by K. L. Nelson
“What does all this have to do with the stone?” Emmett asked.
“I’m getting to that. The point is the patricians were extremely influential in medieval Europe. The nobles had always known that money makes things happen. What they didn’t know at first was that there were better ways to get it than plunder or taxation. The ones who figured it out soonest were able to make the deals and form the alliances that put tremendous power in their hands. Without the help of the patricians, they would have never been able to do this. The emperors had their courts of advisors, but many of them were likely being advised in secret by patricians.”
“…Because they controlled the flow of money.”
“Exactly. So when Pope Adrian the First bestowed upon Charlemagne the title of patrician, it meant he was giving him special authority in the Roman Empire. Historians today know the empire was finished by the fifth century, but contemporaries didn’t see it that way. They thought the empire was simply in transition; they were the continuation of it. So this action by the pope was preliminary to the creation of a new kind of ruler, the Holy Roman Emperor. Charlemagne himself would never use that title, but his successors would. And those successors would also have need of the patricians to consolidate their authority, as would the rulers of other nations throughout the European continent and the British Isles.
“What this has to do with the stone is that it was composed by a patrician. The author was an advisor to the Holy Roman Emperor Otto the First in 970. The Marnoch Stone was carved near the end of the Pictish identity, and it was probably created far from Scotland.”
“How did it end up at Marnoch?” Emmett asked.
“Or why? It was broken into thirds and buried in the corners of the plot, as if it was meant to be found but only by someone who knew where to look.”
“And it was written by someone familiar with both Latin and Pictish,” Emmett added.
“You’re starting to get it. Pictish writing wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the Holy Roman Empire in 970. It was dying out in Pictland itself. Emmett, I believe a group of Picts somehow found its way to the continent by the tenth century and became patricians.”
“They infiltrated the elite class and started influencing the empire at the highest levels.”
“Correct. And they preserved their language privately even as they witnessed its public demise. But here’s the punch line: The way they became so influential has to do with this very stone. It’s written in code form so its true meaning is hidden. When you read it in direct lighting it goes on about meaningless ideology. But that’s a distraction. The real message, the message you get by shining the light from each side, explains how they were able to exert so much influence.”
Emmett listened intently as Skye retrieved a pile of pages from her notes and began to read.
“I’ll use the cardinal directions. It begins from the North, naturally. The text that illuminates when lit from the top of the stone is an oath required of all who read the stone:
“I take upon me a pact to uphold this society in the gaining of riches and power by any means. Let torturous death come upon me if I reveal the secret methods of wealth contained in the rites of this society.”
“Sounds creepy enough,” Emmett commented.
“It goes on to describe the methods of torture that will come upon those who break the oath. Let’s just say you wouldn’t want to get caught breaking the oath. Moving on, the Western text reads:
“The member must be willing and capable to do what the director requires of him. The way of this society is in gaining the confidence of the right people and the assassination of whoever stands in the way of the objective. If you are caught by outsiders doing the business of the society, it is required of you to kill yourself in order to protect the society. If you do not immediately kill yourself, the society will exact revenge upon you in the most horrible way. You would welcome death when the torture comes upon you, but you will be kept alive and made to suffer by the mutilation and removal of your…
“It goes on from there. You get the idea.”
“Sounds like the boy scouts,” Emmett quipped.
“Yeah, the boy scouts of Hades. The last part of this side reads:
“The language of our fathers is now dead to the world, but it lives with us. We use this language to conduct our business hidden from the world. Anyone who divulges the secret of our communication, either intentionally or by carelessness will be subject to the punishments found in this writing. The detection of a false brother will be rewarded with untold wealth and high status within the society.
“Then, the Eastern text reads:
“Our objective is domination. Our means is wealth. Our method is terror. Our help is the influential. Our security is secrecy. Our strength is devotion. Our efficacy is thoroughness.”
Skye looked up at Emmett. They were both thinking the same thing. “This is The Pact,” she said.
“No wonder they were trying so hard to kill you. You just translated their secret initiation rite,” Emmett observed.
“My guess is a group of Picts migrated to the continent near the end of the Pictish period,” the professor explained. “They integrated into the culture. Soon they found their unknown language to be useful in gaining privileges and they began to exploit it. They took their warlike ways underground and developed a secret society based on murder and plunder.”
“With piles of gold streaming into their hands, it would have grown stronger with each passing generation,” Emmett added. “But there’s one thing I don’t get. Why tattoo ‘signal’ on their necks?”
“Not just signal. The word carries the idea of a special communication during a battle.”
“Like the signal to attack.”
“Correct. In the confusion of battle, generals need a clear method to communicate simple messages to the soldiers: attack, retreat, flank. The character tattooed on their necks seems to have been important to the Picts because it saved their nation at some point. Their very existence may have depended on their giving heed to this signal. So the character became an insignia of sorts.”
“…a logo,” Emmett said.
“Yes. And they came to use it to secretly identify a brother in The Pact.”
