Hag of the Hills, page 29
‘Donn, take Vercerterx into your arms,’ Euchain said, and left with his bodyguard of spear-armed Torrinians.
We all stood in silence again for a while. The man had died defending me. I wondered if my men would have a funeral like this for me when I die. Did I deserve such? Verc died for me, so he must have thought I was worthy of him. The men must think I am worthy of them now, too. I thought it funny the things I thought about, for I thought about my father then, and wished he could have been there to witness this. Was it selfish of me? Yes, since I thought that I wanted my father to witness the funeral of a man who had died for his son, and to see the ritual performed by the men that call his son ‘lord’. I just thought only of Verc as the boat floated away across the ocean, and over the golden horizon. Westward, ever so west, drift westerly, and sleep.
I felt a hand on my back. I turned to see Tratonius.
‘I think it’s time to go,’ he said.
‘I know, I just wanted to see the boat go over the horizon.’
‘Right, but it’s time to go. We feast tonight.’
Tratonius turned to leave, stopped himself and then put a hand on my shoulder again.
‘You did well out there, especially for someone with such little experience. You saved me, Brenn, Vidav. Your father would have been proud.’
I had no words except thanks, for my thanks had been so profound that I had difficulty expressing it.
‘But you still need more training.’
‘Then train me,’ I said.
‘I will. First thing tomorrow.’
We all left, and as I did, I realized Chaser had not been with us. I thought perhaps he had been mourning at the beach, and I instead found him there snarling. He snarled toward nothing in the distance. I looked, and beyond my band, deep across the moors and near the mountains, four night-shaded giants carried the hut of the hag on their shoulders. They walked eastward. Badb crawled back up through my chest, and then my eyes were drawn to the mountains. The overcast sky had cleared and now I could see the grey-headed red hill of Slighan poking up over the horizon. Soaring wingbeats scoured the moors, and only I heard them, since the men walked away without noticing it.
‘Badb – Macha – Fea! Grim goddess, why am I tormented?’
‘Come back… come back to the Slighan Hill!’ a voice responded.
I dashed toward my men, and whistled for Chaser. He loped behind us. We headed for Dun Torrin.
CHAPTER XX
Skulls. Skulls on the ramparts, skulls on stakes, skulls on the stone walls, skulls in piles in front of the entrance to Dun Torrin. A raven had perched itself on one skull, and it bowed to peck at the eye socket, and after each peck, the skull thumped against the wooden rampart behind it. We drew near, but it kept pecking, indifferent to us.
‘Must be an omen,’ Marthelm said.
Dun Torrin sat at the edge of the sea, over the cliff where the waves crashed down. It was circled by high wooden ramparts over a stone foundation, and those walls protected a wide sward. A two-story roundhouse lay in the centre, painted red and blue. It was the hall of king Fenn Beg Corm. Dozens of tents were scattered around the sward, where now many busybodies hustled to and fro, nursing the injured. Warriors were gathered in clusters and many men stood ahorse near the sacred paddock, where a standing stone in the shape of a woman stood among the dozens of beloved horses of the Eponians. The horses grazed. Do they feel the battle-fury that we do? Do they shake for hours after? Do they recall the blood and gore and death and details? I don’t know, Luceo, but I think they do.
The walls were garnished in the skulls of the dead, and the wind beat hard on them and rattled the skulls. More ravens, crows, magpies and even seagulls pocked the skulls, sneaking in nibbles and waiting for nightfall so that they could feast undisturbed.
I walked donned in Camulus’ helmet. Some of the warriors, sat on benches and drinking water, turned their eyes to me. Most were too busy, but those that idled gazed at me. Myrnna walked at my side, her necklace of jet pearls clattering, her arm wrapped around mine, though she walked as if in a daze. My men walked behind us, as did Chaser, followed by the slave girls pulling the mules, our things hoarded upon them.
We approached king Fenn Beg Corm’s hall. The guards there demanded we disarm as per the custom of all kings’ halls, so we disarmed ourselves. With me, I took Myrnna and Chaser, then Marthelm, Tratonius, and Artaxes, my council now.
