“I want to spend the rest of the day overlooking the hilltop and the valley beyond,” I said. “Our lives are very good. I wish to say thank you to the goddess Morrigna for this time of my life and my family.”
“I have a block of peat, I can start a fire,” said Lovern.Crisi played and hid in a small cave nearby. The peat was damp, and the fire’s smoke curled around my head. I slipped into a passage dream with Aine. She was with a man. I felt in her heart she loved him and I was glad for her. I guided her eyes to look through mine. I wanted her to see my family and home. She looked through my eyes at the hilltop fort and the dwelling Crisi grew up in.
“Aine, know that I am satisfied. Here we are happy. Here life is good,” I said in my mind to her.
This was the first time I had been able to direct the dream, the first time I could pass along a message. Many things in my life changed when Crisi was born. Maybe this was one. Maybe our future was another. For the first time in many months, I had hope.
We attended small dals every season, but every third season was a large mor dal, a gathering of many, and this year, Crisi was old enough for me to take her. Six of us journeyed: Kenric and Logan, now ten seasons old, Lovern, Crisi, I, and a warrior, Daimh. Daimh was a young buck who had proven himself in the practice arena and as a hunter for the clan.
“Finlay will be the appointed chieftain while we are gone,” Kenric told the clan before we left. “He will have all the rights of judgment he needs to settle small disputes. If something larger comes before the council then it will wait until I return.”
Agreement set the meeting place at the intersection of many clans. Some had far to come, and some lived close, but no one crossed the land of their enemies.The land we traveled was beautiful. A few purple and yellow field flowers waved in the breezes along with long grass for our animals. We brought two ponies to carry our shelter and cooking tools and a few goats to milk. Logan rode rarely, but Crisi rode often as her short legs could not keep up with us and, although small, she was heavy to carry. We tied her to the pony when she fell asleep on its rocking back.
Crisi carried on long conversations with the pony. She tried to draw its attention to the birds in the sky and other animals we saw on the trail. She was very good at naming the animals and had some knowledge of the plants and trees. She was still quite young, but Lovern and I wanted her to know the land and nature she was a part of. The gods demanded it of us. He taught her much as they were together often.
We hiked through the area where running water froze in the winter, and I was glad we brought our cloaks as well as our heavier blankets for sleeping. The nights were getting cold. When we stopped for the night, Lovern set up our shelter, several large pieces of cured leather sewn together with tallow rubbed into the seam to slow the rain. I gathered pine branches to keep Crisi and me off the cold ground.
For the meals, we had handfuls of barley at dawn, dried pork at midday, and whatever animals Daimh and Logan had been able to kill during the day for the evening meal. Lovern and I added the herbs and greens we had picked along the way for flavor to the stew.
We were never hungry. We rationed the barley and dried pork, not knowing how many sunrises we would stay at the gathering or how long the trip home would be. We brought plaid cloth and bronze pins for gifts and trade. One or two of these could go for food, if needed. After a few days with so many people in one spot, all the easy game would be gone at the place of the meeting and the hunters would have to make longer trips into the forests if the meeting lasted several sunrises.
We walked for three days before we arrived in the great glen. A large hilltop fort was perched above us, and we spread out on the plain under it.
“Crisi,” I said. “Do not run off. If you get lost, I may not find you. Stay and hold my hand.” My armlets jangled against one another as I reached for her. One was the spiral bloodlines my mother had given me. Lovern gave the second to me at Crisi’s birth. He had Finlay fashion it unbeknownst to me. He asked that a raven and a fox sit on either side of each other with a knot tying them together. The armlets never left my arm. Crisi said she could find me anywhere because of the jingle sounds I made.
“But Mother, Father says I have the sense of an owl. He said I could find my way home from the woods by myself now. Am I right, Father?”
“Yes, little bird, I did say that,” said Lovern as he picked her up and set her on his shoulders, pride showing in his walk. Her long, autumn-colored hair mingled with his bronze locks. “I meant you know your way around our woods very well now as you should. But you have never been here before and there are many other people from neighboring clans. If you walk around unescorted, you may be mistaken for a slave, picked up, and put to work in a house. I know you would not like having to stay inside all day, would you?”
