Pagan Death (Tribes of Britain Book 1), page 4
Row boats ferried their goods from the great ship, upstream to the Chieftain’s encampment. They were still unloading as I rode into the compound, since the ship was too enormous to risk its belly on the shallow mud flats. I could see from Tallack’s face, that he had many tales to tell, and much to boast about come the evening. His mother fussed about his torn tunic and length of his beard, until he scooped her up into his arms and spun her around as though she were a child. It’s good to see her happy, as short lived as that might be. Eseld will be brewing up another plot to raise Paega’s standing in the tribe, above the favoured Tallack, or Blydh, for that matter. More feasting tonight. I shall look like a roasted boar if I eat any more pig.
I napped until darkness fell, rising to check my goats and strain a few of my tinctures. With such a joyous evening ahead, I wore my best tunic, and secured my hair with the pin that Tallack brought back from his last travels. I admit to a little excitement. He never forgets about his old aunt, and I wondered what trinket might have found its way home for me.
Before I headed over to the Long Hut, I went to see if the slave I entrusted with my crabs, had put them in water. He looked up at me with panic in his eyes. There had been a crab for each finger on my hand. Now there was one fewer. He tried to tell me that it must have walked away when he turned his back. I knew differently, of course. For a few moments I was torn between handing him over to my nephew for a thrashing with a willow stick, or giving him the rest to eat. He looked so ill; the man was more skin than flesh. And there was me, tiring of fatty pig dinners. All things said, I left his punishment hanging until the dawn. I could not decide his fate on an empty stomach.
Word must have reached Cryda long before her son reached camp. As I walked across the planks towards the Long Hut, I saw a massive number of new slaves. Their matted hair and open sores, showed me just how malnourished these poor creatures were. Some of my nephew’s crew, were whipping them into submission. I charged over there and gave them such a tongue lashing. They each turned around and, upon seeing me, apologised. Their explanation was simple. These were slaves from Frynk. One man claimed that their discipline aboard ship on their crossing was dreadful. None of the slaves could speak our language. This seemed to give Tallack's men an excuse to beat them brutally, whenever they failed to understand their commands.
One young boy, had painted skin. It was brown like the mud from the salt flats in the estuary. I had never seen someone so dark before. As they dragged him out of the cage, I noticed his foot at an odd angle to his leg. It was clearly broken in two. Still the warrior sailors dragged him by his rags towards the Long Hut. I could see him writhing in agony as they leaned him up against the cold walls, and rebound him at the wrists.
"You are too soft hearted, Fur Benyn, these slaves don’t deserve your time. They’re savages from the coast lands of Frynk.
It was Lorden, a particular favourite of mine when he was a child. Now he had grown into a severe adult. I stood between the warriors and slaves, inspecting their health under the guttering flames of our torches. The first, in the long line was no more than a child. She was fair of hair and pretty, underneath the filth. If Tallack’s dogs had not yet ravaged the poor girl, they would soon enough. Grabbing her hands, I turned them over to see a small woven bracelet of hair and clay beads. Each one painted with a flower. I pointed to the workmanship, and then at her, trying to make her understand my question. “
“Did you make this, girl?” I said, repeating my gestures. She looked terrified. I tried again. “You, make…this?”
A stream of nonsense tumbled from her mouth. I assumed that she was speaking in the tongue of her people. As I was about to give up, the brown skinned boy leaned forwards and spoke.
“Yes, great lady. She did make that bracelet.”
For his troubles, the young lad received a back hander from Lorden. I hobbled closer, swiping the brute with my stick. “Get out of it.” I growled, threatening to clonk him on his fat head. I approached the boy. “Where did you learn our speech? And don’t lie to me, boy, or I’ll have you skinned.”
“Lying is a sin, great lady. I learned a little from a traveller, who came to our lands far from here.”
“In Frynk? They have dark skinned people like you there?”
“I am from beyond Frynk. Where the sun cooks our food and dries our soils. Where the sand stretches farther than the sky, and rain is a blessing.” He tried to stand upright, forgetting the state of his foot. The moment it connected with the ground, he whimpered in pain. Lorden rushed towards him, His fist raised at the ready.
