Hag of the Hills, page 28
Badb looked off due northeast and I knew that was toward the Slighan hill. I could feel Slighan’s shadow creeping over us. I could not let my men succumb to her.
‘The day belongs to Camulus!’ I shouted.
I broke off from the line, hopped over a dead horse and slashed at the back of a shining one. He whipped around before the hit could strike, and Vidav bit into his ribs. He groaned and I pulled Vidav out, and then stabbed at the other shining one, who blocked my attack. I slashed again but this time down into his groin. He cried and Antedios poked a lot now. He poked again, and again, and again, but he missed one blow and struck the rock wall behind an enemy, and his spearhead broke off his spear, so he drew a knife and poked that enemy to death. Tratonius dispatched another with a spear through the chest. Marthelm and his foe were entangled, their shields both blocking each other’s weapons. Marthelm winced hard when his foeman slashed him across the back, but Marthelm had reached behind his enemy, pulled out a knife from a sheath, and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until his enemy slumped limply against the escarpment.
We all looked around, eager to find more foemen, but we found none.
‘Hero of the day!’ Tratonius shouted at me. ‘Well, hero of the afternoon!’
I crept my hand down to my three bloody wounds. My thigh, my side, my hip. I felt little pain then, but the ecstasy of battle had numbed it, I knew that. I sheathed Vidav and leaned on Cattos, who helped me walk now toward the line of crestfallen riders. Beyond them came many men afoot, pulling wounded Eponian riders and their horses away from the battlefield.
But my men all stood. Battered and tired Tratonius. Resourceful and loyal Cattos. Eager and sidhe-seeing Antedios. Glorious and sentimental Artaxes. Heartful and wounded Orca. Formidable and precise Aldryd. Sturdy and wise Marthelm. Even cunning Cicarus had come back, and fought with us. Bloody-snouted Chaser. Myrnna, the poor thing, my oath sound and safe along with her. Sabella and Frowon too, the good nurses that they were. All of us stood in victory together, and Verc and Groaner had paid the toll for our glory.
‘Vidav?’ Antedios asked me as I limped along with the aid of Cattos. ‘What – what did I see on my spear?’
‘Badb, the battle-hag, man,’ I said.
‘Can you explain why?’
‘He’s injured, man,’ Cattos said. ‘Leave him alone.’
We limped along, the helmet of Camulus askew on my head, Badb crept away from my chest and I thought of nothing but sweet Dun Torrin ahead, clear in the blue day.
‘I’ll never forget your help,’ I said to Cattos.
‘What I did was nothing, Vidav. Verc died for you.’
I turned my head to peer down the strand, where the tide now covered nearly all traces of battle.
Verc’s body lied beyond the bend.
‘Get his body before the ocean does – Aldryd, Artaxes, Antedios.’
‘Groaner!’ Orca said. ‘We have to get Groaner, that brave little shit!’
‘And we are to collect the mules before someone else does. And we must go back for our things,’ Tratonius said.
‘And then we feast in Vercerterx’s honour,’ Marthelm said.
‘Your back, oh, your back!’ Sabella ran over to him. Marthelm leaned back to show her. He had a deep, long gash. His face was pale and he heaved, and slurped his words.
‘It’s nothing, I am German,’ he said. ‘The other guy has a worse back.’
‘And Domine!’ she cried, and ran over to me. ‘Domine! You’re
wounded, too!’
‘It’s nothing, I am a Celt,’ I said, and wondered if the Germans called us Celt or Gauls.
‘It wasn’t nothing,’ another voice said. I looked ahead of us. An older Eponian rider spoke to me. He had streaks of grey in his black beard. His body, like boiled leather, was sunburned and bloody. He had yellow, brown and green plaid trousers, a red cloak bordered with green herringbone fabric, and his horse was handsome and calm. He still held his blackened iron sword in hand.
‘Galadrest, senior of the Eponian riders, first commander of king Fenn Beg Corm and servant of the goddess Epona,’ he introduced himself. ‘We lost many good men and good horses. More will die later. We intervened on your behalf.’
‘Why didn’t you help us in that last fight? Why did you just stand there and gawk?’ Tratonius asked.
