Pagan Rites (Tribes of Britain Book 0)

by Sam Taw

  Crouching by the bunk, I laid my ear to Branok’s chest. His heart raced like he’d run from the neighbouring tribe. His panting was similar to Aebba’s hounds, his face pale and clammy. There was no way I could leave now. It was doubtful that he’d make it to sundown. I looked to Lorden.

  “Fetch his father and sisters. They will want to say their farewells.” As soon as I spoke the words, I stood up and opened my arms to his mother. She stepped into my embrace sobbing deep fitful cries.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I stayed while Branok’s kin made offerings to the gods, but no amount of sacrificial ducks and goats would save him. Each of them stepped closer to his side, whispering their regrets, their sorrow and their love into his ear, while the rot from the auroch’s attack seeped into his heart. Cernonnus, God of Death, took him from us a little after nightfall. There was nothing I could do to ease their suffering, other than to leave a small tribute of tin by the door to pay his way into the underworld. Poor Branok had never seen battle. He would not be worthy of a place in the Summerlands with the likes of my ancestors.

  Lorden agreed to stay behind and take care of the rituals and ceremonies. My place was at the Long Hut, with my own kin. I predicted, and was correct in thinking, that Aebba’s hunting quest would stir the emotions of all his wives. When I arrived Aebba’s second wife, the Lady Eseld, was standing next to the central fire, dripping blood onto the shaved head of Paega. The elders of the tribe sat at their tables closer to the entrance, watching and listening with deep respect.

  I waited in the doorway for her to finish. After coating her son’s scalp with a slick of cow’s blood, she drew the symbol of the Triskellion on his forehead and chanted a whole load of garbled nonsense, while she communicated with the gods. It wasn’t clear which ones she was targeting specifically, but then that was not her aim. All Eseld had ever wanted was to be the focal point of attention, and in so doing, elevate her son’s status in the tribe. Just when I thought she had completed the ritual learned under the tender ministrations of the leader of the Priest Sect, her father, she grabbed a carved stick, with feathers and beads attached and waved it around the boy’s head.

  Aebba yawned. His chin rested in his palm; his elbow dug into the table cloths. “Is this going to take much longer, wife, our food is cooling?” He rolled his eyes at Cryda by his side. She was his first love and our noble Ruvane. She giggled at his antics, patting his knee and then pouring him more ale from a large jug.

  Eseld scowled at them both, raising her voice above the general murmurs to maintain their attention. She hadn’t finished painting the boy in coloured clays and symbols.

  “There you are, Meliora.” Aebba yelled. “You’re late. You’ve missed all the fun.” He stood and beckoned me across the room to the bench beneath his long table. This was my usual seat, next to my nieces and the fire. We shared the same bench as Aebba’s lesser wives, much to Eseld’s consternation.

  Not that Brea ever got the chance to sit and eat with us, most of the time she ran errands for Aebba, delivering his meals, organising his slaves and diffusing his bad tempers by taking regular beatings. I knew what went on in her hut at nights. She would flinch the following day after one of his moods, and she’d always accept my willow bark and tinctures for the bruising. At least this eventide, she looked to be safe from his advances. Aebba was in fine form.

  I wandered right past Eseld and Paega, capturing the crowd’s attention away from them. “Is that so, Nephew? What have I missed?”

  “My boys are thrilled about hunting the aurochs and they’re debating the names for their new swords.”

  He watched me walk around his daughters and slump into my seat. I closed my eyes and heaved a massive sigh. It was not easy to switch from mourning the loss of a life to celebrating a dangerous quest which could end the same way.

  Aebba bellowed to Brea. “Get my aunt a platter of beef. She looks tired. Won’t be long before we’ll all be feasting on the haunches of aurochs.” His Ordo wife scurried from the opposite end of my table and disappeared through the rear door to speak to the cooks. In the moment of silence, Eseld began her chanting again.

  “Oh, give it a rest, woman. No one wants to hear your incantations. The Morrighan will watch over them. Where are the pipers tonight? I fancy a tune while we eat and drink and tell stories. Where’s Lorden, he’s usually good for a funny yarn or two?” Aebba sat down and thumped on the table while Eseld slunk back to her seat with a face that could curdle milk. She sent Paega to clean up and return to the seat next to the Chieftain in all haste.

