by Jules Watson
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am the healer here.’ She kept her eyes resolutely closed until she heard his feet crunching away on the dead twigs.
They were still half a day away from the Dun of the Tree when they reached the first of the settlements that clustered around it.
The houses were cleanly thatched and white-washed. All the land about was scored with furrows of new-plowed, rich earth, and there were pens holding a wealth of fine, fat cattle, which had not yet been driven to sunseason pastures. These enclosures grew ever more numerous the closer they came to their destination, and at last Eremon remarked, ‘Your Votadini must be prospering.’
They saw the great dun long before they smelled its cookfires, for it crowned a hill that reared in a single hump from the plain like a basking seal on a beach. High above, the summit was encircled by ancient banks and a ridged timber palisade, with towers looking west over the fertile farmland, and east to the sea.
The track widened and began to spiral up the northern face of the crag, terminating before a pair of looming gatetowers. But the gate between was open, and guards leaned on their spears at ease. Nor were there many lookouts posted atop the walkway that ran the length of the palisade. These people clearly felt safe behind Roman lines.
Rhiann asked to send a message to her cousin. While they waited, she joined Eremon on the edge of the path where it fell away towards the plain. Here, the wind came straight off the sea, still bitter from the moons of cold.
‘They have a fine position here,’ Eremon remarked, patting his horse’s neck. ‘They must be able to see for leagues across the land.’
‘It has always been a rich tribe. Yet it is prospering even more now.’
‘The signs are not that these people resisted and were beaten into submission.’
‘No.’ Rhiann was thoughtful. ‘We must be careful.’
‘It is a little late to say that now.’ Eremon grinned, and Rhiann felt the barest hint of her own smile in answer.
‘Lady.’ A slight, officious man was standing by. ‘I am Carnach. My mistress Samana is overcome with delight at the unexpected visit of her dearest cousin. She asks me to escort you to her home.’
As they walked through the hilltop village, there were more signs that it was thriving. The skeletons of new buildings reared everywhere; granaries mostly, and also storehouses of various sizes. Plainly, the Votadini were extending their trade networks.
But when they reached the centre of the village, Rhiann received the greatest shock. She had travelled to see her kin once, when she was very young, with her father. At that time, the heart of the hillfort was the King’s Hall, bigger than that at Dunadd. Next to it was a wind-gnarled oak, planted generations before, which had given the dun its name.
Now, although the tree was still there, the hall was gone, and in its place was a half-finished, rectangular building that appeared to be a suite of rooms. Rhiann could only stand and gape. Although built of the same materials as the roundhouses of her people, her eyes could not adjust to the straight walls and corners, and even more, the splash of red tiles that crowned its sloping roof.
Carnach ushered them into a large square room, painted with lurid pigments, floored with plaster, and furnished with delicate oak seats and tables. There were no feasting spits here, no shields and spears on the walls, no hides and furs, no cauldron over the fire. All was airy, and light glowed through square holes in the wall covered by a transparent material that Rhiann did not recognize. Later, she found it was the thinnest, oiled hide: she’d seen her first window.
Still in shock, she couldn’t help but jump at the faint rustle at the inner door, before she swung around … and there beheld her cousin Samana again for the first time in four years.
She saw immediately that the girl’s striking looks had ripened into a woman’s full, rich beauty. Samana’s hair, bound around her head, was a glossy crown as dark as raven feathers. Her eyes were jet, and drooped at the corners. On the Sacred Isle, this had given her a sulky and petulant cast. Now, even Rhiann could see the effect it had on a woman’s face, especially matched with a fine-dyed saffron robe that warmed her skin to honey, and berry-stained lips. Rhiann sensed the male atmosphere in the room rising to heat.
‘Cousin!’ Samana swept across the room and grasped Rhiann’s hand, kissing her on both cheeks. Rhiann was enveloped in a wave of scent, the sweet, ripe smell of apples. ‘Sit, do sit!’
