“Is it done?” Lutrin demanded, his voice loud and clear.
Irb replied, “As you ordered.” But his eyes kept flickering towards Brude. He and his men kept their distance from Lutrin, obviously waiting to see what was going to happen next, not willing to declare their allegiance so fully as to oppose Brude.
Brude knew Fothair was with him, a pace or two behind, but he also knew that they could not hope to defeat ten armed warriors. He had to rely on more than his fighting skill to save Mairead. Slowly, he edged to his left, circling towards the broch. In response, Lutrin turned, stepping backwards, dragging Mairead with him. The tip of his blade never left her throat. Brude stopped when he was satisfied that he was closer to the door of the broch than Lutrin was. He did not dare let the man get inside with Mairead. If that happened, nobody would be able to reach them. Lutrin backed away, towards the roundhouses where the warriors lived. The small crowd of onlookers rreated a few paces from him while Irb and his men also shuffled back, keeping their distance from both men, their nervous eyes constantly moving from one to the other.
Brude decided he had to keep the warriors out of this. He looked directly at Irb. “You have seen and heard what I can do,” he said. “What I learned from the Romans. Now the druid, Veleda, has taught me many more things. It would be best for you and your men if you never found out what those things are.” He saw Irb lick his lips, nod nervously and take another pace backwards. Brude stared at him, trying to ensure that the man’s imagination would feed his fears of magic and keep him out of the fight. Because a fight seemed inevitable. Satisfied he had done all he could to keep Irb out of it, he turned back to Lutrin and Mairead. “Let her go, Lutrin.”
“She is mine!” Lutrin told him. “Not yours.”
“She is Colm’s wife,” Brude reminded him, keeping his voice calm.
“Colm is dead,” Lutrin snarled. “He killed himself, while wallowing in grief. Isn’t that so, my love?” He jerked Mairead though the dagger stayed near her exposed neck.
“You killed him,” she exclaimed accusingly, her voice tinged with fear but clear for all to hear.
“You lie! He killed himself and you will be my wife now.”
Mairead looked at Brude, her eyes pleading with him but he could not take a chance with Lutrin’s knife so close to her throat. He could see the mad desperation in Lutrin’s eyes. He said, “If Colm is dead, then Mairead is free to choose her own husband.”
“You want her for yourself,” Lutrin snarled at him. “I have seen how you look at her. But you cannot have her. Put down your spear or I will make sure that nobody has her.” He raised the knife a fraction, indicating his intention if Brude did not obey.
Brude crouched, laying his spear on the grass. He slowly backed away from it. He stood looking helplessly at Mairead. He did not know what to do and he feared she would try something foolish, for he saw the look in her eyes. He gave a tiny shake of his head, trying to warn her. He was too far away to reach Lutrin before the man could harm her.
Lutrin waved his knife hand towards Irb. “He is unarmed now. Kill him!”
Irb hesitated. He looked at Brude, glanced back at Lutrin and then at Brude again. Deciding that Lutrin had the upper hand, he gripped his sword and took a step forwards, growling at his men to follow him.
“Do you have a plan?” Fothair whispered from behind Brude.
“Not a good one.”
“I thought not. I’ll take the five on the right if you take the five on the left.”
“Maybe you should run now,” Brude told him.
“I think it’s a bit late for that,” Fothair answered. He stood beside Brude, spear clenched in his hands, watching Irb and his men slowly cross the green towards them.
Brude suddenly jumped into a fighting stance. The movement made Irb and his warriors stop their advance to watch him, wondering what he was about to do. All eyes were on him as he began to move his arms and neck, exercising his muscles. Then he laughed aloud, and said, “Come on, then, if you really want to die. I warned you.”
“You’re mad!” hissed Fothair.
“Keep them looking at us,” Brude whispered through clenched teeth. He began to weave his arms and legs in a bizarre, half dance. Irb and his warriors watched him, fascinated and bemused. He should have been terrified, fleeing for his life, yet he was waiting for them, daring them to attack him. Uncertainty and fear of magic held them still.
But Brude had seen what they could not, so he kept up his weird movements to keep their attention on him. When he saw Lutrin wave his hand to urge Irb to attack, he called out, “Belatucadros! Strike down my enemies!”
And Lutrin was struck down.
Caroc the smith had crept out of the shadows between the houses, an axe in his hands. Seeing Brude facing Irb and his warriors, he had nodded to him, gesturing towards Lutrin. While Brude kept everyone watching him with his bizarre movements, Caroc had silently moved up behind Lutrin. He paused, holding his breath, not wanting to strike while the knife blade was so close to Mairead’s throat but then Lutrin had waved towards Irb, urging him to attack Brude. Caroc seized the opportunity. With one blow he buried his axe in Lutrin’s head, smashing through the man’s skull with all the power his massively muscled arms could muster. Mairead screamed as the knife tumbled from Lutrin’s lifeless hand, then she staggered away from him while Caroc tugged the axe from the bloody mess of Lutrin’s skull.
ont size="3" face="Times New Roman">From across the open grass, Brude nodded his thanks to Caroc. He walked towards Irb, still unarmed. He stopped a few paces from him. “There has been enough killing, I think,” he told the warrior. “It should stop now. If Colm and Lutrin are both dead, you really have no reason to kill anyone else, do you?”