I held my stick up across his path, blocking the blow. “You will not beat him. Who do these slaves belong to?”
“They are Tallack’s, Fur Benyn.” He backed down. Not even Lorden would dare to strike me. Aebba would have his head on a pike at the gates before the sun’s waking. More warriors unloaded traded goods and raided spoils to the side of the Long Hut.
I left the slaves, and went in search of my nephew. I knew his talent for spectacle. He loved to be at the centre of fun and frolics wherever he went. That is not to say, that he lacks the courage of the toughest of our fighters. He could slice the ears from an invading tribesman while swinging from the sails of his new ship, such is his swordsmanship. No, I am talking of his love for the finer things. Of woollens and jewels, exotic furs and wines and oils from the sunny hills of Frynk and the seas that lie beyond. I only had to wait until he had taken his fill of the foods and drink of home, and he would grant his old aunt anything I wanted.
I took my seat next to little Derwa, and her chatty friend from one of the Alchemist Clan’s families. I wriggled my toes next to the fire pits, and waited for the dishes to arrive at my table. Aebba was in fine form. He ate with one hand resting on Cryda’s thigh, guarding her against any attention from the visiting Ordos. As Tallack made his grand entrance, wrapped in a massive black bear fur, all the families and slaves cheered for his return.
Aebba stood to greet his favourite son, grappling his shoulders and touching their foreheads together. “Thank our Lady of the Seas, you are back. You have been gone a long time, my boy, and what is this I hear about a mighty ship the size of a whale, with a wolf’s head?”
“A horse head, but good enough, father. It is good to be home.” Tallack skirted around the Chieftain, and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Look what I bring you…” He swung the bear fur from his back, wrapping Cryda in the soft folds of skin. “And there is much more to come. I have my men outside guarding the gifts and tokens.”
His sulky half-brother, Paega, piped up. “Did you trade our tin for copper or gold? And where are the grain and oils you promised to deliver?”
“I did better than that. How do you think I secured the largest ship in our lands? I traded my boat full of tin, for the finest vessel from the Phoenicians. You must let me row you downstream to see it, mother.”
Cryda preened and fluttered at her eldest twin.
Paega stood up from his seat next to Aebba. His neck flushed red and his nose flared. “You traded all our tin, for a pretty boat? No grain, no copper, no gold. You are a disgrace to this tribe. You are not fit to be Dumnonii.”
Tallack and Paega squared up to one another, both snorting and posturing, ready for a fight.
Aebba slapped Paega around the back of the head. “Stop your whining boy. I don’t see you out on the seas, exploring new lands and arranging trading partners. You sit on your arse, counting tin nuggets all day. Now shift, and let your brother sit down. I want to hear about his adventures.”
I knew that this snub, would rile young Paega. He has a similar disposition to his mother. She was the one I kept an eye on. I anticipated another scene. At the very least, I expected raised voices proclaiming Paega’s rights to sit at the Chieftain’s side as the eldest heir to the tribe. Much to my surprise, Eseld did not react. Instead, she poured herself more ale, and drank as though she had not a care in the world. I thought again about her message to her father in the Priest Sect, sent via her cousin. Was this ‘easing’ of the way, a direct threat to Aebba, or his sons? I resolved to speak with the Chieftain at the earliest opportunity. He should know that his wife is plotting against him.
The food was plentiful and delicious. The tunes played were a welcome change from our usual piper. Many of Tallack’s crew were musical. Some had brought drums from other lands, while others plucked strings stretched across hollowed out shells of wood. Their choice of melodies was a bit mournful for my tastes. I prefer a merry jig with my ale.
When all the dishes were eaten, or picked at, Tallack ordered the crew to carry in the traded goods. He explained to the Chieftain, that after the exchange of ships was made, he returned to port near Lands’ End, and collected more tin ingots, before their first major voyage began. When Cryda heard this, she narrowed her eyes at the boy Paega, muttering under her breath. If I did not know her better, I would have sworn that she was summoning a curse on the young man.