  By the time Paega returned, Aebba was in the middle of his favourite battle story. I tuned most of it out, having heard it at least a dozen times. It revolved around the terrible skirmish our clans had with a neighbouring tribe, the Durotriges. Their raids on our lands grew frequent and ever more bloodthirsty. Aebba was young, Cryda even younger and the daughter of a respected and wise Metern from the Canti Tribe.

  At the midsummer solstice circle gathering, Aebba forged an alliance with the Cantii, whereupon he asked to be bound to the Chieftain’s daughter. I remembered that summer well. It was far from a trade agreement. The two of them had been sneaking around behind the Canti’s backs for a number of moons. Aebba was struck by Cryda’s exceptional beauty, and arranged for her tribe to receive shipments of our tin at a knock-down rate. Cryda was only too happy to wed the young Metern of such a wealthy tribe.

  Before the winter solstice, the Duro’s raids had wiped out all of the borderland settlements, burning and slashing their homes, slaughtering families or taking them as slaves and stripping out anything of value. Over the course of just a few moons, our border had shifted close to the River Exe.

  “Well…” Aebba boomed, lifting his horn cup for more ale. “What was I supposed to do, let them get away with stealing our land and killing our tribe’s folk?”

  Ruvane Cryda leaned her head on his shoulder, pride brimmed within the slow blink.

  “What did you do, father?” Tallack loved Aebba’s stories, he sat on the edge of his seat, absorbing every last word and feeling. It was as though he was living out the actions inside his head.

  “I did what any Metern worth their salt would do. I called the warriors from all our clans, the Hunters, the Sailors, the Alchemists and even the Priests, and we set off to Duro land to claim back what was ours. There were more brave men than you could count in one sitting. Every one of them bore a sharp blade and a toughened spear. Our best horses carried us to the border in no more than a day. We rested up just shy of the Blackdown Hills, and sent scouts out to find their camps.” Aebba paused to take a gulp of ale and a few bites of roasted duck.

  He was still chewing when he continued. “One of the scouts came back and said that the Duros had split into two raiding parties. The leader of the closest, was none other than the old Metern of the Durotriges. I couldn’t believe our luck. We fed and watered the horses and took some rest for ourselves, before setting off before first light to catch them by surprise.”

  Aebba howled with laughter at his own cleverness. “They didn’t know what had hit them. We charged into their camp from all angles, slashing, burning, killing and maiming as we saw fit. The only instruction I gave to the men, was to leave the Chief to me. By the time they knew what was happening, most of them were dead. I caught the old man with his pintel stuck in a slave girl under his furs. It was almost too easy. I gave him a chance to stand up and utter an oath to the gods, and then I sliced off his head with my best bronze sword.” There were cheers all round, stamping of feet and pounding on the tables in praise for his courage.

  “Did you keep his head, Father?” Blydh asked, looking animated for the first time in a half dozen moons. That boy worries me. His thirst for blood seems unnatural.

  “No son, not this time. We delivered it to the other raiding party’s camp, where his eldest son was sleeping a short distance away. I handed his father’s dripping head over to him with a promise that if he should set foot on
our land again, I would deliver his skull to his mother.”

  “And did they? Come onto our land again?” It was Tallack who spoke this time, his excitement drawing him full to his feet.

  “The new Metern was little more than a boy himself. I put the fear of Cernonnus into the coward. He won’t venture across our borders without the proper permissions and tributes.”

  I tucked into the bowl of food that Brea brought for me. She’d chosen a variety of Aebba’s finest dishes and meats, with a fresh chunk of flat bread to wipe up the juices. There was lean beef, roasted duck and beets, chickpeas flavoured with sorrel and water mint and plenty of warm ale to wash it down. It was the best thing I’d tasted for days. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until I stopped bustling about.

  Cryda lifted her face from the Chief’s shoulder and leaned over to her son, stroking his hair from his forehead. “The Duros will be just as scared of you and Blydh when you are warriors, leading the clans into victory yourselves.”

