In the Shadow of the Wall

by Gordon Anthony

  A week later he reached the coast where he bought passage on a merchant ship, which was heading to Londinium with a cargo of wine and the ubiquitous red Samian pottery that Gaul produced in such quantities. The ship’s captain was a cheery soul, who chatted away harmlessly, even though Brude gave him few answers to his questions. Brude felt sick again crossing the strait between Gaul and Britannia. This time over, though, he was able to stay on deck where he could feel the sea breeze in his hair and smell the salt of the sea. Gulls screeched overhead as the ship slowly ploughed its way past sheer, white cliffs, following the coast until they reached the broad estuary of the Tamesis. Here they turned westwards, sailing on until they reached the bustling city of Londinium. There, Brude spent several days using a good portion of his money to buy some stock to provide a cover for his story of travelling as a merchant. He bought a mule which he loaded with bolts of cloth, some pots of clay, a large number of jewellery trinkets, which were small and easy to transport, and some other odd bits and pieces which took his fancy, including a dagger with a finely carved ivory handle and a matching razor. By chance, he found a merchant who had a fine stock of medicinal herbs so he took the opportunity to top up his supplies.

  After four days in the city he had no more excuses for putting off the journey. The news he had gathered suggested that the north of the province was a dangerous place for travellers. The Brigantes were, if not in open revolt, causing enough trouble to make the Governor concerned. Brude decided he would avoid the main roads once he got near Eboracum and travel across country.

  Early the next morning, leading the mule by its halter rope, he set off for the north and the regions beyond the edge of the empire.

  A.D. 210

  “So how can we defeat the Romans?” Veleda asked. “It seems to me, you think we are defeated already.”

  “We cannot fight them and win, at least not in open battle,” Brude responded, aware of how easily his Roman citizenship had slipped away from him. He was once again Brude of the Boresti, trying to figure out how to defeat the Romans, no longer Marcus Septimius Brutus who had marched with the legions of Germania. “If we do fight them, the best we can hope for is to hide from them in the forests and hills. We should carry out small raids, attacking their supply lines until they decide to leave again.”

  “You think they will leave?” Veleda was surprised. “I thought they wanted conquest and tribute?”

  “They do. But what do we have that they need? We grow barely enough to feed ourselves. Our land offers nothing they cannot get elsewhere. To hold down a conquered land needs a lot of soldiers. They have had trouble with the Brigantes for years.” The more he spoke, the more confident he was that he was right. “The Romans are coming to make a show of force. They may well march all the way to the lands of the Caledonii but I don’t think they will stay for long. The problem for our people is that they are likely to kill or destroy anyone and everything in their way as they pass. That is the Roman way; you either submit to them or they crush you completely.”

  “You said the Brigantes still cause them trouble,” Fothair pointed out, looking for some inspiration as to how to defeat the might of Rome.

  “Pinpricks,” Brude said dismissively. “The Brigantes never fight in open battle; they simply carry out the occasional raid, steal cattle or rob merchants. They act more like brigands than warriors, but that is the only way they can fight against such odds. I expect they are suffering for it now. There will be villages and farms burnt to the ground whether they were involved in rebellion or not.” He stared hard at Veleda. “I have seen it before. I do not wish to see it again, not here among the Boresti.”

  Veleda considered his words thoughtfully. They had talked long into the night and the more she heard, the less hope she saw. “Then I must tell Nechtan to submit to Rome, to send tribute and hostages. He must sue for peace.”

  “I can’t see any other way,” said Brude, sadly. “Rome has conquered mightier people than the Pritani before now.”

  “And they have conquered us before, as the stories tell,” agreed Veleda. “The remains of their camps and watchtowers are still to be found everywhere across the land of the Boresti, all the way beyond Peart.” She fixed Brude with her steely gaze, challenging him once more. “So why did they leave the last time?”

  “Trouble elsewhere,” Brude told her. “The empire has many enemies and often there are fights among the powerful men of Rome to see who will be the next emperor. The soldiers must have been needed in some other part of the empire. And, as I said, why keep men here to pacify a land which is so poor it would cost more to control it than they could take from it?”

  “So there is some hope for us?”

  “A small hope. The emperor is a powerful man. There are few who would dare oppose him. But if trouble breaks out somewhere else, the emperor will be forced to go. If he does, he will take his armies with him.”

  “Then I will offer prayers to all the gods that some other people, far away, try to throw off the Roman yoke so that we may be saved. It is clear that even Belatucadros, god of war, cannot match the power of the Roman gods. If we oppose them then Babdah the Raven, who haunts the battlefield, feeding on the corpses and blood of the dead, will feast so much that his wings will not raise him from the earth. The coming of the emperor is dire news for the Boresti, Brude, son of Anndra. Up until now, the Romans have sent envoys bearing gifts of silver and other trinkets to the powerful tribes of the Caledonii and the Maeatae, seeking to buy peace. Now they come with war, not peace, in their minds and I fear for the Pritani.”

