Pathways of the Druids

by Christopher J. Pine

  Title Page

  PATHWAYS OF THE DRUIDS

  An adventure in other worlds

  Christopher J Pine

  Publisher Information

  Published in 2013 by Local Legend

  www.local-legend.co.uk

  Digital edition converted and distributed in 2013 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Christopher J Pine © 2013

  All rights reserved

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by Titanium Design Ltd

  www.titaniumdesign.co.uk

  Cover images and editing by Nigel Peace

  About this Book

  It is AD 60 and the Roman Empire occupies Britannia. It is a time when the light of freedom is being brutally snuffed out and an ancient culture destroyed. Under the leadership of Boudicca, guided closely by the druid priests, the Iceni rise up against Nero’s forces. It is a losing battle.

  Yet the druids are masters of nature, with knowledge and skills that the Romans can only imagine. In a final desperate strategy to avoid defeat and slavery, the priests summon their greatest magic in an effort to open a portal into the alternative world of Triannaib. One last Celtic tribe, the Ordoveteii, race to cross the threshold...

  This novel is a brilliant blend of fantasy and myth, magic and history. And to our modern, spiritual way of thinking, the ideas of parallel worlds and what-if history do not seem at all unreal.

  About the Author

  Christopher wanted to write this book because as a young boy he greatly enjoyed reading exciting adventure stories, so decided to offer a story for others to enjoy

  He has always lived in London, ‘a normal man’ with a basic education. But then, he says, real education begins when you leave school and you begin to realise what life is about. One of his great interests has always been the study of ancient cultures - the Greeks, Romans and Celts - and the philosophy and knowledge he has gathered illuminates every page of this, his debut novel.

  It is wonderfully imaginative and, yes, really exciting.

  A Strange Trade

  We are in the parallel world of Triannaib, meeting its inhabitants. The Roman Empire is unknown here, and a Celtic Europe is developing.

  The dwarf slipped on the muddy ground and fell down the small hillock. He was seventy-two years old now, middle-aged for a dwarf, and was slightly overweight. His face was oval shaped with brown eyes, grey hair and a short grey beard and moustache.

  His donkey looked quizzically at him and snorted as he lay sprawled on the cold ground. The day was not starting well and he still had a way to go before he could deliver his blocks of ice to the inn in the forest. This was his usual business for the time of year. He was to barter the ice in exchange for cloth and leather so that his family could make hardy clothes they could exchange, in turn, for coal and other goods with the other dwarven families who lived in the high mountains.

  Metris gently picked himself up and, after quickly brushing himself down, put his leather cap back on and pulled his heavy black woollen cloak around himself to keep the cold away from his bones. Starting back up the hillock to his cart he thought to himself that life was indeed being very unfair to him, a poor kind dwarf in this land of Triannaib.

  His donkey and cart were waiting. It was midday now and the sky was becoming overcast. He felt it starting to rain as well as grow colder. He took some nuts from his pocket and put them in his mouth to chew, smiling to himself as remembered the night before when he’d left his village. He had paid an old dwarf priestess to foretell his future; she’d gone into a trance and told him that a great opportunity would be offered to him, of trade and riches.

  Driving the cart onwards along the track, he began to enter the forest and gently encouraged the donkey to go faster. He wanted to arrive at the inn, the One-Eyed Magpie, before the onset of twilight as he really didn’t want to be out in the forest after dark.

  Harbman looked out of the back door of the inn at the forest track. He was of average height, overweight and bald with a round face. His light blue eyes were dead, lacking any sign of kindness. He was innkeeper here and survived in life by using any shady opportunities that came his way. He muttered quietly to himself.

  “Where are you, Metris? I can’t give my customers short measure if there’s no ice in the glass to fill it up!”

  He slammed the heavy door shut and turned around, striding into the back room behind the bar. His wife was there, scolding a young slave girl who’d been left with Harbman in payment of a gambling debt. The girl’s name was Rronish, about seventeen years old; she’d been captured in a tribal raid while away from her father’s main camp. A slim girl, on her left arm was a tattoo of a boar, and on her right arm was another tattoo of a snake. Her hair fell down to her shoulders, fine and blonde, and her eyes were shades of green and brown. This, with her pale skin, made her quite attractive. She wore a dark blue dress tied at the waist by a platted leather belt and brown leather lace-up sandals.

  Rronish was strong-willed. Her father had three wives and other children, so she couldn’t help thinking that she’d be missed; but the hope of rescue was beginning to fade. She was confused; she hadn’t always been a slave and hated the situation she was now in. She knew that escape was going to be difficult, and runaway slaves when caught were always hung. She stared sullenly at Harbman’s wife.

  Wilda looked up at her husband as he came into the room and shouted at him:

  “Fend Harbman, this girl is lazy and worthless and now she’s refusing to do any work. Even when she does work I’m sure she breaks the crockery on purpose! The stupid girl’s still making her silly claims of being a tribal chief’s daughter too.”

  Harbman glowered angrily at the slave girl.

