“It’s time for you to leave now, Gwydion,” said Mestrathax. “Call all the men back from the gate and the palisade.”
Gwydion, Mestrathax and Rianna stood close to the portal entrance as the last of the tired and injured warriors walked past them into the portal.
“I feel ashamed, not finishing the fight. This is a defeat,” spat Gwydion.
“We have suffered a defeat, yes,” said the druid. “But the gods have given you a chance to build a new life. That is a victory. Now, go and lead your men, while I close this portal.”
As Gwydion left, Mestrathax went to stand in the centre of the abandoned hill fort. The light from the flickering torches showed that all was now broken and still. With his mind, he searched through the hill fort, his thoughts flicking quickly from hut to hut, searching each one of them until he was sure that no-one had been left behind. Then he signalled to Rianna to leave as he began walking back towards the portal.
“Yes,” he thought to himself, “today the gods have been kind. The people have managed to escape a certain death.”
He walked backwards into the magical portal whilst uttering a charm, making a cutting motion with his hands. The glowing colours shimmered as the air lit up and then turned dark, and the land they had left behind began to twist and close, turning in upon itself. Mestrathax headed down the pathway into another world, to the waiting Ordoveteii.
As the sun began to break over the horizon, Seutonius Paulinus issued the command for the final assault on the oppida to begin. The attack began with a heavy barrage from the Roman ballistae onto the hill fort. Then the two legions simultaneously attacked the interior gate and rushed the palisade.
Upon breaking their way into the camp and finding no resistance, the commanders had to report back to the Governor General that on completing their search the only people they had found inside, both male and female, were dead, and these had been tied onto the palisade. The oppida was completely deserted.
The Cauldron
The final judgement of the gods.
It was early morning as they entered the new land. Iseult picked up her little boy and swung him around, and as she held him close to her she whispered quietly into his ear.
“We have escaped and we are safe, Rynax. We can have a life again and freedom from tyrants. Daddy has saved us.”
Caderyn and Trianuc had been busy. They had tied Tibullus up and taken him through the portal. Now they were struggling to keep away from him a group of angry tribe’s people who wanted to take their revenge on the Roman. They jabbed at them with the flats of their shields, roughly pushing them back and away from the prisoner.
“Back off, all of you,” shouted Trianuc. “If he’s harmed, you’ll answer to me! I am under strict orders. Now keep back, all of you.” Tristan heard the commotion and rushed over to see what was happening.
“This man is under the tribe’s protection,” he called out. “If you threaten him you’ll answer to me too. Now, since you people have so much energy to spare, I have jobs for all of you. We need to find food and shelter. All of you, go out in pairs and scout the surrounding area. If you see anyone, don’t take anything or show yourself. Just report back to me. Now go! And I mean right now!”
The crowd grumbled and dispersed as Tristan allocated them the areas they were to search. Other people were put to work building shelters and lighting fires so that the tribe could survive.
Sirarch was feeling tired as he rowed. He looked back at Rronish who was asleep under the leather covering in the prow of the small craft. They had been travelling all night, as the long fingers of Belenus began to reach out over Triannaib. Sirarch looked up and, recognising a turn in the river that the map had shown, he guided the boat over to the riverbank. He awoke Rronish and together they pulled the small craft out of the river and quickly began to cover it with a layer of loose brushwood.
“That should hide it for now,” he said. “They’re sure to be looking for us and I don’t want the boat to be seen from the river.” He took the map from his backpack, and as he laid it out on top of the covered boat a light breeze sprang up, so he folded the edges of the map into the brushwood as he began to study it.
“What does the map show you, Sirarch?” asked Rronish. “And could we eat something before we go any further?”
“We’ll eat later,” he replied. “I want to move some distance away from the river and find a safe spot to eat. Then we can travel on for the rest of the day and, if all goes well, we should be there by this time tomorrow.”
