Caledonii: Birth of a Celtic Nation. 5. A Druid's Work

by Hall, Ian

  “Sit down man!” Ranald said, indicating a fur by the fire. “Tell us your news!”

  The four Caledons watched as Tyfix sat down and composed himself. They all knew that they were going to be told a story, memorized word for word.

  “The Romans came through Selgove lands in two great armies, one razing Shiels, Kel’sar, an’ Lethen, that’s the force that Lord Calach ran into. The other swept Fachen an’ Loch Rabie; they fared no better. The Romans ploughed through the country without a care, taking the cream o’ our warriors wi’ them.”

  “They then reached the great rivers that separate the low lying lands o’ the south and the highlands o’ the north. Thousands o’ Selgove had escaped the ravages o’ the Roman armies, an’ made for their nearest town. They looked for news o’ Torthor; their chief. Slowly, as the tidings were passed from town to village, they realized that Torthor had died at Shiels, an’ the men began to rally to his son Bruin.”

  “The son o’ Torthor was a warrior; strong and brave. He made for the stronghold o’ Carnaer, near Fachen, an’ decided to make a stand.”

  “Carnaer is a steep hill in level land, but the flat top is as big as Lochery. There’s water springs a’ year round, an’ can only be assaulted on two sides, the north an’ south slopes. They’re steep, but you could walk up them. The other two sides are almost sheer cliff; difficult to climb down, but impossible for an army to assault. A group o’ boys could stay up on Carnaer for a year wi’ the whole o’ the Caledon nation in siege. Or so we once thought.”

  “Bruin drove a’ the cattle he could up the hill, he would need food. Six thousand warriors rallied to his name; I do not exaggerate, six thousand. They dug trenches an’ ditches on the slope, put poisoned spikes into the grass an’ spent days dragging big stones to the top ready to roll them down on the Romans. They made the fortress o’ Carnaer into the strongest defensible position in the Norlands.

  “I joined Bruin then. He told me to memorize everything I could see. He told the other story-tellers too. Told us, win or lose, that when it was a’ over, we were to travel the Norlands telling the story o’ Carnaer Hill.”

  “Then the Romans came. Two columns, wi’ trumpets blazing an’ metals shining in the sun. They came from the north an’ they came from the south, driving more Selgove before them until Bruin thought that the hill would collapse wi’ the weight o’ the people on top. The Romans camped below the slopes, both north an’ south. One morning, they attacked on both sides at the same time. Bruin an’ his warriors beat them away wi’ little effort. No Selgove warrior was even hurt that day. Crushed Roman bodies littered the slopes. At night, they came to take their dead from the slopes. We let them.”

  “In the morning, we saw that the Romans had started to dig trenches too, north an’ south. Big squares, wi’ ditches in front. The Romans camped inside in tents, we watched them from the hill. We tried to reach the trench wi’ our bows, but it was just out o’ range. We rolled some stones but they fell into the ditches an’ did no damage. After the Romans camped, Bruin sent some warrior groups down towards the Roman camps, but none ever returned. Not one. Bruin called off the night raids. We waited for the Romans to charge us again.”

  “We waited for two days, we celebrated, we feasted, and watched as the Romans dragged large contraptions to the front o’ their trenches. They spent a lot o’ time positioning them, then they started firing.”

  “Arrows came. Arrows, blackened metal they were, as thick as a child’s wrist, flying across the top o’ the hill.”

  “You said it was out o’ bow range!” Calach interrupted.

  The three others gave him such a look, he apologized to Tyfix and bade him continue.

  “Yes Lord Calach, I said the Roman trenches were out o’ range, even wi’ us firing downwards, but no’ for the arrows from these new devices. They flew across the top o’ the hill, slicing an’ stabbing. They were so thick an’ heavy, they sometimes went through one man, then through another. The hill was in uproar, there was so many people an’ animals on top o’ the hill, that the arrows had to hit somewhere. Hundreds died. We grew to hate the noise o’ these arrows; the hiss and the hollow thud; then the screams. We hid in the trenches, we hugged the ground, anything to get away from the arrows.”

