Pagan Death (Tribes of Britain Book 1), page 7
Aebba sat still, slipping in his chair from too much wine and ale, and still complaining about his guts aching. Brea flitted here and there, fetching and carrying and doing his bidding in general. As soon as I could see Eseld retiring for the night, I made my way home too. There were few nods of sleep left to the night before dawn. Aebba was in safe hands until then. With my furs tucked about me, and the fire loaded with logs, I drifted away to dream of the Summerlands, where no one is hungry and there is no word for pain.
Come the morning, I awoke with such a fearful knot in my stomach. A wail worthy of the Morrighan tugged at my senses, until I opened my eyes with a start. My heart rate quickened. At first, I thought a burning log had fallen from the fire onto the rushes, but the reason behind the scream was far worse. I hastened to my door, and saw the gathering crowds about the Long Hut.
Many of the elders pushed to the front, leaving the women to guess as to the cause of distress. Wrapped in my bedding, I struggled through the clans and forced my passage into the hut. Two guards held the door, but upon seeing me, permitted my entrance. Wives, children and slaves huddled around the top table, blocking my view.
“What is it? What’s all the fuss and noise?” I had to shout above the clamour and hysterical women. They moved apart, allowing me to see our Chieftain, slumped in his chair. His skin waxy and pallid, his eyes black as soot. As I moved closer, Cryda began pawing at his chest, trying to rouse him. Even with my poor sight, it was clear he was dead. No tonic or potion could awaken his final slumber. I flicked my wrists at those clinging to hope. “Stand aside, let me look at him.” There was nothing I could do, but I needed to see what signs could be taken from his body. I held my hand to his forehead. It was icy cold. The stiffness had already taken hold.
“Can he be saved, Meliora?” Cryda cried, clinging to my furs. I said nothing, watching the reactions of Eseld and Paega closely. She was cooler than the Exe in midwinter. Not a hint of expression gave her away. Brea fetched warm ale for Cryda’s faints and stood apart from us all.
Only Paega seemed shocked by it all. “I should tell my sister.” He started to walk towards the door, but Eseld grabbed hold of him, securing his waist with her arm.
“Let her sleep a little longer. She will be overcome when she finds out.”
“There may be something Meliora can do yet. Don’t give up hope.” Cryda sobbed.
I shook my head, stepping back a pace. “I am sorry, Cryda. He is gone. There is nothing to be done for him.”
For a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of shock in Eseld’s eyes, but I was mistaken, for the first words from her mouth were, “And now Paega is to be Chieftain.” Pride swelled within her. It filled her chest and spilled from her venomous face.
I reached over and pulled Aebba’s chin until his mouth opened. A black stain trailed down his face to his neck. There were red spots inside his mouth and a rash on his throat. Taking a deep sniff, I could smell unripe fruit, slightly bitter. I was rapidly forming an opinion of the manner in which he died. If it is what I think, he suffered a frightening ordeal, lasting many hours. It begins with wide eyes and a mild rash, until unsteadiness takes hold. In the final stages, the pounding headache is joined by hallucinations and loss of voice, before breathing becomes impossible. If Aebba was lucky, the last stage came quickly, with fitting until the heart fails.
I turned to the grieving widows and looked at each of them in turn. With anger boiling inside, I said to them, “Aebba was murdered.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
My declaration took a while to sink into their thoughts. Eseld reacted first, reaching for her feathered stick and chanting odd sounds over his body. In between her gestures, she stopped and said, “This is what happens when you mock the gods. I warned him often enough. Our Lady of Lakes and Seas has taken her revenge.” Thrusting her arms in the air, she invoked a protection spell over her son, warding off any potential threats. I must say, her performance was most convincing. I almost believed that she played no part in Aebba’s death.
Cryda wept openly, falling into her seat as though her strength had fully left her. Brea rushed to her side, offering support and comfort, and brushing Cryda’s hair back from her face. I called the servants to bring ale.