‘They were not Hillmen,’ Galadrest said. ‘They were what you foreigners would call Celts, and they deserved a Celtic fight. And besides, what were you doing on the beach?
‘Winning your war,’ Tratonius said.
‘This could have been worse,’ Galadrest said. ‘We won the battle thanks to the intervention of our king.’
‘You didn’t have to save us,’ Tratonius said. ‘Why did you?’
‘This man there asked us to,’ he motioned to Cicarus. ‘We could not in good faith watch you get slaughtered, but you will have to compensate us.’
‘And what will that compensation be?’ Tratonius asked.
Galadrest’s horse snorted as he raised the reins of the horse away from us. ‘The king will decide that.’
‘Then tell your king,’ I began to say, but Galadrest interrupted me.
‘And just who is the lord here? I see a man in a torc, but he has yet to speak until now.’
‘Who am I?’ I asked as Galadrest glared down at me.
‘Tell him I said that I am the one who outsmarted the Hillmen, I am the leader of the mad march, the giant-bane, the slayer of the morgen, the druid’s lost sanity, the one who dons the dead man’s clothes, the wielder of the bronze sword, the friend of the seal shifter, the protector of Myrnna, the Leandros of the Leandres, the lion-descended, the brothers of battle-slain Bodvoc and Fennigus, the son of Biturix the great smith, the hag’s fool, the cunning, the trickster, the avenger, the battle-hag enthralled, the singer of Lugus Longarm, the champion of men and hounds, the sidhe-ready, the enemy of Slighan, the oath bearer – the Celtic lord Vidav of the sellswords!’
I fainted, and collapsed into the ocean.
They carried me to dry ground. I remember the standing stone there on the beach in the boggy ground, we passed by it and I tipped my helmet to it, in my dizziness. Folks said the stone sang tales of old to those that could hear, and that perhaps it would sing the tale of the mad march down the beach, where many men had died and their bodies were carried out to sea like splintered wood from a battered boat.
Sabella beckoned Myrnna over, and they stitched me up with bronze needles and spiderweb. I hardly remember the stitching, because beyond the girls, twenty-seven naked Hillmen sat on their knees at the edge of the cliff, facing seaward. Behind them, one of Fenn Beg Corm’s Eponians for each Hillman, holding swords in one hand, and the black hair of the Hillmen in the other. Fenn Beg Corm himself stood upon his gilded chariot, his white horses nervous, two wolfhounds at his side, and he shouted.
‘Camulus!’
Twenty-seven headless Hillmen fell into the sea. Fenn Beg Corm’s twenty-seven came back with dangling Hillmen heads. Cheering erupted and the throngs of Fenn Beg Corm’s army began battering their shields with their weapons. The Eponian Riders all spurred their horses into a canter, and they trotted around the gruesome display. Cries of ‘Camulus’ and ‘Morrigan’ and ‘Epona’ ripped through the air. Beyond them lay the grey ocean, littered with floating corpses.
Myrnna turned away and vomited again.
They stitched up Marthelm next, who sat next to me.
‘Your first battle wounds?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘May you have worse next time!’ he said, and he laughed. I only heard him laugh that one time.
Off in the distance, in the shadow of Cuillins and through a gentle glen, Aldryd, Artaxes and Antedios started back toward us. I looked back at Dun Torrin, its coastline rampart so inviting. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of the thatched roofs of the houses that stood within its ramparts. Women and children poured from it toward the army that stood between us and the fort, and there a discord of joy erupted. Some of them bore flowers and sprinkled them all over the sweating, bloody warriors. Others began recovering the corpses of the Eponians.
All the while Fenn Beg Corm’s men piled the things of the Hillmen into a heap. They tossed first a few wooden hauberks and their bone pins, leather straps, and antler toggles. Next came horn and wood and antler handles of flint knives. They chucked woollen cloaks and leather boots and belts. The beach glittered in stone as the king’s men piled flint and bloodstone and jasper and chert and quartz weapons of grey, black, green, red, white, blue-red up on the growing mound. Next, they took eagle feathers from headdresses, wool and leather shoes, wooden shields, and even the iron swords of the shining ones, and heaped them on, too. Then came a flutter of things, the king’s men threw tunics and furs and hides of white and green and gold and brown onto the pile. They dropped gold earrings, gold rings, gold bracelets, and gold armrings which cascaded down the pile like streams from a mountain. Women smashed pots into sherds. The children came back from the strand with wooden mallets, stone maces, stone axes, stone knives, stone spears, stone-dead Hillmen limbs. They piled it all up until it resembled a mound of stony wooden golden flesh, and then they all surrounded it. Piece by piece, they chucked everything into the ocean. The mound grew smaller until nothing was left but flakes of stone and scraps of leather and this too, they collected by scraping it off the trodden ground with their hands and tossing it in. The ocean drank everything. Now the men over at the edge of the escarpment shouted ‘Nodens’, the god of the sea, since we had bloodied his domain throughout the afternoon.