  Eseld took offence at her words. “That’s if Paega chooses to award clan leadership to the twins when he becomes the next Metern.”

  “Just because he has one extra summer over Tallack and Blydh, doesn’t make it certain that he will replace, Aebba. My boys have just as much right to the tribe as Paega, more so, for they are the sons of a Ruvane, and not a common priest’s daughter.” Cryda spat back.

  “Paega is the eldest and rightful heir. Nothing can prevent him from becoming Chieftain.”

  “I am not planning on dying anytime soon. Quit your squabbling before I award the title to Wenna. She at least has the good grace to listen to her elders.” Aebba peered down from his high table to ours. “Come up here, child, and sit with your brothers. Maybe you can teach them some manners.”

  Wenna looked at me, as though she needed confirmation that Aebba was sincere in his request. I jogged her arm, chivvying her along. She walked past Brea and Eseld and stepped up to the benches of the top table. Her brother snarled at her, shoving out his foot to trip her as she passed.

  Aebba caught her in his arm, and swiped at Paega’s head with his free hand. “Behave yourself. If you ever make Metern, the Duros would lop off your head quick as lightning. Think before you act, boy.” He turned Wenna around and looked at her fair complexion and soft hair. “You are beauty and courage rolled into one, and you’ll make a fine Ruvane yourself, one day.”

  On hearing this Wenna’s eyes widened in fear. As complimentary as those words sounded, they rang a false note to the girl. They told Wenna of Aebba’s plans for her future and it did not align with her own. He kissed her forehead and then sent her back to her seat next to me. Only then, did I notice her trembling. She said very little to anyone after that.

  Eseld was much more vocal. “Husband, are you sure that this auroch hunt is a worthy quest of your sons? Wouldn’t a more spiritual journey be more appropriate for the next Metern of the Dumnoni Tribe?”

  Aebba’s mouth hung open. Eseld took his silence for agreement and prattled on. “I can send a rider to ask my father to the compound. As clan leader of the Priest Sect, he is more than capable of arranging a more fitting warrior task.”

  “Don’t you dare send for those cursed creatures. It’s bad enough having to tolerate your drivel, let alone your father’s ungodly ways. I remember what those stinking priests were like at our binding ceremony, with their hemp addled brains talking gibberish and getting aggressive with the elders and their families. No, I won’t have them in camp, and that’s an end to it.” His breathing quickened, as did his consumption of ale. “Blydh. Run and tell the smiths to work through the night. I want those blades ready by dawn. We leave for the moors first thing in the morning.”

  The eldest twin ran off to carry his father’s wishes, while Eseld sat and fumed, not least for the insult to her kin. As Blydh passed his half-brother, he kicked out at his sprawling legs. Paega whined to his mother for the infraction who scoffed and told him to grow a spine.

  Tallack was so excited he could barely stay in his seat. “I’m going to take the fastest horse in the pen come morning, and ride out to kill that auroch bull before my brothers are out of their bunks, you see if I don’t.”

  Cryda preened and gloated, fawning over Tallack sitting by her side. “My brave boy.”

  “Aunt Mel,” Tallack called to me. “Have you collected plenty of moss on your foraging trip today?”

  I turned around and swallowed my mouthful. “What would I need that for?” Everyone looked at him in puzzlement.

  “To wipe Paega’s arse when the auroch bull goes for him and he shits his leggings.”

  Even the elders could not stop themselves from laughing. Aebba guffawed so loudly, he sprayed my head with spluttered ale. I bit my lips to hold in the mirth. It was not really a laughing matter considering all that had happened with Branok. If his family heard the boasting and bravado, they would warn against such folly. These animals stood at nearly twice the height of our cattle, and the bull was said to be much greater than that, with horns as wide as a cart. It outran Branok’s horse killing both steed and rider, before setting his sights on Lorden. Both men were experienced hunters and each were stronger than all three boys put together. I said nothing, hoping that the merriment would pass.

  Blydh ran in carrying a short sword of the finest bronze, buffed and sharpened to perfection. “They’re not far off done, Father. They let me have mine now, see how keen the edge is.” He swiped it close to Paega’s ear.