“We should drink to his spirit quickly, to send it into the Summerlands. Any delay and I feared that he would linger, and seek retribution.” I said this to Eseld without giving much thought to her reaction.
Paega jumped on the idea. “It’s your dark slave’s fault. My mother was right to offer him in sacrifice. You have brought a curse down upon us all. See what your insolence leads to, old woman?”
Eseld stopped her chanting to lend weight to Paega’s argument. “We must banish the evil sprite this day.” She turned to one of the slaves. “Have a pyre built before nightfall. His body is to burn. See that it is fit for a Chieftain, at least five trees must fall, no fewer.”
“You will not burn him. He is my Chieftain. I am the Ruvane, and I will decide how we see him into the Summerlands. Meliora, will you prepare him? I trust no other.” Cryda looked at me with those puffed and bloodshot eyes and I crumbled. He was my nephew. I was there at his birth, and missed his death by a whistle.
“You ask a lot from me, child.” There was place in my heart for him too. I knew what she wanted of me, and I found myself overcome. On the one hand, I would get the chance to examine any signs to support my claim. On the other, I knew that washing and scraping the flesh from his bones would take me to the edge of ruin.
“Please, Fur Benyn.” Cryda said, in deference to my aged state. She knew how to get around my steely resolve. “He must be preserved in a clay pot, and taken with us to a stone circle for full funeral rites at midsummer. We shall have offerings like no other. A barrow all to himself and marked by the largest stone around for miles.”
“That’s a foolish idea.” Eseld chided. “Any delay will see us all overrun with bad spirits. He is to burn. No one buries in barrows anymore.” She shooed the slave away to begin preparations. Cryda stood up and gave Eseld such a glare, but she would not back down. “Do you want us all killed in our sleep?”
I stood between them. “This is not the work of evil spirits or curses; do you hear me? Someone…a person from our camp, has murdered our Chieftain. There must be a reckoning.”
“Nonsense. I was with him the whole time.” Eseld bayed. “How could anyone have stopped his heart in front of us?”
“You were not with him at all times, Eseld, for I saw you leave a little before I did last night. This is the work of poison.” I admit, she riled my temper. My fury built something terrible.
Cryda wrung her hands together and then cradled her growing belly. “Are you sure about this, Meliora? Aebba complained about his guts hurting for quite a while. Could it be a build-up of bad humours that took him away while we slept?”
I thought about her suggestion. I suppose the dried black residue could have been regurgitated food, but there are few black berries in this season, and the rash was all too familiar. “I will look further into this, even if you will not. Blydh and Tallack will want a full investigation into their father’s death, even if you don’t.” I glared pointedly at Paega, who showed no remorse for losing Aebba one bit.
Eseld snorted. “Just as you like, but the cremation will not wait. He will burn at nightfall.”
Cryda looked to me to break the dead lock. I had no choice but to agree to Cryda’s terms. “Actually, law of our lands state that the Ruvane has the right to take possession of her Chieftain after death. Aebba’s bones belong to Cryda.”
Eseld screwed up her face, contemplating her next angle. “Fine, but my father will perform the rituals and rites, and he should be here during the preparations too.” Eseld stood her ground, slipping her arm beneath Paega’s elbow, anchoring him to the spot.
Cryda was still giving me imploring looks. “So, you will do this for me, Meliora?”
I sighed. “I will.” And to the slaves, I ordered that they set up all that I needed on the rough grass behind my hut. I beckoned the warriors guarding the door, and instructed them to carry Aebba out to the riverside, reminding them of their duty of care. They handled his body with great reverence, taking two of his furs on which to lay him. Returning to my hut, I changed into my oldest tunic and told Jago to stay inside until the fuss had died down. He had plenty of work to be done, drying and preserving the plants harvested from our trip. He looked relieved when I told him this. In his current state, he is not able to defend himself against attack, especially from a weasel like Paega.
“Can I trust you with my knives?” I asked him.
