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I'm sharing a little excerpt so get your coffee, or whatever your preferred drink is, and settle down comfortably.
But first at little background information.
My Celtic Fervour series so far is:
Book 1- The Beltane Choice
Book 2- After Whorl: Bran Reborn.
Book 3- After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks (due for publication spring 2014)
The title for books 2 and 3 are specially chosen since what went on in the aftermath of the battle of Whorl, as mentioned in The Beltane Choice, isn't described in Book 1. Books 2 and 3 both continue the story of Brennus of Garrigill who is a secondary character in Book 1. He is such an honourable man, he deserved to have his own story.
Book 2 begins with Brennus on the battlefields at Whorl....
Note: I've used a few Scottish Gaelic phrases to give the 'feel' of the Celtic language though no-one actually knows what the Celtic speech of the area sounded like. The phrases are explained in the speech following though there is a glossary included in the novel.
Chapter One
AD 71 After Beltane – Whorl
“Fóghnaidh mi dhut!
I really will finish you! I have you now, invading scum!”
Another
couple of whacks would have the shield gone. The Roman auxiliary’s arm already
showed signs of fatigue as Brennus slashed below the man’s chain link
protection, his full power backing each blow of his long Celtic sword. The man
was brawny, a practised opponent at the edge of the tight cluster of Roman
bodies, but was much smaller than he was and rapidly weakened. Brennus knew the
advantage he had. A drained grin slid into a grimace of pain as his sword
jarred on the Roman gladius when the soldier’s stab interrupted another of his
blows, the impact juddering his weakened elbow, an injury sustained with a
previous combatant.
“Diùbhadh! Scum!”
The gladius
flashed upwards. To reach his head the angle of the auxiliary’s attack had to
be higher than the usual, demanding a different force to succeed, and the Roman
just did not have the strength any more.
A cry of
frustration emerged from the Roman, the clenched teeth an indicator of the
man’s tenacity as the gladius prodded forward yet again. Brennus understood
none of the man’s tongue, the battle ground not the place for meaningful talk,
but the intent was clear.
“Come! Come
forward! A ghlaoic! You fool!”
Brennus’ hollering taunts and crude ridiculing gestures gained him a little
ground as the auxiliary broke free of the rigid formation, desperate to gain
conquest over yet another Celtic adversary, the shorter gladius slashing and
nipping at his chest but not quite breaking the skin.
The tight
group of Roman soldiers had been almost impossible to breach; their raised
cover of shields an impenetrable barrier. He had been toying with and provoking
this particular soldier for long, long moments. Yet, even with his superior
strength, he knew he could not sustain such weighty combat for much longer
either, before he would need to retreat to regain his reserves of vigour – though
only a little more wearing down of the man’s resistance should be enough. He
knew that from an earlier experience. Drawing breath from deep inside he
slipped back a pace, and then another as if giving up the pursuit.
“Come
forward, you piece of Roman horse dung! You demand the blood of the Celts? Let
it be so! Have mine!”
Powerless
to resist the lure the Roman soldier surged at his bidding, his shield
swinging, his gladius jabbing. One last twisted swipe of Brennus’ longer Celtic
sword detached the blade-nicked shield from his foe and sent it sailing aside.
Abruptly unguarded, the auxiliary pulled his gladius in front of his rippling
mail in a futile attempt to cover his chest.
“Too late!”
Brennus’ snort rang out as he whacked the soldier’s fist with his shield when
his opponent readied his blade for another stab. It was enough: all the
leverage needed to topple his foe. Witnessing the Roman’s slithering attempts
to right himself he allowed an exultant smirk to break free, knowing victory
would be his over this particular rival. “Death to all of the invaders!”
The sounds
of battle all around him seemed all the sweeter as he slashed his blade towards
the Roman’s vulnerable neck, the man’s cloth wrap having unfurled from under
the chin during the tussle. It was the weakest part of his well equipped
adversary that was uncovered above the waist. He knew that a blow to the head
was wasteful since the glinting copper-flapped helmet fit tight around the
Roman’s skull. His first swipe
was met with the flailing gladius, the clang and screeches of blade on blade an
exhilarating challenge. Triumphant warmth flashed through him, the sweat of the
combat a bitter taste in his mouth as it streamed his face. The auxiliary was
doomed as Brennus spat through his teeth, “I hate every last one of you!”
The
shrieking, the neighing and squealing behind him he ignored, the battlefield
noises a tremendous din all around. The stench – of heated combat; of the blood
tang and of faeces of man and horse; of the already putrid reek of entrails; of
the stale sweat and battle lust essences – he also disregarded. His attention
was only on his quarry as he felt the edge of his sword slice in under the
man’s chin. He prepared himself for the spurt of warm blood that showered on
him as he angled his neck away from the first gushes.
