Pathways of the Druids

by Christopher J. Pine

  Tibullus tensed his muscles and then relaxed before replying to the druid.

  “I saved the boy’s life by chance and instinct, and I hope he’s well. Now you want me, a Roman, to help you to fight your enemies? You know how to kill! Why would you need me, and how would it help me if I did?”

  Mestrathax thought deeply on this before answering.

  “I always believed that the gods had placed you with us for a reason. I now know it’s because we need your skills, at war, in a set-piece battle. If you do this for us, it could save many lives. For this we will be generous with you. We’ll give you your life, the freedom of the camp and a little bronze. No-one in this land has ever met you or the armies of Rome before. It’s possible that you could carve out a completely new future for yourself here. At least, until the goddess decides further on your fate, which I’m certain she will.”

  Tibullus felt a weight lift from his shoulders at the thought of surviving.

  “All right, maybe I will help you,” he said. “But I shall only do it for my freedom. My life is not here with you in this world. Use your magic to send me back to my own life, druid.”

  “No, Tibullus, I will not send you back,” said Mestrathax calmly. “You will never go home. Rome will never learn of this world. If you serve us well, we’ll give you your freedom and some bronze - that’s all. You will never see your world again. Just thank your gods that you’re alive!”

  “I hear what you have said,” said Tibullus, after a moment, “and I understand your meaning. If you give me my freedom, I’ll do as you ask, druid.”

  “It will be exactly as I have said, Roman. Your service for your life and your freedom.”

  Tibullus nodded.

  “I swear by Mithras and all I hold holy that I’ll fight with you as a brother. But you must give me some trust, so I can measure the strength of your men and the village defences. I would need to instruct them, and they’ll have to follow my orders, learn Roman ways and obey my discipline. Without that we cannot succeed.”

  “That has already been agreed between us, and you’ll be allowed to do this,” said Mestrathax. Tibullus leaned forwards and pointed at Gwydion.

  “Will he obey my orders?”

  “Don’t worry about me, Roman,” grinned Gwydion. “I shall kill the enemy, whoever they are.”

  “Your orders will be followed,” Mestrathax continued. “Caderyn and Trianuc will be your warriors in all of this. You’ll be moved here to live with the Cantiaci, since they have no hatred of you.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Tibullus. “But as I was led here I saw only a little of this village and it doesn’t look like a strong position. First, we don’t know how much time we have. It’s important that a watch is organised for the area. You should use the villagers for that task. They know the area around here far better than any of you. If you follow me outside, I’ll show you what I’ve seen.”

  He was sweating as he walked out of the hut. He breathed in the fresh early morning air, realising that he might live a little longer. Standing a short distance away from the gateway, he quickly pointed at several positions in and around the village.

  “This gateway and palisade is not strong enough to stop anybody. You can see that it was built only for keeping livestock out of the village. These defences must be strengthened because when they attack they’ll head straight for the village gateway. There you must have some pits dug, at either side of the entrance. Place stakes in the bottom, and hide them with a loose covering of cloth and earth. When the raiders arrive here, I want them to find the gates open and the village asleep. Let them think it’s going to be easy and it’s theirs for the taking.

  “Leave a few goats outside, to be seen wandering around. A couple of old people could be going out to watch over the goats. And only the usual fires are to be left alight. You must make it look real. My strategy here will be to hold them on the village palisade. We’ll be keeping our main strength hidden a little distance away from the village. At the right time, they’ll move forward and hit the enemy in their flank.”

  “Once they’re here,” asked Gwydion, “do we send in the chariots to block their escape?”

  “No,” said Tibullus. “You must hold your chariots and cavalry further back. I want the enemy to see a clear way out for them to escape. When they realise that we’re waiting for them and they’re in a trap, they’ll probably break and try to get back to their ships. That’s exactly what I want them to do. I want them to break and run for their ships because when they do run they’ll find it very difficult to keep their formation. When it breaks, and it will break, that’s the time for you to use your chariots and cavalry.

