Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  Hengist – Boxsets

  Books #1- #4

  Nature’s Tribe

  Jacky Gray

  Contents

  Book #1 – 3 Handfastings & a Burial

  Book #2 – 12 Days of Yule

  Book #3 – 8 Sabbats of the Sun

  Book #4 – 13 Esbats of the Moon

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events other than those clearly in the public domain are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Jacky Gray

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Front cover Copyright © 2020 Jacky Gray

  First published in April 2020

  Find out more at:

  https://hengistpeoplehorse.blogspot.co.uk

  https://www.facebook.com/HengistPeopleOfTheHorse

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  Nature’s Tribe #1

  Three Handfastings and a Burial

  Jacky Gray

  Notes for the reader:

  Because this is set in medieval Britain, there are several words you may need to look up in the glossary, e.g. they use moon instead of month, eve instead of evening and occasionally wheel instead of year.

  The Terce bell sounded at the 3rd hour (9am), the Nones bell at the 9th hour (3pm).

  Hopefully the rest are self-explanatory.

  Jarl is pronounced like Jar (plus the l)

  Eanje has a silent E, pronounced Angie.

  To Joanne, Sheila, Corine and Bernie – for supporting me at every step of this magical journey

  Contents

  Senna and Lyran

  1 – All is as it should be

  2 – Till Death us do Part

  3 – Right Royal Feast

  4 – Unexpected Behaviour

  5 – Promises

  Senna and Lyran’s Handfasting Menu

  ~*~

  Cora and Alfun

  6 – Pre-wedding Jitters

  7 – Queen of the May

  8 – Unexpected Arrival

  9 – All is Well

  ~*~

  Lareeta and Taron

  10 – Unexpected Meeting

  11 – Enterprising Adventure

  12 – Perilous Pilgrimage

  13 – Popping the Question

  14 – Ostara Bliss

  15 – Easter Fiasco

  ~*~

  Danger and Disaster

  16 – Burying the Dead

  17 – Unexpected Guest

  18 – Yuletide Blessings

  19 – Courting Catastrophe

  20 – Deepest Winter

  Epilogue: A Grey Mourning

  Glossary

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  Senna and Lyran

  Part 1 - Litha

  1 – All is as it should be

  “Aaarrrggghhh!”

  Despite the discomfort in her arm, Senna knew the poor woman clenching it never intended to inflict hurt. She’d often heard people hush the screams of someone suffering, as though it might lessen what afflicted them. But she knew the benefits of discharging the harmful energies resulting from any upset of the body’s equilibrium. Pain was nature’s way of alerting a person they needed to stop what they were doing to cause the upset. Unfortunately, Bernadine had no choice about stopping.

  Pressing a soaking cloth to the woman’s brow, she caught the scent of the peppermint and lemongrass tinging the water. Senna trusted the power of these herbs to augment the cooling effect and bring their own calm. “All is well. Let out every morsel of distress. Think of breathing in healing air and pushing out the pain as you breathe out.”

  Bernadine gasped. “I’m sorry, Senna. I did not mean to squeeze your arm so. Are you hurt?”

  “Not at all. ’Twas nothing but a momentary discomfort. Already passed. Would you like a sip of elixir?”

  “Please.” After the briefest of sips, she smiled. “This is good. The essences will help calm my ailing stomach.”

  Senna’s reassuring smile hid her concern that the woman had emptied her stomach a long while ago and would not have the strength to endure for much longer. But she knew from experience Bernadine was made of stern stuff. The councillor’s wife was a force in the community, attending to her duties with a dauntless energy which made several enemies among those who considered themselves powerful. No cause was too small or too awkward as she fought for justice for any who’d been wronged by greed, malice or unfair laws.

  Another spasm assailed Bernadine’s ravaged body, and she once more screamed with an energy which belied her weakened state. She clung onto the bolster cushion provided for that purpose, allowing Senna to make her examination at the source of the pain: a babe struggling to make its way into the world.

  “You have done well; the little one is nearly here. I can feel the head poking through. Would you like to move to a more comfortable position? ’Twill not be long now.”

  “Can I stay here, please? Lying down makes it last longer.” She propped herself over the settle, letting the seat take some of the weight off her legs.

  “For sure. If that is your preference, I’ll gladly amend the procedure according to your wishes.”

  “Excellent. I have no criticism of Lyran’s methods, but he seemed reluctant to adapt when he delivered Osdene.”

  “You were his very first birthing after Farfelie’s untimely death. He’d never attempted one on his own prior to that …”

  “And I’m grateful he stepped in. No matter how inexperienced he was as a healer, he did a grand job.”

  Senna let the woman chatter about the birthing of her second baby, Breman, while visiting her kin at Salisbury. She knew the reminiscences held the pain at bay, and it saved her from admitting the disturbing fact that this was her first solo birthing. Although she’d assisted Lyran to bring dozens of babes into the world, his temporary absence forced her to step in when the third Osman child decided to appear two weeks early.