  “We watched them though, a’ the time. We began to see the pattern to the fire, we began to get warning shouts, but the arrows were unbelievably accurate; soon they picked off the men who were watching. Larger contraptions were brought to the front o’ the Roman trenches. I thought I was seeing things when a large rock landed on the ground in front o’ me. A rock too heavy for two people to carry! Flying through the air like it was as light as a snowball. These stones began to fall regularly, killing men, women, children an’ animals. They fired the rocks night an’ day. At first we rolled the rocks back down, sometimes we got one to bounce over the embankments below. Watched it roll into the Roman camp knocking men and equipment over, but then we watched as they just loaded the same stone back on the contraptions an’ fired them back. We stopped rolling them back after that.”

  “For three days they fired their arrows and stones. Thousands died. We had to roll the bodies off the northern cliff, there were so many.”

  “It didn’t take long for Bruin to see that his idea wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t make a stand on the hill if the Romans were going to be able to pick us off when they pleased with little loss to themselves. He organized that every night, some o’ us would climb down the cliffs an’ get away. Women, children, an’ men like me; men useless to war. Some o’ us got caught, I never found out what happened to them. I got away, but I was under Bruin’s orders to stay near the hill, watching the contraptions throw their rocks; watching the Romans as they fired their arrows onto the hilltop.”

  “Some would say that I chose the best place to view the end from, but I tell you that I would rather have chosen badly. One morning, as I was watching the Romans getting up, getting dressed, getting ready for another day’s siege, there was a huge cry from the warriors on top o’ the hill.”

  “Hundreds o’ boulders were pushed down the hill towards one Roman position. Bruin led the charge after that; I could see him, running down the hill at full pelt. The Romans were quick, but Bruin an’ his men were quicker. Hundreds died on their way down the hill, but hundreds made the embankments, cutting the Romans down. There was a battle for a while, an’ even I thought for a moment that we’d got away with it. Then, before the Roman reinforcements arrived from the other camp, it was clear that it was over. In the end, not one Selgove stood. I had watched my entire people die.”

  “Over six thousand stood on the hill. We had food an’ water for everybody. When the time came to charge, there was barely two thousand. They died in the time it takes to heat up soup.”

  Tyfix slumped back onto the fur.

  Ranald, although he had told himself that he was not going to be taken in by the story, was dumbfounded. He had no reason to doubt what the storyteller had told them, but there was so much he found hard to take in; contraptions that fired stones, big arrows? Six thousand dead in one place.

  “Masson?”

  “Aye, Ranald?”

  “Get Tyfix away to Mawrin.” He motioned to Durgal to help. “He needs something to eat, drink, an’ probably some sleep too. See to it!”

  For a while Ranald and Calach sat in reflection.

  “Six thousand.” Ranald broke the silence. “Difficult to imagine.”

  “There were at least two thousand in Shiels.”

  “An’ the devices, the contraptions for throwing arrows an’ stones. It doesn’t seem fair somehow.”

  “I’m going out to see Gawrcus.” Calach said. “He’ll take my mind off it.”

  Ranald smiled. “Aye, son. He will.”

  Calach sought out Kat’lana who was teaching the rules of the game of stones to Gawrcus. Calach frowned when he initially saw the pair. He thought that the boy was surely too young to learn the tactical moves in
the game, but sat down anyway. As Gawrcus decided on his moves, Calach told Kat’lana about the Selgove storyteller’s visit.

  For both Calach and Ranald, it was an afternoon of sad contemplation.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ranald thought he had more reason to be distracted.

  “Tyfix said that Calach was ‘already a legend.’” He drank another large swill of ale, screwing his face in disgust at the sediment at the bottom of the tankard. He crossed the candle-lit room to the barrel and poured another.

  Mawrin continued sewing.

  “Whatever it is you’re looking for, you won’t find it there.” she said softly.

  “I know that, wife!” he snapped, then sighed in apology, “I know.”

  “Ranald, what difference does it make that your son is well favored in other clans?” She had stopped sewing and giving him a calm, solemn frown.