Jago nodded. “Yes, Fur Benyn. What do you need?”
“I want you to sharpen all my blades. Get the girl to drag my whet stone in here. Don’t let her take them. I still don’t trust her.”
“If it pleases you, great lady, her name is Morgan.” He dipped his head, in respect, waiting to see my reaction.
“Is it now? That seems a noble name for a slave girl.” I swapped my turn-shoes for wooden pattens, and then rummaged for cleaning cloths.
“She was no slave in her homeland, Fur Benyn. Her village was raided. She was swept up along with the spoils and traded for tin with your kin.” I watched him take my leather knife wrap and unravel it onto my bunk in readiness.
“That would explain her attitude. Still, could be worse. She could be on her way to the mining pits along the coast.”
“Or made sacrifice to your gods.” he said. Clearly, the incident weighed on his thoughts.
“You might want to remind the girl of that, in case she gets any other mad ideas in her head.” As I bustled back out of my hut, I heard him shout after me.
“I will, Fur Benyn. Morgan will not trouble you again.”
I made a stop at a round house at the edge of the compound. This I knew to be the home of an old friend who weaves the finest threads into cloth like no other. With a handful of tin in exchange, I chose a length of woollen fibres of the lushest blue. Aebba deserved nothing less. With it folded to one side, I tasked the warriors to place Aebba on a length of wood, and carry him to the riverbank. I looked all about, expecting to find at least one of his widows to accompany me, but I found myself all alone with him.
As I knelt and dipped a bowl into the running waters, I saw Paega gallop off through the main gates on Aebba’s fastest horse. I have no doubt that he will return in the same haste, with his grandfather and the rest of the Priest Sect in tow. I have little time left to me to make my investigations. If I cannot find the cause of death and culprit before Paega’s return, his kin will most likely accuse me of harbouring a demon within. I have seen their powerful acts of persuasion before. I am in danger of ending my days burned as an evil spirit alongside Aebba’s remains.
Before I began the ritual cleanse, I sought out my warrior friend and asked him a favour which may cost me dearly. Somehow, I had to get word to Blydh and Tallack before they were too far from our compound to reach. With no other heirs to challenge Paega, he and the priests will take command, and may the Lady have mercy on us all. With good grace, my warrior fellow assured me that he would himself, ride after the head hunters. He too, saw the storm brewing in our little community. With so few able men left to ask, he saddled his elderly father and sent him along the coastal path to signal Tallack’s ships in warning. We are now without protection. Those who remain are too feeble or too young to defend our camp. Should attack befall us now, we would crumble in a matter of moments.
Stripped of his soiled finery, Aebba’s body showed no sign of injury, barring the arrow wound to his side. I removed the leaves and sealing resin, flushed the stitched area, and examined the humours for bad odours or discharge. There were none. This was not the cause of his death. The rash covered patches of his chest as well as his neck and mouth. My last experience of tiny red bumps like these, were when I caught one of Aebba’s dogs chewing a patch of Nightshade berries. The dose affected the mutt quickly. The rash appeared on its belly as it writhed around the ground in fits and starts, it wheezed and staggered for a time, appearing to choke, until death came and took it to the underworld.
Every child in the tribe is taught which berries to avoid. This was no accident, but neither was it proof. I washed Aebba down and allowed the bile and black humours to drain into the river waters. With a young boy paid to stand watch over him, I sneaked along the outskirts of the compound, over rough grass and furrow by the tall fence, and found the slave girls who wait upon the top table. Two of the more buxom women, prepare and cook the meals for Aebba and his wives Word had reached them, for they took one look at me and scurried away like scalded rats.
I followed them into the storage huts. “I have no desire to accuse any of you. You have no reason to want to harm the Chief. Please though, will you tell me about last night? I can solemnly promise; no one will punish you for speaking with me.”