Inside, nine men lined the red wall of the roundhouse, all shirtless, Eponians with their black manes perfectly combed. Sunlight spilled in through the door behind me, and the men appeared as shades along the hall, silent, unarmed but prepared to restrain us if necessary.
At the other end, beyond the sizzling hearth, stood nine figures in white. I thought them to be Fenn Beg Corm’s wives, for I knew he had been banished from his homeland because of his polygamy, something forbidden for us all. As we neared them, they startled a bit, since some were twelve Samhains old and probably feared sweating, limping, bloody, smelly men that barged right into Fenn Beg Corm’s hall. The ears of two wolfhounds alerted to our presence, and one hound stood and snarled.
Fenn Beg Corm came from Alba, around the coast of the Cat People. Through marriage, he had claim over Dun Torrin, and when he claimed it, the Torrinians did not oppose him. He had arrived with his band of Eponians, and many young men from Skye and elsewhere in the Hebrides travelled to this fort to become an Eponian, though very few are ever accepted into the order. I never had the desire to be an Eponian, at least not one that serves such a rotten king. Each winter, he and his men go and raid the mainland, and often gifted our druids so few complained about him, but he taxed his people heavily and thus was unwanted by the farmers. His impious marriages earned the ire of the druids of our island, and we suspect he has his men steal our lambs and blame the thefts on wolves and eagles. Worst of all, he was a foreigner, and he had no business lording over even a petty kingdom on my island. Yet all of this was antebellum talk, for now, the war had solidified his rule because he remained, as far as I knew then, the last sovereign of the island. The Hillmen ruled all the rest, but Fenn Beg Corm resisted them successfully and earned the grace of Lady Andrasta, goddess of victory. And I knew this had been in part thanks to me, and my mad march down the strand.
The now-king of the Torrinians and Eponians of Dun Torrin was a wiry old man, saggy but sinewy. He had a long face and nose, bright blue eyes under black-grey hair, and wore a gold-embroidered cloak over a blue tunic, and red-blue check baggy trousers. He held a gneiss stone sceptre across his lap, and he drank from a silver cup, probably Greek wine. Most daunting of all, his skin was black, black from ink that stained all over him. He had spirals and leaves of oak, elm, and ash, and animals like wolves, boars, swans, and patterns of stars. He had been nearly covered in it, like fungus on a rotting tree trunk, and I reckoned it would take hours to count all the images inked all over his body. The gold contrasted harshly against the black; even his shoes were gold-trimmed.
‘King Fenn Beg Corm,’ I said. I removed my helmet and handed it to Myrnna since all must take what is on their head off indoors, and now king Beg Corm stood and approached me.
‘Who is this?’ he asked, and he had a gravelly, low voice.
‘I am Vidav, son of Biturix – I was the lord present on the beach.’
‘Biturix? I don’t like him,’ he said.
‘He died a while ago,’ I said, since I did not know what else to say.
‘He was arrogant,’ the king said, and came close to me. ‘And thought himself lucky.’ He smelled of ginger, for some reason, and he walked around me, eying me as if appraising me. ‘He often put himself into danger, and often he would come out of it unscathed. Therefore, he grew even more arrogant. He thought he was invincible. He lived for a good time, but I am sure he died foolishly. He had what the Greeks call hubris, and the Gods punish men for that. Their punishment may take long, perhaps years, perhaps the Gods will punish the man’s children – but punish they do.’
‘We owe our lives to the Eponians,’ I said, and I could nearly have felt Tratonius ready to snap on me for showing my weak position.
And you owe us the victory,’ Tratonius said.
Fenn Beg Corm halted, about-faced, and walked sunwise around Tratonius.
‘Owe you the victory?’ he said in a mumble. ‘It was pure luck. You should all be dead. No one should have survived that.’
‘But we have,’ Tratonius said. ‘Our assault distracted them, they sent a hundred men to deal with a handful, then we defeated them time and time again. We won the battle because of that, luck or not.’
‘It was foolish, and full of hubris, and the Gods will punish you,’ Fenn Beg Corm said. ‘I disavow your part, because I want none of that divine wrath you bring forth.’
‘You can’t do that,’ Tratonius said. ‘We won the battle, and the Hillmen heeled.’