  Moving the pile of sheepskins closer, she covered them with a thin hide to protect them from the messy stuff, and made sure the clean linens were close to hand. Other pressing matters vied for her attention, but she pushed them away as she tried to remember what else she might need to complete the task. Her recently acquired birthing bag lay at Lyran’s house; the urgency of Osman’s fear meant she had not detoured to fetch it, but he’d helped her to find alternatives for everything she needed before his wife ordered him to take the two young ones over to his mother’s house to shield them from the harrowing process.

  Senna made a mental note to keep the bag with her at all times, even on a day as auspicious as this one. Her mental catalogue of the equipment in her bag was interrupted as her patient gasped.

  “This is it.” Bernadine resumed her squatting position, screwing up her face as she bore down with considerable effort.

  Senna repositioned the rugs directly beneath her and knelt close as she guided the sticky head free from the straining muscles surrounding it. As though the powers that be decreed enough traumas had blighted this birthing, the babe’s shoulders shrugged through the impossibly small opening with no further problems. Gravity did the rest and, moments later, Senna had the infant secure in a soft linen as she used a small dampened cloth to clear away the sticky white mucous covering the face and clogging nostrils.

  Bernadine sank onto the hide, panting at the exertion. “May I hold him?”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Seeing the flare of fear dark
en the woman’s face, Senna hastily explained. “I mean, of course you can, but first I must ensure she’s breathing.”

  “She? You mean a girl? How wonderful.” Tears shone in her eyes as she lay back. “Should I stand to expel the birthing sack?”

  Senna smiled. She’d become used to aiding Lyran with first-time mothers; it made a change not to have to explain about this. “Only if you want to. You have far more experience than I on this.”

  “What a treat.” She smiled. “It’s nice to choose for myself instead of following a routine.” A frown drew her brows closer. “Not that I have any complaints about Lyran, but the physician who birthed Brenan had his own rules about the way things should be done.” Propping herself up, she held out her arms for the babe.

  Senna delivered the new-born, watching with delight the expertise as its mother nuzzled the hungry mouth straight onto a full breast.

  “You make it look so easy. I’ve seen some of the young mothers struggle to get the babe suckling.”

  Bernadine smiled. “On the third day, the milk swells out so much there’s nothing for them to latch on to. Tell them to squeeze a little out into a beaker.”

  Senna nodded, hoping this strong, capable woman did not despise her total lack of experience. A little while later, with everything cleared up and tidied away, Bernadine reassured her that this was her best birthing experience yet.

  “I’m so glad. I didn’t want to admit, but this is the first time I’ve done this without Lyran. I was anxious I’d get it all wrong.”

  “On the contrary, the fact you didn’t work to a prescribed schedule and allowed me to choose at every step of the way made it many times more pleasant for me. I shall be recommending you to all our friends. There’s no reason for them to be paying for an expensive physician when they could benefit from your skill and understanding.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say. It means a lot.”

  “I’m glad. After the last time, I told Osman I’d leave him if he went anywhere but to Lyran. Do you have any idea where that scamp of a healer could have disappeared to?”

  Senna froze as the significance finally hit her. In a little over an hour, she and Lyran were supposed to be exchanging vows and tying the handfasting knot. The councillor’s wife looked ready to droop into a doze after her labours, and Senna knew she could not leave her patient alone.

  Glancing in dismay at the simple smock she’d thrown on in her haste to get there, she wondered if she’d even make it to the sun-circle in time for the ceremony, let alone have time to don her finery. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath as she visualised the throng of people waiting impatiently for her. If only Lyran’s father wasn’t such an important magister with many influential friends he’d insisted on inviting to the handfasting of his only son.

  The door burst open, bringing with it Councillor Osman’s boundless energy and, impossibly, her husband-to-be, Lyran.

  2 – Till Death us do Part

  Waiting with her bridemaidens at the entrance to the henge, Senna desperately sought a small shard of serenity to calm the blood racing round her body as though she’d just run all the way from the top of Silbury Hill. Her mouth quirked at the memory of that very event when she’d been younger, fitter, and in no mood to be bested by the two boys who’d shared so many adventures in her wild youth.

  Surprised such a memory should accost her today of all days, she peeked past the portal to the centre of the stone circle. Lyran’s dark head only reached the ears of the solid man next to him. As her gaze alighted on the long blond locks tamed into a knot at his collar, Lyran’s cousin turned, his stare blitzing down the corridor between the crowd, picking up the energy of the Michael and Mary lines which ran through the centre of Avebury’s famous henge.

  Although the distance prevented her from reading his expression, Senna felt an echo of fierce protection in the man’s thoughts. The substance of his intention made perfect sense, with him being a loyal friend of her husband, and a highly skilled military man. Why wouldn’t he want to keep his cousin’s betrothed safe from danger? Although right now, amid friends, family and neighbours, she struggled to think where that danger might arise.

