“I hoped they would have waited longer,” Shosterax thought to himself, as he watched the Roman legions pouring over the hill. “But Cestrathax was right. The Romans need a quick victory here. There would be no negotiation, no terms, no mercy...”
With practised ease, the Roman legions quickly enveloped the hill fort and immediately began making preparations to attack.
“We can only guess at what the Romans’ plans are,” observed Cestrathax to Gliesten. “But I believe they’ll attack tonight. First, I want you to find Gwydion for me. Tell him he is to organise the main body of men as a fast mobile reserve. I’ll be at the main gate so that I can strengthen it with my bodyguard. After we’ve seen what they’re going to do, we’ll make a better strategy.”
Seutonius Paulinus studied his assembled commanders.
“The haruspex has told me,” he began, “that I must waste no time and attack with this phase of the moon. So it will be done. There must be no delay and no rest for the men. The emperor is relying on us to put down this rebellion and pacify this land quickly. The attack will begin immediately. I must have this victory in one day.
“Further to my previous orders, I shall require deep cavalry patrols of the surrounding area - there must be no surprises from any of their allies. Once the assault has started, no prisoners are to be taken and no quarter is to be given. As soon as the ballistae are unpacked, they are to concentrate all their fire on the walls around the main gate. Knock the enemy off the walls and unnerve them. We must control this field of Mars. Make sure that you rotate the cohorts in the front line. I want fresh troops keeping a constant pressure on these animals, and Rome will not be defied.
“To control this land, all opposition must be crushed. You are to kill everything until the bucinator signals the victory, and only then are the legions to rest. Finally, as a gesture of my loyalty to the men, my share of the spoils will be donated to the injured. All of you know your orders, so go and do them well.”
Cestrathax stood on the walkway at the side of the main gate, watching as a body of Roman troops advanced in battle order towards the hill fort entrance. He dropped his right arm down to his side as a signal to his slingers, who fired a large volley of stones over the rampart and down onto the advancing Roman troops. The older women of the tribe had the job of sorting and carrying supplies of stones up to the slingers, who were positioned at either side of the main gateway.
The Roman troops had expected this and adopted a formation of covered shields to deflect the stones. They ignored the missiles as they rattled off their shields and continued up to the main gate, hammering into it with a battering ram. Inside the hill fort, an old woman was screaming. She was pushing through a crowd of people as she ran towards the druid Shosterax. Her clothes were splattered with blood and tears were streaming down her face as she screamed at him.
“The Romans are breaking in and Cestrathax is dead. Our chief is dead, he’s dead!” The druid tried to calm her.
“Tell me what happened,” said Shosterax.
“I was helping to supply our slingers with stones down by the gateway,” she sobbed. “The murderers are breaking through the outer gate. They’re nearly inside! My chief was standing at the centre of the walkway high above the outer gate. He was shouting at the Romans when he just staggered and collapsed. Then he fell from the walkway above the gate. They’d hit him in the chest with a bolt. When I got to him, I tried to slow the bleeding but he was already dead. The bolt was lodged deep inside his chest. This is his blood on me. Aah no, my chief is dead! What’s going to happen to us?”
Shosterax looked at the woman, staring straight into her eyes as he spoke.
“Listen to me carefully now and stop crying. Do this as a last favour for your chief. Go to Iseult’s sister and get her to break the news of his death to Iseult.”
As the woman ran through the hill fort towards the huts, the druid turned round looking for Gwydion. But seeing that he was too far away to hear him, he thought the words directly into Gwydion’s mind.
“Gwydion, I need you with me here, quickly. Bring half the reserves down with you. Chief Cestrathax has been killed and we have to get to the main gate to throw the Romans back and recover his body.”
Suddenly, Shosterax heard the deep sound of the carnyx echoing around the hill fort encouraging the Celts. The fully-armed reserve troops began to hurry down the pathway towards the main gate. Gwydion was on his way.
Seutonius Paulinus summoned the Camp Prefect.
“What is your report?”
“The outer gate is beginning to crack now, it will break soon,” replied the Camp Prefect. “I believe I shall easily be able to get through that to the inner gate with just the Twentieth Legion. With your permission I shall continue and force the inner gate down, and fight our way straight into the oppida, sir!”
“The inner gate will be much better defended,” said Seutonius Paulinus. “This is what you will do - once that outer gate is broken, you will halt the attack of the Twentieth and rest the men. But keep the ballistae firing and wait for further orders. The final attack on the inner gate must be timed to coincide with the assault by the Gemina Legion. They will be going over the palisade on the far side of the oppida.
“At this moment they are filling in the moat, and at dawn they will cross it and rush the palisade. That action will be decisive in splitting the Celts’ forces in two. It will break them, giving us an easy victory with minimal losses.”
Gwydion and the reserves swept down to the main gate just as the Romans were beginning to break it down. The defenders, seeing their arrival, took new heart. Without any thought, they flung themselves at the Roman attackers, prising them off the top of the gate and gaining themselves a little time and respite.