She settled them all on the array of strange chairs in the room, and clapped her hands for Carnach to bring them refreshments, before fixing Rhiann with her deep gaze. ‘So, cousin, it has been many years. And now you have come so unexpectedly, and you bring me a fine catch of young men as a gift – men of Erin, your message said.’ She smiled slowly around at the men in turn, pausing when she came to Eremon.
Rhiann eyed her steadily back. ‘My message did not say that, Samana. Your priestess training still stands you in good stead, I see.’
‘The Mother’s gifts are powerful, and not easily forgotten, cousin.’
Carnach came in with a tray, and Samana directed him to hand each of them an empty bronze goblet, and rest a silver flagon on a three-legged oak table to one side. When the steward left again, Samana added, ‘But come, introduce me to your companions. I like to know the names of those whom I entertain.’ As she spoke she rose, taking up the flagon, and the sun spilling through the open door caught the rings on her fingers, and the gold bracelet encircling one slender arm.
‘They are my guard,’ said Rhiann, ‘for we hear that the painted ones are no longer welcome among their southern brothers. Your people have new guests, it seems.’
‘The Romans, you mean?’
‘Of course.’
Samana was standing before Eremon now, smiling down at him. ‘Always serious you are, cousin! We can talk of this later, but right now, I cannot serve one whose name I do not know.’
Rhiann gave in with great reluctance. ‘Outside these walls he is my captain of the guard – but within he is my husband, Eremon, son of Ferdiad, of Dalriada.’
‘A husband! How splendid!’ Samana poured a stream of mead into Eremon’s cup, and from where she was sitting, Rhiann sensed the leap of speculation between them. ‘Why, then we are related!’ Samana bent down to give Eremon the kin kiss of greeting, lingering over it a moment longer than was courteous.
As she filled Conaire’s cup and moved on to the others, Rhiann caught the glance of boyish amusement that passed between Eremon and his foster-brother. She shifted in her chair.
As soon as Samana was seated again, Rhiann rested her cup on the small table and leaned forward. ‘Cousin, what has happened here? Why are you living in this house? Where are the King and the council?’
Samana’s brow darkened, but her voice remained light. ‘So many questions are unseemly, Rhiann! I could also ask why you have come.’
‘Lady,’ Eremon put in smoothly, ‘forgive our intrusion. We have had a long journey, and suffered from a great shock on the way. Perhaps we may answer each other’s questions when we are more refreshed?’
Both Rhiann and Samana turned to stare at Eremon, Rhiann with growing anger, and Samana with, she could see, a much warmer sentiment.
‘Well!’ Samana’s face was soft again, and the heavy-lidded look had returned. ‘Your husband puts us to shame with his courtesy, Rhiann. There are guest quarters for you. Carnach can show you the way. When you have washed and rested, we will eat, and then we can find out all about each other.’
Rhiann and Eremon were given one small guest hut near to Samana’s dwelling, and the rest of the men another. Eremon excused himself and went to join Conaire as soon as he put his pack down, so Rhiann enjoyed the customary foot-wash on her own. Yet there was also heavily watered wine, which she did not touch, and strange Roman oil lamps bathing the hut with light. After she unpacked the few goddess figurines she had brought, and lined them up above the bed, she felt much better.
Now she looked down at the serv
ing woman sponging her feet. ‘Tell me, where are the King and the council. Do you know?’
The woman’s carefully inscrutable face registered nothing. ‘Lady, the Romans came here and removed them. The Lady Samana is Queen now.’
‘She rules here?’
The servant ducked her face and concentrated on her task. ‘Yes, lady.’
Rhiann thought about asking more, but the woman would plainly say that she did not know anything, so she let it be. Better to hear the tale from her own cousin’s mouth.
As the dusk deepened into night, the party followed a trail of torches back up the path to Samana’s house. This time they were led to another room, golden in the glow of oil lamps flickering on painted walls. Samana had kept to the tribal way of seating guests on low benches, but used three-legged tables to hold the food.
This time they were served by a stream of servants carrying platters of silver and Roman redware, and bronze and glass flagons. The food was mostly Alban: sea bream steeped in honey and thyme, and roast goose with crab-apple, but there were also the Roman imports of olives and figs and a strange eastern bird that Samana called pheasant, and beef and oyster stew flavoured with a strong, fish-smelling sauce that Samana said was garum.
