Pagan Death (Tribes of Britain Book 1), page 16
“I believe that Aebba is looking down upon us all, especially while his bones are above ground. He wants to be sure that his death is avenged, and yet I have no proof for a tribunal.” I expected her to seek clarification over my suspicions, but she heard only one thing.
“You think that he watches over us, sees all that occurs, hears everything we say and to whom we speak?”
“Until he has been avenged, Aebba will not have peace among the gods. I do firmly believe that, yes.” I thought she might burst into tears. Her eyes glossed over and her breathing shortened, but she held them at bay. Her reaction was not what I expected. I thought that Aebba’s presence over us all would have a comforting effect. “Is there something you wish to tell me? I can keep a confidence if that is required.”
Her mouth opened and then closed tight. She shook her head, reclined on her bunk and turned her back to me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cryda’s behaviour played on my mind for the rest of the day, that and the truth behind my fall. The more I wandered about, the easier my hip joint felt, so I took a turn about the compound. Everywhere I looked, menfolk were slaughtering and butchering while the womenfolk salted and dried. Not a single soul was without busy occupation. Tallack’s men stacked the smoked fish from the trip, bundling them together in strips ready for the pilgrimage to the solstice circle. The gods had truly blessed us.
As more and more of the tribe saw me up and about, I drew a crowd of worried mothers and injured warriors, keen to secure my help. How quickly the chores back up when you’re out of action for a few days. With a tail of coughing infants, limping elders and one or two gashed heads, I returned to my hut and called Jago to assist me. The patients came and went at such a rate, I almost missed the thundering hooves of the messenger, galloping into camp.
I was not the only curious one to abandon my post in order to listen to the news. Others flocked to the Long Hut, peering in between the folds of the door flap. At least my seniority affords me the right to enter Chieftain quarters. I instructed my patients to wait at my roundhouse, while I grabbed my stick and shuffled quickly across the planks. The messenger’s pony was white with foaming sweat, and bore the mark of the alchemists. News from the mining settlement was rarely good.
Pushing through the group gathered in the doorway, I made my way closer to the top table. All of Aebba’s family were there, shouting, arguing and spouting their own brand of wisdom. I grabbed young Derwa by the arm and kept my voice low. “What has happened? What’s the news?”
She rolled her eyes to the back of her head, sighing and pouting her mouth. “Something about running out of copper and that it’s all mother’s fault for insulting the Ordo’s and breaking her word. Quite honestly, Aunt, it’s a good job that she did. Can you imagine me bound to that hairy old Ordo, or worse still, his stinking even older father?” She snorted to herself, proud of her defiance. For such an amiable girl, Eseld is teaching her some very unpleasant ways. Her ignorance hardly helped matters either.
I inched closer to Blydh’s side, trying to discern each separate argument as they hurled them at volume across the top table. From what I could make out, Eseld made claims of mismanagement at the mining encampment, placing the blame firmly at the feet of the alchemists. Blydh countered with the point that Eseld and Paega had dishonoured the tribe by breaking Aebba’s promise to bind Derwa to the Ordoviches. This in turn had resulted in their refusal to trade any more copper with the alchemists in the settlement at Bentewyn.
Surprisingly, Tallack spoke up for his half-sister, reminding us all that their father did not state when the binding would occur. He also pointed out that Derwa was still too young for such a commitment. That was when the cheeky little maid found her courage.
“I am old enough. I just don’t want to lay with those backward hairy short people who think that singing is the answer to everything, especially the one who got the Ruvane with child. Mother says I am to be bound to someone handsome and rich. If I have to spread my legs, it will be for amber, jewels and more furs than I can carry.” She spun about next to the fire pits, revelling in her own boast. All the widows and every one of her siblings stopped talking and glared at her. She had no idea of the pot she had stirred.