‘I admit that,’ Fenn Beg Corm said. ‘But I didn’t like Biturix,’ he said, and walked widdershins around me. Then he glanced at Myrnna and eyed her.
‘The druid Ambicatos’ daughter? Have you brought her for my collection?’
I looked beyond the king and there stood his nine wives, from twelve to twenty in age, it seemed. What was remarkable to me was that each girl had different coloured hair. Strawberry blond, wheat blond, dark blond, light brown, black, red, copper, auburn, honey-blond – just no brunette.
‘A good omen,’ he said. ‘Ten wives are enough for one man. Is she married?’
‘No, king,’ I said.
‘I’ll tell you what then, Biturix’s son,’ he said, and walked sunwise around me now, ‘I will invite you and your men to the feast tonight, but after that, I want you out of Dun Torrin, and I’ll tell you what then, I want you off Skye. I don’t want you anywhere near me with your ill-luck, and the jinx that will come forth from your hubris.’
I baulked. I gulped and he halted and eyed me hard. He knew I had nothing to say now.
‘Just wait!’ Tratonius said. ‘You will feast for the victory, but you won’t accept how it was won?’
‘Yes, that is it,’ Fenn Beg Corm said and walked sunwise around Tratonius, and I noticed how hunched his back was when he walked. ‘The Goddess granted us victory, but I don’t want Biturix’s son here. He thinks he’s lucky.’
‘But king, I am sworn to fight the Hillmen! I want nothing more than to war against them. Let me fight with you. Skye is my homeland, and I will fight for my homeland. I will die for my homeland,’ I said, and my voice cracked.
‘I want you out of here,’ he said, and now I saw red. My fists balled, and I thought to end him right then and there and rid Skye of the first foreign usurper, one of many now.
But I did nothing. That was suicide. His men would kill me, or his son would kill me for blood-vengeance. And I could not commit suicide, not as long as I was oath sworn to protect Myrnna.
‘Unless you wed Myrnna to me,’ he said.
Myrnna gasped. She looked at me, but I did not look back.
‘She must agree to be wed,’ I said.
‘I don’t agree!’ Myrnna said.
‘Nonsense,’ Beg Corm said. The old king stood chest to chest with Myrnna, eying her up and down. He grabbed her by the shoulder and nudged her. She turned around, confused on why he demanded that, and his eyes averted downwards. He nodded.
I looked beyond him, the old kings’ wives all staring back at us. I imagined the king’s flabby, leathery body crushing one of those petite girls, her squirming under him as he drools on her pouty red lips, and her shudders from disgust as he wipes his cock off on her leg.
‘I will have this woman, she is fertile, with her wide hips, and will bear me an excellent son.’
‘I cannot wed her to you, Ambicatos forbade it, and I must respect his wishes.’
‘He’s dead,’ he said. ‘And so is Biturix. You live, Biturix’s son, but you will not live on Skye. I demand that you wed Myrnna to me, and then you may dwell here in Dun Torrin, and war against the Hillmen with us, since that is what you want. You will not do that for free, no. I will not have free lords roaming my island, damning our luck. That is folly for me. You will wed her to me, as my tenth and final wife.’
Myrnna and I locked eyes. Her eyes looked so dark in the dim light, and I wondered why the Hillmen wanted her. I wondered why they had sent an envoy to demand her, according to that young, now dead lad Sego, and why they refused to shoot us with arrows out of fear of hitting Myrnna, and would endanger themselves to slog with us in the melee. I wondered why she had such dark hair and eyes when both her parents had fair hair and eyes, and as I looked into her eyes, I saw them getting shiny, and the shinier they got the more her pink lips trembled and the more she stroked her own hair.
I said nothing for so long that Fenn Beg Corm walked around me again, counter-sunwise.
‘If you won’t wed her to me, then give me your oath.’
I looked back at Tratonius, Marthelm and Artaxes.
‘Biturix’s son cannot make his own decisions? He must have his elders decide for him?’ Fenn Beg Corm asked.
Tratonius raised his eyebrow at me. He meant to say something, but Marthelm placed a hand on his shoulder.