While they ate, Rhiann held her tongue, for to her the irony of coming all this way to learn how to defeat the Romans, and then eating their food, almost made her gag.
Samana kept the conversation to Eremon and his home on Erin, and Rhiann watched with interest as he dodged a few uncomfortable questions rather neatly. So we all dance with our words tonight, she thought, and sipped her mead.
Had she miscalculated this trip badly? Was Samana to be trusted? She thought back to their time on the Sacred Isle. Her cousin had always loved luxury – it was Samana’s mother, the King’s sister, who insisted that she join the order, while the girl herself always chafed under the priestesses’ spartan rule.
Based on that memory, Rhiann could not really be surprised that Samana had become outwardly seduced by Roman goods. After all, so had most of the nobles of Britannia, and even those in Alba. But wanting Roman goods was a long way from wanting Roman rule.
She relaxed slightly. The King and his men must have given themselves up as hostages. Samana was probably making the best of the situation that she had been thrust into. After all, the girl had followed the actual teachings of the Sisters avidly, and displayed skill in seeing and magic, though her powers of healing were less developed. She is a priestess, and that is her strongest alliance, she thought. If she was let down by men, as I was, then we make the best of our limited powers.
Just as she was getting ready to ask the inevitable question, Eremon stepped in. Taking a considered sip of wine, he leaned back, outwardly relaxed. ‘The meal was a triumph, lady. I have not partaken of so many Roman imports before.’
‘I thank you. One must gain something in exchange when one is conquered.’
‘Conquered?’
Samana looked sorrowful. ‘It was a bad business, prince. After my father died some years ago, I was left in the care of my uncle, the King. We always had a strong trading network with our Roman contacts in Britannia, and Roman traders called here once a year. Well, when we had news that ten thousand Roman soldiers were bearing down on us – ten thousand, you understand – he decided that the protection of our people came first.’ She shook her head. ‘I, of course, was horrified. At least at first. I felt we should fight – but what is one woman’s voice among so many men?’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘Before I knew it, messengers were going back and forth between the council and this Roman commander – this Agricola. Eventually, my uncle made a treaty.’
‘But did your warriors not rise up at all?’ Rhiann put in.
Samana sighed, turning to her. ‘No, cousin. Perhaps you know already how little some men can be trusted.’ She shot an apologetic look at Eremon, and then back to Rhiann. ‘We already traded heavily in Roman goods. The Roman commander was not seeking to change our customs, our politics, our life at all really, in any way. They were just going to pass us by …’
‘Pass you by?’ Rhiann knew that she was glaring. ‘Just where do you think all those soldiers were going, Samana? To a cattle fair?’
‘As I said, Rhiann, the council decided that it was best for the people to make peace. That way we could preserve what we had, instead of seeing it go down in fire and blood.’ She paused and wiped her eyes. ‘Did you not hear what happened to the Selgovae? Their hillfort was bombarded with these ballistae, these iron bolts, and the people were slaughtered to a child. My uncle did not want this for us.’
‘And where is the King now?’ Eremon asked gently.
‘Ah, well, that is the worst of it.’ Samana sniffled. ‘Agricola asked the King and his whole council to visit him – and took them hostage. The warriors here were baying for blood, as you can imagine. But if they make a move, the King will be executed. The lords have scattered to their duns and seem content to leave it be. They hope that when Agricola completes his campaign, the King will be returned.’
‘Completes his campaign?’ Rhiann’s voice sounded harsh, but the false tears were going a little too far. She had never known Samana to cry.
‘Yes, Rhiann – he will be driven back, or he will conquer.’
‘And what of you?’ Eremon was conciliatory.
Another great sigh. ‘I’ve done the best that I can with what was left.’
Rhiann looked around at the oil lamps and ornate flagons with a raised eyebrow that she did not try to hide.