“No, Father. I would climb out the window and run away if I had to stay in all day.”
“As you have done at home,” I said. “Now stay with me as we go to find Rhona and the others. If you do not cause me to worry I will find you a piece of honeycomb and bread for your mid-day meal.” I smiled up at my beautiful daughter. She giggled and pulled on her father’s ears. She had grown so, and at five summers it was difficult to keep up with her energy. A mor dal was a time for order and agreement, not a time for battle between clans. Chieftains from many villages and forts attended. It was a time to exchange the legends of each clan during the evening fires, different cures for illnesses and injuries that worked, and mock battles among the warriors who had come as protectors of their leaders.
Many druids attended. I was anxious to see Rhona. We had been in contact each year since I traveled to Beathan’s tomb and had grown to think of her as a grandmother to Crisi. Haye stepped into view and I knew Rhona would be at his heels. Haye was chieftain of his clan, but she was always close by his side to take in the events and trials and give advice. He appreciated having her near. As his clan’s druidess and his mother, she had his ear often. “Chieftain Haye,” I called. “It is a pleasure to see you.”
“Ah,” said Haye. “I see the Fox and his family are here. Lovern, have you renewed your fox skin yet this year? If not, I can cut a strip of bearskin from my coverlet and you can convert to my guiding animal spirit.”
“I could not let you take a piece of fur, even a small piece from the tiny skin you took from a cub this year. I wager it is the only bear you have seen in years. I hear you have grown too slow to hunt and are sending out your son to do your work now.”
Haye stood two hands taller than Lovern and his shoulders were almost twice the size of Lovern’s. This was evident as he towered over Lovern at this moment, frowning. “Your ears are not working correctly, Red Dog,” Haye said. “I have taken three fullgrown bears this summer alone. One could step on a fox and eat it for a morning meal.” At this, I saw Daimh ready his hand on his sword if the words came to blows. I stepped to him and rested my hand on his arm.
“We will have no need of this now,” I said, “but if conversations get heated after the mead tonight, I will ask you to step up. Please do not drink more than two cups at the evening meal.” He nodded in agreement but gave me a look of unhappiness. He had eagerly awaited the drinking at this meeting and had not expected this request.
“No one would go with you to hunt these legend animals?” said Lovern. “How do we know you did not come upon them after a war among themselves for a female, having already killed each other? My fox would out run them and be safe in its den before your bears would understand that something ran between their legs. Phhh, it is not a fair contest. “I have my new fox skin,” boasted Lovern, touching the band on his arm, the skin of a red fox, his guide. “I took only the oldest to leave the young ones to tickle your bears.” At this, Haye reached around Lovern and laughed, as he picked him and Crisi, still on Lovern’s shoulders, up off the ground.
“Kenric,” Haye said looking over his shoulder, “do you not control your druid that he is allowed to insult a fellow chieftain?”
“Ach. He insults me continually. He says it makes me stronger. I want that he eat the evening meal at your side tonight and give me some peace!”
After the greetings by the men were completed and Eanruig, Haye’s son, and Logan had wrestled their hellos, I felt that it was safe for me to step up, retrieve Crisi safely from Lovern’s shoulders, and ask about Rhona. I did not see her in the trail of the dust that floated in the air around us.
“Greetings, Jahna,” said Haye, dipping his head to me. “Rhona is in the tent of Chaim. It is the large one near the central oak tree. The druids gather there. Fox, take your wife and your cub and go find out what they are brewing. Kenric and I will walk and talk about hunting large animals worth risking life and limb for and teach our sons about women.”
“Yes, I will go and if the gods be willing I will see you tonight for the meal.” Lovern touched Haye on the shoulder in friendship and then took my hand. They walked away as we headed to the tent.
“It is good to see he is well and his family is healthy,” I said.
“Mother,” Crisi said, “I want to go with Logan. He will play with Eanruig, and I want to be with them.”