Cattos helped me up and walk until I shooed him away. I shambled toward Myrnna, who looked at me with her big wet eyes. I grabbed her sweaty hand with my dirty, bloody, trembling hand. I lifted her into my arms, her arms wrapped around my torc-wrapped neck, my helmet went askew, and we looked onward toward Dun Torrin. Now the throngs that stood in our way washed away into Nodens, and joyous merrymakers danced in the blood-soaked sand and on the escarpment as the battle of the day had been won.
Aldryd, Artaxes and Antedios returned with Verc on his shield, and Groaner at his side. They laid his protective bier down, and pulled Verc’s plaid yellow-green cloak over them both as a pall.
I set Myrnna down. I limped over toward the dead man and dog, and fell upon my knees. I could not believe this man, this warrior, this friend, had died for me. My men crowded around us, silent. Chaser sniffed around the dead, and slumped next to their bodies. Sabella let out a sob, whether from sadness or out of obligation, I did not know.
‘That was a good death,’ Marthelm said, as he stood behind me. ‘He sacrificed himself for you, now sacrifice for him.’
‘Verc, I will not enter Dun Torrin until you have been sent off to your ancestors,’ I said.
CHAPTER XIX
We had retrieved mules and dug up our treasure, though we left a portion in the cave for the sidhe that dwelled there. What we left, and where it is now, I could never tell anyone, Luceo.
We piled many things into that little boat. We piled Verc’s three javelins, five pots of grains and herbs, a bucket of butter, a Roman amphora full of wine, some leather skins of mead, some sea eagle feathers, a carpet, the last steak of venison, a conch shell, and quartz stones. Each of these had a purpose, which I will not speak of. It is between us and the gods, and not for the ears of so-called civilized folk.
The slaves had cleaned Verc’s body, combed his hair and moustache, and righted his equipment on him. He lay on his shield, with his shoes on the wrong feet, and covered in his cloak. We placed his hunting spear at his side, and his sword in his hand, and I put his thumb on the flat of his blade as he fought with it. Groaner, brushed and cleaned, was placed at his feet, curled up in the way dogs sleep. They laid there in the boat, in the gentle breeze, as it drizzled on us. We would send him off now, due west, toward the setting sun, to his final journey. The sea is where we go when we die.
We all stood in our war gear, now cleaned and shined. We had eaten all of the boar and venison until our stomachs hurt, drunk ourselves dizzy, and poured ale into the sand and in the ocean around the floating coffin. Standing in silence, we held our spears aloft, the eight of us with our heads and blades skyward.
Sabella began to sob, and soon so did Frowon, and they delved into a keen. They keened louder and stronger until Chaser joined in and howled along with them. The rest of us stood there, silent, until the waves ebbed against the boat nine times.
Euchain, a local druid, had been requested to help us send Verc off. He came with an entourage of spear-armed men. In his white gilded robe and gnarled, mistletoe-wrapped staff, he lit three braziers. There was a carnyx on a red blanket at his feet.
‘Donn, Donn, Donn,’ he chanted the name of the god of the dead.
He sprinkled milk around the braziers as the smoke thickened around us. The keen lowered.
‘For the spirits of our ancestors.’
The wind caught the smoke and it rose around us. He walked down the avenue we warriors had created, and rested a hand on Verc’s leg. ‘Warrior’s end. Verc sleeps now, a dog at his feet. He journeys now to the Otherworld, where his ancestors await him.’
Euchain handed Tratonius a cup of wine and then distributed seven more for each of us.