Two worlds pulled me, Luceo. I would either swear an oath to Fenn Beg Corm or I would flee Skye. Oaths are sacred to our people. You cannot break an oath, to do so would simply damn oneself. An oathbreaker is an untrustworthy man, and who is he, then? All man has on Taman is his word. Once he breaks it, misery follows, and his ancestors shun him in the next world. To swear an oath to Fenn Beg Corm meant that I was his man for life. I would still command these mercenaries since they were oath sworn to me, but I then must act under this foreign king, his life before mine, until he dies, or I.
On the other hand, I could leave Skye. I could leave and travel in my father’s footsteps. I could travel to Scythia and fight among them there and find gold and women and glory. I could visit my father’s grave, and then kill myself on it, for I had forsaken my people on Skye. I left Bodvoc’s skull exposed on the ground. Hillmen occupy my farmstead. Our men have been slaughtered, our women raped, our children sold into slavery. If, somehow, the clans of Skye ever retook this island, I would not share in the glory or the vengeance. I would be rootless, away from everything, off to wander and never find my way again.
To wed Myrnna to Fenn Beg Corm remained unacceptable.
‘Think about it if you must, but you have until tomorrow night. I will only give you refuge for tonight.’
Fenn Beg Corm headed back over to his throne, a wicker chair decked in the skulls of his enemies, three from each armrest. He sat down and mulled and waved us away.
Marthelm and Artaxes had been whispering, and Artaxes argued that we ought to demand more time, and a longer stay for partaking in the battle, but we all found it hopeless and left.
Sabella greeted us outside. ‘Domine!’ She shouted, and she ran over to me, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the lips. Her large, squishy breasts pressed against my sweaty chest, and I baulked a bit.
‘Shall you have a hero’s welcome tonight?’ she asked.
I brushed her aside, and Myrnna scowled at me. Her eyes were wet, though she seemed to hold back her tears.
‘Take care of the girl, we must go speak now,’ Tratonius said to Sabella.
‘What does pretty puella need?’ She asked, and crept over to Myrnna. She came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders, but Myrnna stiffened, mouth open. ‘Does the poor baby need some comfort?’ She asked, and slapped the plait away from Myrnna’s neck and kissed it. Myrnna squirmed.
We headed out of Dun Torrin to the coast. In the distance, Eponians patrolled the area. There was a great heap of wood off near the leeside of Dun Torrin, where men assembled a great man of wicker. Naked captured Hillmen, in the dozens, were hoarded in a nearby ditch, ropes wrapped around their wrists. Two smaller young dogs, black and white mutts, snipped and barked at a young, naked Hillman tied to a tree. Still, great throngs of warriors, stripped naked, shades in the silhouette of the setting sun, danced in a great clearance of the moors. They flipped and cartwheeled and rolled as pipers and lyre-strummers and drummers played wildly.
We stopped at a clearing, and I put my back to the Slighan Hill. I shuddered, and the men noticed me shudder, and they thought it had been due to this dilemma that Fenn Beg Corm had forced on me, yet it had not been that. Something had crept within me, a little voice, screeching inside. I nearly heard its words, but then they spoke.
‘Just marry the girl off, she’s a hassle for us anyway,’ Artaxes said.
‘He’s not going to do that, so don’t bother,’ Tratonius said.
‘No, let’s talk about it. What’s with the girl, Vidav? What do you know that we don’t?’
‘The Hillmen want her, and so did the giant, and they even sent an envoy for her father to hand her over. But her father is dead, and I don’t know where that giant is and I hope I do not see it again,’ I said.
‘She saved us. We all would have been dead if not for her. They would have just shot us, but they wouldn’t shoot us when she was with us. She’s important to someone important,’ Tratonius said.
‘Hubris. We had pure hubris today. That barbarian king is right. We were lucky. I think that the girl brings ill luck. We will be hounded for her as long as she is with us. It will be detrimental. Let us get rid of her by wedding her to that barbarian king, and then she can be his problem,’ Artaxes said.
‘He’s not going to do that,’ Tratonius said.
I grew tired of Tratonius speaking for me, so I spoke.
‘I swore an oath to Ambicatos, her father, that I would only wed her to someone she agreed to wed. She won’t wed Fenn Beg Corm, and that is it.’