Shosterax indicated to Brennus to walk over to him. The weather was changing, turning colder, and the tribe needed to find food and shelter quickly. They had managed to bring a little food with them and they’d started to build several temporary dwellings in the woods.
“Sit down, Brennus,” he said. “I’d like you to be silent as I meditate, until I find the best direction to search.”
“We live another day and we’ve been lucky,” said Brennus. “I’m grateful to the gods, but it’s up to us to find shelter and food quickly.”
“You’re right,” agreed the druid, “but we’re not the only group out searching. I know we’ll find some food, but we can’t all live on stick berries and leaves.”
Brennus sat down facing him. Shosterax then placed a dark wooden bowl on the ground between them and looked Brennus in the eye. “Sit still, just watch and say nothing,” he said. “Wait until I tell you to speak.”
He reached for a clay pitcher of water and slowly poured the water into the bowl. He waited for all movement of the water to stop. Then reaching into a brown leather pouch, he began to sprinkle a small amount of mixed herbs onto the surface of the water. As the herbs changed colour and position in the bowl he looked deeply into the water and, from its depths, shapes and images of the future flickered into his mind. He looked up.
“Yes, we’ll search today along this river. Yes, I still recognise it as the Tamesa. Brennus, you can speak now.”
“How many men shall we take with us?”
“I feel that today is important,” replied Shosterax. “We’ll need the two of us, plus two hands of men. Carry food for three days and make sure you pick warriors who know how to travel quickly and kill silently.”
It was still dark as Rronish tried to awake. Something cold was being held against her throat; she tried to look up and struggle but she was being held by two people and couldn’t move.
“Be still, girl,” said one of her captors. “You belong to us now, and we want you.”
In a darkened forest glade, Nylen was gazing into a black cauldron of water that was hanging on a tripod and being heated over a low fire. A light mist was covering its surface and she watched as it slowly cleared. It revealed a cold scene, of Sirarch and Rronish being captured as they slept. She threw her head back and, with her arms stretched out wide, screamed aloud to beyond the sky.
“Oh great gods Lugh and Taranis, I am your loyal servant. Please help me in this task at this difficult time!”
A chill wind began to blow as a thunderstorm was unleashed onto the glade, its power trembling through the earth and shaking the nearby trees. As they twisted and bent in the storm, many of their leaves were blown from them and swept into the fire, bursting aflame. A bolt of lightning struck the forest floor close to Nylen. She collapsed, falling backwards onto the ground, the rain falling onto her face as her spirit left her body and travelled deep into the cauldron.
Brennus and Shosterax walked down an overgrown path. It was early morning and they were preparing for another day’s search for supplies as they stepped into the shallows of a river to bathe before setting out again. Near them, in the centre of the river, the water suddenly began to swirl and slowly Nylen rose up to stand before them. She pointed a hand at each of them, and words and images flew into their heads.
“I am putting a pictu
re of two people into your minds. To find them you must travel quickly towards Belenus. Rescue them, and in so doing you will save yourselves.”
Nylen’s image turned back into water and dissipated as a mist, leaving the Celts transfixed, staring at the river. Brennus’ face was white and he was still staring at the river when Shosterax grabbed his shoulder and shook him lightly.
“Quickly, Brennus,” he urged, “the gods have sent us a clear message. Get the men up and moving - we’re heading towards Belenus as he rises.”
Nylen’s daughters had found her and were gently moving her to rest at the base of a nearby tree as the storm slowly began to abate.
“Oh no, is mother going to die?” wailed Raulen.
“No,” said Rocinne, “the gods have tested her resolve. If we leave her here for tonight, she’ll draw force from the tree and recover to be become even stronger. Remember, Raulen, for whoever chooses this way of life the pathway is narrow and the passage difficult to travel.”
Sirarch was lying still on the floor, his hands bound behind his back. He couldn’t see Rronish and he’d counted the gang as being five strong. Struggling, he tried to reach a small piece of flint hidden in the back of his jacket. With this he hoped he could cut his bonds. The slaver who’d been searching through Sirarch’s backpack pulled out a package and, after unwrapping it, held the lacquer box. He walked over towards the others.