What was
totally unexpected was the crushing mass that slammed into his back, so
powerful it lifted him off his feet and propelled him onto the blinking gladius
he had successfully parried.
“By Taranis
…” His yell muffled into a spluttering squelch. “An cù! The bastard!”
Down he
went, onto the slippery blood drenched grass, his sword sliding fully through
the auxiliary’s neck. His dead opponent softened his fall only partially since
the horse that had slumped into him followed on at his rear. As the agonised
cries of men and the squealing of the horse echoed around, his fist
relinquished the grip on his sword, the blade having snapped on skidding impact
with the ground. The frantic, writhing animal that pinned him to the Roman gladius
totally overpowered him. Devastating agony seared at his back; blood filled
muck crammed his mouth. A blinding white-red haze gave way to darkness.
Felled by a
mighty powerful beast, and not that Roman blade, was Brennus’ last thought.
AD 71 After Beltane – Near
Marske
Ineda checked over her shoulder, yet again, as she crept
through the forest heading for the rock face at the bend of the river. If her
grandmother, Meaghan, was anywhere around it was likely to be near the cave.
She would have been sheltering there since fleeing their roundhouse village at
Marske some five days past. Meaghan’s last word to her had warned that the cave
was where she would run to.
The day was
early-summer warm, the sweetness of new foliage a fragrant sniff, the sunbeams
creating pretty slashes on the ferny undergrowth. Usual forest sounds greeted
her as she trod a light-footed pathway over tree roots and avoided the
deteriorating debris of winter cold, which still remained a slippery rotting
mess in some deeper grooves. It would have been pleasant to hum her way across
the last stretch of undulating forest floor before the land dipped down to the
riverbank, but it was not the time for such frivolity. Chirping and fluttering
chiff-chaffs, and lightly buzzing insects were a fleeting glimpse as they went
about the business of pecking and first-nectar gathering. A herd of deer
crossed over to her right, their progress a delicate and graceful dance amid
the green in her peripheral view, their passage through the trees with nary a
sound to be heard. They were a good example to Ineda to remain vigilant –
silence being crucial. Her reasons were two-fold. She never unnecessarily
disturbed the peace of the forest god, Cernunnos, or his creatures.
More
importantly, she did not wish to be tracked by inadvertent noise.
Soon
burbling water gently rippled and twinkled in the sun, way down below her, the
eddies around the large flat stones flashes of slow movement since the river
level was very low at this point on its traverse through the forest. Skittering
down the last earthen slope Ineda halted her slide, grabbing a tight hold of
the sun-warmed brackens.
The cave
was close by. It was a haven often used by her and her grandmother if the
weather was inclement while Meaghan was instructing her in the lore of healing
herbs.
The light
tap at her shoulder had Ineda swivelling in a flurry. Not the touch of a hand,
it was the smallest of pebbles that pinged off her shoulder. From behind a tree
to her rear an old woman emerged, her voice light and cheerful.
“You still
have much to learn, Granddaughter, if you think to surprise me.”
Ineda
rushed into the bony old arms for a welcome hug. “That will never happen and
was not my intention. If I try to evade anyone, you know it is the Roman
patrols.”
“Ciamar a tha thu?” The old woman’s inquiring look was intense.
Ineda
grinned and answered the question. “How am I? I am fine. All the better for
seeing you.”
“It is good
to see you well, Ineda, but not so good about the persistence of the Roman
Army. Come, and give me your news.”
Meaghan’s
gnarled fingers feathering at her braids, to tidy them, was a gesture she had
missed so much during the last fraught days.
Ineda had a
lot to tell as they tramped their way along the riverbank towards the cave. “The
tribespeople of Witton have given us shelter, as Father had hoped they would.
We use roundhouses that lay empty after the Roman Army first descended upon the
settlement about a half moon ago.”
“Were many
Witton people slain?”
“Aye. Many
from Witton and the nearby villages.” Ineda’s tongue dripped contempt of the
Roman blade. “Anyone who put up the slightest resistance was put to the sword.
Men, women and even children.”
Meaghan’s
hand clutched at her arm, halting her stride. “Your father?”
A reassuring
tap on Meaghan’s bony fingers was returned by a surprisingly tight squeeze from
one so riddled with twisting knuckles. She was careful with her reply knowing
Meaghan’s concern for her only living son.
