Pathways of the Druids

by Christopher J. Pine

  “What... where are we?”

  “We’ve been captured, Optio, sir. We’re in a cart and being taken somewhere - these savages want us alive for some reason.”

  “Titus, what’s happened to everybody, all of our men?”

  “Dead, sir, they were all slaughtered and their heads cut off by the savages. But it’s strange, sir - that girl there has been looking after you like you were one of their own. She’s young but she must be a priestess! It was she who tended and bandaged your head. Then she appealed to one of their gods. I didn’t understand what she said but I caught the word Sulis and then I could feel her pouring her magic into you. I felt it. She’s healed you and without her you’d be dead.”

  Tibullus managed to focus his eyes and began to see that sitting in the back of the cart watching them were two large Celtic guards with short spears and a young, pretty native girl with long red hair, wearing a grey cloak. Even stranger still, she had deep concern in her eyes for him - an enemy Roman.

  “Titus,” he observed, “Sulis is one of their goddesses. Why would they heal me and keep us alive? They probably want us for interrogation. Look, if you see a half-decent chance of escape for yourself, take it. Don’t wait for me because we’re probably going to be better off dead than as captives. I believe the gods have decided that our lives are going to be unpleasant and short!”

  All of a sudden, the cart tipped and rolled slightly and a growing hubbub of noise announced that they had just entered the main gate of the hill fort. As Tibullus twisted his body and looked upwards he saw against the night sky the walkway over the main gate pass over his head. The creaking and rolling of the cart slowly quietened as it pulled to a stop. Waiting for them were more Celtic warriors who were carrying lighted torches, and many women and children arrived to point and chatter wildly at them. Brona and the guards leapt off the back of the cart.

  “Get the wounded to the healers and unload the prisoners,” said Gwydion. Their bonds were cut and they were dragged from the cart and taken to one side of the track.

  Then suddenly a lightning bolt crashed into the track way just outside the gate, panicking the ponies that were pulling one of the chariots up into the hill fort. The ponies bolted along the track through the gate’s entrance. A young boy was standing right in their way, so petrified with fear that he couldn’t move. Without thinking, Tibullus dived past one of his guards, reached out and threw himself and the young boy to safety out of the way of the careering chariot as it passed over just where the boy had been standing.

  “Get those prisoners under control and move them to a stockade,” someone shouted. As Tibullus stood up, he and Titus were kicked and shuffled along by the guards. A Celtic woman ran up to Tibullus and ran her hand gently down his face to say thank you for saving her son’s life.

  “Look at that, sir, they’re sharing out our weapons,” said Titus. They looked back at what was happening. The Celts were indeed taking the captured Roman weapons and armour off the chariots. Even some of the Roman uniforms were being handed round. The tribe’s warriors laughed and bragged to their friends about how brave they had been. They could also be seen showing their wives the Roman money they had looted off the dead.

  “It’s the spoils of war, Titus, they always go to the victor.”

  Shosterax walked over to Brona, who was standing by the cart.

  “Brona, I thank you for looking after the Roman, but it was very necessary that he lived so that he could talk to us here. I believe he has a lot to tell us. I will now clear your mind of that obligation.”

  The druid passed his hand slowly over Brona’s head, smiling as he did so, and he swept the spell from her mind. Without speaking further he then turned and walked quickly away towards the main hut. A steady drumbeat could be heard coming from the top of the hill fort; this was calling all the druids and the heads of families to a gathering for a council with the battle chief.

  For Brona it was as though a sharp, icy cold wind had just blown through her mind and washed away the spell, her mind now coldly clear. The confusion of what she had done made her angry. The noise of the drumbeat seemed to echo loudly in her head. The rain was running down her face, and she pulled at the ornate coral broach at her neck which fastened her grey cloak. Then, grasping the cloak tightly around her as if to protect her from dangers that were more than just the rain, Brona started to run blindly, splashing through some of the puddles in the track way as she hurried up the hill towards the meeting house. As she ran, Brona muttered to herself.