At first, they glanced to one another, fright clamping their tongues. It did not take much of a mistake to feel the wrath of Eseld. A lashing or two with a leather strap, might be the least of the outcomes. Their newest friend was used to appease the Lady of Lakes and Seas during the last moon. Their faces told me that a knife to the throat was uppermost in their thoughts.
“Good and gentle woman.” I approached the one with strongest forearms. “Can you tell me if you saw anyone lurking about the cooking pots? Did you see anyone add anything to your dishes and stews?”
She shook her head with vigour until I thought it might fly from her neck.
I tried to word it another way. “Who came out to this area last night, perhaps to see the moon after so much rain, or ask you to fetch more ale?”
“Please, Fur Benyn. It was a night like any other. The Lady Brea gave us our orders as she does every night. The Lady Eseld beat poor Gwyn, for sneezing on the olives, and Ruvane Cryda asked for cooked eggs.” She shrugged as though Gwyn took a beating every night. Each of them stood staring at the ground, hoping that it would mark an end to the matter. As far as I was concerned, this was just the beginning. It was obvious that whatever they saw, it would not be divulged in such a public place.
I leaned in close to them. “If either of you would like to speak with me later instead, I am sure that I can reward bravery with a nugget or so of tin.” As I leaned back, I saw that Gwyn held back her mousy locks with a carved bone comb. “That’s very fine. It’s a dolphin, is it not?”
She reeled back from me, placing her hand over the ornament in her hair. “I did not steal it, Fur Benyn, I swear by the gods, I didn’t. Your dark slave made it for me.”
My surprise turned into a howling laugh. They both smiled at me, until Eseld wandered into view over my shoulder.
“You find my husband’s death a laughing matter, do you?” She scowled at the women, who fled from the hut and hid well from her vengeance. To me, she said, “Aren’t you supposed to be tending to Aebba?”
“Each stage has a process; every process has a stage. He dries in the strengthening rays of the sun.” I trotted my excuses out as though they were as important as what came next. She knows little about our ways. The priests have their own ungodly methods.
“Well, mind you wait until my father gets here before you remove his guts. He must have the portents read for his oldest son, and the next Chieftain of this great tribe. You can wrap him and begin the tribute collection. Have him surrounded by furs and his metals on the top table, maybe some flowers too. That should mask the smell a little.”
I returned to my duties, trimming his hair, plaiting his beard, and wrapping his body in the blue fabric. With the chilly rains banished, and the heat returning to our days, it would not be long before the rot set in. I pondered on the wisdom of waiting for the priests to arrive before removing the fetid innards. What retribution would I incur by ignoring the Lady Eseld’s commands? With the subtle shift of power gaining momentum in her favour, I declare myself too weak to resist her.
Aebba’s bear fur from across the seas, encased the blue shroud. He was a majestic sight. His strong brow, wind tanned and scarred from a thousand battles, or so the tales will tell. It was such a sordid way to go. Aebba deserved to end his days swinging a great axe, or bronze sword in a fight with the Duro’s, or sailing across the ocean to seek out new lands and spoils. Now his life will be sung without an end, for who could create songs of shameful murder at the hands of one of his tribe? At the very least, Cryda will insist on full burial rites at the solstice. All the tribes will unite to see him sent to the Summerlands. That will be a spectacular event, one worthy of singing.
I only hope that I can prove which of them caused his death, so that Blydh and Tallack can send the guilty into the underworld, without ingots or fur to bribe the demons. May they burn for all time.
It took four of the elders to help me take him back into the Long Hut. Brea picked some primroses and bluebells from the woodland outside the compound, and arranged them with sprigs of yew and fir around the body. The newly cut branches filled the air with a fresh pine scent. Cryda directed me to the stash of metals and weapons she wanted laid at his feet. His ceremonial bronze sword was polished to a deep shine. I wrestled it into place, and crossed it with his favourite axe. Lastly, I rested a torque of gold around his neck. With the torches lit, he was ready to receive the elders and their wives. Each of them wanted to pay tributes.