“Ruarke is
unharmed, apart from his earlier foot injury that now heals well. Our trek to
Witton was a sore trial for him, but I tended the wound as you instructed. The
bindings are kept tight and the sole of his foot has not suppurated, though the
injury remains red and angry. Your stitches to the skin hold firm. The crutch
slowed our escape, but without it to help him hobble he would not have made the
distance to Witton.”
“Witton is
farther than you expected?” Meaghan tottered a little, grasping the ferns and
low twisting willows as she skittered along the narrow strip of pathway right
on the river’s edge as it followed the curve of the water.
Ineda trod
along making sure not to trail too swiftly or she would topple her grandmother.
Accepting the pulled-back branches which concealed the cave mouth, she ducked
inside, allowing the cover to slap back into place behind her. “Aye! We were
two full days travelling before we reached it, though if Ruarke had been fit
and healthy it would have taken us far less than one day. Unseasonable marsh
mist and cloying rain also sapped our strength.”
“I
journeyed to Witton some time past with your aunt Caitlin, but the weather was
favourable and we were eager to arrive there.” Meaghan’s tone was wistful.
A deep
sadness trickled through Ineda. Stepping closer to Meaghan, who busied herself
about the fireside, she clasped her grandmother’s shoulders, turned her and
buried in for a hug. Her next news was bad.
Meaghan’s
touch at her hair and the deep sigh that escaped to ripple from chest to chest
indicated her grandmother already guessed the worst.
“My
daughters have already gone to the otherworld, I know this Ineda. The Roman gladius
has struck fiercely and has left me bereft of my family, save you and your
father.”
Ineda’s
tears ran freely, soaking Meaghan’s woollen dress. “Aye. We three are the only
ones left now.”
She felt
Meaghan’s strength of character as the old woman put her from her and gave her
a little shake at the shoulders, the elderly voice strong and determined. “Our
blood has been drained by the Roman Empire but
we will not lay down our lives willingly, Ineda. Remember that! It is part of
your future to resist!”
“I do not
want to lose you as well, Grandmother!” Her plea met with a small shake of
Meaghan’s head and a beaming smile which revealed yellowed, yet healthy enough
teeth for one of so advanced an age.
“You are
the child of my son, but also the child of my gift, Ineda.”
Ineda could
not doubt the fervour in her grandmother’s eyes, a vital life force lighting
them with a bright green fire. If she had inherited her grandmother’s gift she
had also the look of her grandmother in eye colour, height and shape. Another
bony hug reassured her before Meaghan put her from her at arm’s length, the old
eyes penetrating, yet tired at the same time.
“Ineda, though you but realise it, you are
also my future! My craft is in you.”
“I cannot
understand you, Grandmother.” She faced Meaghan, asking a further silent
question. When no answer came to enlighten her, she added, “Yet.”
The soft
finger pats to her braids were gestures well learned. Ineda knew it as an
unspoken signal for patience.
Meaghan’s
voice softened to an amused chuckle. “Neither of my two daughters had the
power, or the will, that you possess. You will always have me with you in
spirit, my girl. My healing force is within you and binds us.”
Meaghan’s
fingers flicked away the tear trickles that still ran down Ineda’s cheeks, the
tutting and clucking as though they had been a waste of precious spirit, her
old rheumy eyes reassuring and endearingly warm with love. “Never fear for me,
Ineda, my girl. I tell you this, now. I will not depart this realm with a Roman
weapon the cause of it. My passing will come, ere long, but I have more healing
to do before then. My next task is important to our Celtic brethren and not
just to me alone.”
Looking
into Meaghan’s face Ineda did not doubt a single word. She forced her tears
gone. Courage did not come easy but she willed it so, the wobble to her lips
only momentary before she found the control Meaghan demanded.
“I will
find strength to resist.”
The cackle
that followed was typical of Meaghan, any weakness put aside and barely worth a
mention. Sliding away from their embrace her grandmother almost bent double to
poke at the embers of the tiny fire that lay a little inside the overhang of
the cave. It was a fire small enough to slowly cook by but not fiery enough to
create noticeable smoke. “You will resist, my girl! Now, tell me how your
father finds Witton.”
Ineda sat
down and ate the fish Meaghan handed her, a fish which had been slowly roasting
between two hot stones at the fireside. Wrapped in wide leaves the flesh had
not dried out, the taste of it reminding her that she had not eaten since the
previous day. In between welcome mouthfuls, she gave answer.
“Father is
dispirited that we fled so ignominiously from Marske, but he accepts that we
had no other choice. We need the shelter, and support, our distant family at
Witton affords us. He also accepts the Roman yoke dished out to us at present,
though not willingly.” She picked a small bone from between her teeth before
continuing, shaking her head in disgust. “I could not persuade Father to return
to Marske now, even if the Roman scum left it alone.”