She thought of him as her big brother. She had spent much time with Kenric’s and Finlay’s families. Their children all were older yet seemed to have taken her in and treated her like a sister, a sister to be loved, tolerated and taught. In turn, she had developed love for them. Especially Broc. Finlay’s son was now seven seasons and Crisi followed him like a puppy. She would be with him all day and night if I did not ask her to come home for meals and sleep. Eiric, Finlay’s wife, accepted her too and fed her along with her own when I was busy with an ill clansman. We had all become close through the loss of Beathan and my mother.
“Crisi,” Lovern said, “Logan is to be with his father, our chieftain, and Eanruig is to be with his father, his clan’s chieftain. It is not a time to have a small girl along getting in the way of men.”
She was holding my hand but at Lovern’s statement pulled away. “No. I am not a little girl. Logan gets to stay outside. I want to stay outside and go hunting with them. You are going to talk with Rhona, and I will have to sit still. I do not like that and want to go with Eanruig and Logan.”
I smiled, and my heart swelled with love and pride when I looked at her. I saw so much of my mother in her when she was like this. She tilted her head to the left when she was angry and crossed her arms. Mother did the same when she called me in from playing. She was angry that I was not inside weaving, as I should be. And I saw in her Lovern when flashes of light came from her eyes as she smiled. Her hair curled around her chin in the same rust-colored waves his did. I was there in the way she picked up injured animals and cared for them. She was our daughter, my mother’s granddaughter. She was our blood.
“Come with us and I will find the honey and bread I promised,” I said. “There will be other children there to play with. Logan must be with his father right now.” At the mention of the honey, she ran ahead and called for Rhona.
A crowd had gathered in and near the shelter. It was rigged so it had three walls and a roof to protect us from the rain. The hole in the center of the roof let out the smoke of the blessed oak fire that burned for the duration of the gathering. This was the meeting place of the druids. The chieftains had their shelter and we met for evening meals.
After Crisi was fed and settled with other children under the eyes of the older girls, I followed Lovern into the shelter.
The smoke was thick, but I saw him near a group of white-cloaked druids I quickly assessed as druids I knew.
Rosston was young, a finger taller than I, and had hair the color of a meadow mouse and wide brown eyes. When I looked at him, I thought he was always just out of reach of the owl who was chasing him for dinner. His teacher had recently died. He was living with a clan near ours and was often asking Lovern for assistance or for his opinion. As Lovern had said, “At least he knows what to ask.”
Uilleam was attending his second mor dal from a clan north of the meeting place. His look was of the mountain hare. Something on his body was always moving; fingers drummed, or nose and ears twitched as if he had seen an eagle. He didn’t speak until asked and then took the side of the greater number of the group.
Moroug and Coira were partners. Coira was a healer. They brought to mind river otters. Playful and sleek, both with brown hair worn back in leather ties. They never tired of smiling and were hardly ever out of sight of each other. I saw a crying child raise a smile to Coira’s face just in the delight of having a child nearby. I had never heard Moroug speak, but Coira often spoke for him. They lived with a clan near the coast.
Rhona had the look of a mother while she watched Moroug. She touched his arm often. “He has golden light around his body,” she said. “The weight on my shoulders is less when I am near him.”
Nathraichean, the wolf from the east, was speaking, using his hands to emphasize points in the conversation so the others had to step back. Something must be exciting him. I walked closer to hear. He was taller than Lovern and most of the rest of the group surrounding him. Long, straight grey hair cascaded over his shoulders. His matching eyes roved over the attending group. His waving hands covered a great distance. I stood to the side of Lovern, away from Nathraichean’s long reach.
“There are no traders coming from the south any more. We are losing the ancient paths we have walked forever. My friend from the land of Boudiccea has not been seen for two years. In my heart, I know he is dead, but it was not a natural death. My gut is uneasy, and there are words that are passed to us from that part of the land. Slaves. Many are taken as slaves or killed.”
The conversation around us grew quiet. The mention of slaves brought fear to all our hearts. Lovern’s body was locked stiffly next to mine, and he clenched his jaw. His sisters were slaves if they were still alive.
“What are the floating words, the rumors?” Lovern asked. “What do you hear?”
“The wall is being crossed and there are battles every day,” said Rhona. She spoke softly from behind us. As we turned to see her, she held out her hands to me in greeting.
