Pathways of the Druids

by Christopher J. Pine

  “Oh great goddess Dana, wise and all-powerful Earth Mother, I am desperately in need of your help. I am one of your faithful followers. Help me, please. Send a powerful and brave warrior to rescue me from the hands of my enemies.”

  The auctioneer was a hard man who traded just for profit. His steely grey eyes now looked over the faces of the greedy crowd that had gathered there in front of him. He began warming up as he started his well-practised trade patter.

  “Come now, all of you gather round and don’t be shy. Who’ll be the quickest among you and get the first bargain of the day? People, these are quality slaves, both unbranded and never been owned before. Treat them well and they’ll want to work hard for you. Let’s start the bidding at a very low opening price of, let’s say, thirty-nine silver staters... Which of you lucky people will start the day’s bidding?” No response came from the crowd. “All right, all right, I’ll start at a ridiculous giveaway low price of, let’s say, eighteen silver staters.”

  The crowd murmured a little among themselves now, and then a voice could be heard to say, “Get out of my way before I sort you out! I want to get to the front to place a bid.” The crowd parted, making some space around the grubbily dressed dwarf in a flat green hat who’d pushed his way to the front.

  “I’ll make a bid at eighteen!”

  The auctioneer looked down at the grubby dwarf. He’d placed him in the yard earlier to force up the bidding.

  “Yes, thank you, sir. At the front, a mine owner here bids eighteen. Can we go any higher than eighteen now, let’s say twenty-five silver staters? Come on now, this is the first trade of the day and that means that here it’s always a bargain!”

  An old woman held up her hand and said, “I bid twenty-five silver staters.”

  “A bid over there on my right! Thank you, madam, that’s a very smart bid. We now have a bid in silver from the town washhouse for twenty-five silver staters.”

  The dwarf again frantically waved his black leather purse at the auctioneer.

  “I bid eighteen gold staters for both them.”

  “I have a new bidder on my left side now! Yes sir, what’s your bid?”

  A bearded galley captain held up his hand. “I need a new crew. I’ll bid twenty-five gold staters for the pair of them.”

  “A seafarer, sir, no, a brave sea captain. He bids twenty-five gold staters. Any higher now, any last bids on this trade before I drop my hand? Going once! Going twice...”

  At the very back of the slave yard, sitting alone in the shadows on a grey stone bench, was a mercenary warrior. He’d been dozing on the bench when a quiet voice had whispered into the back of his mind. Slowly he opened his eyes, stood up and walked forward, easily brushing the crowd out of his way, his deep voice bellowing out.

  “I bid thirty gold staters for the trade. Does anyone here wish to challenge me for the ownership of the slaves?”

  “A bid of thirty gold staters from the, er, large gentleman. Now, are there any more bids?” Then, slamming the flat of his hand down onto the black lectern, the auctioneer shouted, “Trade is done!”

  Rronish looked at the man who had just bought the girl and dwarf, and shuddered as the slaves were dragged off the stage. Then, feeling sick, she quickly turned away from the scene. She heard Sirarch speaking to her.

  “You must try to keep up with me, don’t dawdle,” he said as he pushed through the crowd, heading down to the front of the bidding area. The crowd were intent only on buying a cheap bargain. They mumbled and complained at them, but let them pass through. They continued on around the front curve of the stage, reaching the other side at a slight run where they headed for the back exit. Sirarch turned around to Rronish.

  “I’m not sure if that old woman was following us or not, but it seems we’ve lost her. We couldn’t take a chance that she wasn’t, and it’s certainly about time we got off these streets. I’ll take you to meet my friend now, where we’ll be quite safe.”

  After they’d travelled to the other side of town, Belenus was brighter now and high overhead. Sirarch pointed to a large building at the end of the road. Rronish was feeling tired and happy to have finally arrived at the large hostel. The building was of small dark red bricks with several floors, and its large windows and double doors at the front were painted red. Its sloping roof was covered in rough, dark grey clay tiles. Hanging over the entrance was a painted sign of a lone, hooded traveller on a dark road, carrying a lantern. Sirarch approached a doorman standing on the steps of the hostel.

  “I would be very obliged if you could inform Charrideen that his friend Sirarch is here to visit him. Here is a bronze ring for your discretion.”

  The doorman smiled at Sirarch as he deftly pocketed the ring and smiled. “Thank you, sir. If you could wait inside for just a moment, I’ll try to find him for you.”

  Upon entering the reception of the hostel, Rronish began to feel hungry. She was drawn by a low hubbub of noise and the smell of hot cooked food. Also she heard the melodious music of a crwth being played. She walked across the dark polished wooden floor to a doorway where she could look into the room. This was a very large dining area where a bright log fire was burning in a large central hearth underneath a polished copper chimney. It was sending a welcoming warm glow around the room and she could see the musician at the end of the room. He was sitting on a stool near the fire, playing the crwth.

  Although it was now midday, the light was dull in the room. Rronish looked up at the windows placed high up in the walls and fairly small. There were several oil lamps placed in nooks in the walls, with several more hanging from the oak beams in the centre of the large room. The walls of the hostel were decorated with paintings of farmers busy planting their crops, and many scenes depicting the green Triannaib countryside and stories of its gods, its history and its many myths.