“I’ve found just we want here, boys. Now, heat the fire and let’s cook the fish. Then we’ll have some fun and see how much pain the elf can take.” The slaver was examining the gold disc. He swaggered about, placing it on his chest and turning around. “Look at me, boys, I look like a real chief now, hah? Tehbazile will have to pay us so well we’ll all be rich. I should keep it and enjoy the power. But I know I wouldn’t live long if I did that.”
He put the disc back into its lacquer case and bent down with his knife, flicking over the pieces of fish that were slowly cooking on the hot stones beside the fire.
“You’ve had a lot of people out looking for you, nightwalker, but it’s all over now.”
Cutting off a large piece of hot fish and putting it in his mouth, he stood up, then quickly coughed it out as an arrow ripped into the side of his neck. He fell forward onto the fire. Overlooking the scene from just above the tree line was the druid Shosterax, who stood up holding his staff above his head. The Ordoveteii attacked, screaming curses. Three of them fired arrows into the enemy, wounding another of the gang, as the others charged down the hill into the attack. Throwing their bows down onto the ground, they quickly followed their comrades into the attack.
Sirarch had managed to cut his bonds, quickly jumping up and grabbing a long knife off the slaver’s body. The battle was a fast melee and the gang of slavers died quickly, not knowing who was killing them. Sirarch found Rronish and killed one of the thugs near her. As the Ordoveteii surrounded them, he prepared to fight. Rronish was lying on the ground and leaned forward to grab at his leg.
“Stop, please stop,” she called out. “Sirarch, don’t fight, I recognise them from Nylen’s path-working. They’re here to help us.” Sirarch opened his hand, gently letting the knife fall to the ground.
Bleddyn looked into the cold morning light. Yes, the fisherman had been right. A large force was now approaching their village. Turning his horse around, he headed back to warn his tribe. As he neared the approaches to the village he saw two armed figures on the track in front of him, blocking his path. Galloping his horse directly at them, he forced his way through. A voice called out.
“Father, don’t you recognise me?”
Looking back, he saw his daughter. He stopped his horse, jumped down and ran over to embrace Rronish.
“Oh Rronish, it’s you,” Bleddyn sobbed. “I thought you were lost to me!” Rronish was crying too as she grasped her father.
“Father, this is my friend, Sirarch. Without him, I wouldn’t be here.” Bleddyn looked at Sirarch and then walked over to him, embracing him firmly.
“Sirarch, you are now a deep friend of mine. I owe you much.”
“Sir, it’s a thing I do freely. But I fear there’s trouble following behind us.”
“I’ve seen them,” said Bleddyn. “Who are they, and what do they want?”
“They’re the Ordoveteii, a friendly tribe looking for a place to rest,” said Rronish. “But Father, you must believe me - the raiders who took me are also on their way here! The people I’ve brought with me are not your enemy. They’re here to help you. You must meet and parley with them. And Father, I’ve met a god! It was he, Aengus mac-Og, who sent me a warning dream that the raiders were coming. We don’t have much time!”
“When you were taken from me you were a child,” smiled Bleddyn. “Now you’re talking about meeting gods and guiding tribes. I will talk to them, though I’ve never heard of a tribe called the Ordoveteii. Rronish, if they’re your friends, go to them and ask their leaders to approach me.”
Later that day Iseult, Mestrathax, Rianna, Shosterax and Gwydion walked up to the approaches of the village. Bleddyn was waiting for them as they arrived.
“You are welcome here,” said Bleddyn. “You have returned my daughter to me, which pleases my heart. My wife and family are overjoyed. But why do you travel to my village with such a large force?”
“We met your daughter by the gods’ good chance,” began Iseult, “and she told us of her village and your difficulties. Chief Bleddyn, our tribe is not here to threaten you. We come to you as friends and to ask for your help.”