  “Aye, Gwydion, you were right. I thought I was going out to play a childhood game.”

  The smell of the damp thatch filled the hut and the guards would not let her enter. The meeting was restricted to druids and headmen only. But one of the guards let her stand a little inside the entrance out of the rain. She looked at the faces of the assembled men. The atmosphere was tense and none of them looked confident. From where she was standing Brona could just see through the smoke from the central fire. The tribal chief Cestrathax had stood up and he was beginning to address the large gathering.

  “Friends, with your courage and the help of our brave allies the Rensubids, the gods have given us a glorious victory over a Roman legion, the Ninth Hispania, and this we have destroyed. With the help of our allies, our enemies’ bones now lie scattered over the forest floor. Because of your bravery in these actions, large parts of the north of this land have now been completely set free of Roman rule!

  “I have further news for you, friends. By force of arms and by great courage, a rescue force of cavalry and chariots led by Gwydion has saved many of our brothers from the Romans’ grasp. But in doing this we have confirmed some disturbing news. News of such terrifying importance, that together we all must face further dangerous and deadly times.” He paused and then lowered his voice. “Boudicca has been defeated and all her army defeated. Her own personal fate is unknown to us, but at this moment we must believe her to be dead and the Iceni to be destroyed.”

  Uproar ensued among the Celts for some time. Then the druid Mestrathax stepped forward and raised his hands, slowly quietening the crowd before Cestrathax continued speaking.

  “This is terrible news to hear and I understand your fears. We have called you here to listen so that you may know that you are treated with respect and that the correct decisions will be made. Now, I shall have the Roman prisoners brought in to be questioned.”

  On hearing the command, all chatter and noise in the hut ceased. Everybody watched as a party of guards brought the two prisoners past Brona and out into the centre of the main meeting hut. Brona looked at the Romans as they were dragged by, their armour gone, no longer proud. They’d been reduced to wearing only their grubby under-tunics. Their power was gone, and now they were just prisoners waiting to be dealt with by the tribe.

  Through the smoke-filled room, the first guard leading the prisoners stumbled clumsily. Titus saw his chance and acted quickly, first by pushing the guard over, then grabbing his spear he started running towards the druid Mestrathax. Titus managed only two or three steps before a short javelin speared him in the throat. Rianna had been ready and she had thrown accurately. Now she rushed forward with her sword drawn and quickly lunged forward, stabbing Titus deeply in his chest. He flinched, dropped the spear, staggered and collapsed dying on the ground in front of her. Rianna withdrew her sword from his chest and stepped backwards slowly, keeping the sword raised and herself between the last Roman and Mestrathax.

  The druids quickly drew a large circle on the ground around the dying man. Next they gathered around the outside of this circle. The druids had the ability to watch his past memories as he died and would be able to learn exactly what he knew. As they watched the flickering images that passed through their minds that were coming from the dying man, the shock of what they had just seen was almost overwhelming. The images gradually finished, and after Titus di
ed Mestrathax turned around ashen-faced from the circle to face the silent waiting crowd.

  “Now it is certain that Boudicca has lost and the Iceni have been totally destroyed. There is worse still, for all of our druid brothers and sisters are also dead. The sacred groves on Mona have been cut down and defiled. All who were there, man, women and child, whether they be druid priest or of our own kin, have been slain.” Mestrathax then indicated the dead Roman. “This Roman was there and he took part in those actions, and this we have seen in his memories.”

  Everybody started shouting and demanding the death of the other Roman prisoner. Mestrathax indicated towards Tibullus, and two large Celtic guards roughly dragged the Roman forwards and forced him down to the ground, kneeling in front of the tribal chief. Cestrathax stood up from his seat and, before speaking, raised his arms in order to quieten the crowd.

  “In judging this man I confirm before our gods that we shall act in accordance with full tribal law.” He then looked at Tibullus. “Roman, your crimes are well known. How do you plead - is there anything you would like to say in your defence?”