Lorden entered the Long Hut first, carrying a wooden cask, filled with beads and bangles, fibulas and torques. As he approached the top bench, Tallack reached over and plucked the golden necklace from the pile, and handed this to Cryda. She almost purred with delight. As Lorden set the box down in front of Aebba, Tallack dug deep into the tangle of metal and clay beads, and extracted a fine set of bangles.
He called over to his half-sister, seated by my side. “And for the stunning Derwa, beautiful adornments. Come…” He beckoned her towards the top table. “Come. Let us see how good they look upon your strong arms.”
Her confidence seemed less shaken with this summons. Tallack had a soothing tone, unlike his father. Derwa hopped from her bench, and took the wide bangles from her brother, slipping them over her delicate hands onto her forearms.
“There…” Tallack admired. “Don’t you look fine?” He turned all about him, encouraging others to agree with his declaration. Some of the elders laughed with awkwardness. Many of the younger women jeered, until Eseld shot them with a scalding glare.
Before long, Tallack had distributed all his gifts, and displayed the traded goods for the entire tribe to behold. It was a bounty like no other. Aebba beamed from his lofty seat at the head of the Long Hut, with Cryda to his right, and Tallack to his left. Only then, did Tallack order the slaves to be dragged in, each of them bound to a long length of twisted hemp to stop them from running.
It was the first time Eseld looked animated all evening. She stood and walked over to the first, examining her teeth and strength of muscles. “We should make another offering to the Lady of Lakes and Seas for our good fortune. One of the strongest must be chosen.” She made her way along the line, peering at each of them in turn.
“We need all the slaves we can get for the mines. Tallack will take them along the coast to Bentewyn.” Aebba announced. His word was final. Eseld did not seem beaten. It looked to me, as though she favoured the pretty blond girl for the bloody knife. I could guess as to her motives. Why put temptation in Aebba’s path, when it could be sacrificed at the source? The string of slaves were still shuffling into the hut. As Eseld neared the end of the line, the dark-skinned boy heaved himself and his damaged foot into the centre of the space.
“What about this one?” Eseld queried, grappling the torn material of the boy’s rags.
Tallack looked up from his cup. “If you like. He’s broken anyway. No use to anyone.” He rose from his seat and unsheathed the blade from his scabbard. “I’ll do it for you now if you want to say the words?”
Eseld took a breath and raised her arms in the air. She paused, formulating the chants in her mind. Tallack reached around the boy’s neck, drawing him in close with the blade’s edge.
CHAPTER FIVE
The boy struggled for a moment, and then with pitiful resignation, slackened his grip of Tallack’s tunic and closed his eyes, awaiting oblivion.
“Wait!” I yelled, struggling to my feet. “Nephew, I have need of this boy.”
Tallack grinned. “A little young for your tastes, surely, Aunt?” His sneer provoked my temper. I blundered over to where they stood, and slapped his arm away from the boy’s throat.
“You’ll do well to mind your tongue. If I am to continue healing your warriors, and tending to all your women folk and children, I need more help. I am not as young as I was. If you have any fondness for your old aunt, you’ll grant me this boy… and that grubby girl over there too.”
Eseld’s mouth dropped open. “You cannot make demands, Meliora. These slaves belong to Aebba, not you.” She turned to the Chieftain for his support. He leaned to his right, listening to a conspiratorial whisper from his first wife. When she had finished her private discussion, Aebba waved Eseld away. “Let her have them. They are no use to us.” I could see him watching the blond Frynkish girl move. It pleased him to keep her at the compound.
“I am indebted to you, Aebba. You will not regret the decision.”
He grunted, muttering something to Cryda. She grinned and twirled a braid of her hair about a finger. Nothing amused her so much as victory over Eseld and her faith. Her being with child had a softening effect on our leader. With a quick glance about the room, it seemed that others looked to attempt the same manoeuvre, sizing up the slaves and approaching Aebba and Tallack with reasons to take them into their homes.