  “Don’t block them in, just keep breaking them up. Make sure you keep the enemy broken and don’t allow them any time to regroup. The chariots’ task is to harry them, run through and hit them, then pull away. Then harry and run through them again. They must break up any group as soon as it tries to form a defensive position. I know you can do that. This way your main force of warriors can advance in good order, killing each of them singly. Then victory is yours - and you can give me my freedom.”

  “You talk a good plan, Roman,” said Gwydion, “but first there’s much work to do and a battle still to be fought and won. Fight well, and if the gods grant us victory, then we’ll talk more about all our futures and freedoms.”

  It was still dark, just before the dawn, as the five longships cut through the dark waters of the river Tamesa. The Viking chief, Toki, turned and looked back at the other four vessels that were keeping station behind him. The sea voyage had indeed been rough. But once they had entered the mouth of the river the water had become much calmer. The sail had been taken down and they were rowing and riding the current of the river’s tidal swell as it carried the longships forward. Most of the men were asleep, with just one shift of rowers guiding the vessel.

  At home, this year’s crops had failed. Now he needed a good raid of plunder, to barter allegiances with so that he could become clan leader over his half-brothers. Toki spoke to his brother, Varin.

  “The land here is so rich. My earlier raids here were easy and the slaves fetched a good trade. They’re fools here and they’ll suffer as the weak always do. You’ll see, brother, this village doesn’t know they have to fight to protect what they have. Yes, the pickings here will be good.”

  The ship rolled a little as Toki walked amongst the crew. He started to wake them up. They stirred and began to talk and eat a little food as they excitedly gathered together their clothes and weapons.

  “Easy on the oars, now, quiet,” Toki ordered. “We’re nearly there. Varin, signal to the other ships to follow closely. We’re going to land.”

  “Yes, Toki.”

  Varin went to the aft of the ship and carefully set alight a small piece of oil-soaked rag on a tin plate as a signal to the other ships. As the oars were beaten into the water, Toki stood between the rows of oarsmen. Then as the gloom of the night began to lift, he signalled to the steersman to watch him. They continued up the river and after a while he leaned forward, pointing to a place on the shoreline.

  “Land over there, do you see? There, in the shallows. Put her over there, in by those overhanging trees.”

  The steersman looked at him, and then looked forward to the prow of the ship where one of the men was busy throwing a weighted line out of the vessel. The man signalled back by holding up his right hand, showing them just four of his fingers. Seeing this, the steersman grunted as he leaned heavily and threw his weight onto the steering arm. Silently, the vessel felt alive, and twisting like an animal it began to turn its side towards the wind, helping to slow its speed. The oars were breaking through the surface of the water at a slow, steady pace, and now they were stopped and pulled back into the boat as the shore approached.

  Some birds flew up from the trees and the ships judder
ed as they grounded onto the bank. Toki put on his helm. Then he signalled to his men to leave the boats and secure the landing ground. As the vessels hit the shore, the first squads of men leapt out of the five boats, splashing into the shallow water as they rushed ashore. They carried axes and wore no armour. The only clothes they had were bear or wolf skins.

  During the journey they had been reciting magical chants and chewing sacred leaves, steadily working their minds into a crazed state of battle frenzy. These were the brutal shock warriors, the berserkers, men who, when the red mist descended upon their minds, slaughtered without a single thought. The double-bladed war axe was swift and fell noiselessly down onto the sleeping man’s neck. The man had been on lookout, but he’d drunk too much of the mead he’d brought with him and had fallen asleep. The berserker wiped the axe head across the dead man’s clothing and then grabbed at and quickly swallowed the remaining mead. He began searching the surrounding area for more people to kill.

