Legend of the Celtic Stone

by Michael Phillips

  An hour more father and son remained among the stones of ann an aonachd tha bràithreachas.

  At length they made their way back down Donuill’s southern slope to the hill-fort of their ancestors. Dusk was descending. They would sleep within the crumbling walls tonight, hoping to absorb the spirit of their former chieftains, leaders, and bards.

  They would begin the trek homeward on the morrow.

  Eleven

  The frosts came, and with them the first of the two hundred eighty warriors Foltlaig had requested.

  Over the next week they continued to arrive from all corners of the tribal region of the north—forty from each of the seven tribes, including twenty-seven bold young women. Each, according to Foltlaig’s instructions, came with stores and supplies to sustain himself or herself for two months. They would spend the next fortnight by the shores of Loch Rannoch while Foltlaig and Maelchon personally trained them in the assignments that lay ahead.

  The first step was to divide them into smaller groups. At the heart of Foltlaig’s scheme lay a twofold division of the warriors—first into four companies of seventy, with each of these in turn divided into seven units of ten. From the whole, Foltlaig selected nine men and one woman to serve, along with himself and Maelchon, as leaders—twelve in all, three over each of the four companies. All of the smaller ten-person units included individuals from each of the seven tribes.

  Foltlaig’s objective in this organizational scheme was to allow bonds of trust to grow between men and women of different tribes as they carried out this important mission. He hoped this would have the ultimate effect of creating new permanent levels of brotherhood among them. His objective concerned the Romans only in the immediate. He was equally dedicated to future unity. Pictland could survive unchallenged from without only if it remained strong within.

  Day by day over the next two weeks, Foltlaig was gratified to see his hopes rewarded. For as the gathered warriors studied the details of the plan, as they honed their skills and practiced their tactics . . . all the while eating and drinking and talking together . . . the warriors of the seven tribes gradually began to merge into a single entity . . . a united force dedicated to fighting for the freedom of all Picts. The twelve leaders, too, as Foltlaig’s inner council, grew closer in purpose and learned to work out their differences.

  The day of their departure drew closer. As Foltlaig reviewed the progress of his specialized army, a new desire came into his mind. The tradition held that the stones must not be moved. But why should they not complete the depiction of the legend upon them? What better way to insure that his united army would carry his teaching back to their people than by allowing representatives of all the Pict tribes to take a united hand in carving the stones dedicated to brotherhood?

  As soon as the campaign against the Romans was done, Foltlaig told himself, he would take his eleven leaders north to the hill country of Laoigh. There they would complete the drawings on the monument, though no stone would be moved. Thus might men know for all time the full meaning of ann an aonachd tha bràithreachas.

  That night he explained to Maelchon what had come into his heart to do. Then he climbed into his sleeping skins with a heart full of peace and a mind full of plans.

  On the eve of their departure, Foltlaig gathered his fighting men and women, instructing them to sit together in their twenty-eight bands of ten. Foltlaig now rose to address them.

  “You have been chosen by the chieftains of your tribes,” he began, “to embark upon a mission the likes of which has not been seen in this land before. Your descendants will tell of the fame you win for yourselves. They will call you heroes, for in your hands their future freedom rests.

  “Get ready, then, to cross the Great River into the south. Have courage, that we may retain possession of the land our forefathers have given us. But remember, it is only through brotherhood that we will be capable of keeping it. Do not forget these words of mine, nor let them later slip from your hearts. Teach them to your children and to their children after them. Keep the exhortation by which I bind you this day: Only in the unity of our peoples will our freedom survive. Take these words to heart, that you and your tribes and families may live long in the land your fathers have given for your heritage.

  “But be careful. Do not forget the command I am placing upon you this day. For if you or your descendants do not follow it, you will certainly be uprooted from this land we now possess.”

  Foltlaig paused, gazing slowly to the right and left upon the company under his charge. Then he opened his mouth in a final great voice of challenge.

  “Now, faithful men and women of the Caledonii, the Borestii, the Maeatae, the Damnonii, the Selgovae, the Votadini, and the Novantae, let us rise up as one and take full possession once more of the land of our fathers, so that the days of our children might be many and prosperous in it!”

  Twelve

  The force of two hundred eighty set out from Rannoch in the first week of October.

  The year was AD 105, though none of their number would have called it such. Their method for distinguishing the passage of the moons and seasons and years vanished with the passing of time. To the unsuspecting Romans, safely ensconced in their forts throughout the region in anticipation of the coming winter, the date would have been reckoned at 858 years after the founding of Rome. Neither Pict nor Roman yet knew of nor apprehended the significance of Him whose birth a century before, in that far opposite end of the empire called Palestine, would someday mark a watershed for the centuries. Both peoples would one day know of Him well enough, for His story would eventually change both this land as well as the far-flung Roman Empire . . . indeed, all of human history.