Irb, even with his men around him, felt isolated, confronted by Brude. He had heard how the former gladiator had beaten Cruithne. He had no wish to suffer the same fate. The expression in Brude’s eyes told him that if any of his men made a threatening move, Irb would be the first to die. He took his sword, reversed it and handed it to Brude in a gesture of surrender. Brude accepted it, hefted it admiringly then, to Irb’s amazement, handed it back. “You cannot stay here, though,” said Brude. “You have killed men of the village and there would be too much ill feeling.”
“So what do we do?” Irb asked, relieved to discover that he was to be allowed to live.
“Gather your things, take a horse each and go to join Nechtan. I hear he has need of warriors. If he does not want you, you should go north, because the Maeatae will certainly welcome you. But don’t come back here or I will surely kill you myself.”
Irb stared at him, saw the iron in his eyes and nodded. “As you wish.” He turned and his men followed him, sheathing their swords.
Brude let out a deep breath of relief. Then Mairead ran to him, throwing herself at him, kissing him on the lips and hugging him so hard that he could scarcely breathe. Then his mother was there, calling his name, as Seoras, Fothair and Caroc the smith came to him as well.
“Thank you for your help,” Brude said to Caroc when he had untangled himself from Mairead’s arms. “I was in a bit of trouble there.”
“My pleasure,” said Caroc. “I never did like that sneaky bastard.”
“Do me one more favour. Keep an eye on Irb and his men. Make sure they leave.”
Caroc nodded. Taking Fothair and Seoras with him, he went off with some other men, including the young guards who had left their post at the gate, to make sure Irb and his gang caused no more trouble.
Mairead held on to Brude tightly while his mother grabbed his free arm so that he was imprisoned by the two of them. “I thought you were going to fight them all,” Mairead said.
“I would have if I thought I could have saved you by doing it,” he told her. Despite the promise he had made to himself, he knew that he meant it. He saw that she knew it as well, and that she was pleased. He also realised that there was something else troubling her. “What’s wrong? Is Colm really d
ead?”
She nodded. “He’s in the broch. Lutrin killed him. But there’s more than that. The Romans took Castatin.” She looked into his eyes. “They took my son.”
Mairead glanced at Mor, who nodded. “He knows.”
“Brude, they took our son.”
Brude found himself as the new head man of Broch Tava. There was no debate, no formal choosing, but everyone looked to him for advice and instructions. Mairead stayed close to him, so everyone took it for granted that she had chosen him, which was good enough for the villagers.
It was a painful beginning for him. They went to the lower village where he learned how Cruithne had saved the people by holding up the Romans almost single-handedly until he had eventually fallen, as had the other warriors with him. He heard how they had found Seasaidh’s ravaged body in the trees at the foot of the hill. Seoc had organised a huge funeral pyre, for there were far too many bodies to bury. They brought Colm’s body down from the broch, together with those of the eight men Lutrin had had killed. They also brought the corpse of Lutrin himself, although his body was buried in a shallow grave out on the small headland so that he would not sully the funeral of the others.
Broch Tava had lost almost half of its men in a single day. With Irb and his followers gone, there were barely thirty warriors left and there were so many widows and fatherless children that the village felt as if its heart had been torn out. Not since the great raid that had taken so many men had they known anything like it.
Brude ordered all the slaves to be freed. There were not many of them, and most were grateful and told him so. He dismissed their thanks. He knew all too well what it was to be a slave so he felt a warm glow of satisfaction at freeing them, even if Oengus, Gartnait’s son, was among them, surly as ever.
Down near the sea front, as evening drew on, Brude lit the funeral pyre. The flames rose, crackling and writhing into the evening sky as the villagers gathered round, watching in grim silence, comforting each other. It took a long time for the flames to devour so many bodies and the smell was horrible but at last it was done. They all made their way up the hill to the stockade in darkness, their path lit by the moon. Those who had lost their homes moved in to the roundhouses and barrack halls where the warriors had lived, grouping together to help one another.
Once she was satisfied that everyone had shelter for the night, Mairead led Brude into the broch. Although she was tired, frightened, and worried about Castatin and had seen Colm murdered, she wanted to be with Brude so she took him to her bed. They made love, then lay awake talking for most of the night, cradled in each other’s arms, together at last and taking comfort in that. They had lost much, but they had also found what they had both been dreaming of for so many years.
“How long have you known?” she asked him. “About Castatin, I mean?”
“My mother told me a few months ago.”
“And you never said anything?”
“I didn’t think there was much I could do about it. It would have meant fighting Colm. I did not want that.”
There was a short silence before she said, “I’m glad. He was not all bad, you know. He just loved power too much. The more he got, the more he wanted.”
“I know. He was my friend once. I would have liked it if he had been my friend when I got back.”
“He was scared of you,” Mairead said. “We all thought you were dead. Then you came back with all those riches and you fight like nobody we have ever seen. It’s no wonder he was afraid of you.”
“You weren’t afraid of me,” he pointed out.
“You never threatened my position.”