  Several waiters could be seen, dressed in black and white uniforms. The black wooden trays they carried were full of freshly carved fruit and dishes of small cooked birds and of goat’s cheese. The waiters were laughing as they were busy scurrying between each of their customers, keeping their glasses filled with wine and mead from large twin-handled glass flagons.

  The doorman returned and walked up to Sirarch.

  “Excuse me, sir, but Charrideen cannot personally welcome you now. But he sends his many apologies and has instructed me to give you two of our very best rooms. If you and your friend would like to follow me, sir, I’ll guide you there. Then I’ll have some light refreshment sent up to your rooms, sir.”

  “That really sounds excellent. Oh, and did Charrideen give you anything for me?” answered Sirarch, smiling at the doorman as he considered whether or not he could trust the man.

  “Oh yes, sorry sir,” the man said. “I’d completely forgotten, he did give me a message for you.” The doorman pulled a small tan leather scroll from a pouch on his belt and handed it to Sirarch. As Sirarch opened the scroll, he saw a crude picture scratched upon on it of a sword in a scabbard.

  “This gentleman is now going to show us to our rooms,” said Sirarch, turning to Rronish. “My friend can’t see us now but he’ll meet us tomorrow, so we can rest safely here tonight and see him later. Tomorrow, if I’m to find your village, we’ll need a good map. I’ll take you to meet another friend of mine who deals in them, but for now we need two things - food and rest.”

  Rronish pulled herself away from the strange scene she was watching and followed the doorman as they went up to their rooms. The next morning she heard a knock on the door and found Sirarch standing there. She saw that he was now wearing a dark blue patterned, hooded outer coat, and was carrying a package. On entering the room he handed her the package.

  “Good morning. Did you sleep well and are you ready for a tour of the town?” he asked. “Oh, just in case someone is looking for us, I’ve brought this for you to wear. It’s a hooded coa
t similar to mine. I have put a minor spell on them so that we’ll be able to pass by many people without being noticed.”

  “Good morning, Sirarch,” she answered, taking the package. “I did sleep well, though I’m not used to sleeping in these soft beds. Do you mean that we’ll be invisible if we wear these?”

  “No, people will still see us, but the cloaks will reflect the shadows of their minds, so we’ll not seem important to them.” Rronish undid the wrapping of the parcel and held up the dark blue coat before trying it on.

  “I do like the pattern on this, though it might be a bit too long for me.”

  “It fits you well enough - pull it together, tie the cord around your waist and put the hood up. Yes, that will do the job nicely. First we’ll have some food, and then we’ll go out and get the map.”

  After breakfast, they left for a busy market area where all items of goods could be traded. But Sirarch didn’t let Rronish stop anywhere long enough for her to see any of them. He travelled quickly through the narrow winding streets so as not to be noticed. He seemed to be able to tell just by one glance at a person whether they could be troublesome or not, always passing them by on the other side of the road. Soon they arrived at a narrow alley which ran between two shops. At the far end was a small shop, above which hung an old, faded wooden sign.

  “This is the place,” he said.

  “What do the markings on the sign mean?”

  “It says ‘Maps and Legends Drawn and Supplied, for All Known and Unknown Destinations’. Let’s go inside.”

  She followed Sirarch through the door and immediately they had to climb up a narrow stairway which travelled up the entire side of the building. There was only one small window at the top, which let a little light filter down onto the stairway. At the top of the stairs, a door off the small landing opened into a large room, well lit by two windows at the back. There were many shelves along the side wall, holding what looked like layers of blackened wood. In the centre of the room was a long central table, where sat a dwarf with thinning silver hair. He was sitting, busily carving markings into a large square of leather. He looked up from his work, studying them as they walked towards him.

  “Sirarch, I haven’t seen you for some time. What can I do for you? Certified maps to all places are my trade - where do you want to go?”

  “Orsed, it’s good to see you too. We need a good map for the Cantiaci territory. It’s close to the Tamesa.”

  “I only sell good maps here,” the dwarf smiled. “But the Tamesa River is very long, and the Cantiaci tribe cover quite a large area. To find the right place, you’ll need to look at several boards to get the one you want.” He went to the far wall and brought five square boards of wood over to the main table and placed them in front of Sirarch. Rronish looked at the boards, which were covered with leather. On them were engraved images showing the river Tamesa and the surrounding countryside.

  “I don’t think this is the one...,” she observed. “Yes, this is it - there’s the main settlement, but my village is much further down river away from there... no, I don’t see it on these boards.” The dwarf muttered to himself as he fetched yet another board from the shelving. “Yes, I think that’s the area,” said Rronish. “But my village is still not marked on here.”

  “Small villages will not be marked on there,” the dwarf objected, “just the main track ways and the larger trade ports and settlements. Now, let me see if I have a copy of that map.” Orsed took the boards back, then knelt on the floor looking underneath the racking. He returned to the table, placing a folded leather map on the table. “Yes, the gods have smiled on you. I have one copy of this left. The trade to you is five bronze rings.”