  As the united Picts of Caledonia set out on a bright, chilly dawn, they hardly resembled the invisible force Foltlaig had described to the assembled chieftains the previous spring. But once they split into their smaller constituent units and set about their work, they would be invisible enough.

  It would be a cold and unpleasant winter for those legions under the Roman emperor Trajan who had the misfortune to be stationed in the far reaches of the Wanderer’s domain.

  The burdens of Foltlaig’s warriors were light. Each carried a modest amount of food and drink, their clothing, skins for shelter against the cold, and weapons—long dirk knives, short dubh knives, swords, and spears. Food and water beyond what they carried would be available in abundance as they went. They were all skilled hunters. They could survive in these wilds.

  To the twelve who had been chosen to lead was entrusted the fire.

  Burning coals they must have in ready supply if their daring plan was to succeed. Five carts followed, four heavy laden with dried bricks of peat, the fifth carrying other needful supplies. One each of the peat-wagons, along with the hot-pots of burning coals, kept alive twenty-four hours day and night, would follow each of the four seventy-man companies.

  Maelchon led a small but swift band of runner-scouts. They went before, beside, and behind them at distances of twenty to forty minutes. The large force must not be seen by the enemy. It was the job of the runners to make certain they passed through the central lowlands and then into the southern hills of the Roman territory without detection.

  The danger would increase after they passed the Great River and the plains south of it. In these regions the Roman presence was more pervasive. There would be greater likelihood of encountering traffic between the southern forts and the two Roman outposts of Ardock and Inveresk, on the shores of the Great River.

  The force moved into the region of the Maeatae, whose two leaders among the twelve led them dexterously through the bog and moss. They then crossed the great east-flowing river while yet avoiding by many miles the Roman bridge.

  On the southern shores of the Great River they encamped for the night. Here they tripled the night watch and braved open fires in order to dry themselves thoroughly. It would be the last night they would enjoy such heat. Henceforth would their rations of peat be reserved fo
r other purposes.

  It had now been four days since they left the waters of Rannoch. As on the night prior to their departure, Foltlaig stood once again to address his band. As he did, he was filled with the spirit of the ancients and with the wisdom and vision of Cruithne, whose son and heir, now more than ever, he truly was.

  “We have now crossed the Great River,” said Foltlaig to them. “Tomorrow we venture southward, deep into the heart of the enemy’s territory. Many of you are familiar with these regions—for some, this is your home. Yet we must be doubly vigilant now. Our discovery by Roman scouts will place all we have worked for in jeopardy. We are many, easily seen. Therefore, we must be wary and watchful.

  “We will journey to the heart of the Selgovae, there to divide our company three or four days hence. The enemy will know nothing of our presence until we strike at our most distant targets. Then, while retreating northward, we will destroy the rest of their outposts. After that, we will not meet again. When your work is completed, you will return to your own people. But do not forget the lesson of our victory. Every place where you set your foot shall be known as the land of Caledonia. Be strong and courageous.”

  The next day they reached the Roman road connecting Milton with Newstead. They crossed the road safely and without exposure, and made camp that night in the western Cheviot Hills.

  That evening, Foltlaig called together the eleven he had chosen as leaders. Late into the night, they held counsel together. He was about to send them out at the head of the four companies. He must make certain every detail was clear. Coordinated timing between the companies and the individual units was vital. Once they parted, there would be no further communication between the eastern and western flanks of their force.

  He had originally planned for Maelchon to lead the two companies striking west, and he the two to the east. He now determined, however, that they should go together. He wanted his son at his side as they consummated this venture for which they had so long prepared. Turenna of the Damnonii, daughter of the chieftainess Deargicca, had shown herself gifted and capable and would skillfully lead the two westward columns.

  The following morning long before daybreak, as the autumn chill hung in the air, the Pict force split in half. Two of its companies, led by Turenna, would pursue a westward course toward the region of the Novantae. The remaining two, led by Foltlaig, would march eastward through the hill country south of the lands of the Selgovae. Six of the twelve leaders accompanied each group. They would remain together another thirty-six hours before cleaving again. Turenna’s two companies would encamp that night and pause for the following day, allowing the two eastern companies to make closer approach to their targets.

  The plan was as daring as it was shrewd, and Foltlaig had established as precise a timetable as was possible to coordinate between two groups of seventy individuals each, traveling independently and over different terrain.

  Yet two days further would be given for his two companies, now divided and traveling separately, to reach the Roman forts at Rochester and Corbridge. By that time, Turenna’s companies would be in position at Milton and Birrens. Ten days after setting out, therefore, each of the four companies of seventy should be in readiness for the first strike of their campaign.

  The most important work must be done under cover of night. They would have to invoke the skies against rain, or the plan would be doomed.

  Thirteen

  Foltlaig and Maelchon stood together under cover of the edge of a small wood in the forest called Wark. Through deepening dusk, they gazed across the two hundred yards of moorland that separated them from the wooden structure that had been their objective—the rectangular Roman fort of Corbridge. It was now six days since they had crossed the Great River.