  “It probably doesn’t matter at a’,” He went to take a swig, then paused. “It’s just… maybe it’s just…” he obviously struggled for the right words. “Well, I’m still alive! I’m the chief! I should be doing the things he’s doing!”

  Mawrin lay the material aside and walked over to her husband. She knelt at his feet, leaning in his lap. She looked upwards at Ranald’s face.

  “Stop this.” Her voice was a soothing balm. “Stop torturing yourself. You can’t do what Calach does, he’s a free spirit. He doesn’t need to oversee the clan, deal wi’ petty arguments, lead the festivals, visit the farms. Come on Ranald! Don’t you see? Calach can lead this fight against Romans because he is not the chief!”

  Ranald felt tears come into his eyes as he looked down at Mawrin’s face. She was so beautiful, she always had been. But somehow, somewhere along the years she had grown worry lines and wrinkles, and he resented it. He understood that she represented more than old; she was a living reminder that he was old.

  He ran his fingers through her greying hair, where once it had been fine and brown.

  “I can see that Mawrin. I can see that.” The tears now fell unhindered, running into his moustache and beard. “But what happens if I am wrong, an’ Calach is right?” He began to sob. He took a gulp of ale to divert his thoughts, but still the tears came. “What happens if the Romans come to Lochery an’ do the same to us as they’ve done to everyone else? What happens then? What happens when the stones are falling out o’ the sky on us? On you?”

  Mawrin used both hands to wipe the tears away from the wide face, as she did so, Ranald could see her crying too.

  “Ranald!” she hissed, her voice snapping at him. “Ranald! Listen to me!”

  He sniffed loudly, then stifled a laugh as he realized the ridiculousness of the situation.

  Mawrin looked up at him, smiling. She grasped his hand in both of hers. “If the Romans come, what has the chief done to prepare for war?” she said. “What has the great chief Ranald, son o’ Garveld, son o’ Ceartas actually done?”

  “Nothing.” Ranald said. The words were almost inaudible. “Nothing at a’.”

  “Rubbish!” Mawrin snapped loudly, bringing him to his senses. “You’ve handled the whole thing marvelously!”

  “What?”

  “You’ve handed the task o’ getting ready for war, to the best person capable o’ doing it!”

  “I don’t....”

  “Your son, you dolt!” She reached up and ruffled his hair.

  Ranald reeled at his lack of understanding. He nodded slowly, seeing the truth in her words.

  “Ranald, chief o’ the Caledon clan?” she addressed him officially.

  “Aye?”

  “You’ve readied the clan for war without even trying. Have you looked at the men? Seen the way they dress; the swords by their sides? How they accept orders? How they act? Have you seen the pride in the mothers an’ fathers as they ride out o’ the gates?”

  The truth began to dawn on him. Slowly, but surely, he began to understand Mawrin’s point.

  “The men are proud again Ranald. They are proud to be Caledonii.”

  “But they answer to Calach!”

  “Aye, you buffoon! They answer to Calach because he issues them their orders! Do you think they wouldn’t answer to you if you told them what to do?”

  Ranald wiped his face with his sleeve and took a large, slow swig from his tankard.

  “Husband, have you noticed how the streets o’ Lochery are full just now? Have you taken note o’ how many warriors an’ their families have arrived from the south?”

  “There has been a lot.”

  “A lot?” she laughed again. “Why, out there in the brochs, huts, houses an’ farms are the warriors o’ the Brigante, the Votadini an’ the Selgove.”

  Ranald nodded. There was a hotchpotch of nationalities living under his protection.

  “When the clans are looking for somewhere to stay; somewhere to rally together against the Romans, where do they come Ranald?”

  “They come north, to safety.”

  “No.” Her voice had taken on a soothing effect again. “No Ranald, they come here, to Caledonii lands. Calach has been to both Venicone and Meatae lands, he’s told me. He’d tell you too if you’d just take the time to listen. The refugees come here. Not to Ma’damar; not with the way he’s treated them over the years. Not to Mauchty; he’s just a pup, an’ his lands are low-lying an’ may be next to fall.”

  Ranald was about to burst into the fact that the Romans were not going to advance past their wall, when Mawrin pressed her finger against his lips.

