Then the man Brude had arrived, throwing Lutrin’s plot into confusion. He suggested to Colm that they would all be better off if Brude was dead, but Colm, usually quite happy to let Lutrin dispose of his enemies, was reluctant to take such overt action against his childhood friend. Lutrin thought Colm was afraid of the man. He realised that he would have to find a new plan but had still not managed to formulate one by the time Colm was ready to divorce Mairead and marry Nechtan’s daughter. Now, though, Colm was seriously considering letting Mairead marry Brude. Lutrin was forced to think quickly. He managed to persuade Colm that allowing Brude to stay in the village, married to Colm’s former wife, would be dangerous, at color=us for any malcontents among the villagers. It would be better, he suggested, to banish them both. Colm liked the idea. Lutrin, though, was counting on Mairead not wanting to leave her son. If she refused to go, Lutrin would insist that he marry her. But if she did leave with the man Brude, he had enough warriors loyal to him personally to waylay Brude and kill him. Lutrin had visions of arriving in time to drive off the assailants and rescue Mairead. He had not figured out all of the details, but he knew there would be a way to achieve what he wanted. There always was.
Now things had turned out better than he could have hoped. Colm was in disgrace with Nechtan and the witch woman, Veleda, had taken Brude for her own purposes. Lutrin had no idea what the old druid wanted with Brude but he did not really care; all he knew was that men who got into the clutches of the old crone were usually never seen again. All he needed now was a way to dispose of Colm.
Still, Lutrin was wary of taking the final step. He had arranged that the men loyal to him were those who were mounted on horses but that was just the sort of precaution Lutrin always took. He toyed with the idea of simply drawing his sword as he rode alongside Colm on the journey home, killing him without warning, trusting to his men to either overpower or simply escape from the foot soldiers. There was a great temptation to do this but Lutrin preferred more subtle means if he could achieve his ends without direct action. If direct action was called for, he knew he still had Cruithne to deal with. The giant warrior was a potential problem, even though the big man’s attitude towards Colm seemed to have changed since Brude had beaten him in what the villagers were calling the spear challenge. Lutrin would have liked to have seen that because he had not believed that anyone could beat Cruithne in a straightforward fight. It would have been instructive to see how Brude had managed it. The stories he had heard from the likes of Seoc and young Castatin were hard to believe, even though everyone told more or less the same tale, even Cruithne himself.
Lutrin resolved to bide his time. Colm was still in a rage at the affront given to him by Nechtan and Brude was out of the picture, at least for the time being and, possibly, permanently. Lutrin decided he would have to dispose of Cruithne somehow before he could act against Colm. He was a patient man. He could wait a little longer.
The journey back to Broch Tava was not a happy one. Colm seethed and railed against Nechtan, threatening revenge and calling on every god he could think of to bring ruin on Nechtan and all his people. Lutrin stayed mostly silent though the few words he spoke were designed to encourage Colm’s anger.
They rode slowly out of the trees to the north of Broch Tava and saw the familiar sight of the great tower with its huddle of buildings clustered around it. The fields and pastures were lush and green with the ripeness of early summer but Lutrin saw immediately that the fields were empty. No workers, no slaves, and precious little livestock were to be seen. Something was wrong.
Above the tree line, on ofe of the hills above the coast, he could make out faint wisps of smoke, indistinct yet visible, far more than he would normally expect to see from the village’s cooking fires.
Colm, his mind full of thoughts of vengeance, had not noticed so Lutrin, mindful of his role as trusted advisor, tapped Colm’s arm, pointing out the lack of field workers and the unusual smoke.
Colm swore. He jabbed his heels into the flanks of his horse, urging it forwards. Lutrin followed, calling to the other riders to stay close. In a thunder of hoof beats, they sped along the edges of the fields, heading for the main gate in the stockade.
Armed men opened the gates to let them in. “What has happened?” Colm demanded.
“The Romans came,” one of the men answered. “The village is destroyed and many men are dead.”
