In the distance, he heard Fedwig still counting away and turned his thoughts back to the game. He spotted the perfect hiding place behind some fallen trees and rocks. He jumped in quickly with plenty of time to spare.