I could not afford to wait for the Chief to change his mind. I took the knife from Tallack and cut the filthy girl, and hobbled boy, loose from the tether. With a jab of my thumb, I told them both to follow me. As we left the Long Hut, I peered back through the haze of smoke. Eseld looked positively murderous. I vowed to speak with the Chieftain about my fears, at first light.
What a pathetic sight we were, me clinging to my long stick, and the slave girl hooked beneath the dark boy’s arm. We all staggered across the board walks towards my hut. As they entered inside, I realised how little thought I had put into the arrangement. My other slaves were not really mine. They belonged to Aebba, who granted me permission to order them about whenever I required assistance. These were the first that were claimed as my own. My hut was too small to accommodate us all.
As late as it was, I knew that without medicines and treatments, this boy would die a long and agonising death. I stuck my head through the doorway and called to one of Aebba’s warriors, one whom I knew would help me, whatever I asked of him. It did not take him long, to return with all that I needed to repair the break in the boy’s leg.
With split hazel wood, and twisted hemp, I prepared the splint and lay it to one side. The boy guessed what had to come next.
“I beg of you no.” He squealed, as I took hold of his swollen foot. He wriggled, attempting an escape. That was when I required the warrior’s assistance again. As he held down his shoulders against my bunk, I yanked the bones in his ankle until all lined up as they should. He screamed loud enough to send the crows skyward from the neighbouring forest, and then lost consciousness.
When he came to, his leg was bound and supported by the splint. It was fortunate that the bone did not break the skin, for that presents a whole new raft of problems. I stewed some dried willow bark in hot water and told him to drink as much as he could manage, but he drifted off once again. My warrior friend lifted his skinny body from my bunk and onto the rushes near the fire. If I’d been kinder, I would have left him to sleep off the worst of the pain in my bed, but the thought of a draughty night on the ground, filled me with horror. Still, he had the warmth of the girl alongside him and one of my furs. It’s more than many slaves are given.
Come the dawn, I felt strangely relieved to see him awake, and smiling. The guardsman told me that the girl tried to make a run for it in the middle of the night, but she could not scale the fences, nor make it through the compound gates. After a brief struggle, the warrior told me, he cuffed her around the face and delivered her back to my hut. I had slept through the entire escape.
Grabbing the girl by the wrist, I took her out to my goats and presented her with a beaker and a log on which to sit. I mimed the actions of milking the udders into the pot. She pretended not to understand. Folding her arms across her chest and shaking her head. There is a limit to my patience, and I was hungry and thirsty. I pointed to the goat, pushed her down on the log and thrust the beaker at her. “Milk!” I bellowed. That did the job. I watched her for a few moments. This was not her first-time grappling goat’s teats. When she was done, I sprinkled a handful of crushed barley into the milk and rested the pot into the hot embers.
Her clothing smelled foul. She was covered in her own kawgh, her hair crawled with lice. Steering her with my stick, I marched her out of the compound gates, through the thickets at the start of the woodland, and down towards the river. There is a tributary to the Exe, that runs clean and cold. I ripped the rags from her back, leaving only the wrappings about her loins, and before she could complain, I pushed her in. I figured that she would either thrash about until she smelled better or would swim away.
Again, I mimed the actions for her to scrub the muck from herself, but the icy waters made her scramble towards the bank. I held her off with my stick, until she made an attempt to rub the filth from her skin. Only then would I let her back to shore.
Screaming at me in her native tongue, she snatched her rags from my hands and tried to put them on. I shook my head, wrestling them back from her in order that they too could be washed, but it was not to be. With dripping hair and a scowl that could frighten Morrighan herself, she stomped back towards the compound, with me snapping at her heels. She was not as daft as she looked. Rather than run from me, she hurried into my hut to warm herself by my fire.
I lingered by my small herd, for I could see Eseld speaking with the taller man from the Ordo Tribe. He was making his way into little Derwa’s hut, until Eseld pulled on his arm to stop him. I harvested some herbs from my plot, and wandered closer to hear their exchange. It did not take much to work out why he was there.