Lutrin saw the shock on Colm’s face, watched the colour drain from him and felt an inner exultation. Colm’s world was disappearing before his very eyes.
Leaving their horses, they hurried down to the lower village where they found every house burned to the ground, the ashes still hot and smoking, charred timber beams lying in blackened heaps. The bodies of the dead were being gathered and laid out. Lutrin saw Cruithne among them and his heart began to beat faster for fate had removed another obstacle from his path to power.
Mairead ran up to Colm, calling his name. “Castatin is gone!” she blurted, her fear evident on her face. “They took him and Barabal.”
Colm stared at her as if she were a stranger to him. “What?”
“The Romans came. They took Castatin away on their ship. Barabal too. And they killed little Seasaidh.”
Lutrin looked again at the row of bodies. He saw Seoc kneeling at the far end where one corpse, smaller than the others, lay. The young warrior’s long hair tumbled down around his face, hiding his grief from the other villagers though Lutrin could see that everyone was in a state of shock and would have paid no heed to Seoc’s tears had they seen them.
Colm was especially affected. He shook his head as if to deny Mairead’s words and the evidence before his own eyes. “The Romans would not do that. They are our friends.”
Mairead gaped at him. Angrily, she gestured around at the devastation. “I this the work of friends?” she demanded. “Seoc saw Castatin and Barabal being taken onto their ships. We found Seasaidh just a short while ago. Colm, my son is gone! Do you not understand?”
Lutrin intervened. “My lord Colm, we have much to do. Can I suggest that you and your lady wife come with me to the broch. I will have men organise a funeral pyre. Then we must find shelter in the upper village for those who have lost their homes.”
Colm nodded blankly but Mairead said, “I need to stay here to help.”
“Please come up to the broch first, my lady,” Lutrin said. He looked meaningfully at Colm. “Your husband needs your support just now and we must plan what to do next. It will not take long. I promise.”
Mairead looked as though she would argue but she nodded. Taking Colm’s arm, she led him back to the track that climbed the hill to the broch. Lutrin hastily signalled to Irb, one of the warriors he knew he could trust. Irb was a burly man with a cruel streak, which Lutrin admired. “It is time,” Lutrin told him. “Get our men together. Once I am in the broch, make sure that those who might oppose me are dealt with. Permanently.” He named nine men, telling Irb to repeat the names back to him. All were warriors Lutrin knew would be loyal to Colm. “Get them to the upper village and send all the other men down here. Tell them to help get a funeral pyre built. That will keep them busy while we go about our business.”
Irb grinned. “It is about time.”
The warriors who had been on foot on the march from Dun Nechtan had now arrived so, while Lutrin set off after Mairead and Colm, Irb began shouting orders, directing men where Lutrin wanted them.
As Lutrin climbed the hill, he started humming to himself. All of his dreams were about to come true and he wanted to relish the moment. He trudged up the track, admiring the way Mairead walked as she led Colm towards the upper village some way ahead of him. What a fine woman she was, he thought. She was upset at the destruction of the village, appalled at the loss of her son, yet she was still strong, not giving in to the crushing despair the way Colm was. Lutrin knew she was unhappy in her marriage. He looked forward to freeing her from that burden, to offering her a new opportunity for a better life at hi
s side.
He became aware of someone else walking up the slope behind him. He glanced back to see Caroc, the taciturn smith. Caroc’s eyes met his and the big man said, “Going to get some more axes,” by way of explanation.
Lutrin nodded. “Good idea.” He really didn’t care.
Looking back down the hill he saw Irb leading a group up the slope, some of them Lutrin’s men, some of them his intended victims. It was all coming together perfectly.
Apart from a few warriors, the upper village was nearly empty. Only the old, the very young and a handful of slaves were left while the others were down in the ruins of the lower village. Lutrin saw Brude’s old mother, Mor, approach Mairead and Colm. She began to harangue them. Then Mairead was asking Colm questions. Lutrin hurried over because he knew what this would be about and Colm was in such a state of shock that he would not know what to answer.