  There seemed nothing more to say. The three of them sat, gazing into the flickering remnants of the hearth fire while all around, outside, was quiet with the still of night. Brude saw Veleda staring at him, as if she was trying to see inside his mind. “Is there no other way?” she asked, her voice low, yet insistent.

  Brude knew that there was, but it was a desperate way, a way that meant death for whoever tried it. He hesitated, recognising that he was afraid. He had faced and escaped death so often in the arena that life was now sweet. He did not want to throw it away. Veleda saw in his eyes that he had an idea. He whispered, “If the emperor dies, they will probably leave, for there will be a fight to gain control of the empire.”

  “So how can we kill the emperor?” Veleda asked calmly.

  Brude looked down, staring into the dying fire. “I don’t think we can. He has many guards around him, night and day.”

  There was a short silence, then Veleda spoke the words he knew she would say. “But you could get close to him, ver tou not? You speak their tongue. You could approach him on some pretext and you could kill him.”

  Brude nodded. “Perhaps. But nobody is allowed to approach the emperor bearing a weapon.”

  “A man like you could find a way. But you would die. And you fear to die, is that not so?”

  “I have faced death before,” Brude told her. “But always with a chance to escape. In this, there would be no escape. I would be dead within a heartbeat of striking a blow.”

  Veleda spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I do not ask you to do this, Brude, son of Anndra. I merely ask if it could be done. Perhaps there will be no need. Perhaps the emperor will accept our surrender. But if not….” She left her words hanging, planting a seed in Brude’s mind which he knew would stay there. Trying to shake off the feeling of doom, which threatened to overwhelm him, he said to Veleda, “It is late. Where can we sleep for the night?”

  “You can sleep here,” she replied, content not to press the matter. “But we are not done yet, Brude, son of Anndra. You have told me what you know. Now I must tell you what I know.”

  Brude was intrigued. Tired as he was, the words of a druid were always important, even if sometimes, as on this night, the druid said things a man did not want to hear. “I am listening,” he said.

  “There is bad blood between you and Colm, son of Lachlann. Over the woman, Mairead, no doubt?”

 
; “There is no bad blood on my part,” Brude said. “Neither of them are to blame for what has happened to me and I cannot blame them for how they react to my return.”

  Veleda’s eyes twinkled. “You have learned more from the Romans than you care to admit, I think.” She held up a hand to stifle any protest as she went on, “I think your words say one thing while your heart says another. But I also say to you that there should be bad blood between you and Colm.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I know that Castatin, son of Colm, is in truth your son. I was in Broch Tava just after he was born. I know what I know.”

  Brude clenched his teeth then took a deep breath. It seemed everyone he met knew about Castatin’s true parentage. “I have heard this from my mother, Morspan> But I have not heard it from Mairead.”

  “That does not mean it is not true.”

  “I know. But Colm could say that I was not here when the boy was born and that he has been his father for the past thirteen years. What claim do I have on the boy apart from blood ties?”

  “Blood should be enough,” Veleda told him. “But there is more you need to know. Colm has not only taken your son, he has taken the whole village from its people, based on a lie.”

  “What lie?”

  “The same lie that haunts Nechtan, night and day, causing him to pray to all the gods, to give alms to the poor and to build his people into a peaceful nation instead of a warlike one. The same lie that has turned Gartnait into an old man fearful of vengeance. The lie of where their wealth came from.”

  Brude watched the old woman closely. He found he was holding his breath. He had to force himself to relax, just as he used to do when entering the arena. This moment was possibly just as dangerous. “I heard it came from the Romans. They went back across the Wall, after our defeat. They found some wealthy Romans.”

  Veleda laughed scornfully. “That is not what happened. Nechtan has told me of that day, the tears of shame rolling down his cheeks as he spoke the words. He would not lie to me.” There was no argument from either man. Nobody would lie to a druid. “He told me they ran like terrified children, abandoning their men who could not cross the great wall as they ran for their lives to escape the wrath of Rome. There were scarcely forty men of the Boresti who escaped and they had nothing left but what they wore or carried.

  “So they decided to return home but, to avoid pursuit, they went by a long route, winding their way through the lands of the Selgovae. They were tired, afraid and hungry. Then they came to a village of the Selgovae where they asked for shelter, which the Selgovae willingly gave them, for many of their own men had also gone on that raid and had not yet returned. They took pity on the Boresti and gave them hospitality, as the Pritani should.”

  Brude had a sense of foreboding about what Veleda was about to tell them. This was turning into a night of dark tales and forbidding thoughts. “What happened?” he asked.