Blydh and Tallack boiled with fury, each of them unsheathing their blades and stepping towards Eseld, the undoubted perpetrator of the slander against their mother. Cryda wept, falling into Aebba’s chair and burying her face into the bear fur draped across the frame. Paega stood in front of Eseld, his father’s sword held aloft in his hand. I can’t imagine what he thought he could do with such an item. It was crafted to show Aebba’s wealth and status, not for battle. Like the bronze shield hanging from the wall above his chair, both were for ceremonial use.
“She’s just a child and knows not the truth of her words. Rumour and suspicion are not fact!” I yelled, stepping between the boys and raising my arms to their blades. “Aebba’s seed grows in Cryda’s womb. It’s nothing but malicious lies to suggest otherwise.” I waited, my pulse thumping in my ears. “This must stop. A tribe should come together in times of grief, not tear asunder over gossip.”
Tallack was the first to lower his sword. “Aunt Mel is right. This will not solve our copper problem, and without that, we have no bronze for weapons or trade.” Slowly, Paega and Blydh stood down, but remained rooted to their respective spots. Eseld was the only quiet one among them, which is suspicious by her very nature. Brea tugged on Tallack’s arm, urging him to sit by her side. I hadn’t thought her capable of such manipulations, but he bent to her will and placed his hand on her leg. She poured out two cups of ale, passing one to Blydh where he stood facing off Paega, and the other to her target of affection.
Cryda’s tears dried. She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then offered, “Are you sure there isn’t any copper on our own land? I mean, has anyone actually looked?”
The twins glanced at each other, and then back at their mother. Everyone present frowned in contemplation.
“Would any of you even know what copper rocks look like if they fell on your heads?” The Ruvane had a point. Our attention had been focused solely on tin. We all assumed that it was the only metal we had in abundance. It irked me that the Ruvane was right. None of us had seen the raw rocks before the Ordo’s processed it into pure copper. We could be sitting on a vast hoard of the stuff and none of us would know.
With roiling tempers reduced to a simmer, I opened a calm dialogue. “The way I see things, there are two choices. The first is to make good on Aebba’s promise and to re-forge an alliance with the Ordos. With their encampment being so deep in the mountains, it could take a full moon just to get there, let alone establish ties of friendship. They were mighty offended by your rejection, Eseld. I wouldn’t put it past them to tell us all to sling our hooks and begone.” I paused, letting the suggestion sink through their skulls. It looked to me that Cryda was not even listening, her attention seemed to be waning.
“And the second?” Blydh asked. He had not changed his stance or removed his threatening gaze from his half-brother the whole time I had spoken.
“Well now, doesn’t the Cantii have one or two flourishing copper mines, down at the other end of the coast? I think it might be prudent for Tallack to sail down the channel to trade with your father, Cryda. What say you?” We all looked in her direction, expecting the Ruvane to make a solid decision in the tribe’s best interest. She peeped up at me and looked puzzled. I spelled it out for her. “Cryda, as the current tribal leader, it is by your word that this problem must be solved. Perhaps Tallack should invite the Chieftain of the Cantii to return with him for a visit here. We could explain our difficulties with metal supplies, and you could catch up with your father after all this time. What say you?”
The confusion seemed to linger about her absent look. “Oh, um, yes. That sounds like a sensible plan. Son…” She gestured towards Tallack. “Go and collect your grandfather, if he will grace us with his time.” She returned her face to the bear fur, flicking her wrist at all those about her.
Eseld treated us to one of her discontented scoffs, dragging Derwa from the Long Hut via the rear door. Cernonnus only knows what she will cook up now. That woman eats, sleeps and breathes discord. I suspect that she will garner the support of her father and the priests, and that will not lead to anything good. My suggestion will make it seem as though I am gathering our allies against the priests. I will have to watch everything I eat and drink more than ever. No more feasting in the Long Hut. It’ll be porridge made on my own fire for the foreseeable future.
Common sense told me to return straight to my house to tend to the sick and wounded, but curiosity overcame me. My clicking joints and the thumping noise my stick makes when I lean for support makes it nigh on impossible to creep up on anyone, yet I managed to make my way behind Eseld’s hut unseen and unheard. I loitered next to the door linens and bent over to rub my shins. To anyone walking past, it looked as though I was overwrought with weariness.