“Good day to you, sister,” she said.
I walked to her; we wrapped our arms around each other and kissed. Her shoulders were still as strong and wide as the first time she gave me support on my trip to Beathan’s tomb. “Good day to you. I hope your family is well.” I remembered my vision and silently wished her many more years with them.
“Yes. We are all well. I noticed Crisi outside. She is graced by the gods.”
I smiled and hung my head in agreement.
“Good day, Rhona,” Lovern said impatiently. “What do you mean the wall is crossed?"
“The floating words say the Roman wall is crossed by Roman warriors trying to take our land sheep by bloody sheep, Lovern.”
“No one here has seen them, have they?” Uilleam asked. “Do we know they want our land or just the few miles near the wall?”
“You are right,” said Coira. “Maybe they will not come to our clans. If we stay away from them and keep to ourselves, they may not war with us."
“I hear the timid voices of the untried warriors,” Nathraichean said.
“I agree that we must not let them come near our clans,” said Lovern. “I know what they leave behind, only dead and missing. But I do not want to bring them here, either.” A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd. “We will talk with the chieftains and decide if there should be a plan for the protection of our clans,” said Nathraichean in his deep, calming voice. “We must be ready if they come.”
The tension in the air eased and we went to other conversations. Lovern followed Coira, talking about the illness that vexed him the most, the fever that took children by closing the throat passage and choking. They are always trying new treatments. I prayed for one to work, fearing for Crisi. Rhona and I went to watch Crisi and talked about children until the evening meal when we rejoined our families.
The evening meal was a great, noisy, song-filled event. The hunter–warriors, who followed their chieftains, had killed two bucks that were now being spit roasted. Each had its own man to turn it and keep it from scorching. The fat from the meat dripped into the fire and created a smoke that caused us all to hunger. The mead ran freely, and even Kenric rose to sing our clan song about Beathan. Kenric created a new verse every dal and now the song had Beathan killing ten warriors with one blow. I laughed when I heard this and knew Beathan laughed too, on the other side.
I took Crisi by her hand and motioned Logan to follow. At our shelter, Crisi crumpled to her blanket and fell asleep instantly. Logan and I laid next to her for warmth and I fell asleep, the children’s sweet breath on my cheeks.
Daimh, Lovern and Kenric returning awakened me.
“Yes, the talk at our fire earlier was about the Romans,” said Kenric. “There is concern about the lack of trade coming from the south. Even with the wall, trade could continue, and has for many lifetimes. It has diminished greatly this season. We have not decided what to do about it yet. It will be discussed again tomorrow. This is a time to bring the druids and chieftains together, I believe. We have to plan our future tactics if we decide to alter the Roman advance.” “Yes, after the morning prayers, I agree we should gather,” said Lovern. Both men became quiet as the night around us fell silent except for the snoring of others asleep. Cuddled between the two warm bodies of the children, I tried to calm my breathing by tracing my maze in my mind. My visions and foretelling of a great battle seemed too close to us now. A nathair with a sharp, deadly bite coiled inside my belly and never left me from this time on.
In the morning, I sat stirring cooked barley and goat’s milk for Crisi and Logan. Lovern came to me from his solitary walk and morning prayers.
“I heard you talking last night as you came in,” I said. “Even the chieftains are hearing words of the Romans.”
“Yes, we are all to discuss it today.” Crisi was sitting and playing, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. He reached down and picked her up, wrapped her in his cloak and sat down next to me.
“Good morning, Father. I am going to look for a honey tree with some of the other children today. We talked about it yesterday, and we are going as soon as we eat.” Lovern looked at me with concern.
“The older children have this planned and asked the younger ones to go,” I said. “Logan and Eanruig are going.”
“Ah, little bird, m’eudail. Is there a honey tree nearby?”
“If not, I will call the bees and we will make one. We want honey for our mid-day meal.” “You are in woods that you are not familiar with. Do not stray from the others when you go.” Lovern tousled her hair and hugged her. She jumped from his lap and sat down to finish her drawing.
Lovern did not turn from her but stayed watching her movements.