  Sirarch opened and quickly studied the map. “We’ll take it,” he said. He then took out a leather purse and counted the bronze rings onto the table. Orsed quickly picked up the rings and slid the leather map towards Sirarch. “Good, the trade is done,” smiled the elf.

  Later that afternoon, Sirarch and Rronish entered the sitting room of the hostel where Charrideen was sitting quietly in a corner. He looked round just as they entered the room and excitedly jumped up. Turning towards the bartender, he shouted:

  “Scroggy, get some warm wine for my friends! Sirarch, you must tell me where you’ve been, and why you’ve been neglecting us. I am a little annoyed with you - it must be all of seven times that the leaves have fallen since your last visit to see us.”

  “I’ve been in a dark place, my friend,” said Sirarch. “Yes, it does indeed seem too long a time and it’s very good indeed to be back here with you again. But I can see that the world has been treating you very well. Why, you must be twice as wide as when I last saw you.”

  “I’m informed that it’s a sign of great contentment,” Charrideen laughed. The bartender, a dwarf, hurried over to them with a tray of four small glasses of steaming warm wine.

  “Well, my very contented friend, may I now introduce to you a friend of mine? This is Rronish, and I’m escorting her back to her home. They’re the Cantiaci who live on the other side of the dark one.”

  Charrideen smiled at Rronish. “Please let me welcome you warmly to the Wanderer of the Four Paths, and may your stay here be a pleasant one.”

  Rronish bowed her head before speaking. “I’ve never been inside such a large building before, or seen so many happy people.”

  “I am greatly flattered that you like my humble hostel. Many of these people come here often, and for a short time I can help them to forget the world and the many problems it gives them.”

  “Why is it called the Wanderer of the Four Paths?” she asked.

  “That’s because there are four paths leading away from Camulodunon and they can take you to anywhere in this land of Triannaib - or into many places far beyond,” he explained. “Rronish, you must let me entertain you. There is a troupe of players here tonight with famous bards, Elm and Teramalb. They’re with a group of travelling players, a family of dwarves who throw knives. They’re also able to eat and breathe blue fire - you’ll have seen nothing like it.

  “Then the bards, Elm and Teramalb... they perform the classics, telling us the stories of the ancients. Tonight it’s the story of Brennus, and the time when his army destroyed a pack of rabid wolves and burned Rome. I’ve seen the show once, and it is indeed quite fantastic. You must see it! I will have you shown over to my niece’s table. She always has the best table in the house. She’s expecting you, and there’ll be hot food and wine waiting for you. Sirarch and I are going to be talking over old times, which I’m sure would totally bore you. It’s much better that we’re left alone to chat about such dry and dusty old matters.”

  As Rronish was led away by a waiter, Charrideen guided Sirarch towards the side of the hostel where a flight of stairs took them up to a curtained gallery that overlooked the dining room. A small passage led off to a private room, where Scroggy was holding a door open for them. After they entered, he shut the door behind them, leaving them alone. The room itself was of a reasonable size with three windows overlooking the back courtyard of the hostel. A selection of different foods was spread out on the table waiting for them. Charrideen bolted the door.

  “It’s good to see you again,” he said as they sat down, “and with the timing of your visit I could not have asked for more. I would like you to do me a big favour, and there is great urgency about it. A package of great importance must be carried to the Druid Council.”

  “How urgent exactly is this package?” asked Sirarch. “At the moment I’m already involved, by the direct instructions of the goddess, that I must take Rronish home without delay.”

  “Yes, Sirarch my good friend, you’re always busy helping someone. I think I understand why you want to help the girl. Does it help you forget the past - is she an escaped slave? I know you must miss your wife terribly. I am also very saddened at the loss of you
r partner, Chresald. She was also a very dear friend of mine and a bright light is now missing from Triannaib.”

  “Yes, you’ve always been a very good friend to me, too. Perhaps I could help you. But tell me exactly what it is you have that must be moved so urgently?”

  From underneath the table, Charrideen picked up a black suede leather satchel. From this he took a large, shiny black lacquered box, placing it on the table and pushing it towards Sirarch. “Open it,” he said.

  Sirarch picked up the box and flipped the large bronze catch, lifting the lid to reveal a burnished, circular gold disc that was twice the width of his hand. On the face of the disc was an engraving of a dragon, and in each of the dragon’s claws was a different type of gem stone. There was an emerald, a sapphire, a ruby and a diamond that had the colouring of the light of Belenus in the early evening. Sirarch picked up the disc and held it at arm’s length towards the window. The gemstones sparkled in the light.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” said Charrideen. “This is the centrepiece of the land. When it is placed into the breastplate of a chief it will enable governance over all of Triannaib. That is what the druids will need to use, in order to confirm the leader of a tribe whose turn it is to rule the whole land. There are people who want to take this and use it to impose their own choice of puppet leader on the people. They’re moving through the land like a black poison. If they succeed they would create a total slave world that’s so full of pain it would make the clouds cry.” He lowered his voice.