First Tratonius poured his in the ocean. ‘For my brother-in-arms, drink. I was wrong to doubt you. Sleep well.’
Next came Cattos. ‘You were so proud of me when I killed my first man. It was as if my father was proud. I hope I will always make you proud.’ He poured it, and sobbed. ‘I will miss you so much, Verc.’
Antedios approached. ‘What a warrior – and what a dog. I will think of both of you daily.’ He poured it, and I spied a tear running down his face.
Next Artaxes came. ‘Congratulations, old friend. You’ve made a Greek jealous of your valour.’ He poured half his cup into the ocean, and then drank the rest. ‘And for Dionysus.’
Now came Cicarus. ‘Half a cup for the dog, half a cup for the man, both brave and valiant!’ He poured his.
Now came Aldryd. ‘Well, you caused us to waste some good wine. If I ever get to the Otherworld, you owe me!’ He took a sip and poured the rest.
Then came Marthelm. ‘Rarely do I awe at a mortal man, but today I am humbled by your fearlessness. I hope to face my death half as manly as you have. Wherever you are, drink with us, and toss a bone to the dog.’ He swirled the cup and poured it.
Finally came Orca, haughty and laughing. He had the cup of wine in the crook of his arm, and he had his hair in a tight plait and brandished a dagger in the other.
‘For my best friend!’ he said and chopped off the plait and tossed it into the boat. His face was wet, and he turned to me. ‘I’m not crying for the man. I would never cry for a man. But I’m crying for the dog.’ He turned from me and poured his libation.
I then spoke. ‘Here lies Vercerterx, a warrior from the Boii that died in the heat of battle defending his lord from a storm of arrows. He inspires us to be brave and manly ourselves because bravery, strength and manliness are what keep the sky from collapsing and the ground from crumbling. Verc held the sky and ground for me. Now too lies Groaner, a dog who died defending Myrnna from her kidnappers. We hope to someday drink with Verc again, and pet Groaner again in the Otherworld. Until then, we drink to their shades.’
Euchain pressed on the stern, and the hull scraped through the shelly sand and sent the boat adrift. ‘The gods love the brave. They will find Verc worthy of them. Now, lads,’ he said to us, ‘in what manner has his heart been tried? Show us!’
The druid lifted the carynx at his feet and blew into it, it hooted, and then Artaxes played his flute while seated on a rock. A flurry of iron cut through the smoke. It startled me, and I reached for Vidav until I had seen who were fighting. Cattos and Antedios went blow for blow with swords, their shields forward. They both leaned forward, sword-hand at-waist, palms skyward, blade foe-ward, in the style of Verc. They danced their blades against one another, war-dancing away, parrying, blocking. They startled Chaser up from his bereavement with a flurry of blows, blocks and parries, the sound of wood on iron and iron on iron and wood on wood was so tumultuous that it sent seagulls shrieking up into the air. All the while the smoke wrapped around them, making them appear as shades as they slowed their pace. They both held their swords out, and their blades touched blade to blade. Artaxes increased his tempo when Cattos snapped forward, and when Antedios swung his sword to meet Cattos’, Cattos slammed his shield into Antedios’ hand and struck at his shoulder. Antedios blocked and then they were both chest to chest, and both slashed at each other’s backs. Cattos had been hit first and choked a yelp, fell backwards, and rose to his feet. I could see a welt across Cattos’ back, and Artaxes ceased playing.
Antedios stood slack-jawed, Cattos turned around, and Antedios cried and shoved his sword in the air and danced around. Then he drew his hand across Cattos’ back and smeared the blood across his face. ‘That was for Verc!’
‘Hail Camulus!’ Euchain cried. The men all shouted and cheered and clapped. I heard the names of the gods Ares, Camulus, and Tiwaz, and wondered if they all were the same god, or brothers or cousins, or friends, or even rivals.
‘A Roman hug, so that’s how it ends. Verc would be embarrassed, he taught them hard to avoid that,’ Tratonius said with a laugh.
‘Leave it to those idiots to do something so unskilled,’ Aldryd said. ‘But one’s bleeding all right.’
I turned to watch the boat drifting off to sea. I could hardly see anything through the smoke except the silhouette of the boat passing on through the gold water of the setting sun. Chaser laid at my feet and I pet him.
