Daughter of Albion

by Ilka Tampke

  ‘Be careful, Lamb. Not too far in.’

  All along its length, tribespeople were ducking and splashing in the River Cam, taking their year’s first bath in its sacred water. Our springs and rivers were the openings to the Mothers’ realm. Water was their gift.

  We walked upstream where the waters broadened to a deep bathing pool, at least fifteen paces wide and well hidden by trees. Cah disrobed first. I admired the compact strength of her. Her long hair was black as charcoal, but her skin was pale and her eyes were blue. She was handsome when she did not scowl. Ianna was not blessed with beauty. Her hair was the colour of carrots and her face often matched it. Her fleshy belly and thick legs laid bare her weakness for Cookmother’s milk pudding and any other sweets besides, but she was as smile-ready as she was slow-witted. Bebin was the queen of us. I could only shake my head at the creation of her.

  I pulled off my sandals, dress and under-robe, then sat down on the bank, letting my feet trail in the shallows. The cool morning pimpled my skin. As I looked at my thin legs, dotted with bruises, slightly bowed, and my narrow feet with their widespread toes, I wondered what meetings and marriages had crafted this body? What story flowed in its blood? Were these my mother’s legs? My father’s feet? Was there a sister somewhere with toes like mine?

  Ianna shrieked at the water’s edge and clutched her arms around her. ‘Ooh, the wind is cold enough. How will we manage the water?’

  ‘Just start with your toe,’ said Cah. ‘Stand on the large rock there and tell us how cool it is—sometimes the brook is warmer than the air.’

  ‘It will freeze our blood, I tell you.’ She leaned over the jutting edge of a large river stone. As sure as I knew she would do it, Cah was behind her and, with a solid shove, Ianna was toppled, arms flailing, into the water.

  ‘You’re a wretch!’ she cried when she surfaced. ‘Mothers! I’m chilled to the innards.’

  Cah was rolling with laughter and I could not help smiling at the sight of it, but I did not like her way of humour.

  I stood up and walked to the rock. ‘Don’t try it with me, Cah,’ I said as I leaned over to help Ianna.

  She was still chuckling, but she left me alone.

  The river ran with snowmelt and we could not stay long submerged. We sat on the bank, scrubbing each other’s backs with handfuls of salt and tallow soap, then plunged back in to rinse the lather, laughing at the spidery whiteness of each other’s limbs in the dark of the water. We stayed talking, daring each other to hop back in, over and over. The girls skimmed across the width of the river while I remained only where I could stand. Swimming was taught to all children of the river tribes, and was yet another skill I was unworthy to learn.

  ‘It must be time to go.’ Bebin heaved herself onto the bank and the other two scrambled after her.

  Although I was the weakest swimmer, I was always the last to leave the water. I was waist-deep in the soft current when something flickered across my thigh. ‘A fish!’ I called in delight. It glided back past my belly, as long as a hare and bright as the moon. Rarely had I seen salmon in this part of the river. ‘Sisters, see this fish!’

  They peered over the edge, but the salmon dived into the darkness. As soon as they turned away it appeared again, breaking the surface an arm’s length from me, its skin glinting in the sun.

  ‘Look!’ I cried.

  But again it plunged from view when the girls craned to see it, and they returned to their drying and dressing.

  I stared into the muddied water and shivered as a ripple touched my back. Then the fish was in front of me, nibbling fragments of reed caught on my thigh. I wanted to laugh with the tickle of it, but I stayed silent so it would not be frightened away.

  Ianna and Cah began to walk back.

  ‘Bebin,’ I said softly as she squeezed water from her hair. ‘Look at this pretty creature.’

  She peered down. ‘I see nothing at all.’

  ‘Don’t you see it eating, right here beneath the surface?’

  ‘You’re still fire-maddened from the rites,’ she said, smiling. She wriggled her robe over her arms and picked up her basket. ‘Hurry and catch me up, or Cookmother will be in a temper.’

  I stared at the fish and reached to touch it. It darted away, but not before I felt the quiver of its muscle, the slick of its skin. ‘You are real,’ I whispered.

  Bebin was right. It was time to return. But I could not tear myself away from this intriguing animal. I plunged under the water to clear my senses. When I broke the surface, the fish was gone.