“Please,” said Bleddyn, “enter my village and we’ll talk further on this. The hospitality of my home is yours.”
At the sight of this large tribe arriving, the worried villagers had gathered together, arming themselves and clustering close to their chief’s hut. A light breeze had sprung up and as the visitors were entering the hut the villagers looked up into skies that were turning leaden and grey. The leaders of the Ordoveteii followed Bleddyn in; a warm fire was alight and ample refreshments were placed in front of them.
“I welcome you all to my village,” began Bleddyn. “Please, sit with me and share my food. Tell me why you are here and how I can be of help to you.”
“Chief Bleddyn,” Iseult replied, “what we ask from you is the gods’ gift of aid, and for a short time that we might drink from your wells and share a little of your food so that we have time to heal our injured and hunt our own food. Also, we need shelter for our old and our very young.
“When we met your daughter Rronish, we spoke to her and came to understand that there might be empty territory in your power where we could rest for a while, or even possibly settle. If you could guide us in this, we would indeed be grateful. In return for your help in these things, we would become your ally and defend your tribe against the enemy that we’ve been told is approaching you, and who would be a great danger to us all.”
“Yes, the gods’ gift of aid, food and shelter, these I shall supply. There is also a large tract of empty territory several days’ distance from here where a friendly tribe could be settled.” Mestrathax leaned forward to speak.
“Chief Bleddyn, I can offer you knowledge about these raiders. I sense that they’re not of this land and that they’re a brutal people. By allying our tribes together, we would be very strong in defence against them. But I have also seen that we have less than five nights before they arrive here.”
“My daughter has told me of the threat,” said the chief, “and how she was warned by a god. So this I accept as truth. For this period of danger, I also accept that our peoples must be as one.”
It was early morning as they approached the hut where Tibullus was being held. The two guards were resting. They quickly shuffled to their feet as Tristan and Gwydion approached them. Inside the hut, Tibullus appeared to be asleep. He was resting on a stool, leaning his head back agai
nst the wall of the hut. He had not slept much that night, it had been too cold and damp for that. Now he was watching a group of insects as they moved in and out of the thatching of the roof, busy living out their own insignificant lives. As the Celts entered the hut, the Roman paid them little attention. Gwydion kicked the small stool away from under him and Tibullus fell onto the earthen floor.
“Roman, get up!”
“My name is Tibullus, Celt.”
“Yes, Tibullus, you may keep your name for the little time you have left,” said Gwydion. “Now, get up on your feet, your fate is about to be decided. The leaders will judge you now.”
As they left the hut, they escorted Tibullus through the centre of the Cantiaci village and up towards the chief’s hut. In the other huts, most of the people were still asleep. They passed a small group of the Ordoveteii who were returning from a fishing trip. One of them grinned at the Roman. Then drawing his own knife slowly across his own throat, he laughed.
“Yes,” Tibullus thought to himself, “these people have many reasons to hate me. If the druid orders my death, at the first chance I’ll kill him. Titus, my friend, I’ll be joining you shortly.”
On entering the hut, he saw that waiting for him was Iseult, the new tribal chief. So Cestrathax must have been killed. There were the druids Mestrathax and Shosterax and the bodyguard Rianna, who stood near the Arch Druid. He knew that killing him would not be easy; the woman who guarded him was good with weapons. Of late he hadn’t been given much food and he was feeling a little unsteady on his feet. But he was careful not to show any weakness.
“Tibullus, we’ve been discussing your future,” began Iseult, “and many people in this camp would like to see you die. But you saved my son’s life, and to settle this blood debt I’m going to offer you final terms that you would do well to listen to and to accept.” She indicated to Mestrathax, who took a step forward towards him.
“Hear this well, Roman. You are now in a different world and far from Rome. In this place, we’re about to be attacked by another enemy. I want you to help us by training our men to fight the Roman way.”
Pathways of the Druids Page 18