Mairead rounded on Lutrin as he approached. “What has happened to Brude?” she demanded.
“Nechtan’s witch woman, Veleda, has him.” The pain in her expression annoyed Lutrin. Brude meant too much to her, he thought.
“The druid! What does she want with him?”
Lutrin shrugged. “She had heard of his magic. Perhaps she wants him dead. Perhaps she wants him as a pupil. Either way, I’m afraid we won’t see him for a very long time, if at all.” He gave her a look meant to convey sympathy. “I’m sorry. There was nothing we could do. One does not refuse a druid when demands are made.”
Mor, her lined old face crumpled in tears, buried her head in her hands at the thought of losing her only son for a second time. Old Seoras came over to comfort her, gently putting his arm around her. Mairead glared at Lutrin, obviously wanting to argue, but he ushered her towards the broch, leading the unresisting Colm by the arm. “Come inside. I will explain as much as I can,” he told her insistently.
He closed and barred the low door, sealing them inside. The three of them climbed the stone steps to the living quarters. The light was poor inside, the wooden floor of the upper level blocking most of the daylight coming through the small circular gap, which normally let the smoke from the hearth escape. There was no fire now, no warmth, just gloom and shadows. In here, Lutrin knew, even the watchmen in the very top of the circular tower could not see or hear them. He led Colm to his throne-like chair, another of Lutrin’s innovations, where he sat him down, helping him to unstrap his sword belt. Lutrin placed the sword and dagger on a nearby table. Colm sat there, staring into space, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. “The Romans are my friends,” he said in a flat monotone. “They brought me gifts.”
“The Romans have my son!” Mairead retorted. She knelt in front of Colm, grasping his hands and trying to break through the barrier his mind had built to protect him from the collapse of his dreams. He barely noticed she was there. “We have to do something!” she said urgently.
“Indeed we do, my lady,” Lutrin agreed. He carefully drew Colm’s dagger from its leather scabbard, testing the tip of the blade against his finger, drawing a pinprick of blood. Still with his back to the others he went on, “But I’m afraid the lord Colm has had more than one nasty surprise in the past couple of days. Perhaps you could pour him some wine. That might help.” He half turned to watch her. She climbed to her feet and moved away from Colm. The head man of Broch Tava was sitting in his chair, hands gripping the carved wooden arms, head down as he gazed blankly at the floor. Committed to his plan, Lutrin span on his heel, driving the dagger into Colm’s chest as hard as he could, aiming for the heart, feeling the blade grind against the ribs. Colm gave a single gasp of pain, jerked upright, eyes staring, then slowly slumped forwards. Lutrin stepped back, letting the body fall to the floor while Mairead turned, staring at him in horror, one hand held to her open mouth. She backed away from him. “What have you done?” Her voice was hoarse but he saw again how strong she was, a true warrior woman of the Boresti. No screaming or fainting from her, he was pleased to see.
“I have done what you wanted,” he told her calmly. “Now you are free of him.” He gave her a smile. “Do not deny that you wanted him dead.”
She shook her head but no words came. He was certain that she had dreamed of this, of being free from Colm and he, Lutrin, had made her dreams come true. He knew she would love him for it.
Instead, she looked at him, aghast, and whispered, “Not like this. Never like this.” Her eyes blazed accusation even in the shadowy gloom of the unlit broch. “You have murdered your lord.”
Lutrin spread his arms out from his sides, palms towards her. “Nonsense! Lord Colm killed himself with his own dagger. He was overwhelmed by grief at being humiliated by Nechtan, then finding his village destroyed by people he thought were his friends. When he learned that his son had been taken captive, it was too much for him.”
Mairead looked at Colm’s corpse lying crumpled in a grotesque heap on the wooden floor, a small pool of blood seeping from under his chest. Her eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze on Lutrin. “You want to be the new head man, is that it?”
“Naturally.”
“That will not happen. There are men who are loyal to Colm. They will oppose you.”