  6

  Freedom

  We are born neither good nor evil.

  It is our choice that determines which of these we become.

  To make this choice we need absolute freedom.

  How else may we be judged unless we are free?

  I CARRIED THE last platter of loaves into the Great House, weaving between guests to join Cookmother at the hearth. Rich smells of long-cooked meat mingled with those of herbsmoke, blossom and crowded bodies. The fire roared at the room’s centre, a whole sow blistering above it. The roasted doe had been broken onto steaming platters by the hearth.

  At least a hundred tribespeople were seated on benches in three rings around the fire. Nearest to the fire, on the most finely carved bench, and facing the eastern doorway, sat Fraid. She wore woven wool in the deepest hue of red and her arms were weighted with bracelets of silver and gold that she would hand to the poets as they pleased her. Fibor sat on her left, then Etaina and Manacca, Fraid’s daughter.

  Before them stood a visiting poet, robed in woad-blue, plucking a harp. The instrument was of an ancient style, strung with human hair and with as many strings as were ribs in a human body.

  To Fraid’s right sat Llwyd and, beside him, two lesser journeymen of Cad. The other high warriors and their families completed this circle. Among them, facing the Tribequeen, was Ruther. I was suddenly shy as I stood beside Cookmother, and did not return his gaze.

  In the second ring were the craftsmen and low warriors, and behind them, the land-owning farmers of Summer.

  When all were settled, Llwyd stood and dedicated the meat. As first warrior, Fibor took an iron knife from his belt and speared a thick chunk of doe’s shoulder, which he passed to Fraid with a bow. The feast had begun.

  Cookmother toiled at the fire, ladling stew into bowls. My task was to fill the tribesmen’s outstretched beer horns and I could hardly keep pace with their shouts for more.

  When I reached Ruther, he grabbed my free hand and pulled me into his lap. ‘Greetings, Ailia.’

  ‘I am needed for serving,’ I protested, laughing.

  ‘There are others to serve.’ He leaned forward to slice a morsel of pork and fed it straight from his knife tip into my mouth.

  Juice trickled down my chin as I chewed, and he licked it away.

  The room roared with voices. Feasts were the tribe’s time to firm friendships, soothe old arguments, bring gifts to Fraid, and, of course, hear news.

  ‘All quiet!’ commanded Fraid, raising her arm. ‘You will know by now that Belinus, High King of the Catuvellauni has passed to Caer Sidi, the home of the dead. Let us hear from the visiting songman. He came only this day from our neighbour to the east. Tell us, poet, how it stands in the eastern tribes since the death. Are they resolved to settle under Caradog?’

  The young poet bowed and lifted his harp. Our songmen spent ceaseless summers learning by heart the poems of our country, but their most admired skill was that of forging verse in the moment it was spoken.

  He sang:

  When the Great Bear dies

  Barely are his pyre and carcass ready

  When he’s swarmed by many well-kinned flies

  Though none who’d rule as steady,

  None who’d walk the narrow bridge

  That spans the Empire and our home,

  None who reap the privilege

  Of holding hands with Rome.

  Caradog has risen,

&nbs
p; He rules with Mothers’ might,

  When Rome chimes at his hut bell,

  Will he run? Succumb? No. Fight.

  The guests bellowed their applause.

  Fibor had emptied more beer horns than most. ‘I am glad to see the Great Bear down,’ he proclaimed. ‘Perhaps now the Catuvellauni will have a king who will stand firm against Rome.’

  I felt Ruther’s back stiffen. ‘Belinus held the ear of the Emperor himself,’ he said. ‘We all reap the spoils from the tradelines he opened.’

  I glanced at him, amazed he would challenge our first warrior.

  Fibor set down his cup. He was well known for his hatred of Rome and less so for the delicacy of his tongue. ‘Belinus wiped Rome’s arse for the privilege of its pretty things. His son knows the honour of freedom.’

  ‘On matters of trade,’ Fraid interjected calmly, ‘the Great Bear’s achievements are undisputed. But he is gone. Let us speak of the future.’ She turned to the poet. ‘Are the other petty kings and queens concerned that this death will prompt an arrival on our eastern shores?’

  ‘It is so feared,’ said the poet. ‘Caradog is beginning to strengthen his support among the tribes.’