  The boy watched through the long grasses as he saw his father being killed. The tears were running down his face as he hurriedly crawled back through the undergrowth. Trying hard not to make any sound, he made his way to where they had tethered their horses. He rode his horse straight back to the village. It looked deserted, but as he went in through the gateway he found that several warriors were there waiting for him. They picked him off his horse and quickly took him to the central hut. Here he now found himself placed in front in front of Chief Bleddyn and these new, strange and powerful leaders of a different tribe, the Ordoveteii.

  “My chief,” he blurted out, panicking, “my Dad’s dead. They’re here, they’ve killed him, they’re coming! They’ve killed my Dad!” Bleddyn walked forward and lightly slapped him several times around the face to quieten him down.

  “How many of them are there,” he asked, “and did any of them see you?” The boy couldn’t stop the words that poured from his mouth.

  “I don’t think they saw me, my chief, but there are five big ships and many men. Most of them are wearing armour and they’re carrying round shields and axes.”

  “I ask you again,” said Bleddyn. “How many men are there?”

  “There are twice as many as our tribe,” the boy said. “They’re coming. Please, give me a knife, they killed my Dad. I want to fight and collect my blood debt!” Bleddyn took an ornate, sharp long-bladed knife and scabbard from his waist and handed it to the boy.

  “This is for you, boy, it’s your right. Be careful to follow a little behind the front lines. You’ll find that there’ll be plenty of opportunities for you to collect what’s owed to you.” The boy silently nodded to his chief and, grasping the knife in both hands, he mumbled his thanks and ran from the hut.

  “Mestrathax, this is cruel, he’s just a small boy,” said Iseult. “Only a little older than Rynax, and now he chooses to kill.”

  “The gods have offered him his choices,” said the druid. “But he’s chosen the path that he’ll take. It’s his choice, his right. Now, send the runners, alert the tribe and tell them that they are to follow the Roman’s plan and place their trust in the gods. From this land we will run no more.”

  The Norsemen had quickly donned their chainmail and weapons and left their ships. They began forming themselves into five battle groups. Toki climbed onto the horse that had belonged to the lookout. Then he ordered his men to advance, following after the berserkers as they headed towards the settlement.

  Tibullus was in an outlying hut, watching through a small hole that he’d knocked through the wattle wall. In the early morning light, as he watched the covered tree line, his thoughts began to wander.

  “Mestrathax, that strange and powerful druid, said that he’d been warned by the spirits that an evil force was on its way here. Then a young boy returned with word of them...”

  As he watched the track way, he saw what could have been a flash of metal glinting amongst the trees. Directly in front of Tibullus on the edge of the village and lying hidden on the ground, was a line of Celtic warriors. Hidden further back in the village was a large body of men, slingers who were going to bombard the enemy by firing over the huts with stones. Every man and woman of the Ordoveteii or the Cantiaci was now busy finding weapons and preparing for the coming battle. Then there appeared from the forest what seemed like a large black shape, led by a man riding a horse.

  “It won’t take them long to get up here and I must accept that I’ll never see Rome or my family again. If this world is to be my new life, then with Mithras’ help I’d better start to earn my place in it.” He turned to Trianuc.

  “Trianuc, when they come within range of the slingers, several actions must happen all at the same time. The gates must be firmly shut, the shield wall with spears must be readied, and the men spotting for the slingers must be on the roofs so that we can begin the bombardment. Send the runners, deliver the messages, do it now.”

  Trianuc gave a small red stone to each of three small boys who quickly ran to deliver them to the druids, the slingers and to Gwydion’s reserve force. These groups were placed out of sight further back in the village and Gwydion’s force was hidden a little way away from the village. Tibullus had just finished strapping on his leather armour as Trianuc handed him his gladius.

  “Tibullus, it’s a strange thing I do here today. I’m offering you a sword as an ally, instead of trying to kill you with it. Once, I would have done so with great pleasure.”

  “Yes,” agreed the Roman, “it is strange. It seems the gods do play with us at their whim, and it’s always best not to challenge them.”

  “You three are friends,” said Bleddyn, looking puzzled, “but once were bitter enemies!”