“Ironically, it’s now a handy way to reveal them.” Emmett was looking across the stone at the professor. “Skye, this is good. They don’t know we have this. The FBI has been working these guys for decades. What you have done here just might blow this case wide open.”
“How?” Skye asked.
“They have a secret means of communication that enables them to operate undetected. It’s why we’re always one step behind them. In the Middle Ages it was the Pictish language. Today it’s got to be electronic. The FBI has expended massive resources to intercept their communications to no avail. Our techies are baffled, Skye. Just think of the wounded egos.”
“I can imagine,” Skye said.
“I’m not exactly sure how, but what you have uncovered here may give us the edge we need. What does the Southern text say?”
Skye sighed. “Well, I’m not sure how it fits in with the rest of it actually. It’s an eschatological text. A beast will rise up from within their ranks to devour the society in the last days.”
“A beast?” Emmett asked.
“Obvious symbolism, like the Book of Revelation in the New Testament,” replied the professor. “The beast is a common metaphor for a figure that causes catastrophe. This part of the text is going to require more study.”
Skye looked down at the stone. More than ever, she felt like she knew the real purpose behind her chosen field of study. She had always felt that knowledge was its own reward. There is value in being an educated person, even if you never use the knowledge in a practical way. She remembers a calculus professor telling this to a student who whined that he was never going to use calculus in ‘real life.’ One may never have need of calculus in the path of his life, it is true. But the study of calculus trains the
person in analytical thinking. It opens the mind to a new way to solve problems. It is part of being an educated person.
To Skye, archaeology was even more than that. It was about discovering the roots of humanity. Only by knowing its roots can humanity truly know itself. And if humanity understood itself, people would be in a much better position to face the challenges of the future. Skye knew that archaeology would one day help the world overcome impossible adversity in a very real way.
But she never thought her knowledge could help break up an international crime organization. She thought about the man who kidnapped her. She thought of the one who flew the helicopter that would have carried her to her death. She thought of the man who assumed he was putting a bullet through her heart.
A smile crept over her face.
“What?” Emmett asked, seeing her smile.
Skye looked at Emmett. She knew that he of all people would understand her heart at that moment. “Emmett, let’s get these guys,” she said.
Emmett smiled back. “We will.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Broch of Fidach
20 May, 685
Cinaed had one duty to perform until the sun reached the middle of the sky: Sit on the top of the broch and stare at the horizon. It was his least favorite job. He would much rather chase caribou in the mountains. He understood the watch had to be done. Every man in the village took his turn. But he didn’t have to like it. He sighed and tried to think of running after the herds. That was where his friends were at that moment. It was where he wanted to be.
Suddenly he jumped to his feet. Squinting at the horizon, he saw the flame rising from the broch of Gunneld some twenty miles away. It could only mean one thing – The Angles were invading Pictland!
Quickly Cinaed touched the torch to the pyre. In seconds the dry tinder was completely engulfed in flame. It would be seen from four other villages atop their brochs, and they in turn would light their signal pyres. Soon the entire Pictish nation would know of the invasion.
Cinaed descended the broch and ran to tell Vuradech. It wasn’t long before the entire armed force of Fidach was assembled and on the march. They knew exactly where to go, as did every village in the seven kingdoms of Pictland. By order of King Bridei, they were to assemble at Duin Nechtain in the heart of Pictland. There they would take their stand. They would send Ecgfrith reeling back to Northumbria.
Vuradech followed the plan, but he sent scouts to the south. Like other chieftains, he was wary of leaving his village defenseless. The plan was bold, but very risky. It depended on King Ecgfrith following the Pict army. If he were to turn to sack villages along the way, the cost would be immense.
The scouts rode the fastest horses in the village. They returned with word of the movement of Ecgfrith. He was heading straight for the village of Gunneld. The men of Gunneld would already be at Duin Nechtain. Their women and children were doomed if Vuradech did not act in their defense. What the Angles did at Grangemouth was etched in his memory. He immediately took his march south to intercept the approach of Ecgfrith. His force was hopelessly outnumbered, but fighting them was not his plan. As he neared the rise outside Gunneld, he spread his ranks in a single line across the ridge. Some two hundred fifty soldiers raised their weapons and shouted at the advancing Angle army below them on the plain.
King Ecgfrith abandoned his advance on the village and turned to attack the threat to his flank on the hill. He outnumbered Vuradech’s forces a hundred to one. When he saw the soldiers retreating, his army took heart and pursued all the way to Linn Garan in the North. In the haste of retreat, Vuradech sent his horsemen ahead to advise King Bridei that Ecgfrith would soon be at his doorstep.
“Vuradech!” the king laughed when he heard the envoy. “I believe it! Is it not just like him to spring the trap?” Turning to his captain in all urgency he said, “Make ready. Get everyone to the other side of the hill. Vuradech knows what to do. Let’s hope the fool doesn’t get himself killed before he does it!”