  The Roman looked up and answered in the Celtic tongue.

  “My name is Tibullus. I am a Roman officer of the Fourteenth Augusta Gemina Legion, in the service of Rome. I came to this land to bring you the civilisation and the glory of Rome. But now I expect to die here at your hands.”

  A woman walked forwards from behind Cestrathax and quietly spoke to him.

  “This is the Roman that saved Rynax’s life. Rynax was nearly crushed by a chariot. Cestrathax, he saved our son’s life today. You owe him a blood debt. You cannot kill him!”

  Cestrathax turned and looked at Iseult, his wife, and then looked back at the Roman.

  “Your life is spared, Roman. It appears that the gods have intervened. I have just been told that you saved my son’s life. By our laws it is clear that I do indeed owe you a blood debt. You will be held prisoner until I have studied this matter further, and I can decide what should be done with you.”

  As a shaken Tibullus was led away past his colleague’s broken body, Cestrathax looked around the large hut at the family headmen whose faces spoke only of fear and shock.

  “We shall petition the gods for their assistance. Every family headman must now go home and bring to me one personal offering to be given to the gods. An offering for the safety of the tribe will then be made.”

  As the meeting ended, Shosterax approached Gwydion before he left the meeting hut. “Gwydion, it is a terribly dark day that we are looking at tomorrow, but all is not yet lost to us. Now, I would like to take that torc back from you if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, the torc...,” said Gwydion. “It made me feel so alive that I had completely forgotten I was still wearing it.” As the torc was taken off him, he felt himself being overcome with weakness, and had to lean on a nearby wall.

  “You will recover your strength after you have rested,” said Shosterax. “I’ve brought these two druids here to assist in helping you to your bed. Please, let them help you - go now and rest.”

  The long file of tribal headmen that was passing through the hut was nearly coming to an end and a large pile of offerings were being placed on the floor in front of the tribal chief Cestrathax and the druid Mestrathax.

  “Mestrathax,” said the chief, “there is a large amount of gold and valuables here. Do you think this will be enough to satisfy the gods?”

  “Providing that each gift is freely and generously given with good intent, the gods will accept them.” He took the chief’s arm and led him to one side. “Now, in regard to another matter - your omen. I am sure that it was Taranis who sent it to you. You said there were six cattle, and I believe that each of them represents one night. This means that we have only five nights left to us before the Roman legions arrive here...”

  A Meeting of Friends

  A place is found to rest among friends.

  It was morning as Nohj the dwarf looked out of the window of his thatch-covered hut. He had overslept again and was now looking for his brother. Then he saw some wisps of smoke curling up from underneath their four-wheeled wagon.

  “Quick, Regor, help!” he shouted. “Where are you? The wagon’s on fire!”

  Without hesitating, he ran quickly outside and grabbed a bucket. Filling it with water from the trough, he ran over to the smoking wagon and poured it onto the fire. A spluttering, coughing noise was now to be heard coming from beneath the wagon.

  “Who did that?”

  Regor, who was hardly ever in a good mood anyway, tried to stand up and banged his head on the underside of the wagon. He emerged, holding his head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry, Regor,” said Nohj. “I didn’t know you were there. I just saw the smoke and I thought...”

  “You never think, Nohj. Aah, my head! You’ll be on fire in a minute. I was just burning a hole in the wood for the new axle. Look at me, I’m soaking wet. Ooh, my head! My job is to fix this cart, your job is to drive the donkeys. Right now I think you have a lot in common with them. Now leave me alone or this job won’t get done, and we’re already a day late collecting those pelts in Camulodunon. Ooh...”

  Nohj sighed. He realised his brother would not be in a good mood for the rest of the day now. He turned with a shrug of his shoulders and walked back to the hut to make himself some breakfast.