  “They come here. To Lochery. To the Caledon lands, because they trust you!”

  “They come to Calach; the ‘legend’, not to me!”

  “Oh dear, you have taken it really bad, haven’t you?” She pressed her fingers hard to his lips stifling further protest. “You have to come to terms wi’ what I’m saying here Ranald. If you don’t it’ll destroy you, us, everything.”

  “Yes, some come to Calach, because he is the visual part o’ the Caledon clan at the moment. They flock to him like horses to a stallion. Who wouldn’t? He looks the part; he’s the chief’s son, he’s a good looking young man, he makes the right noises at the right times. He makes the appropriate speeches, he leads and organizes well. He’s made friends an’ allies wi’ the right people.....”

  “Ma’damar! You can’t call him right!”

  “Shhh.” Mawrin rested back on her heels, still leaning on his knees. “Listen to me. He’s made the contact wi’ Finlass, not wi’ Ma’damar. He’s friendly wi Mauchty; the new Venicone chief.” She paused to catch breath. “Ranald, your son’s got a group o’ friends; all warriors, gathered round him now that would lay down their lives for him.”

  “Aye, for him. Not me!”

  “Ranald!” she snapped, the spittle flew at him. “Enough o’ this!”

  Mawrin got up carefully, never relinquishing eye contact. She leaned over him, placing her face above his, their noses almost touching. Although Ranald’s first reaction was to shout at her, her expression held him at bay. He realized that Mawrin was very, very angry.

  “I’ll tell you this, an’ I’ll tell you just once!” She hissed between clenched teeth. “Your son has one belief; that the Romans will invade us. That’s it. An’ he’s been working bloody hard for years now to make this clan ready for war if it happens. Last year you gave him the job o’ scouting, an’ keeping an eye on Roman movements. He’s done that, an’ in doing that, he’s done more. He’s organized the clan’s warriors into groups, into different units. He’s been teaching archery in every village in the land, he’s bought every bow from every trader who’s even come close to our lands, an’ distributed them freely amongst the ablest bowmen. He’s armed the swordsmen, he’s kitted them a’ out in the clan colors. What do you think I’ve been sewing for the last two moons? What every mother in the town’s been doing in their spare time.”

  She took two strides across the room and angrily brandished her sewing. Ranald realized for the first time, that it was indeed t
he clan colors, the weave normally reserved for formal wear. The dark green, hatched in lighter green and dark red.

  “Aye, an’ he’s done a’ this without asking for one payment from you!”

  Ranald sat stunned. He knew that Calach had been active, but not to this extent.

  “He’s done this to ready the clan!” Mawrin continued, her tone less irate. “But he’s done it in the Caledon name! Not his own! He’s not put himself up for this ‘legend’ status! It just happened!”

  She placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him lightly.

  “Ranald, my love, if our son is wrong about the Romans, the clan as a whole won’t suffer. We’ll parade for a year, celebrating that we were ready for them, but they didn’t come.”

  She kissed him again.

  “But, Ranald, my love, if our son is correct, an’ the Romans do attack us, then because of the work that your son has already done, we are ready! You have instructed our son to arm the clan. You have acted for the good o’ the clan. An’ that is a’ Calach has done.”

  She kissed him again, this time her lips parted.

  “Ranald. Go an’ embrace our son. He’s done nothing but think o’ the good o’ the clan. An’ you look for the bad in everything he does. He loves you. Maybe he does it so that you will notice an’ love him too.”

  Mawrin put her finger to his lips again, stifling protest, and walked out of the room.

  Again, Ranald had a lot to think about.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Remember, Keven, Blacksmith o’ Atoll, if you accept, then from now on, you’ll be working for me.” Calach looked around the forge. “An’ only for me. You’ll not even make a pot for your mother. Your time will be mine totally.”

  “An’ if I do this.” The young blacksmith nodded his head slowly, as if considering the situation. “If I work for you, who’ll pay my wage?”

  “I will.”

  “I don’t come cheap!”

  Calach looked the smith straight in the eye. “I never thought you did.”