  “Indeed,” smiled Trianuc. “Once we were sworn enemies but now the gods require it to be different.”

  “Yes, Bleddyn,” agreed Caderyn. “This man is a captured enemy and strangely he has become my friend and ally.”

  In a hut at the back of the village, in quiet tones Mestrathax was giving an encouraging speech to his fellow druids.

  “Soon we shall be entering a state of war. This is necessary, because it is near here that we intend to settle the Ordoveteii tribe. Together we shall all link mentally and a raise a psychic shield over this village, to deflect the enemy’s hatred back upon them, and this will aid in strengthening our men’s courage.” Then a small boy entered the hut and made his way up to Mestrathax, giving the druid a red stone. He took the small stone from the boy’s hand and holding it aloft continued speaking. “It is time for us to go and join our men. Remember that we’ve been guided here by the gods and that they are with us!”

  Toki cantered his horse towards the village, followed closely by his men. As they neared the entrance, he felt suspicious of the lack of noise. Stopping his horse, he indicated to his berserkers to begin the assault on the village. The berserkers were moving quickly, leading the attack as they headed towards the village. It was then that Gwydion arrived with the reserve force and began to take up a position along the hillside. This forced the Norsemen to change their tactics. Hesitating, they stopped and turned towards the new force, hurriedly forming a shield wall to face them. Toki dismounted and joined his men on foot.

  “Trianuc, look!” said Tibullus. “Gwydion has arrived early, and in doing so he’s changed the battle plan. Go and get the men to form our shield wall and tell the slingers to begin their bombardment, but leave the gates open.”

  Three of the berserkers had not stopped and were still running towards the village. As they neared the gateway, Sirarch, who had earlier climbed up onto the roof of a hut, quickly drew his bow and fired several arrows into each of them. One was killed but the other two only wounded; ignoring their wounds, they carried on running towards the village.

  “We’ll be advancing sooner than I’d planned,” observed Tibullus. “But that’s war, and in battle your plans must be able to
change quickly.”

  The village burst into action as the warriors leapt from their hiding places and prepared for battle. A squad of tribesman at the gateway met, fought and killed the two berserkers. Shortly, Tibullus began to hear the noise of the slingers, as the first volley of stones whistled over their hut and rained down onto the advancing enemy. Trianuc returned.

  “I’ve done as you ordered, sir.”

  “Good,” said Tibullus. “Now, as we begin to close with the enemy, you are to stop the slingers and ready them for use as our reserve infantry.” As he was putting on his helmet, he continued, “We’ll go outside now, so our men can see us. It will be better that we organise command from there. Bleddyn and Caderyn, go and take personal command of the reserve infantry and make sure you keep them with us.”

  Gwydion’s forces had lined up facing the enemy and were now beating their swords on their shields. The sound began to echo around the hillside. Calmly, Gwydion walked out in front of his men. He was wearing striped trousers, no mail helm or shirt, just a golden torc hung loosely around his neck. He was carrying a long sword and an oval shield decorated with the sign of a boar. He began to insult the Norsemen.

  Tibullus stopped the slingers, as he watched Gwydion challenging the Norsemen to single combat. Gwydion stood his shield on the ground.

  “You Norse thieves, creeping up here in the night as killers, slavers and murderers! Scum, I challenge you to single combat. If you kill me, we’ll let you all leave this place unharmed. But I call all of you cowards! Where’s your leader? Is he hiding in there? Will he come out and fight me?

  “No, you’re all gutless scum whose mothers are ashamed of ever giving birth to you.” As he walked along the front line of his men, all the Ordoveteii began to shout insults and to bait the Norsemen.

  The Norse chieftain took a pair of axes from his brother Varin.

  “Varin,” said Toki, “they were ready and waiting for us and we’re outnumbered. I shall face my wyrd this day. If I lose, the Valkyries will take my soul and I shall enter Valhalla as a hero. Then you must fight your way back to the ships.”