  “One Selgovae warrior mocked the Boresti for their cowardice. Colm, who had drunk more than he should to quell his fear, jumped up and killed the man. Then others of the Selgovae threatened him so he c="3" facd to his tribesmen to help. To their shame, the Boresti joined him, killing the few Selgovae warriors who guarded the village. Then they put everyone to the sword so that there would be none who could bear witness against what they had done. The cattle, horses, goats, pigs and sheep they brought home, along with any other valuables they could find, enough to make all of them wealthy.”

  “And Colm married Mairead so he would be the head man of Broch Tava.” Brude was shocked by Veleda’s tale but he knew no druid would lie about something as serious as this. Warfare between the tribes was endemic among the Pritani but to turn on people who had offered hospitality was something no true warrior would ever dream of.

  “Gartnait too?” Fothair asked.

  “And the others who came back,” Veleda confirmed. “In Peart and Dun Nechtan, the survivors of that raid are all important men now, sworn to secrecy, a vow they keep to hide their shame. But the pain of the memory haunts Nechtan to this day.”

  “What about Broch Tava?” Brude asked her. “Who are the other men who came back home rich?”

  Veleda bared her teeth in a humourless grin. “Only five men, apart from Colm, returned alive to Broch Tava, for the men of your village bore the brunt of the fight against the Romans. So twenty-eight men left and six returned. Yet now, only one survives apart from you, Brude.”

  Brude’s eyes widened in surprise. “Colm is the only one left? What happened to the others?”

  “They died,” Veleda shot back. “Mostly in accidents. It seems Broch Tava is a dangerous place to live.”

  “Colm,” breathed Fothair. “He killed them. But why?”

  “I did not say he killed them,” said Veleda. “I said they died. Perhaps they were all accidents. The sea, the woods and the hills can be dangerous. But Broch Tava was not lucky after the men marched away on that raid.” She studied Brude, looking for a clue to what he was thinking. “What will you do now that you know all this?”

  Brude stared back at her. He knew she must have a purpose in telling him this but he did not want to play her games. “Nothing. I made a promise. I have to keep it.”

  “It is dangerous to break oaths,” Veleda agreed. “To whom did you give your word?”

  “you iread. And to myself.”

  “To yourself? The hardest kind of oath to keep. And the hardest to bear if you break them.” Brude thought she would try to persuade him to take some action but instead the old woman sighed, “You must do as your heart tells you. Just beware of Colm.”

  “I think he has enough troubles of his own without worrying about me,” said Brude.

  “Probably so,” Veleda agreed. “Colm’s problem is that he thinks he has big dreams but, in truth, they are the dreams of a small man. Nechtan, for all his faults, has a wider vision as well as greater cares.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Brude.

  “I mean that there are changes afoot in the lands of the Pritani. Already the Caledonii have absorbed the Creones who live in the far lands by the western sea. The Damnonii are scarcely independent of them either. The Caledonii are building a nation, not a scattering of people where every village names itself a different tribe. To the north of us, the Vacomagi and the Taexali now call themselves the Maeatae and are united. They make war on Rome, sailing south in their ships while, at the same time, they take Roman silver as the Romans attempt to buy peace. The Boresti are a small tribe, as you know, stuck between the might of the Maeatae and the greater might of Rome. Nechtan fears being trapped between the Caledonii and the Maeatae, on the one hand, and crushed by the Romans on the other. Colm thinks only of himself. He makes war on his own people, thinking himself a man the Romans consider a friend when, in truth, he is of little consequence in the great scheme of things. That is why Nechtan wanted an excuse to marry his daughter off to someone else.”

  “To a nobleman of the Caledonii or the Maeatae, I presume?” said Brude.

  “To the Maeatae,” Veleda confirmed. “It is all arranged. Perhaps some day her son will rule over the Maeatae and the Boresti. Perhaps we will become part of a larger nation, speaking with one voice, powerful enough to withstand even the Romans.”

  “It’s a nice dream,” said Brude. “One day it may become real.”

  They slept after that, even though Brude’s mind was full of dark thoughts and troubled dreams. They woke late and the sun was high in the sky when they rose. Veleda gave them a breakfast of porridge and bread then walked with them to the gate, which the guards opened for them without a word of protest. Veleda wished them well, then surprised them by sending for two horses for them to ride home. “It will be dark before you get back, if you try to walk,” she told them.

  “We cannot accept such gifts,” Brude protested. “We have done nothing to deserve such kindness.”

  “Then look on it as a loan. You can return them when you are able,” Vel
eda told him. “But Nechtan will not miss them. He has more than he needs anyway.”

  Two warriors arrived, each leading a small Pritani horse. Brude and Fothair mounted the uncomfortable wooden saddles, wishing Veleda good health. She nodded in farewell and her look showed Brude that she did not need to speak to remind him of the things they had talked about the previous night.

  They set off down the hillside trackway. Brude still felt uncomfortable on a horse but Fothair loved it, although there was more than just the joy of being on horseback to bring a smile to his face. “We got out alive,” he said with feeling. “Yesterday I didn’t think we would have managed that.”