He was glad of the inky blackness inside the broch now for he did not know whether he could say what he wanted to say if she could see his face. “I meant what I said before, that night on the path. It was thinking about you that kept me going while I was a slave,” he said, pulling her close. “I didn’t know whether I would ever manage to get home but I always wanted to, and it was because of you.”
He felt her hand gently stroking his cheek. “That is a nice thought, Brude. I often thought of you too, especially when I looked at Castatin. But are you trying to tell me there have been no other women in your life?”
“Nobody special,” he said, after a moment’s pause.
Mairead laughed. Spressed her hand on to his bare chest. “Liar! Who was she?”
Now he was really glad it was dark. “Who?”
“The woman you are thinking of right now.”
“I’m only thinking about you,” he lied, dismissing a vision of Agrippina from his mind.
“If you say so.” She lay still then nudged him with her elbow and asked, “Was she pretty?”
He had to laugh. He could not keep a secret from Mairead. “Only on the outside. She was very beautiful but she was selfish and spoiled and not a nice person. And she was married.”
“Did her husband find out?”
“No. If he had, I wouldn’t be here to talk about it. Anyway, it is in the past. I am here now and so are you. That is what is important.” He reached over to kiss her on the lips. “I have always loved you, Mairead.”
She returned his kiss. “And I have always loved you, Brude.”
Neither of them slept much that night, because they were hungry for each other after so many years of separation, and because they had so much to tell each other but mostly because Mairead kept thinking about her son and where he might be.
“I will get Castatin back,” Brude told her as the first grey hint of the pre-dawn began to lighten the upper reaches of the broch.
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. But I will get him back. And Barabal, too.” He made the promise, not knowing how he would be able to keep it.
A.D. 210
Castatin had thought the ships would take them all the way to Rome, but instead, they made landfall before dusk. He and Barabal were marched ashore to a small fortified camp where there were more Roman soldiers guarding other captives. The two of them were shoved into a corner of the camp where they had shackles placed round their legs while armed guards stood watch over them. Then they were left alone.
There were nine other prisoners, five men and four women. Castatin learned they were from a small coastal village of the Venicones, which had been destroyed because they had tried to oppose the Romans. “We killed a couple of the first ones and stole their horses,” one man explained. “Then a whole army of them came. We had no chance.”
They were given some food and water. The Romans even brought them a few blankets so they huddled down for the night. Barabal began to cry, her whole body trembling. She cuddled in to Castatin. Because he was still only a boy, he felt uncomfortable and awkward but he put his arms around her, holding her and telling her they would be all right. The truth was that he felt like crying himself. He had been a captive before but that was just as a prisoner of the men of Peart. Even though they had hit him and treated him quite roughly, he had always known that his father was not far away and would come to rescue him eventually. This time, he did not think there was much chance of being rescued. He recalled how Brude had said the Romans made some captives fight each other for their entertainment and how most died without ever having a chance at freedom. Or they were made to work in the fields all day long until they were worn out. He wished Brude were here now. He would save them. Castatin had a mental image of the gladiator smashing his way through the camp, throwing Roman soldiers aside as if they were mere dolls, snapping the leg irons with his bare hands and setting them all free.
But there was nobody except the two of them and the miserable wretches from the Venicones, and the leg irons were solid and unbreakable.
The next day they were marched inland. They were taken to another, much larger camp where there were hundreds of Roman soldiers and yet more prisoners. The captives were coffled together and led south while most of the Romans headed north.
Castatin’s biggest fear was being separated from Barabal. Not for hi
mself but for her sake. She barely spoke at all and only ate or drank because he told her to. He still blamed himself for what had happened to her so he felt it was his responsibility to look after her, even though she was three years older than him. If they were separated, he was confident he could survive, but he was not at all sure about Barabal. Once or twice he saw some of the soldiers looking at her. He could not understand what they said but he could understand the look in their eyes, so he got her to do what most of the other women prisoners were doing, which was to make themselves look unattractive and dirty. That way, he hoped, she would not be raped again.
The weary trek southwards went on for day after day. One day, they passed the great Roman Wall that Brude had spoken of. he gladis amazed at how strong it was. No wonder Brude had talked about it. He had little time to admire it, though. They were marched through the gates and onwards with no rest.
On the other side of the Wall was the cobbled Roman road that Brude had told him about. He wondered whether he was now marching along the same part of the road the former gladiator had walked on when he had first been captured.
By now there were over a hundred captives, all chained together in coffles, all hungry and exhausted by the long marches, dirty and grimed with sweat, all heading ever southwards towards the heart of the empire. Then the weather, which had remained fine for several weeks, turned. The sky grew dark with heavy, grey clouds, which gathered ominously, blanketing the sky. The rain began as heavy drops which splattered on the road and on their faces, but the few drops turned to many as the downpour began. They were soon soaked, their clothes heavy with water, weighing them down and sticking clammily to their skin. The deluge continued all day. They had no shelter that night, so were forced to sleep in the open. The soldiers escorting them tried to light fires but with little success, the sodden wood producing more smoke than flames. The captives huddled together under some trees, trying to stay as warm as they could but it was a miserable night and they got little sleep.
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