  “The hour has finally come,” said Maelchon quietly.

  “I only pray our brothers and sisters are all in place.”

  “They will be, Father. You have trained them well.”

  “If one of the companies should be even a few hours late, the Romans with their swift horses would be able to give warning.”

  “We will strike together, Father. Turenna and the others understood your orders.”

  “Are the fire pots ready?”

  “I checked before coming out to join you—we will have five full pots of coals ready by nightfall.”

  “And the smoke?”

  “There is a slight breeze from out of the northeast. We have positioned the pots so that the smoke drifts away from the fort. Their long Roman noses will detect nothing.”

  “Is it visible?”

  “If they looked for it, they might see a hint of white. But it will be dark soon. I made certain only the driest of the peats were used.”

  “Good. Now we await darkness, and the night’s quietest hours. Then we strike.”

  Maelchon returned to their men.

  Foltlaig remained where he was several minutes more in quiet contemplation. If all went well tonight, he would discharge his debt to his father and his people. He would accomplish revenge after his own fashion, then he would grow old with his son.

  Fourteen

  Four hours later, every warrior of Foltlaig’s seventy had taken his appointed place. Each knew precisely where he belonged.

  At four separate locations, positioned so as to take most effective advantage of the gentle northeasterly breeze, ten men stole across the moor toward the high walls of the fortress.

  The preparatory hours had been spent in two activities undertaken so silently that they had been carried out successfully within but a few yards of the Romans themselves. First, they had dug a series of holes under the foundation timbers on the windward outer wall. As some were thus engaged, their comrades were gathering armloads of brush and dry wood from the surrounding forest and piling them in readiness near where trees gave way to moorland. Even if they could only get a foot or two beneath the foundation, it would be enough to set the wall ablaze. As soon as night fell they silently stuffed their fodder into the holes and leaned the excess against the foundation at other strategic points along the windward and two adjacent walls.

  Foltlaig would give the signal, but not until he had personally crept around the entire walled fortress to make certain each of the four units was in readiness. The first he told to count for sixteen minutes, then begin. He began the cadence they had carefully practiced. When their rhythm was synchronized, he left for the next company, continuing to count four minutes as he went. The next unit he told to count for twelve minutes. Continuing on his way around the fortress, he instructed the third unit to wait for eight minutes, and at length he arrived at the fourth and final company of ten. He himself counted the final four minutes, then nodded.

  Within mere seconds, each of the groups began to empty their pots of peat coals at the base of the wooden structure and into the holes they had dug, quickly heaping the glowing embers high with quantities of the dried peats they had carried from the supply cart in the wood. Huge flames did not result immediately, though it would not take long for much heat to be generated. Though some of the brush and wood that followed the peats onto the pile was not completely dry, the summer just past had done its part to aid the speed with which the four fires took hold. As the fires spread up from below, especially where placed beneath foundation timbers, the favorable wind blew them toward the fort, gradually setting great sections of the wall first to smoldering, then into flame.

  By the time the sentries inside the fort realized they were surrounded by fumes not generated from within the camp, it would be too late to prevent the blaze from engulfing them.

  Now finally did the genius of Foltlaig’s plan reveal itself. Notwithstanding summer’s rains, early autumn provided the best opportunity for sizable quantities of dry fuel. Yet with winter only a month away, there would be no possibility of rebuilding the forts before the snows set in. This timing guaranteed the most devastating impact. It was indeed a shrewdly designed scheme, for winter here without shelter was fatal. If the f
ires completed their incendiary assignments, those who dwelt behind these walls would have no choice but to move southward.

  Meanwhile, after assisting their brothers in hauling burnables to the fire sites, two more units of ten positioned themselves at strategic locations within clear sight of both the front and rear entrances of the fort. The critical responsibility of these twenty was twofold: to guard their comrades while the blazes got underway, and to prevent the escape of a rider from the fort to warn other fortresses of the attack. It would be too late for Rochester, of course, for the northern seventy should simultaneously be dealing that fort a like fate. But it would be days before they reached Newstead, and that great stronghold must not be warned, for it was the most strategic of all their targets.

  The two guard units thus stood now with spears poised in readiness, watching the gates and the walls through the thickening smoke.

  Once Corbridge was completely in flames, the entire company—all seventy together—would prevent escape by retreating northward to meet their brothers from Rochester. They would then move toward their next two targets by such a route as to cut off any rider trying to make for them. Thus would they prevent communication between the various Roman posts until all eight lay in smoldering heaps.

  It was not Foltlaig’s chief design that many would die from the fire. The buildings within the fortress were spread out enough that even with its walls and dwellings in flames, there would probably not be great loss of life. They would merely contain the Romans within the burning walls sufficiently so that they could not spread warnings. Massacre was not the objective, but forced withdrawal.