Before he could answer there was a shrill yell from the gate as an old woman pushed her way through the crowd calling his name. Mairead turned and the spell was broken. Brude looked over her shoulder to see his mother running for him. He dropped his staff and went to meet her, arms wide. Unlike Mairead she did not hesitate but ran to him, throwing her arms around him, sobbing his name. He held her tight and felt his own eyes stinging. After an age she stood back, still holding tightly to his arms. She looked at him, then began sobbing, so she clung to him again.
Then others approached and some of the older women recognised him, calling his name. His mother at last let him go so that she could run her hands over his face. Then she pulled his head down to kiss him as if he was a small boy. He laughed and told her to stop because he was a grown man now. She laughed through her tears, telling him he would always be her little boy and she had missed him so she would kiss him as much as she wanted.
“Give the lad a chance to meet folk, Mor,” said an elderly man with grey hair and a weathered face, gently tugging her hand. Then he held out his own hand and clasped Brude’s hand in welcome. “It’s me, Seoras. Your mother stays with me now. Welcome home, boy.”
Brude remembered Seoras as a friend of his father’s, one of the village elders. He had been left in charge of the village when the war band had left, Brude remembered. “Thank you, Seoras. It is good to be back.”
The crowd was pushing in now so Seoras shouted at them to back off and give Brude space. “He’s home and we’ve plenty of time to hear all about where he’s been.” He began pushing a way through the crowd. “Come on, lad, let’s take you home.”
Brude, with his mother clinging to his arm and trying to tug him through the crowd, turned to see Mairead. She gave him a smile that lit up her face as she waved for him to go. “I’ll see you later!” she called. He could still feel where her fingers had touched his face.
Brude called to Castatin, asking him to bring the mule along. The boy eagerly ran to grab the halter rope and proudly march behind him. That gave Mairead an excuse to tag along if she wanted and, after a moment’s hesitation, she followed. Most of the crowd came along as well, mainly women and children, while the spearmen simply looked on, rather bewildered. Seoras led the crowd in a procession through the gate, past some houses and out another wide gateway on the south side of the stockade. A wide, well-trodden path ran down the steep slope towards the main village and Brude felt a pang of loss at the realisation that the broch itself was no longer his home.
Seoras took them down the winding path to a large roundhouse at the foot of the hill. All the way there, Brude’s mother clung to him, constantly asking him if he was well and what had happened to him. He assured her time and time again that he was fine and glad to be home.
They reached the house where Seoras ushered them inside, allowing Mairead to follow. He told Castatin to tether the mule outside and then come in. He ordered everyone else to stay outside then he waited for the boy before pulling down the goatskin flap that served as a door. “They’d all try to come in if we let them,” he said with a smile. Brude had a momentary worry that all his belongings were on the mule and it was out of his sight but he told himself he was home now, not in Rome, and nobody would steal his things, especially not with so many people watching.
They sat at the central hearth where the fire always burned. Brude’s mother fetched a pot to boil some water and brew a tisane while the others sat looking at each other, nobody quite sure what to say.
comsee a lot has changed while I’ve been gone,” Brude said eventually. There was an odd tension in the air and Mairead looked as though she wanted to be there with him yet also to be somewhere else at the same time. Years of being cautious as a slave gave Brude the patience not to force questions on her, but he could not help constantly looking at her. She returned his gaze, studying him carefully but she was biting her lips nervously and kept her hands clasped in her lap.
“Never mind that, boy,” said Seoras. “Where have you been all these years? We all thought you dead along with your father and all the others.”
“No, I was only knocked cold. When I woke up I was a prisoner. I’ve been a slave of the Romans pretty much since then. It took me a long time to get back.”
He gave them a very short, edited version of his first years as a farm slave and a labourer, then said, “After that I was taken to Italy, to Rome itself. I was there for a long time. A very long time.”
“And we thank all the gods that you are back with us now,” said his mother as she poured the hot water into wooden beakers, wafting the smell of crushed herbs to Brude’s nostrils.
“And I must thank you for rescuing my son,” said Mairead. “He tells me you fought three men.”
“You should have seen him, Mother!” Castatin exclaimed enthusiastically. “He was amazing.”
“It wasn’t really that much of a fight,” Brude said, trying to play it down. He remembered enough about the Boresti to know that a reputation as a fighter would be likely to bring challenges from young warriors who wanted to prove themselves and he had no wish to fight his own people.
As they sipped the tisane, Brude’s mother insisted he tell them all the details of what had happened to him. Brude suddenly felt tired and emotionally drained. He was also reluctant to say too much until he learned more about what had happened in the village during the past thirteen years. There was an undercurrent here that he could sense but not explain. “There’s not much to tell,” he said. “I was a slave. All I could do was what I was ordered to do and hope to survive.”
“But you got away?” Seoras asked. “Escaped?”
Brude shook his head. “The Romans know how to keep slaves. No, I was given my freedom.”
“They let you go?” Mairead asked. “Why would they do that?”
“I was part of a group who entertained the emperor,” Brude explained. “He was pleased and I was set free as a reward.”
“You’ve met the emperor?” Castatin was impressed.