“I will not let anything come to harm her.” He turned to me. “Or you.” The snake in my belly hissed.
The children left in an adventurous noise, and then word that the druids and chieftains would meet together today was passed from lips to ears.
We stood around the fire to sing praises to Morrigna. All hands were raised in praise of her when a thunder of hooves and chariot wheels disturbed the start of our day. I turned just as the assembly of riders came to a stop at the outer edge of the crowd. Three warriors slid off their ponies and moved with practiced fluidity into position. Each bore a spear, a shield, a bow, and arrows. They wore capes of brown wool and loin wraps to protect themselves on the ponies. Their arms and legs were blue. This was a custom of the men who lived far north. The woad, taken there by traders, was used for body color more than for dyeing cloth. Two stood to either side of the ponies that pulled the chariot and one on the ground to the side of the man who stood in the chariot. Their eyes measured the crowd, watching, their bodies tense and ready to protect the man they were guarding.
The man in the chariot reviewed our gathering with sharp, dark eyes. His naked, fully dyed blue body revealed a short but very well muscled warrior. His long nose hung over a mouth that was set in a grim line. He wore his golden hair swept back and stiffened with lime, his yellow beard trimmed. His only protection from the weather was a cloak of deep green. On its collar was a row of feathers from a sea eagle, a bird that watches all, bearing talons of surprising strength to hunt and kill for its family.
In the chariot next to him stood a woman. She wore a sun-whitened wool dress. Her cloak was the color of undyed wool. She wore strands of yellowed boars’ teeth around her neck. Her rust hair, braided in many rows, hung to her waist. A sea eagle feather was woven into it and hung over her left ear.
The man lifted his arms and looked as if he were ready to fly over us. He did not shout but spoke in a tone that caused us to lean forward. We concentrated to hear.
“I am Calgacus. I am ceann-cinnidh of many clans in the north. We pray to Scotia, the fierce mother goddess of our land. We have come together to prepare for the coming war. We know the Romans are coming to us. We have won and lost many battles with them before and have slowed their progress into our realm. Hope was never abandoned, as we are many and hidden in the most secret and sacred places. Because of these places, we have been shielded as the most distant dwellers upon this ground. Our remoteness and obscurity have hidden our name from their lips. We are the last of the free. The Romans, in the name of peace, will rob, slaughter, plunder, and enslave those left alive. It is so in the lands they now live. They have wiped our kind from existence there and we alone are left to carry our bloodlines to the future. There is nothing beyond us but waves and rocks, yet they still come.
“Nature teaches us that every man’s children and family are his dearest objects. We have seen these torn apart by death and slavery. Some are left to farm, to feed the slaves that were once members of their families. Can you raise grain to feed your daughters who are raped by the Romans daily?”
A loud “No!” rose from the throats around me. Lovern wrapped his arm protectively around my shoulders. Heat radiated from his body. His eyes did not stray from the speaker, and a low groan escaped from him at the mention of rape. The face of the man who took me flashed like lightning across my mind. He was a Roman slave. He was once a proud warrior, but they turned him into an animal. This could not happen to us. I grew resolved not to allow it. “There is one Roman who comes our way with warriors,” Calgacus continued. “Agricola. He is the chieftain we must kill. It is his army we must defeat. His men are ignorant. They do not know our sky, our sea, our forests. They have no wives or children to kindle their courage, or parents to goad them to battle. They are lost in our land; the gods have delivered them to us.
“Behind him lie unmanned forts guarded by the old, our mines of ancient times, and many slaves who will welcome a release to freedom.
“They cross the wall and are coming. What say you, chieftains? Others that I have spoken to have agreed. If you say yes, then you will train your warriors and wait for my call.” All the chieftains in attendance gathered into a knot of men. After a conversation the length of three breaths, Haye and Kenric stepped forward.
“We agree,” said Haye. “We will train and await your call.”