“You are
sure of this?”
“I fear he
feels safer at Witton where there are more men to protect everyone.”
Meaghan
halted her tending of the fire and stared at her, shocked by her words. “Your
father has grown into a coward?”
“His
fighting strength is gone, sapped away by those moons of Roman threats and
attacks. He snaps at assistance, yet rejects any measures of friendship.”
“My son
feels less than a man?”
Ineda did
not answer that question. It needed no answer. “He still strives to protect me
but has lost his sense of our village unity. I am not so certain he would
defend anyone from Witton against Roman attack, and I do not understand that,
Grandmother.”
“Ruarke
would stand back and allow others to do that for him?” Meaghan’s voice was
pained.
Ineda
shrugged her shoulders, her gaze on her grandmother unwavering. “Perhaps. The
settlement is well down in numbers of original people, but it is still very
large compared to our own tiny village, now that there are many unfortunates
that the Roman Empire have forced to live in it. Though we have not sheltered
there for long Ruarke seems befuddled about our future.”
“Yet he
would not return to Marske? This behaviour does not match.”
Ineda knew
her words seemed contrary. “Aye. I have no understanding of why he accepts
succour, yet resents the friendship tendered to him.”
“Guilt must
lie heavy on him. My son was always a deep one, not easy to understand.” Having
picked at a little fish Meagan rose again and stood hovering by the doorway.
“Come. I have some healing herbs to show you.”
Wiping her
fingers on her dress Ineda followed her grandmother, thinking how unalike the
mother and son were. Her father was a good man but was prone to making some
strange decisions.
They made a
slow climb back up the banking. When she crested the rise and was up onto the
flatter ground she felt Meaghan’s bony fingers plucking at her dress to halt
her progress. Dropping onto a raised level stone her grandmother drew hard won
breaths before speaking again, her whole torso trembling. “I have crept back to
Marske a few times. The Roman Army still sends patrols every day to pilfer more
of our stored goods, but they have no notion I have been anywhere near. The
past nights I have spent in the cave, but as soon as they have cleared out
every vestige of our supplies and tools they will cease to visit our
roundhouses. By then, they will have another place to plunder. And I will
return to my home, even if your father refuses to do so.”
“Grandmother!”
Ineda made no mistake about her plea as she clutched Meaghan in a tight hug.
“It is far too dangerous to go back. They are still bent on destroying any
Brigante who flaunts their authority. We must make no show of being armed now,
and groups of warriors of more than two or three are held in suspicion. Any
more out on the hunt together incur the full wrath of Rome as they are deemed to be on the attack.
I have been tending to some stripling warriors this morn who thought to
challenge one of the patrols, though their wounds were not as serious as they
could have been. I suspect them having come as more of a warning from the Roman
gladius than any other purpose.”
“I hear
you, girl. I will do nothing to put me at risk. Now, tell me of any risings
against these Roman oppressors.”
Meaghan put
her away from the clutch and looked deep into her eyes, demanding answers she
did not have, although her grandmother’s gentle hand pats were soothing and
reassuring, indicating that she would do nothing rash.
Drawing a
deep breath, Ineda related all she knew. “It goes ill for the tribes of
mid-Brigantia. I have heard that those from further north congregate at Whorl
where they may be battling as I speak. A few Witton warriors escaped the
patrols before dawn yesterday morning and headed there.”
“Then those
Witton warriors will either triumph, or will go to the otherworld knowing that
they fought for our Celtic heritage.”
“I do not
want them to die in vain, but the Roman Empire
is a mighty foe!” Ineda could not prevent her anger from spouting forth, her
voice strident and scathing as she looked across the river. She could hardly
face Meaghan since her next news seemed worse and yet might be the reason for
her father’s apathy. “More could have gone, I am sure of it, but they chose to
avoid the conflict.”
Meaghan’s
reaction was not what she expected. The old woman’s laugh rang out over the
river noises, drawing back her gaze. “Then they will live to clash with their
heart. These battles with the Roman scourge are intended to subdue the warring
tribes of mid-Brigantia. The Roman Army floods our territory now, their
presence a direct threat. They will drag us into their Roman province – which
they did not properly do when Queen Cartimandua made her long-ago treaties with
them.”
Ineda did
not even try to hide her scorn. “Aye! As their client-Queen Cartimandua kept
their marauding tendencies at bay, their main presence remaining in southern
lands.”
“Girl, you
do our former queen a disservice. You may not have liked Cartimandua’s methods
but in her own way, for long moons even when you were a tiny child, she afforded
us a form of freedom from their constant presence on our Brigante soil.”