Brude smiled. “Not exactly met. But he was there watching, though I doubt he would remember me.”
“Hush, Castatin,” Mairead said. “Brude must be very tired after coming all the way from Rome. We should go now in case your father comes back.”
At the mention of his father, Castatin fell quiet. Mairead drank her tisane quickly and then stood, thanking Brude’s mother for the hospitality. She took Castatin to the door and Brude followed her outside. The crowd was gone but two young men were waiting, resting lazily on their spears. Brude raised a questioning eyebrow as Mairead turned to him. “Colm doesn’t like me to wander off without protection,” she said.
He heard the sadness in her voice and wondered what or who Colm thought she needed protecting from. He wanted to reach out for her, hold her and tell her that it was the thought of her that had kept him going during the long years of his captivity but she remained distant and aloof and he knew it would be a bad idea to do anything so forward while the two guards were watching. She gave him a sad look. “You’re not the only one who has been a prisoner, Brude,” she whispered softly. Then, raising her voice, so that Colm’s men could hear her words, she said, “Thank you again for rescuing my son. I am grateful.” She turned, leading Castatin by the hand, and set off up the steep slope towards the broch. The two young spearmen gave Brude an appraising look before following her.
Seoras came outside to stand beside him. “Be careful, lad,” he said. “She belongs to Colm and he is not a man to cross.”
“I have no intention of crossing him.” But he stood there, watching the swing of her hips as she walked up the hill and he did not take his eyes off her until she disappeared from sight behind the trees that stood where the path turned.
Brude and Seoras unpacked the mule and took Brude’s belongings inside where he presented his mother with a bolt of fine linen, a mirror with a silver back engraved with images of Roman goddesses and a gold brooch. She hugged him again, tears f
lowing down her cheeks until Seoras gently pulled her away and told her to prepare an extra bed for Brude. While she bustled away at one side of the house Brude dug out a small dagger with a finely carved handle of ivory which he presented to the old man. “ank you for taking care of her,” he said. “I’ve brought back enough things to make sure we live comfortably for a while. You can have anything you fancy, but I’d like you to have this.”
Seoras turned the knife over, admiring the craftsmanship. “Thank you, but you don’t need to give me anything.”
“I know, but you didn’t have to take her in, either.”
Seoras shrugged. “It’s been good for both of us,” he said quietly. “My wife died only a year after you left and neither of us had anybody else.” He glanced to make sure Mor could not hear him. “Anndra is dead, then?” he whispered.
Brude nodded. “Definitely. He was beside me when he fell.”
“I’m sorry, lad. He was a good man. A good village head man.”
Brude nodded again. The unspoken words were almost as audible as the spoken ones. Brude was in no doubt that Seoras believed that things were not so good with Colm in charge.
He rose with the dawn, going outside to fetch some wood for the dying fire. Once he had fed the flames, he brought in some water from the rain barrel at the back of the house and set it to heat up, then he went outside to wash. By the time he came back the water was warm enough for him to shave. He used a small razor, its handle the twin of the knife he had given to Seoras.
His mother was soon up and about, fussing over him, preparing breakfast. Seoras joined them for the oatmeal porridge that Brude knew he was going to have to get used to again. His mother was in her element, scooping more porridge into his wooden bowl in case he was hungry. He relaxed and let her get on with it, exchanging a look with Seoras who just smiled and shook his head.
After breakfast he decided he had better go to see Colm. He climbed the steep hill, stopping every so often to turn and enjoy the view. The village was spread out below him on the flat land beside the river, roundhouses scattered irregularly between the hill and the water. He saw people moving around, going about their daily lives. There would be corn to grind for baking, some women would be spinning wool or flax to make clothes, the old men would be fixing fishing nets or making lobster traps while others would be tending their small plots of land where they grew herbs and vegetables. Children were fetching water from the small stream which babbled down the hill near the path. Everyone would be working during the daylight hours to bring food into their homes. They would barter and swap so that everyone shared in the benefits. It was, he thought, no different to many such villages he had passed on his long walrth, but this place was special to him. This was his home even though he had spent almost half of his life, and nearly all of his adulthood, away from it.
Beyond the village the broad expanse of the Tava spread out below him, sparkling silver in the morning sun. The tide was out and he thought he could make out the dark shapes of seals basking on the sandbanks. He could certainly make out the tiny shapes of children wandering the rock pools along the sandy beach to the east, looking for crabs or shellfish. There were a couple of coracles, the occupants paddling with smooth strokes to get the small oval vessels out to deeper water where they would drop a net over the side while the gulls circled and screeched at them, waiting to catch anything the nets let slip. Fishing from a coracle was dangerous work, he knew, for the vessels were really meant for shallow water and could be easily swamped by large waves but the men worked in pairs, handling the tiny vessels expertly, as the fishermen of Broch Tava had done for generations.
Further inshore there was a small wooden boat with a solitary sail, manned by four fishermen setting off to try their luck in the deep waters of the estuary. The sight of the boat reminded him of Frual, who had been a captive with him for a short while all those years ago. He had been a fisherman before Nechtan and Brude’s father had led him off on their great raid, never to return.