  ‘Take them by force, you mean?’ Fibor chuckled. ‘I wish him courage. The Emperor will think twice before launching an attack on a warrior such as Caradog.’

  ‘Caradog insults the Emperor Claudius,’ said the one who held me. ‘He goads him by claiming we Britons are the uncapturable people.’ Ruther looked around the circle. ‘Think for yourselves, tribesmen, what this will provoke in Rome.’

  I moved to stand but Ruther tightened his grasp around my waist.

  ‘Son of Orgilos, it seems you have become quite a friend to Rome since your travels there,’ said Fibor.

  Ruther stared back at him. ‘Is it not wise to understand the mind of those who would be our captors and our rulers?’

  ‘Understand this,’ said Fibor. ‘We are the free people. The Romans have captured the world, yet we remain uncaptured.’

  Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the gathering.

  ‘I have heard that they see Albion as a place of dark magic! An otherworld!’ said Etaina. ‘They are too frightened to come. This is why we remain uncaptured.’

  ‘Hah!’ sneered Ruther. ‘We are uncaptured because Belinus met Rome’s hunger for our landwealth. Why would they attack when they already held purchase on all they desired?’

  The circle fell silent. I was stunned by the recklessness with which Ruther spoke. Surely Fraid would not permit him such liberty? With his thick forearm gripping my waist, I felt as though I were caught on a wild horse.

  ‘You return to us greatly informed of the opinions of Rome, Ruther,’ said Fraid. ‘We are privileged to have such knowledge in our midst.’

  Fibor grunted but I felt Ruther soften.

  ‘When do you leave for the Empire lands, Ruther?’ asks Llwyd. Until now he had said nothing but I watched how closely he listened.

  ‘Tomorrow if the weather holds, and if you will bless it, Journeyman.’ Ruther dipped his head to Llwyd and I breathed out with relief that at least he showed respect to our wiseman.

  ‘And what do you carry by way of trade goods?’ Llwyd continued.

  ‘Metals.’ He took a large bite from his flesh hook, chewing as he spoke. ‘And dogs. Our skins are in favour.’

  Llwyd nodded. ‘Long-traded goods,’ he said. ‘What do you make of the new trade taking hold at the eastern ports? I hear it is very lucrative and that the Romans exploit it in ever greater quantities.’

  Ruther frowned. ‘Of what trade do you speak?’

  ‘Do you not know it?’ Llwyd paused. ‘I speak of the sale of our men and women to Romans as slaves.’

  There was a murmur around the circle.

  ‘A foul trade,’ said Fibor. ‘Roman slaves are whipped like dogs and owned until death. What snake would sell his own tribesman to such a life?’

  Ruther snorted. ‘Do not our own noblemen—our tribekings and queens—also have servants?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fraid. ‘But their labour is owned, not their souls.’

  It was true. As a servant to the Tribequeen, I was constrained by the laws of skin but not by my servitude. I finally wriggled free of Ruther’s hold and stood, taking up my jug.

  ‘Wherever the Roman slaves may come from,’ said Ruther, holding up his horn, ‘they are put to good use in the building of fine cities.’

  The circle was silent. His light words were poorly judged.

  I made my way around the circles, filling horns that had run dry.

  ‘They please you then, these cities of the Empire lands?’ asked Llwyd quietly.

  ‘Why, none could be displeased—’

  Fibor protested, but Llwyd raised his hand. ‘Tell us of them.’

  Ruther straightened, pausing to cast his gaze around the room.

  I filled Llwyd’s cup, then stopped behind him to listen.

  ‘Imagine a city that covers the earth from one horizon to the other—’ Ruther’s eyes blazed—‘where there are columns of stone that would dwarf an elm. Where buildings are not small or round or made of stick and mud, but are square and high and built of cut stone, each with not one, but many rooms. Where underground pipes bring rivers of clear water into every home through bronze fountains that can be levered to run at will. And there are yet other pipes that carry away their shit. Imagine, never having to empty a pot!’

  Timid laughter rolled through the audience.

  ‘They adorn their floors with pictures made of a thousand tiny tiles. Their stadiums make ant mounds of our hill towns,’ he continued. ‘And every corner of the known world can be visited in one stroll of a market square. This is the glory of Rome.’