Instantly the vision I had in Haye’s stable was brought to mind and the snake in my belly bit me. I was poisoned. I knew of Haye’s death. Fear was fastened deep inside me now. The woman next to Calgacus stepped down from the chariot. Her path was straight and the crowd split to allow her progress. She came to Lovern, laid her hand on his forehead, and said, “This man is one who will work well for us. He can speak the tongue of those who live on the wall. He will bring us what we seek. The goddess Scotia picks him for herself.” The woman’s beautiful face melted away and became the face of a hag. Her already long nose became sharper. Her sky blue eyes turned to iron. Her well formed mouth hung open to reveal black, jagged teeth. I imagined her breath to smell like the inside of an unclean stable. Her hair writhed about her head. I shook my head at the sight but the hag’s face remained. She slowly looked down to the ground and when she looked back up her face had become beautiful again. Lovern stepped to her as if drawn by a cord. His arm fell from my shoulders and, in my spirit, I knew our relationship would never be the same again. She had stolen part of his heart. “Firtha,” said Calgacus, “is my druidess. She tells me she has dreamed of you. She said you could go where the Romans live and bring back information. Her visions tell me that we must have this information. We must know how many they are and when they come.” Lovern answered, “You ask me to leave my family and my clan to take a journey that will last at least three moon cycles.”
“I do not ask, I order,” Calgacus said. “Go in the spring. After Imbolc. They will not come in the winter. Go and come back to me with this knowledge. With that information, we will be prepared to go into battle. We must not lose to become slaves of Rome.”
Lovern’s shoulders rose as he took a deep breath and turned to me. “My mother died at their hands. My sisters and teacher are slaves if still alive. I cannot let the Romans come here. I must go.”
My body was losing its strength to stand. I wavered and would soon fall. Rhona stepped up behind me and laid her hand on the small of my back. Lovern’s deep blue eyes begged me. I had no choice. We had to save Crisi. My soul cried as I nodded and whispered, “Yes, I agree. You must go.”
Chapter 17“Marc,” I yelled. He was across the field, talking to Jack and walking slowly towards me. “Has Jimmy called yet?”
The work on the site was progressing. Along with George’s grant and the one I brought in last week, my small amount of money had grown to a modest size. Marc’s team was still here along with a few other young, freshly graduated archaeologists I’d hired through the available students listed on University website. All were working in various stages and places around the site. I took care of the finances, budgeting and paying the workers and bills with advice from both George and Marc. But this project was mine. My name was on the account, and I was signing the checks. I paid Marc’s students a stipend, and to save money we moved from the inn to a rental in Fort William. The four members of the ground-penetrating radar team were still residing in Mrs. Dingleberry’s Inn.
I’d hired a security company who had someone on site all the time, but I still wanted someone I knew there, especially overnight. Kendy and Matt were not the only ones who slept there now. To give them a break, we all took turns spending the night.
The sun was overhead in its rise to its zenith. We were in short sleeves, taking advantage of the unusually warm air. I shaded my eyes to see Marc. He stopped talking to Jack, the head of the ground-penetrating radar team, and waved to me. Jack and his equipment were here for the rest of today only. We’d been able to use the GPR longer than usual because George called in some favors, but it had to go. I couldn’t afford it any longer. Both Marc and I felt the urge to work until exhausted, trying to get as much of this sight mapped as possible.
The underground scanning followed a spiral grid system. The outside edge of the hilltop fort was charted first, and then we followed the spiral to the center, where we assumed the village square would be. We’d located the site we called the smithy, a building with large fire pits, and started excavating it as soon as it was mapped. One fire pit contained small pieces of charcoal that had been burned in intense heat. When we picked them up out of the clay that now held them, they almost turned to dust. I knew the smith had worked both bronze and iron from the heat of the fire that it took to make this charcoal. I believed the bronze bowl containing ashes that I found in the cave, the Raven Bowl, was fashioned here.
If I were given one wish, I’d want to meet the villagers who lived here. What did they say when they got up in the morning? I tried to envision the women who came to the well and wonder if they gossiped like me when I met friends at a coffee shop? I often picked up a handful of dirt and imagined who’d walked on it and who they loved. Maybe, just maybe, Jahna, the man she loved and her child had left footprints here. It was such an honor to be allowed to see through her eyes occasionally, but oh gods, how I wished I could speak with her. I had so many questions.
“Jack says they’ll pack up about four this afternoon,” Marc said as he