  “Wilda, don’t worry about her. Pay her no mind, just leave her alone. Why don’t you go and put another log on the fire in the bar, so our guests don’t get cold?”

  She slammed the door behind her as she went into the bar of the inn. To take her mind off the slave girl, she busied herself collecting some of the empty china pots and stoking the fire. It was beginning to get dark now. She placed a fresh ash log on the fire and raked over the dull embers. They glowed and quickly started to catch the new log alight so that soon the sweet smell of the burning log began to spread around the room.

  Wilda took a light from the fire and went to the candles that were perched on the rough stonework of the walls. As they spluttered alight, their flickering began to push the gathering shadows back into the corners of the room. Looking around she saw that it was quiet for the time of year, with very few people visiting the inn that night. At one table there were two old men, forest cutters whose trade was cutting back the brush from the forest paths and selling what they’d cut as fuel. Aarrish, one of them, called out to her.

  “Wilda, fetch me a refill, and one for my friend here, we’re dry.”

  “Sorry about the delay,” said Wilda, “but I’m having to do all the work round here. That slave girl is so lazy. We’ll have to sell her. Aarrish, perhaps you could buy her from me?”

  “I like her shape well enough,” laughed Aarrish, “but I know I can’t afford her. And with my knee being no good now, I couldn’t catch her anyway. Just the ale for me, if you please.”

  “Coming right up. Just the ale then.”

  Wilda looked further around the room. Near the fire sat a young man in dark blue and g
reen heavy clothing; he had a bow and a quiver of arrows and she’d noticed a sword under his heavy cloak. He had a relaxed manner about him, and all he’d mentioned was that he was just travelling through the forest.

  At the back of the room was a group of farmers who worked some land at the edge of the forest. They’d been here for most of the evening and were more than a little drunk as they laughed and gambled with dice. Harbman would take a percentage of the table stakes, as a charge for allowing the game.

  It was getting late now, and no-one else was expected to arrive. But just then the front door opened, and the wind blowing hard outside blew out one of the candles on the wall. Metris entered and, as the dwarf stepped onto the smooth stone floor of the inn, everybody stopped what they were doing to study the newcomer.

  “Come inside whoever you are and shut the door,” Wilda called out, “and leave that cold bluster outside.”

  The hot air smelling of ale washed over the dwarf as he shut the door and entered the One-Eyed Magpie. He took off his hat and untied the heavy cord from around his wet coat.

  “Thanks, I will, Wilda,” he replied gruffly, “and I’d be obliged if you’d get me some hot food. And ask Harbman if he could open the gates to the yard and look after my donkey. That’s his ice on the back of my cart.”

  “Of course I will,” she replied more kindly. “Sit yourself down at the table by the fire and get some warmth into your bones. I’ll bring you some food.”

  Metris put his damp hat and cloak on a stand, and dragged a large wooden chair to the side of the table closest to the fire. Wilda reappeared, bustling over to the dwarf with a tray, and he was soon eating a large bowl of thin soup and some semi-stale bread. Before long, Harbman walked over with a jug of ale and a drinking pot and sat down at the table. Leaning over, he poured some ale into the pot and pushed it over to the dwarf.

  “I’m pleased to see you, Metris. Were there any problems on the road?”

  “No real trouble, but it’s so cold out there with the wind blowing off the mountain. It really cuts right through you.”

  “Well, are you feeling refreshed now?”

  “Thanks. I needed some hot food. But I’m in a hurry and I’d like to load up the cart tonight with the cloth and leather, as is our usual arrangement, so I can be off at first light. My wife Ramy doesn’t like me staying away too long.”

  Fend Harbman looked sideways at Metris and lowered his voice.

  “There’s a problem, my friend. The cloth hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “What...?”

  “But I do have something better for you. There’s a slave girl here that I’m prepared to trade with you. I seem to remember you used to trade in slaves in the past, yes? I’m sure we can agree a price and then you could sell her on at Camulodunon.

  “Of course, she’s worth a lot more than the cloth and leather we agreed on. She’s young, strong and pretty. The only reason I’m going to sell her is, well, Wilda is not so young now and she worries I might look at the girl... You know what I mean. But I guarantee she’ll give you no trouble on the journey, because I’ll give her a small potion to keep her quiet for a few days. When she finally wakes up you’ll be at least half-way to Camulodunon.”

  “Hmm, and you don’t think Ramy will ask questions too? Anyway, what sort of price are you talking about?”

  “Let’s say you pay me ten gold staters and seven rings of bronze to settle the deal. That’s not bad money for the girl, when you’ve just brought some ice, Metris.”

  “I didn’t see you going up that mountain to get the ice. It’s very dangerous work collecting ice, you know. Then there’s hauling it down the mountain to the cart, and there’s the donkey to be fed. And ice is a delicacy, has to be delivered quickly.”

  The dwarf sat back in his chair.

  “I’m only even considering this because you haven’t got the cloth and leather you promised me. But it’s a good two weeks’ journey through that forest from here to the slave market, and that’s only if I make good time. Then, I’ll have all the trouble of looking after her, and stopping her from running off, and selling her at auction... Yes, you’re right, I used to trade slaves in the past, and I know the risks involved. So I’ll tell you what I think! If I like the look of the girl - only if, mind you - I’ll offer seven gold staters and one ring of bronze, and you can supply all the vittles necessary for the journey.”

