Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
It took an age to find the track that led south to Mai Dun, and it was mid-afternoon when Sorcha sighted the two wagons and chariot that had left Dun Cam at dawn.
They stumbled into the makeshift camp. Sorcha collapsed beside the cooking fire.
An iron pot hung over it with something bubbling inside.
Her mother and Garamaros hurried to her.
“What happened?” Garamaros asked.
“My child, are you hurt?” Alina knelt and scooped Sorcha’s head onto her lap.
“Just exhausted.” Every muscle in her body ached. Her head swam from tiredness.
Garamaros turned to Maonos. “Did you have trouble with Bledyos?”
“He almost found us, but Lucius saved us.” Maonos explained.
The craftsman turned questioning eyes on Lucius. “Thank you,” he said, and clamped a hand on the Roman’s shoulder.
Lucius’s brow wrinkled.
Was he surprised by the thanks or discomforted by the touch of a ‘barbarian’?
Alina thrust a beaker of ale into Sorcha’s hand. She drained it, and Alina replaced it with a wooden bowl of stew, aromatic with herbs. Sorcha’s stomach growled. She plunged her spoon into the bowl and shoveled the flavorsome gloop into her mouth.
Garamaros handed food and drink to Maonos and Lucius.
“We need to find a more secluded campsite for the night,” Garamaros said.
A trickle of annoyance ran through Sorcha. More and more, Garamaros was assuming leadership of them. Unfortunately, he was correct—they needed to head westward now and get out of sight.
As soon as the trio finished eating, the group broke camp and set off.
Sorcha worried when Garamaros did not put the manacles back on Lucius’s ankles. A day ago she would have protested loud and long. Today… well today, he had saved them… more than once. It galled her, but she had to admit that this Roman, this enemy of Albion, had earned some trust today.
But would he remain trustworthy?
Surely, Lucius understood he was better off with them while Bledyos hunted him and wouldn’t try to escape?
Lucius’s wrists were re-bound, however, so Garamaros wasn’t a complete fool.
By sundown, Garamaros had led them to a clearing beside one of the many streams in this area. It was well off the trackway west. His knowledge of the countryside, from his years of selling his wares throughout the lands of the Durotriges, was proving useful.
Sorcha’s brothers positioned the wagons to form a defensive ‘v’, then released the ponies from their traces and hobbled them so they could forage.
A fire was soon licking at kindling collected throughout the day.
Garamaros set bread dough to bake in the coals for their evening meal, to be eaten with cheese brought from Dun Cam.
Snares were set overnight to catch their meat ration for the next day.
Their tasks completed, they sat around the flickering flames of the fire to eat. After trekking for so long in wet, cold clothes, it was nice to finally stop and be dry and warm. Sorcha stared through the plume of smoke at her mother sitting close to Garamaros.
Their familiarity was becoming more apparent with every day that passed. At Mai Dun there had been formality between them, with deference from Garamaros to Alina. Since they had left the settlement, her mother’s reliance on him had grown. Now her partiality for him was more obvious.
Sorcha pushed the irritation aside. They were living in extraordinary times.
It was understandable for her mother to cling to companionship when things were so uncertain for them all.
Tomorrow they hoped to reach the first of the Cantuc hillforts that stood above the valley of streams on the northernmost border with the Dumnone.
They would pass three defended settlements before arriving at Oglach’s fort on the northern coast, the furthermost outpost of the Durotriges territory.
Once, the rival Dumnone tribe had controlled the area, but now it was under Durotriges occupation.
Nevertheless, the Dumnone were still a real threat, ever hopeful of regaining their land by attacking and killing their traditional enemies.
Sorcha hadn’t seen Oglach since they met at the chieftains’ assembly at Mai Dun six seasons ago. Then she had considered him a manly, strong warrior, one she would be happy to call husband.
She stole a glance at Lucius where he sat before the fire, one knee drawn up and clasped by a muscular arm. His face was in profile, backlit by flames highlighting his strong jaw, darkened by a newly grown beard. Long lashes shadowed his eyes, as deep and dark as a moonless night.
Would she still think Oglach attractive, compared to Lucius?
Her face heated. Now she was comparing her betrothed with a Roman! It was a betrayal of her people even thinking it. She should be ashamed.
Instead she was attracted. She must gain control of her wayward emotions. She shifted until her back faced him and gave her attention to her family’s conversation.