  The eldest boy jumped to his feet, trying to wrestle the blade from his half-brother. “I should be the first to have a sword. Give it to me.” Eseld tried to get between the two but was buffeted away in the scuffle.

  I got to my feet and peered up at the Metern. “They’re not ready, Nephew. This trip is most unwise.”

  A flash of anger crossed his features, transforming him from gentle giant to raging warrior. I held my stare, unmoved.

  Locked in a battle of wills, I could tell that he was seething over my audacity. No one ever questioned the Chieftain’s decisions, not the elders, not even the Ruvane Cryda.

  I risked losing his favour, but I had to say my piece. “I counsel against this trip, Aebba. Perhaps they would be better suited in a couple of summers.”

  He took a noisy breath and exhaled slowly. “My mind is made up. We leave in the morning, Meliora. We’ll have no more discussion on this issue.” The air altered from warm and jovial to cold and uncomfortable, all conversation and quiet muttering ceased. I nodded my assent. My soul felt lighter for having voiced my concerns, but I knew he would not be turned.

  “Brea!” Aebba threw his cup at her. It bounced from the back of her shoulder before skittering across the rushes on the floor. “More ale.” He commanded, forcing a smile onto his face. “This is a sorry excuse for a feast. Where are the pipers, where is Lorden to give us cheer and make us laugh?”

  This time, I kept my back to my Metern. “He stays with Branok’s family, by the river.”

  “Oh yes, the injured rider gored in the auroch attack.” Aebba’s voice softened, his indignation tempered. “How’s he getting along?”

  “He’s dead.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The dawn brought a fresh deluge of rain. It trickled in rivulets to the door of my hut, wetting the rushes on my floor and making everything smell of mould. Every joint in my body ached but I could not fail my nephews in their adventure. Having packed all that I needed the night before, I pulled on my warmest clothes and stoutest shoes and gathered up my medicine kit. I wedged the wooden panel across the threshold and ambled over the boardwalks to Aebba’s cart outside the Long Hut.

  Brea stood next to Aebba’s favourite stallion, holding him by the reins. I greeted her and walked to the wagon behind. It was stacked high with furs and bedding straw, firewood, and food. Attached to the front was a large carthorse standing ankle deep in the soggy earth.

  “Aebba had me pack a lot of provisions for you both. You shouldn’t want for a
nything.” Brea called to me. I pulled back the oiled material covering the goods. There was salted pork and beef, a couple of jugs of ale and several bundles of cheese.

  She smiled at me. “I had the slaves grind enough flour for half a moon or more.”

  Covering the bundles over, I tucked my belongings in the cart and returned to where she held the horse still.

  “You think of everything, Brea. May the goddess bless you for your kindness.” I patted her back with affection.

  Aebba came out from the Long Hut adjusting his tunic and coughing. He regarded me for a moment, and then raised his brows. “Something wrong, Aunt?”

  “I thought you would be riding with me in the cart, but you’ve had your horse prepared.”

  He scrunched up his nose and peered at the wagon. “You can handle that on your own, can’t you, or do we need to drag a slave along to do your bidding?” A mischievous grin spread across his face. “Surely, you’re not that old are you, Aunt Mel?” He was messing with me, a deliberate attempt to clear the air after the evening’s tension. I was glad of his banter. It would be a tedious trip indeed, if we were at each other’s throats from the outset.

  I swiped him gently across the shoulder for his cheek, and climbed up to the front of the cart. “Where are the boys?” As soon as I said it, Tallack tore down the middle of the encampment, whooping and cheering through the open gates, on a stunning pale pony. Mud and grass tufts flew in all directions, spattering me and the cart horse. He was followed shortly after by Blydh and Paega, each on swift ponies with their new swords and spears attached to their mounts.

  “Ready to roll, Fur Benyn?” Aebba chuckled.

  I tutted at his use of my bestowed title and spurred on the cart horse. We lurched into action much later than planned, but we were on our way. Aebba trotted by the side of the wagon, allowing the headstrong boys to speed on ahead. We got less than half way through the woods along the west bound track, when we passed Tallack, leading his horse towards us on foot. I pulled up the reins to stop the cart level with him.