  Harbman smiled.

  “Then how about playing a little game of dice for the supplies?”

  Putting his hand into his pocket, he held his loaded dice over the table. Metris frowned as he saw the dice.

  “No, that’s my firm offer. I don’t play games of hazard where a trade’s concerned.”

  Harbman slyly put the dice away and grimaced.

  “All right Metris, you drive a hard deal. I’ll send the girl over to your table with some ale. If you like her, which I’m sure you will, take a leap of faith with me and you won’t miss out on a bargain.”

  He walked into the kitchen where Rronish was sitting by the table, gazing into the kitchen fire.

  “Where are you, girl, there’s work to do. Put on a smile and forget that argument with Wilda. Brush your hair, be happy with the customers and life might change for you. Take some ale and hot bread over to the dwarf by the fire. And make sure you tell him that these are from me with the compliments of the house.’’

  “Yes of course, master, right away.”

  Rronish walked over to a bucket of water in the corner, dipped a piece of cloth into it and wiped her face. Then, trying to smile, she put some food and ale onto a dark wooden tray and took them over to the dwarf. He looked up as the girl approached and watched as she started to clear away some used pots.

  “Master Harbman says these are with the compliments of the house.”

  “Tell master Fend that everything he offers me tonight is excellent,” said Metris.

  In the morning the dwarf was in a hurry to start, so he had readied his donkey and cart as Harbman placed the unconscious young slave girl in the back. He’d given her a potion to slow her mind, mixed into her morning meal. It would make her drowsy for several days.

  “I’ll call in on the way back from Camulodunon to see if that cloth and leather has arrived,” grunted Metris.

  “Right,” said Harbman. “There are some provisions in the cart too, just as we agreed. Good luck and a speedy journey.”

  The dwarf then drove the donkey and cart into the forest. As he went deeper, the shadows of the trees made them seem to bend downwards over the dirt track. The daylight grew dim as the trees became larger and more numerous, and the track was becoming gloomier. There were some very strange stories about these woods. But then Metris considered himself to be quite brave. Trading was his business and he would have to take the risks of the journey if he wanted to profit by the venture. And this looked like a good venture.

  The first day’s travel, though cold, was quiet and uneventful and whilst it was still light he stopped the cart in a large clearing off the main track to make camp for the night. He unhitched the donkey from the cart, tethered it to a small tree and arranged its feed. Then he went to gather wood as kindling for a fire that would help to keep wolves away from the camp. He would also cook some of the food which Harbman had given him in a dark brown canvas sack.

  As he lit the fire and smoke from some damp wood began to curl up through the trees on either side of the camp, the trees seemed to awaken slightly. The dryad spirits that lived in these trees had no wish to perish, and they began to take notice of the little dwarf. They mentally hissed to one another at the thought of the fire being near them.

  But Metris was far too deep in his own thoughts and dreams of making easy gold at the slave market to notice the heavy anger of the woods at his behaviour. He chuckled to himself.

  “Once I get
to Camulodunon my worries will be over. I’ll get that girl fed and cleaned up. Then I might be able to get as much as twenty gold staters for her at auction. Fend got the wrong end of the bargain. When I return I could also buy that cloth and leather he promised me. Yes, I’ll be very rich, yes, a very rich dwarf. What a trade that will be!”

  He sat back and considered his next move.

  “Now, I can’t take any chances. I’ll put some of that potion Harbman gave me in the cooked rabbit for her. That should keep her nice and quiet.”

  He placed some of the rabbit on a stick and wedged it so that it hung close to the fire. Next he put some vegetables around the edge of the fire to cook. Walking over to the cart, he shook the girl roughly.

  “Come on, wake up, girl, get out of that cart. I’ve been busy cooking some food for you, and you’ve slept all the way here.”

  Rronish looked around. She felt cold, desolate and afraid. Everything she knew had changed. Suddenly she was in the middle of a dark forest. All she could see was a small, stocky figure standing beside a fire. There was some smoke and a smell of meat cooking. She felt so very cold.

  “Where am I? And who are you, what are you doing with me?” Her voice croaked with fear.

  “Don’t worry. I’m Metris,” he said, “and I am a very honourable dwarf. You were sold to me so you’re now my slave. I have a deed of life ownership, with a mark from your last owner naming you. We’re going to Camulodunon, where I’ll sell you at auction. I’m sure you’ll have a much better life in a large town with a wealthy family than you could have had in that dirty old tavern. This is a very good opportunity for you to have a decent future. So eat the food I’ve taken the trouble to cook for you before it gets cold. There’s also some water left in that sack.

  “And by the way,” he continued, “don’t run off. Remember you’re in a dark forest, and if you did run you wouldn’t last the night. Wolves and bears live in these woods. Don’t worry, you’ll be quite safe here by the fire. Now, I have to go and check around the camp, but I’ll be back in a short while...”