“I am taking command here,” Gwydion called out to them. “First, you must retrieve the chief’s body and take it back to his wife. This gate is too weak to hold now, it’s going to break soon. My men will hold them back while you pull all your men out of here and back behind the inner gate.”
At his command, a squad of men recovered Cestrathax’s body and started back deeper into the hill fort.
Mestrathax had by now arrived at the top of the hill and was beginning to prepare for the portal ritual. He studied the area. Here, at the highest point on the hill and slightly higher than the chief’s hut, was the site he had chosen for the ritual. He was there with the assistance of two other druids and Rianna. In the distance they could now hear the sounds of sword on shield and the echoes and screams of battle filling the night air as the Romans assaulted the main gate.
Blocking that entirely from their minds, they worked carefully at a steady and determined pace. Mestrathax then surveyed his assistants’ work. They had placed on the ground in front of him two ritual guardian stone heads. Each of these stones had two faces carved deeply into them. One of the faces would be staring forwards and the other, at the back of each of the stones, would stare to the rear. These were the gatekeeper stones that guarded the entrances and exits of the Celts’ sacred places. These stones protected the access from entities or persons who had no business entering their sacred space.
The stone heads were now placed side by side, a full two chariot widths distance apart. The portal’s direction was set facing towards the east, where the dawn of the sun would rise. With this ritual, the druid was changing the reality of the world by forming a magical pathway.
He walked slowly to one side of the pathway where he picked up a bucket of water that he had earlier charged with power. Next, he picked up a large sprig of mistletoe from the wooden board that had been placed next to the leather bucket. Dipping the mistletoe into the bucket of charged water, he slowly walked over to the stone head that was placed on the left side. With great care he anointed the stone with the mistletoe by carefully sprinkling it with the water. He painted a large gateway, rising into the
air high above the stone heads. As Mestrathax completed the arch, he then began to anoint the second stone head gently with the mistletoe.
The stone heads began to emanate a strong blue light. The air around them shook and there was a sharp tang of power as shards of silver-blue light began slowly to rise upwards from both headstones. The sparkling light met at the centre and created a glowing archway connected by the stones, forming a gateway into another world.
A swirling, dark blue mist then appeared between the stone heads and swiftly filled the portal’s entrance. As the mist parted, the goddess Jana emerged slowly, floating from the centre of the mist towards him. With a gentle gesture of her left hand the goddess indicated to Mestrathax that he could approach a little closer to her.
“We welcome you, Jana, great goddess, mistress and guardian of the portals,” he said, his head bowed. “We your humble servants ask your permission to pass through the gates of your realm and journey to safety.”
“Thank you for your welcome, druid,” said Jana. “You have created everything here as it should be, and I now grant passage for you and all your tribe. I sense that even now Cestrathax comes to meet me. He offered his life to pay the price of the crossing, and this I have accepted.
“Farewell, druid, and be swift with your passage, for your enemies are at your gates! Time is always running like a river for you mortals, and without a conscious thought it will pass you by and vanish quickly.” Jana turned and slowly vanished back into the mist, which now began to thin and swirl, dissipating into nothing and leaving the way open, showing a clear track way descending down and away from the hill fort into another world.
A group of six warriors arrived at Cestrathax’s hut. They were carrying his body on a litter. These warriors had been given the unpleasant duty of returning Cestrathax’s dead body to his wife. Silently they carried the body into the hut and gently laid him out onto the bed. Then without speaking a word, they left and waited outside the entrance of the hut. The fire in the hearth suddenly flickered and went out, leaving a cold chill throughout the hut as though the fire had never been alight. Iseult was distraught as she ran outside looking for the druid Mestrathax. She approached him, collapsing in uncontrollable sobbing on the ground in front of him.
“Did you trade my husband’s life and blood as part of the price, druid?” she cried. “Did he really have to die?”
“Iseult, I am extremely sorry for your loss,” he replied. “He will be sorely missed by us all, and we’re in desperate need of him and his skills. But he chose his own fate. Cestrathax told me that the goddess Jana had visited him at night. He remembered it as being a very powerful dream, but it must have been more than just a dream. What he promised to her, I don’t know. But she has accepted his life as payment for the crossing.” Mestrathax bent down, gently placing his hands on either side of her head and his thoughts whispered into her mind.
“Iseult! Now look at me. I will push your suffering to the edge of your mind, to be dealt with later. Iseult, you are needed here now. You have to lead the tribe to its new home. That is your fate, that is what you have to do.”
As Iseult looked up into Mestrathax’s face, she felt her grief start to subside. She stood up and nodded slowly to the druid.
“What must I do to help?” she asked.
“Iseult, you are now looked on as the head of the tribe,” he replied. “Those men by the hut are now your officers and they’re waiting for your orders. The portal is wide open and waiting for us, so you must order the evacuation of your tribe. There is not a moment to lose - we must all be gone from here before Belenus rises above the land.”
“My grief can wait a while,” she grimaced. “I shall do as you say, druid.” Standing up, she flicked her hair back, turning away from him and walking towards her warriors.