***
“Make haste, men!” Vuradech shouted from atop his horse. “You’ll get your chance to cross swords with a filthy Saxon soon enough. But for now, march swift! If you’re faster than an Angle, you’ll live to fight. If not, you’ll be meat for wolves!”
Cinaed ignored the aching in his legs and pressed on. His friend Uurist was marching beside him. He sensed fear in his friend. This was no ordinary hunting expedition they were on. Today they hunted men.
“I want to bag ten Angles today!” Cinaed boasted to his friend.
The suggestion aroused Uurist from his thoughts. “If you get ten surely I will get twenty,” he countered.
Close by, Vuradech smiled as he listened to the young men agree on a wager. He hoped they were right. He hoped they lived to settle up. Everything depended upon their making it to Linn Garan, and Bridei being ready for them. He had to have faith in his horsemen. He had to believe they made it in time.
His heart thrilled at the thought of sending Ecgfrith back to his own land in defeat. He yearned to avenge his uncle Taezalorum. He yearned for the freedom of his people. And he yearned for the protection of his village and his Galem.
“Fighting men of Fidach, the Angles are at your heels!” he shouted. “Keep marching! March them to the slaughter!”
***
Bridei Mac Bili sat upon his horse atop the ridge. The wind was stiff against his face. He looked down the valley past the waters of Linn Garan to the forested plane of Scaranauld. From the point of the ridge he could see far out onto the wooded land. Somewhere in the trees was Vuradech. He hoped he was near. He hoped a detachment of Angles was following him. He suddenly had a taste for Saxon blood.
About as far away as he could see, Bridei noticed something emerge from the trees at the edge of a large clearing. At first he thought it was a deer, but as he strained his eyes he could see it was a man. Suddenly there were ten men, then a hundred at least. As this little band emerged into the clearing, Bridei realized they were not marching. They were running.
Bridei’s heart began to pound as men began to emerge at once across the entire tree line. Vuradech’s little band was only part way across the meadow before the entire plane began filling with soldiers. Bridei estimated between twenty and thirty thousand men were on the march. Vuradech had not brought a detachment of Angles. He’d brought the whole army!
The king immediately reined his horse around and descended the ridge to where his men stood in rank. He rode the line at full gallop and looked into their faces. At the end he turned and let his horse prance at a regal gait back the other way. Every eye was upon him as he began to shout courage:
“Fighting men of the Seven Kingdoms of Pictavia, hear me. You are farmers and herders, forgers and builders. The men I see before me are not warriors first. But warriors of another nation are upon you. They are bearing down upon this place at this very moment. They have come for the land of your ancestors, the land you make your life on, raise your children and animals on, make your home on. And what do you have to say about that?
“This day you will have something to say. Let strength be your voice. Because when you march over that hill, you will not be a farmer or a stone-carver.” King Bridei stood in his stirrups and drew his sword. He shouted even louder as he held his sword high, “When the horn sounds, every man in this company will be a son of Pictland!”
The entire army raised a shout of war at once. If any man in the company had given thought to fleeing the battle, that thought was gone now.
“There will be Saxon blood on the mountain today,” Bridei’s captain said at his side.
“Yes,” the king replied. “There will be blood.”
Just then a scout ran to Bridei from the ridge. “My king, Vuradech is in the valley!”
“Captain,” Bridei commanded. “Take your company and join me over the ridge. We ride to meet them.”
Captain Morog and the king rode at the head of five thousand into the valley to the relief of
Vuradech. The men gave battle to the Saxon horde, but only long enough to let the men of Fidach find safety over the ridge. When all were safe, the order was given to retreat.
King Ecgfrith saw the Pictish force retreating from his much stronger army and his heart took courage. He would crush the Picts today. No longer would any have the heart to rebel against his suzerainty. Cuthbert had been wrong to advise him against invading Pictland. He would show all that Ecgfrith the Great cannot be trifled with.
The Angles pursued the retreating Picts up the side of the hill. But before the front line was half way to the top over ten thousand archers appeared and shot a volley directly into the horde.
“Volley!” was shouted by many in the company, and the entire force halted and immediately crouched under their shields. Arrows darkened the sky as each Pictish archer emptied his quiver. The shields repelled most of the arrows, but when the surviving Angles emerged from protection they were confronted with an awful sight. Those ten thousand archers had been joined by twelve thousand swordsmen and all were advancing on them from the higher ground.
In rage, King Ecgfrith ordered the uphill attack. The two armies met on the side of the hill. The fighting was bloody on both sides. But for every Pict that fell to his wounds, there were ten Angles lost. The hillside was strewn with the corpses of men who had been slain far from their homes.
In the confusion of battle, the Saxon king looked around and saw his force being decimated. Cursing under his breath, he gave the order to retreat. He had but one chance to regroup and fight another day. He knew he must reach the pass at the mouth of the valley between the cliffs and the lake before it was cut off. But upon reaching the pass, he found a band of two hundred Picts ready to give battle.
Vuradech sat astride his horse and looked into the eyes of King Ecgfrith himself. He smiled and said, “Remember me?”