I heard Eseld speak first. Her voice remained low, so that I was unable to make out what she said. There was no such difficulty in hearing the response, for her father’s great booming voice was loud enough to shake the rafters. He was not pleased with the news from the messenger, and even less by the family’s decision to send for the tribal Chieftain of the powerful Cantii. He thrust an arm through the door flap and nearly knocked me from my feet in his haste. He shouted back to his daughter, “Leave this to me,” and marched off towards the river bank.
Standing on the main boardwalk, I dithered, wondering if I should follow or not. I was in no fit state to do battle with the wicked old man, and I could not send Jago to spy on my behalf for fear of him being captured again. Against my better judgement, I returned to my sickly children and bleeding warriors, and set to stitching, bandaging and dispensing my herbal tonics. By mid-afternoon, I set up my medicines and tinctures on a board outside my house, so that I could keep an eye on camp affairs while I tended my patients.
There were the usual sights, sounds and smells. The roasting meats at the fire pits, the fresh caught fish hauled ashore by the river banks, the tribal wives reprimanding children and dogs while they beat the dirty linens on rocks upstream. I watched the movements of the widows. Those were the most intriguing of all. Brea appeared to have found her confidence in Tallack’s company, forsaking handmaiden duties and leaving Cryda to fend for herself. And fend she certainly did, for Cryda seemed to be gathering her furs and linens, metals and trove items into her hut. With each of her trips from her roundhouse, she would stop and glance about her to see who was watching her movements. Whenever Eseld was visible, Cryda slunk back inside until the camp was cleared once more.
Thick black smoke billowed from behind the priests’ shelters near to the river, then the drumming began. By sundown, the wailing and chanting started, low at first, and then much louder, drawing elders from the middle camp houses. When all went silent for a few moments, and a bleating cry filled the air, I knew that he had sacrificed a goat to his gods.
I finished dealing with the last of my warriors, and instructed Jago to prepare my meal. With my trusted stick beneath my arm, I ventured towards the gathering crowd to witness the latest staged spectacle of the priests. Unsurprisingly, nearly all the tribe in camp was in attendance, even the Ruvane and her sons.
Brea still clung to Tallack’s arm, and from his dazed look, he rather enjoyed her attention. I recalled the scene Jago and I witnessed, confirming my suspicions over his preference for male company. I scratched my head. Perhaps my nephew does not have a partiality at all. Maybe, he likes both boys and girls equally. That revelation I could cope with, but I was not sure that Brea’s feelings for Tallack were genuine. Deep in my gut, I was sure that she was using him to further her own ends.
Edging my way closer to the front, elders’ wives, children and servants all stepped aside to allow me passage to the front of the circle.
The old man wore the blue jay headdress again, with the carved wooden beak. His wizened chest showed his breastbone through thin skin. He had painted himself with woad and red clay. A string of bones hung around his neck. With the drummers thrashing a beat out on the pigskin and wailing their ridiculous chants, the old man knelt down in the centre of a cleared circle. Eseld sprinkled salt around him, wasting good materials to build a sense of wonder among the elders. Paega lit long grease torches and stuck them into the ground at intervals around the salt circle.
His grandfather was almost ready to begin his performance. He seemed to be waiting for something, or someone. Closing his eyes, he held each of the bones in his necklace, mouthing a prayer to the gods for each of them. In the middle of the row, a small pouch hung from the twine. With great ceremony, he pinched open the purse and pulled out a single bone. It was tiny, like those found in the hand.
Eseld stepped into the salt ring carrying a bronze cup of blood. I hoped that it was from the slaughtered goat and no one I was likely to know or love. The priest stood up and raised the bone high in the air.
“This is the last gift from our much-loved Chief, Aebba the Wild. A brave bear of a warrior, taken from us under shameful circumstances. He will be avenged. Daughter, bring me the blood.” She lifted the bowl to chest height and bowed her head.