  Sirarch and Rronish had been walking under a bright moon for most of the night, but the path from the valley of the shrine had now entered the woods. Then as the path turned a corner it appeared to come to an end at a solid rock wall. Sirarch walked up to the rock and stretched his arms open uttering a command; a blue mist arose from the rock and its face twisted in upon itself, leaving a smooth opening in the rock. As he stepped to one side of the path and gestured for her to pass him, Rronish looked nervously into the space he had just opened.

  “As you go through,” said Sirarch, “step off the path then turn to your left, staying close to the rock wall, and wait for me there while I close the doorway behind us.”

  He was acting as though he’d done this many times and it was all perfectly normal. As she looked past him at the opening and into the void there was nothing to see, just blackness, and all she could hear was the thunderous sound of cascading water. Rronish walked through and gingerly stepped out onto a small ledge; the noise of the water got even louder. She now found herself standing in complete darkness apart from a small flickering glimmer of light in front of her.

  She shuffled her feet carefully along the damp floor of the ledge, staying as close to the rock face as possible. Her backpack made movement difficult on the narrow path. Leaning against the cold, damp rock wall, she could feel that the air was colder here and a fine spray of ice-cold water was hitting her; she could hear a great torrent of water continually gushing over her head. Then, in the darkness, Rronish realised that she was standing behind a waterfall. Suddenly a hand tapped her on the shoulder and Sirarch gave her a nudge to make her move forwards along the ledge a short distance until they emerged from behind the waterfall and onto a path by a riverbank. They looked up at the early morning dawn, then started moving alongside the stream. As she turned and looked back, Rronish realised that the magical path must have taken them through earth and solid rock.

  “It’s early morning here now,” said Sirarch quietly, “and Belenus will be starting to rise soon, so I think it would be best if we continue walking until he’s risen. I’d like to arrive in Camulodunon just after dawn. That’s where we’ll eat. I have a friend there who runs a nice high-class, discreet hostel for friends like myself who don’t really like to be noticed when they travel.”

  “Camulodunon, that was the town where that evil little dwarf was going to take me to be sold,” objected Rronish.

  “There’s no need to be concerned. That part of your life is over. All we’re g
oing to do there is stay in the town just one night so I can talk to a friend of mine.”

  “Is it nice in Camulodunon?”

  “It’s the capital of the Trinovantes,” said Sirarch. “They’re quite a proud and energetic tribe and they keep it nice. But like any large town it’s noisy and busy, and it can be dangerous in places. Many people are always coming and going. No-one should notice us if we pass through the town quietly. After that we’ll turn as we head out into the central forest. But we’ve got to get to Camulodunon first.

  “Rronish, while we’re walking, tell me about your life and your father’s tribe.”

  “My tribe is the Cantiaci,” she began, “and we live on the coast in a small hilltop village. My father has three wives and including me he has four daughters and three sons. My tribe has to defend a large area of coastline against foreign raiders. Unhappily it is too small to do it properly. The chieftain we serve has ordered my father that he must continue to stay there and fight the raiders as best he can until some help can be found.

  “It was during a raid on our lands that a sea-borne war band captured me. They’re a cruel race. I remember that on the prow of their ship they had a carved dragon’s head. Then they traded me in a village to obtain supplies for their ship. A travelling gambler won me from a trader in a dice game. Then later he lost me in another game of dice to Harbman, at the One-Eyed Magpie. The rest you know.”

  Rronish felt cold and started to shiver as she began to relive those memories. “It really feels chilly now. Do you think I could spend a little of that gold on buying myself a warm hat?”

  “Yes, I think that would be all right, but a hat should only cost you two or three bronze bars in Camulodunon. Aah, look at the trees here, you can see that they’re beginning to lose their leaves, and the trees’ spirits do seem quieter here. Yes, you can tell that the seasons have indeed moved on here while we were with the priestesses.”

  The trail had now taken them to a high point where they were overlooking a large valley below them. There was smoke rising up from a town at the far end. As they approached closer they could see that there was an earthen rampart that curved around its entire length like a snake. A stout palisade wall with square wooden lookout towers surmounted this.