“You men, come over here. The druid Mestrathax has opened the portal and we are all leaving. An advance guard will be the first to go through, and after them I shall send the women and children, followed by the supplies. The warriors will be fighting a rear-guard action, and they will not leave until all are clear from here. Now, go and tell all the headmen to report to me.”
Rynax stood next to the bed that his father’s body was lying on. The lamps in the hut were spreading a dim light over this once powerful man as he now lay so still. His father looked so grey and felt so cold, as he held his hand. His mother entered the hut and looked down at her little boy. Earlier she had dressed him in his warmest clothes and seen that he had a small pack of food to carry.
“Rynax,” she spoke quietly, “we cannot stay here now. Don’t worry, you’ll see Daddy again one day in Tir Na Gog. Now you must be a very strong boy - it’s very important that you help Mummy in her work.” Rynax did not look up at her. He said nothing, but just kept staring at his father. “I am the tribe’s leader now,” she continued, “and there are so many people who are relying on me to help them. I must finish Daddy’s work for him, but luckily I have you to help me. Brona is here now. She’s going to look after you while I do this. Remember that to help Mummy, you must listen to Brona and do everything she tells you to.”
Rynax said nothing as Iseult took her son by the hand. She led him out of the hut, guiding him gently towards where Brona was standing waiting for them. They passed a small group of warriors and a druid who were standing just outside the hut, and as they left she nodded to them. They acknowledged her and entered the hut. The warriors began placing straw loosely around the base of the bed; then, picking up the lamps they sprinkled the oil on the straw and set the hut on fire. Mestrathax had sent the druid to undertake this funeral and he intoned a special prayer, calling for the spectral chariot to take Chief Cestrathax on his last journey to the other lands.
“Look after him well, Brona,” said Iseult. “I’m now trusting you with the most precious thing in life I have.”
Brona smiled at Iseult and Rynax.
“You can trust me, Iseult,” she said. “I shall keep him as safe for you as though he were my own blood.” Turning to Rynax she said, “Stay close to me, young warrior. Be sure that your eyes are always fixed on me. We’re going on a very exciting journey, and I shall be looking after you.”
The boy’s face was blank, still saying nothing, his eyes never wavering from the burning hut with his father’s body inside. Brona took hold of his hand and led him towards a chariot. The chariot was already heavily loaded with food and supplies, and its wheels had sunk a little into the wet earth. As he looked back at the hut, the fire had now spread up to the thatched roof and with a shuddering crack of the roof timbers it collapsed inwards, showering the area with dense black smoke and hot burning sparks.
“Rynax, your father has gone now and I need your help,” said Brona. “Please climb up on the chariot - this is what he would have wanted you to do. Here, hold the reins of the ponies loosely while I guide them.”
Rynax climbed up onto the chariot and sat on the supplies. As he took the reins that Brona offered to him, he still said nothing. Brona walked to the front of the chariot, and with some cloths she carefully covered the ponies’ heads. Guided by Brona, the ponies pulled on the heavily laden chariot, rocking it backwards and forwards and breaking it free of the wet ground. Brona walked in front, leading the ponies towards the open portal.
Mestrathax, with the help of several other druids, was busy controlling the queue of scared women and crying children who were there waiting to cross through the portal. The queue was steadily growing larger, the people waiting silently, stunned by fear. On seeing that Rynax was in the chariot, the druid gestured to Brona to wait at the front of the queue. He then placed a large, oval grey wicker basket in the chariot.
“Brona,” he said, “I’m making you responsible for Einalem, my cat. To keep her amused I’ve put a rat in there with her. But don’t let her get out of that basket or she’ll panic and get lost. Rynax, put your feet on th
e lid and keep it shut, there’s a good lad.”
The advance guard of twenty cavalry led by Gwydion and Shosterax were the first to enter, and following behind them was a group of heavy infantry. Their faces looked grim as they entered the portal. They noticed no difference in the earth beneath them, but they felt themselves stretch slightly as they crossed over. As the last of them entered the portal, Mestrathax shouted to Brona to follow behind them and the tribe slowly began to leave this world.
Iseult had gathered together the tribal headmen, who were loudly arguing amongst themselves.
“All you men,” she called out, “you will be silent now and listen to me. Time is short. As headmen you are totally responsible for finding and organising everybody in your clans. Listen, all of you. It is very important that every hut and dwelling is checked, and once it has been searched make sure to mark the doorway with a cross to show that it’s been cleared and is empty. Everybody alive must be found. There must be none left behind to tell this tale.”
“Iseult,” said Tristan, approaching her, “the Romans have nearly filled in the moat. They’re ready to attack us over the palisade as well as through the main gate. At this time, all I have to face them with are old men, women and young boys. I must have skilled bowmen to slow them down and strong men on the palisade to meet them.”
“Tristan, you can take the bowmen from anywhere except the main gate,” she replied, “and yes, you can have as many men from the reserve as you need. You must hold the Romans back and keep the camp secure. You have to repulse them. Time, we need more time! You must hold them.”
“Yes, Iseult, I shall hold them for as long as I’m able to grasp a weapon!”
Pathways of the Druids Page 16