  ‘Yet who serves this glory?’ demanded Fibor. ‘Who lays these pipes?’

  ‘Slaves!’ challenged Ruther.

  ‘Such a city cannot endure,’ said Fibor. ‘It is immorally built, and in time it will crumble.’

  ‘And yet it does not,’ said Ruther. ‘All are enlightened by the brightness of this city. Even the slaves bask in its warmth.’

  ‘And what of the groves and springs for ritual?’ asked Llwyd. ‘Where are they found in these cities?’

  ‘There are shrines in every street. They do not need forests or springs to worship.’

  Standing close, only I heard Llwyd’s intake of breath. ‘And they are not weakened in denying the springs?’ he asked.

  There was a trap in these questions and I wondered for what purpose.

  ‘Weakened?’ Ruther laughed. ‘Journeyman, I am a tribesman first, and I love my own people above all others, but make no mistake, these are among the strongest people under the sun’s light.’

  There were gasps among the warriors.

  ‘I question the loyalty of this man!’ Fibor stood and Ruther immediately followed, putting his palm to his sword handle. Where there were disputes between warriors at feast times, they were often resolved with a test of swordsmanship. But not this day, not at Beltane, a time of coming together.

  ‘Cease, both of you!’ commanded Fraid. ‘By Mothers, speak more cautiously, Ruther.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Ruther bowed lightly to her. ‘It was clumsily uttered. I would no sooner see us subject to Roman rule than anyone here, but there is greatness in the new world that cannot be denied. Greatness of man. Even a fool can see it.’

  Fibor’s eyes flared. ‘Anyone who is true to the tribes—even a fool—sees no such thing.’

  ‘Shall we test it?’ said Ruther. ‘Give me a fool.’

  Fibor’s eyes narrowed until his gaze fell on me. ‘Ask the beer maiden. She is untaught, unskinned, little more than a fool, albeit a pretty one. How does she judge the greatness of man?’

  ‘Yes, ask her.’ Ruther smiled broadly.

  ‘Step forward, girl,’ commanded Fibor.

  ‘Stop!’ said Fraid. ‘Ailia, do not answer. The skinless will not speak at festival time. Fibor, cease this game.�
�

  ‘Wait.’ Llwyd held up his hand. ‘I wish to hear her answer. Ailia,’ he said, turning to me, ‘what is your response? How is greatness to be judged?’

  All eyes were upon me and suddenly my breath was short. What would I say? I stepped forward, heart pounding. ‘I—I have seen nothing of the greatness of which Ruther speaks,’ I began. ‘But I do know that all wisdom is born in the springs…’ With these words, a strange calm descended over me and my voice steadied. ‘If a man obscures our sight of these by a thousand tiny tiles, then surely he is the fool.’

  ‘And this from a kitchen girl!’ Fibor roared with laughter and the other guests joined in.

  Ruther looked away.

  Llwyd’s gaze was fixed upon me.

  The feast rolled into the night. Ruther barely allowed me to leave him, pulling me back to his lap when I tried to get up, slipping his warm hand into the sleeve of my leine to stroke the fall of my breast. When the sow’s carcass had been picked clean and the men had fallen to slumber from drunkenness, he led me to the stables to couple again.

  Afterwards, he lay panting, his head on my chest. ‘Last night was by no means my first time in the fields,’ he said when his breath had steadied, ‘but I have never known such nearness to the Mothers as by you this Beltane.’

  I smiled, confused by his praise. ‘Still it does not bother you that I am without skin?’

  ‘No.’ He propped on one elbow and stared at my face. ‘You know so little of the world. In Durotriga you all live as you have lived for thousands of summers. But the eastern tribes are leaving the hills and are settling in river towns—large towns that are already shaped by the Empire. People of all skins fill these cities. The ties of skin are loosening there. Does that not interest you, Doorstep?’

  ‘By the will of the Mothers, I am blessed with a name. Will you use it?’

  He laughed and rolled back, pulling me onto his chest.

  What he described did interest me. How could it not? But it frightened me also. The laws of skin had denied me much but I knew in the heart of my bones that they were true. It unsettled me that Ruther did not see it so.

  He yawned. ‘You should come with me to the Empire lands, Ailia. Journey with me and see for yourself what I have spoken of.’