Brude looked across the river to the green hills and forests on the far side, which stood out in sharp relief, giving the impression he could almost reach out and touch them, though in fact they were two miles away. He breathed in the gentle breeze blowing in from the sea, enjoying the coolness of the northern air and the faint tang of salt on the sea breeze. After so many years in the heat of Italy it was a joy to climb a hill and not be dripping with sweat from the first footstep. He knew that when winter came and brought wind, rain and frost, he would be wishing for the heat again but, for the moment, he simply enjoyed the feel of the cool air on his skin.
Turning again, he clambered up the track, revelling in the feeling of being home. He approached the south gate in the new, unfamiliar stockade where, to his surprise, two spearmen were on guard. Like all villages, Broch Tava had its disagreements with its neighbours but few villages had warriors on guard all the time. Perhaps, he thought, it was in response to the kidnapping of Colm’s son and the theft of his bull. And one thing Broch Tava did not seem to be short of were young warriors. Gartnait had said Colm had seventy men at his command, a frightening number for such a small place.
The two young men eyed him warily as he drew near but he was unarmed except for the short dagger at his waist and he smiled and nodded a greeting to them. They let him pass without question. He strolled into the stockade to have a proper look around. Yesterday’s walk through had been a blur and he had paid very little attention to his surroundings.
Many people were already up and about and he saw that there were several buildings dotted around: two long, low buildings with thatched roofs; a few traditional roundhouses; some pens for animals and even a smithy where a big man with huge, muscular arms and wearing a long leather apron was already heating his tools while his young apprentice stoked the furnace with charcoal.
He circled the smithy, wishing a good morning to some women who were carrying baskets of laundry, then, stepping quickly aside to dodge two young boys who were chasing each other, waving short sticks, he entered the wide open space between the main gate and the broch. He headed for the broch itself. There were two more spearmen guarding the low doorway. One was the young man, Seoc, he had spoken to the day before and the other was just about the biggest man Brude had ever seen. He had the same bear-like physique of old Curtius but was taller, more than a full head taller than Brude. His face was covered in hair, his bushy eyebrows, moustache and beard merging to form a tangled mass that parted to show his mouth, leaving a small space for his nose and eyes. Even his bare forearms were dark with hair. Unusually for one of the Pritani he was wearing a long coat of chain mail, which must have been incredibly heavy to wear all the time. He glowered at Brude as he approached.
“Good morning,” Brude said amiably. “I’d like to speak to Colm.”
Seoc nodded. He nudged his companion. “Go tell Colm that Brude is here to see him.”
The big man frowned then ducked and squeezed his enormous frame through the small doorway. Brude looked at Seoc questioningly. “Where did you find him?”
“Cruithne? He’s one of Colm’s new men. He comes from somewhere away to the west. He says they threw him out for killing a man.” Seoc lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t upset him if I were you. He’ll break your neck as soon as look at you. And Colm likes him.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Lots of brawn, not much brain, our Cruithne,” Seoc grinned. “He said once that he wants to fight a bear because he thinks he’s stronger.” He shook his head, still grinning. “Mad as a stag at rutting time, he is.”
A figure appeared at the doorway and Colm himself came out. The giant Cruithne followed him, resuming his post beside Seoc. Colm was all smiles, dressed in a fine linen shirt and leather trousers, gold rings on each finger and a golden torc around each arm. Smiling, he clasped Brude’s hand eagerly. “Sorry about yesterday,” he said. “Not much of a welcome for you, was it? It was a bit of a shock, I’m afraid, seeing you after so
long when I thought you were dead. But we will make up for it because, tonight, we will have a feast to celebrate your return.”
“Of course!” Colm beamed. “And three new slaves into the bargain. It turned out to be a good day after all.” He took Brude’s arm. “Come! Walk with me a way and I’ll show you what we’ve done here. The place has changed a lot since you left.”
Colm wandered through the stockade, Brude at his side. The head man pointed out the long buildings that he said housed his warriors.
“You’re building an army?” Brude asked him.
“I am making Broch Tava strong,” Colm corrected him. “Already the farms and villages along the coast look to me for protection, even those more than half way to Peart. They all send a share of their produce here to Broch Tava.”
Brude thought to himself that people were the same wherever he found them. Colm would have made a good Roman, and if the Romans ever did come back, no doubt he would be one of the first to adopt their customs in exchange for being allowed to stay as leader of his own little empire.
Colm was in good humour as he introduced Brude to Caroc, the smith, who growled a greeting in a gravelly voice before returning to his work. “He doesn’t say much,” Colm laughed, “but his work is excellent. He is of the Damnonii and they are the best iron workers of all the Pritani. Fortunately, I persuaded him to come here to help build our village into a real town.”
They left Caroc to his work, circling to the back of the broch where Colm showed him the pens where they kept half a dozen pigs. There was another small building backing onto the broch with two more spearmen guarding it. They stood aside as Colm approached. One of them unbarred the door and pulled it open at Colm’s signal. Colm ducked inside, gesturing for Brude to follow. The room was small and windowless, reminding Brude of slave cells he had experienced at first hand in the empire. He saw immediately that that was exactly what it was.
In the Shadow of the Wall Page 9