The next day they set out at dawn and pushed northwest, planning to reach the first small Cantuc Hills fort of Dun Ru by sundown. Occupying a spur projecting east, steep slopes to the north and south protected the ramparts on two of its three sides.
They arrived at dusk. Something was not right. The settlement was too quiet. They entered its east-facing gateway.
Everywhere they looked, were signs of devastation from a recent attack. “Who has done this?” Sorcha demanded of no one.
“Not Romans,” said Lucius.
Everyone turned to him.
“Britons,” he said indicating the arrows in some corpses lying behind the palisade of the western rampart.
They nodded. And not a single person other than Durotriges lay dead.
That implicated the Dumnone, the closest tribe and their fiercest rivals.
There was no conclusive evidence, but the two tribes had been enemies competing for land for generations.
Their aggression was one of the reasons Oglach had sought a closer alliance with Arthmael—to bring him support should his clan be attacked again.
Who else could it be?
Garamaros, his mouth set in a grim line, led them to a secluded campsite in the nearby woods. “We will bury the bodies tomorrow,” he said.
Most of the next day was spent on that heart-rending and unpleasant task. The boys dug a mass grave while Garamaros and Lucius took responsibility for interring the corpses. Alina and Sorcha recited incantations to the gods.
The following day, they made the short journey to the next settlement and found a similar scene of destruction. After clearing the small promontory fort of its dead, they prepared to camp overnight within, protected by its single earthen wall.
Garamaros called them all together to share their evening meal. “I don’t know why the tribes are at war like this, when there has been a peace for some time.
“Maybe the Dumnone hope to gain territory while we Durotriges are under threat from the Romans?” Sorcha said.
“You may well be right,” Garamaros said, with a dip of his chin.
“Tomorrow we must push on. Dun Dows is north of here, but I think we should bypass it and Dun Tren to reach Chieftain Oglach’s main settlement at Dun Creg as soon as possible.
The closer we get to Dumnone lands, the more anxious I am to reach our destination. ”
Alina and Maonos were quick to agree. Sorcha reluctantly acquiesced to the interloper’s suggestion.
How she wished he didn’t have more knowledge of this land than they did.
If Caileanos was with them, the craftsman wouldn’t dare tell them what to do.
And they wouldn’t need his advice, because her brother knew every inch of this land from travelling it with their father.
Were Caileanos or any of her brothers left at Mai Dun still alive? Fear for them gnawed her belly. She looked up to see her mother seated beside Garamaros and gazing lovingly into his eyes. Was she not also anxious about her sons’ fates?
Sorcha’s blood suddenly boiled like pitch over a hot fire.
She was angry that the Romans had come to conquer their land.
Angry that her father was dead and five of her brothers might be dead or enslaved for defending their home.
Angry that her mother was forgetting her place as the former queen of the Durotriges and making eyes at a man so far below her rank that it was obscene.
Had she ever felt this much fury?
Sorcha wrenched her dagger from the belt around her waist and marched around the fire to confront them.
She pointed the blade at Garamaros’s chest. “What is this man to you, Mother?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper. “Why are you fawning over him, following his lead so blindly? Are you sharing your favors with him while your children sleep?”
Lurcher, lying at Garamaros’s side, growled.
“Down!” his master commanded.
Alina pushed Sorcha’s hand aside and thrust herself in front of Garamaros as if to shield him. “Sorcha, are you touched by the sun? Garamaros is an old friend of mine. He has done nothing but help protect us!”
All Sorcha’s brothers had leapt to their feet and hurried to surround them as though ready to intercede should violence begin.
“Who is he to you, Mother, really?” She had been scathing of the inappropriate friendship between her mother and Garamaros for so long.
All of their recent hardships had put her on edge and her past disapproval now morphed into suspicion that their relationship was far more than that of friends.
Yes, it was true that Celtic women were permitted to openly have love affairs with great men outside of their marriages, but this man was not learned or a warrior hero; he was a craftsman—albeit a feted one, she grudgingly acknowledged.
Alina straightened to her full height and glared at Sorcha.
“Do you really want to know the answer to that question?” Her mother’s eyes blazed with an anger that Sorcha had never seen there before.
Her mother always remained calm, graceful, and measured in her words.
The change in her mother’s demeanor caught her off guard.