  As the Archdruid signalled for the musicians to play the processional music, her father offered his arm. Taking it with a smile, she allowed him to escort her toward the man she loved. Behind, her dearest friend, Cora, and Lyran’s cousin, Shayla, wearing identical yellow kirtles, followed. They matched her slow, deliberate pace, and she tried not to focus on the overwhelming multitude of faces as she passed through the throng. Filling with the gentle female energy of the Mary line, her heart overflowed with gratitude for everything which had brought her to this point on this day.

  Approaching her beloved, she couldn’t help but remember the concern on his face when he’d walked into Councillor Osman’s house less than an hour ago.

  “Senna? You shouldn’t be here. I mean, I’ve heard it’s unlucky to see the bride on the morn …”

  “So avert your eyes.” Not something she could do easily as her gaze devoured his dark good looks and slightly dishevelled appearance.

  Bernadine gasped. “Of course. Your handfasting. It’s today. How thoughtless of this wee one to pick such an inconvenient time. I’m so sorry, Senna. Neither of you should be here. You must go and get ready.”

  Lyran insisted on staying to examine her and the babe, despite the woman’s protest.

  “I’ll be perfectly fine now Osman is here. This is our third time, you know.”

  Senna had never heard her husband be so forceful as he addressed Bernadine with a smile. “Even so. I’m almost ready and ’twill take but a moment to ensure everything is working as it should. Please indulge me this request; I would have no peace if anything went wrong for lack of a swift examination.”

  As the new parents discussed the matter, Lyran led Senna to the door, popping a kiss on her head. “My poor Sennalina. I’m sorry you could not have the contentment of an undisturbed morn, but I would urge you to allow Jarl to transport you back to complete your preparations.”

  Senna reached her parents’ house breathless and red-cheeked as he swung her off his horse with ease. His parting command to, “Make yourself beautiful for your husband,” was delivered with a cheeky grin.

  The enchantment of the bewitched day meant she was robed in a trice, and she gave thanks for the decision to wear a light, loose-fitting gown. Lyran’s father had sent along gowns in elegantly embroidered damask and heavy brocades for her consideration. These would have been unbearable in the heat – just one of the many ways he’d tried to impose his extravagant notions on what should be her day.

  Thankfully, he’d more than met his match in her mother, who refused to abide anything which might even hint at discomfort for her daughter. Being a talented seamstress, she’d created the most elegant of gowns, despite being recently recovered from a debilitating illness.

  A welcome breeze ruffled the veil covering Senna’s face, and she glanced toward the tall solar-stone which was more than a mere monument. Its shadow acted like that of a sundial as it shifted around its surrounding stones, marking the hours of the day and the seasons of the year. At midday on the solstice, it cast no shadow at all, and that was the moment she and Lyran had chosen to bind themselves to each other.

  Her eyes met the gaze of her beloved and, at that moment, time stood still. In fact, everything stilled: birds no longer sang, the delicate leaves of the silver birch no longer danced in the breeze, and the susurration of the crowd halted as though they’d all silenced in unison. She no longer felt the reassuring support of her father’s arm beneath her hand, and her vision restricted to a tunnel which only herself, Lyran and Jarl inhabited.

  Both men reached out to her with love, security and warmth, but only Lyran’s gaze connected with hers. Jarl’s somehow encompassed both of them, surrounding them with the same steely protection she’d felt earlier.

  The strength of her love for both men swelled her he
art into a vessel three times its normal size, and she felt her chest cavity growing to accommodate such a monstrous engine. The effort of supplying sufficient blood and energy to the powerful organ overwhelmed her, and she felt her head growing light at the exertion. She needed to express this love in a physical act such as singing or dancing. Otherwise, as the feelings grew to dangerous dimensions, she was in grave danger of bursting.

  It didn’t occur to her to wonder why the people around were excluded from the private triangle of extreme emotion, nor to ponder at the meaning of it. The most sense she could make of it was that in this moment, the seeds of an entirely new world were planted – this was the beginning of something momentous which transcended anything anyone had ever experienced before.

  ~*~

  A short while before the sun reached its zenith, Lyran fell silent as he stood next to the portal stone marking the outer henge. His mind buzzed with the events of the past half hour, and he needed to find peace. It was traditional for husbands to walk all the way down the stone avenue from the sanctuary before meeting their bride at the centre of the sun circle. Wisdom had it that the infusion of strong male energy would ensure the groom’s ability to make it through the lengthy ceremony without faltering, and guarantee his virility and performance on his first coupling with his bride. Whereas he didn’t set any store by most old wives’ tales, he had intended to use it as a thanksgiving meditation.

  He could not believe his fortune in winning the hand of the most remarkable girl in the village. Many would argue there were more beautiful, accomplished, or talented girls, but in his mind, none could hold a candle to his Senna. Her external appearance may not be as comely as some maids with their perfectly curled hair or shapely figures, but her beauty shone from within as though she had swallowed the midsummer sun.