‘I am the closest of the King’s kin – there was no one left to take charge here, as the other lords have their own duns to attend to. Although I know little of ruling, I am keeping my dun safe and prosperous to await the King’s return.’
‘And this involves replacing the King’s Hall with a Roman one?’ Rhiann sipped her mead with great casualness.
The eye that Samana turned on her was not soft. ‘Why, Rhiann! The King began this work before he was so cruelly taken. I cannot live in a half-finished building; nor did I want to waste the costly timber or tiles. The people understand.’
Rhiann thought about the signs of prosperity that she had seen among the Votadini. Yes, the people – those of the ruling class, at any rate – would understand all too well.
So, she did not believe that Samana was as grief-stricken about the situation as she made out. She loved the goods the treaty had brought her, and she was living here unmolested in her own house. And yet, the story itself made sense. Did vanity and greed equal treachery?
‘Now.’ Samana wiped her cheeks and smiled at Eremon. ‘You must tell me why you have come.’
‘It is a much shorter tale,’ Eremon replied. ‘We seek to find out more about the Romans, that is all. How many there are, where they are …’
‘I take it, then, that you intend to resist?’
Rhiann opened her mouth to reply, seized with the urge not to tell Samana too much, but Eremon said quickly, ‘Yes, we do.’
Samana smiled at him again, and reached out to touch his hand. ‘I wish we had men of such determination here, cousin. Perhaps the result would have been much different.’
‘Will you help us, then?’
She looked around at them all. ‘I will tell you as much as I can, and may be able to get you more information. But please,’ she put her hand to her forehead, ‘not tonight. Speaking of these matters has wounded me sorely. Will you excuse me?’ She rose.
All the men jumped to their feet, although Rhiann stayed seated.
‘No, please, enjoy your drink and food for as long as you like.’
She swayed slightly where she stood, and Eremon put out an arm to steady her. ‘Let me see you to your quarters, lady. One fainting episode is enough this week.’
‘Thank you, cousin.’ She nodded at Rhiann. ‘You are blessed by the Goddess in your choice of husband, Rhiann. Courtesy and strength: a rare combination.’
Rhiann smiled, but her face felt tight. Sa
mana, leaning heavily on Eremon, disappeared through another inner door, the men watching her retreating curves with a great deal of attention.
When Eremon returned he was unusually jovial, his face flushed. Rhiann excused herself, too, and left them to their drinking. The glare of the torches around Samana’s house blotted out the stars, and when she reached the darkness of her hut she stood in the doorway to let the moonlight bathe her.
This journey had taken an uncomfortable turn. Could she trust Samana? Could she even trust Eremon? How little she really knew him! Perhaps she had acted rashly in her desire to become involved in war. Perhaps she should have stayed with her herbs and her blessings and her embroidery. Now, Rhiann, she chided. You have more courage than that. It is done now, and you will see it out. Yet she would keep her wits about her, for she already sensed some powerful energies stalking this dun.
When Eremon at last came to bed, these undercurrents seemed to gather in greater force, until they were swirling around the small hut.
Eremon did not speak to her, which was not strange. Yet for as many hours as she lay awake, so did he, tossing and shifting about more than usual. Perhaps he felt it, too.
Chapter 25
Samana did not seek Rhiann out the next morning, pleading a headache. Instead, their entire party was offered a tour of the thriving Votadini port on the Forth. Here, a Roman merchant ship was docking, and they sat their horses and watched the rows of amphorae filled with olive oil and wine, fish sauce and figs, being unloaded on to Votadini carts. The harsh Latin tongue rang out as the dark-haired sailors carried the long, pointed jars of goods down to the pier.
Their voices reminded Rhiann of the soldiers they had seen building the fort, and she shuddered. Would this tongue one day be heard across her land? Would the songs of the bards be lost, and her people’s own musical speech stilled? No! She would die before all that made them fine was destroyed.
That afternoon the men went hunting, and as Samana had still not surfaced, Rhiann decided to take things into her own hands. The obsequious steward looked put out at her unannounced arrival, but went to find his mistress, seating Rhiann in the reception room.