Ineda
jumped up from the stone and paced around, her temper roiling. “Cartimandua is
long gone – dead or elsewhere – but King Venutius still lives! He survives and
will continue to rebel against the Roman scum.” Shocked at her grandmother’s
words she dared speak as she never had before, her tone berating. “Do you now
give these Roman oppressors your allegiance, Grandmother?”
Unable to
look Meaghan in the eye, betraying tears hovering, she gulped down her anger
and frustration as she stared across the water. There were so many people whose
actions and speech now confused her.
Meaghan’s
arm snaked across her shoulders and squeezed her tight to her breast, her
fingers a reassuring stroke down her braided hair. “Never will I do that,
Ineda, my girl. You tell me Venutius lives, and I believe you. Aye, this may be
true, but who is left to follow him and rise up against the Roman
Empire’s army? ”
Lifting her
face to view Meaghan, she kept her voice low, the vow in it unmistakeable.
“There are still northern Brigantes who will repel the Roman
Empire. It may not look that way just now but there are many, like
me, who will continue to resist.”
Meaghan’s
arms held her stiffly out at length, fingernails inadvertently nipping into her
flesh, before her grandmother’s gaze took on a cloudy look, her eyes flickering
and rolling skywards, as though seeing an inner vision. “You are only a thin
sapling, my oftimes foolish granddaughter, but there is strength to build and
grow on…” The old voice trailed off.
Ineda had
watched her grandmother trance like this before, and did not fear it. The
twists and grimaces at her old cheeks indicated both pain and pleasure, the
flickering of her eyes a frightful sight, but the tight grip of her fists
remained firm. Ineda watched and waited knowing she could do nothing to speed,
or safely halt, the progress of the vision. After some moments, Meaghan came to
herself and smiled before she spoke again. It was not a smile of worry, but one
of promise: an affectionate twinkle was there in her eyes…and love. Meaghan’s
love never failed to warm her.
Her
grandmother’s words were firm. “Ineda, child of my son, you have a warrior’s
heart – even if you never have proper warrior training. I see your time is
coming, though it is not here yet. Do nothing rash. Act according to your
clever head.”
Ineda
watched as Meaghan’s bent finger rose up to tap her on the forehead. The old
nail was strong and firm as it made contact with her skin. They now stood so
close the flesh around Meaghan’s eyes was crinkled and worn, her eyelids almost
covering her view as she smiled and cackled. Not daring to stop the tapping,
she returned her grandmother’s smile, sensing there was more to come when the
finger drifted lower and pointed to her chest.
“Your heart will know the way you must fight
the Romans. Let that knowledge come naturally to you, Ineda, and do not force
it. You have a valiant part to play in your future and in the future of those
around you. The path ahead for you will have much frustration, hardships and
heartbreak, but there will also be equal joy. You must face what occurs with
courage. Wear two bratts when that time is revealed, and continue to wrap
yourself thus till the sun shines again. The skills of healing I have taught
you will rest in your mind, but bring them forth when they are most needed. Bear
your future well, accept the difficulties and live through the very bad times.
Always work towards the good.”
She accepted
her grandmother’s words, acknowledging them with a nod. Though she did not know
what Meaghan meant she knew it was likely to happen. Foretelling was a gift her
grandmother rarely used, but when she did, it had always been accurate.
“You have
only taught me some of your healing skills, Grandmother. There is so much more
to learn.”
“Aye. That
is true, but you have learned all of the most important. What is to follow will
come naturally to you, from the teaching you have already gained. You have the
skills to build on, and you are fine and quick. Believe that this will happen.”
Meaghan
drew her back down to sit beside her on the flat stones as though nothing
unusual had happened. “Tell me more of what happens with our Roman overseers.”
“I know
very little except that many Brigantes are said to be gathering at Whorl where
there is a suitable low hill and flat plains for battlegrounds. Many at Witton
are rejoicing at this news, yet there are also terrible rumours of every
village and settlement around these parts needing to make treaties with the
Roman Governor, Cerialis – like Witton has previously done. Some say Brigante
delegates have already decided to journey to these parts in preparation for
talks instead of engaging in futile battles. If that is so then those
negotiators may speak for the Brigantes, but that does not mean every Brigante
warrior has given in to the Romans!”
“You are in
the right, Ineda. I must remain here for one such as you speak of. He will
never give in and accept the Roman yoke.”
Ineda
looked deeply into her grandmother’s eyes. “Who do you speak of?”
Meaghan’s
head shaking was accompanied by a wan smile. “I have no answer, yet, to that
question…”
A sudden
flare of metal glinting in the sunshine across the narrow stretch of river set
them both fleeing…in opposite directions.
(iamges acquired from www.123rf.com)