“Great Aebba, hear us. Here is the bone from your strongest hand.” He cupped it in both palms as though it was the most precious item in the land. “Daughter. Take the bones of our forefathers from my neck and dip one into the blood.” Eseld did as she was commanded, taking her time and making grand gestures for all to see. “Look how the blood coats the white of the bone. Our ancestors were great, they are at peace with the gods. Their bones have no quarrel with our earthly blood.” He paused for dramatic effect; his arms raised to the sky.
“Aebba, hear us.” He chanted again. No one responded. “Aebba, hear us.” This time the crowd joined in, taken by his showmanship, repeating his words in a unified chant. “Show us your displeasure. I place your mighty thumb bone into the blood. If you are indeed at peace, your bone will be coated in the stuff of life.”
Eseld raised the bowl again, allowing her father to dip the end of the thumb bone into the crimson liquid. He swished it around in a circle, and then held it aloft. The crowd gasped. Aebba’s bone was pristine. Not a drop of blood stained its shaft.
“This proves he hears us and is much grieved. We will avenge you great warrior. I will cast the runes for you, to point us to the culprits.”
The elders and their wives spoke softly together, their suspicions turning fast into rumour and spreading within the gathered throng. Still the old priest captivated all those around. While he and Eseld drew more symbols in the river sands, and fetched a flatter bowl in which to cast the runes, I thought about his neat little trick. A good coating of goose grease would prevent the blood from seeping into the white of the bone. I dare say, that was all it took to stun those watching.
With two more bones from his necklace, Aebba’s digit, a feather and some pebbles decorated with symbols like the Triskellion, he rattled them in cupped hands and threw them into the bowl. Falling to his knees he hung his head over the runes and took in a sharp breath. The drums fell silent. The hushed crowd leaned towards him.
The old man covered his face with his palms, transferring the goat blood in great clotting blobs. He wailed with a babble of tongues, a trick he learned from me, when Jago fell ill.
“Father…” Eseld dropped to his side, clasping his head between her hands. “He speaks to the gods. What wisdom do they give us?”
The babbling stopped; his hands moved. “It’s worse than I suspected, child. The great Aebba speaks of his killer. He says that they walk among us, feast in the Long Hut, and carry betrayal next to their heart.”
“What is to be done, father?”
“There is only one thing that can be done, my daughter. We must root out this evil, and punish them.”
Eseld clambered to her feet. “But how?”
The priest took his time to glare at every one of the elders in the front row of the circle. Clutching the bone of Aebba to his chest, he bowed his head, closed his eyes and announced, “Every member of the tribe, must initiate into the faith. If they refuse, then we will know they are guilty.”
So, that was his plan, to force all members into his faith under penalty of death or banishment. That would make him the tribal leader over Cryda and the boys.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
From the expressions on my nephews’ faces, I expected bloodshed. The priest had laid down impossible terms. Become a member of their sect, under his authority, or face accusations of murder. Equally galling, was the thinly masked insinuation that Cryda was to blame for Aebba’s death, and that her unborn child was the reason for the betrayal. That did not go unnoticed. Blydh unsheathed his blade. Tallack signalled his men to disembark from the row boats at the riverbank.
As far as I could tell, the twins were prepared to kill everyone from the Priest Sect to defend their mother. Something had to shift, there had to be a way to diffuse the tension building among the tribe’s folk. The elders saw the warriors taking up arms further up the camp and began to back away from the circle. Without Aebba’s strong will and respect, the tribe lurched from one crackpot idea to the next. A clear and decisive leader was needed.
Blydh swiped the salt circle with his foot, and stepped closer to the old man. His protectors scrambled to his aid, grabbing their weapons and jostling the spectators from the crowd until they towered over Eseld and the old priest. Blydh didn’t back down. Tallack took a large stride to his brother’s side, his men rushing to stand at his back forming a united front. The difference between Tallack’s men and the priest warriors was about half a day of smoking bad weeds. They were incapable of fighting much fitter and sober men. All who stood there knew that.