“No, they will not. Cruithne is already dead and the others you speak of, Cailean, perhaps? Or Gordan? Murchadh? They will be dead very soon, if not already. And a few others besides.” He lifted his hand, pointing at her. “And when you show that you are happy to be my wife, the others will accept me, for you are a descendant of Beathag, mother of kings.”
She stood there, proud and erect and he thought she was very beautiful with her long dark hair and sparkling blue eyes. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he thought that the look she gave him almost resembled one of hatred. “You think I will marry you?” she asked scornfully. “I would rather die.”
His patience snapped. He drew his own dagger. “That can be arranged, my lady. But I think you will change your mind when you hear how I have saved you from Colm’s plans for you.”
She spat at him. “I will hear none of your lies!” She turned to run for the door, charging down the stairs more quickly than he would have guessed she could move. With a yell of outrage, he set off in pursuit. He took the wide, shallow steps at a run, almost slipping a couple of times but she had a good head start. She reached the door first, threw aside the bar and yanked it open, letting in a stream of late afternoon sunlight which dazzled him with its sudden glare. He lunged for her but she was gone, out into the light. He hit the door hard with his shoulder. Cursing, he pulled the door back furiously and ran outside, barely two paces behind her now. His eyes were struggling to see in the bright daylight but he saw her shadow. He grabbed for her, catching her arm and pulling her back. She staggered, almost falling as she whirled in a circle around him. Then he had her properly. He clamped his left arm round her chest as his right hand held the dagger to her throat. “Do you still want to die, my lady?” he whispered venomously in her ear. “What do you have to say now?”
She stiffened. He heard her whisper, “Brude.”
Brude and Fothair knew something had happened as soon as they saw the fields were deserted. They approached the stockade cautiously but, as they grew nearer, they heard the sounds of screaming. Brude pursed his lips. “Something is very wrong,” he said.
“We should leave,” suggested Fothair, though he knew they would not.
Brude spurred his mount towards the gates. They were wide open and though there were a few warriors at the entrance, they were all looking inside the stockade, not out. They turned when they heard the horses approach and Brude could see the alarm on their faces. “What’s going on?” he demanded as he reined in his horse.
The men looked confused and anxious. “Some men have been killed. Murdered.” Confusion radiated from the young man who spoke.
“Where is everyone?” Brude asked.
“Some Romanhips came. They burned the village,” another sentry said. “Most folk are down the hill.”
&n
bsp; At that moment, a villager, middle-aged and with his hair flying in disorder as he ran, charged round the corner of a house, hotly pursued by two warriors who quickly caught him. They cut him down before their eyes. Brude stared at the killers. He recognised Irb, one of the men who had been on the trip to Dun Nechtan. Irb saw him at the same time. His jaw fell open in surprise, then he turned and ran towards the broch, still holding his sword with its bloody blade. His companion ran after him.
Brude leapt from his horse. “Give me your spear,” he snapped to the warrior at the gate, taking the weapon from the young man’s hand. He strode after the running men. Behind him, Fothair grabbed a spear from another warrior and followed, offering up silent prayers to Belatucadros and Camulos to protect him from what was about to happen. Whatever was going on, it was going to be bloody work, he was sure.
More people were cautiously coming out of the houses, peering nervously round the sides of the buildings and edging closer to the open space in front of the broch. Irb and his companion were running towards the low wooden door when it suddenly burst open. Mairead staggered out, trying to run but blinded by the bright sunlight. Then Lutrin was after her, grabbing at her. Brude saw her spin round, saw Lutrin hold her close and saw, too, the knife at her throat. He stopped dead in his tracks as her eyes, blinking in the sunlight, saw him. Her lips moved and though he could not hear what she said, he knew she was speaking his name.
Lutrin saw him too. He stiffened, the knife blade pressing close to Mairead’s neck. Slowly, Brude walked forwards, keeping the spear low. There was an audience now, he knew, as people gathered at the edges of the green. Some warriors were pushing their way through to take up a position beside Irb. He counted ten of them and thought they had the look of men who knew they had done a terrible thing.
In the Shadow of the Wall Page 32
