Calgaich the Swordsman (10 page)

Calgaich strode up the inland slope of a steep-sided promontory that protruded out into the sea. The sun was shining on the firth, or great estuary, which thrust itself deep into the land. He stopped on the height of land and looked out over the firth. There was a faraway look of mingled wonder and longing on his face.

The rushing, whirring sound was combined with the musical calling and honking of thousands of wild gray geese who were rising into the clear air with powerful beatings of their strong wings to evade the incoming tide, which was driving them from their feeding grounds on the wide expanse of salty mud flats. The geese rose and fell on the strong sea wind, arranging themselves into V-shaped formations only to break them off and to settle again on the vast, shining expanse of pool-dotted mud and sand. Others of the great birds would rise from the flats to join the wheeling masses above them while crying out and calling to each other. Slowly, skeins of the geese shaped themselves together and began to swing in over the land, rising and falling in their flight toward the north, calling back and forth to each other as though encouraging their mates for the long and tiring flight to their northern nesting places.

Calgaich leaned on his great war spear. His face was uplifted and had an expression of remoteness on it as he stood there spellbound by the vast migration that was taking place. “It is surely spring,” he murmured to himself. He seemed to have completely forgotten the tired young woman who sat on the turf beside him.

At last the final formation of geese swung in low over the heads of Calgaich and Cairenn and flew toward the north to follow the far-distant leading formations, which now looked like tiny scraps of charred wood whirled upward from some great bonfire. In a little while the last formation, too, had passed on into the northern infinity. The sound of the wind and the booming of the surf replaced the noisy confusion of the departed geese. The tide was now moving in swiftly to cover the wide expanse of mud flats.

Calgaich led the way to the east, keeping on the lower ground to avoid the skyline. The shoreline dipped and curved to their right. Several times Calgaich motioned to Cairenn, and she would instantly drop flat on the ground. Calgaich would then belly worm his way up to a crest to scan the surrounding area. Once he called to her and she crawled up beside him. A small fishing craft, dwarfed by the distance, was making its way out into the estuary now that the tide had completed its strong course onto the flats.

Calgaich pointed toward the east to where the land closed in on either side to form the great valley the river had gouged out in the thousands of years it had flowed toward the sea. Calgaich pointed toward the southeast. Something flashed along the shoreline. A moment later there was another flash farther to the west. The flashing was repeated* until it was lost around the curving of the coastline to the south.

Calgaich rested his chin on his crossed arms. "The Roman wall extends from the northern sea across the land for eighty miles. It ends over there, around the curve of the coastline, although it’s not truly a wall once it passes Luguvalium, a large
rath
they have built south and east of where we are now. From there along the south coast of the firth, there are small forts every Roman mile or so, with signal towers in between them. They cover the river mouth where it can easily be forded, and beyond where small boats can cross the firth. The small forts extend about thirty miles along the coast to watch the wider parts of the firth.”

"Against whom?” she asked.

He looked sideways at her and grinned. "To keep out the barbarian Novantae along the firth and the wild Scotti raiders from Eriu who attack the coast to the south.”

"Such as those who raided my father’s
rath?"
she said softly, looking away from him.

He nodded and pointed toward the great curving of the coast. "Your country is far south of there.”

The flashing began again and traveled from the right to the left this time. "They are signaling along the line of fortlets and towers,” Calgaich explained. "They have seen someone.”

"Us?” she asked in surprise, lowering her head to her arms. The ground was rough and cold beneath her.

He shook his head. "Hardly. Their eyes aren’t
that
good, even for the mighty Romans. They’ve likely just seen that fishing craft making its way to sea. They’ll watch it until they’re sure it isn’t going to land on their side of the firth. As if any Novantae in his right mind would try something like that in broad daylight.” Calgaich rolled over onto his back and shielded his eyes against the sun with a forearm. "Times past we used to cross the firth at night and get in between their forts and signal towers to raid inland. Sometimes we would get several days’ march to the southeast and behind the wall itself.” He grinned. "Once we got deep enough into Roman territory to arouse the Twentieth Legion garrisoned at Camulodunum, well over a hundred miles to the south. It’s really something big when they call out a legion to handle it. By the time the Twentieth Valeria Victrix arrived at where we had been raiding, we were already gone like the mist on the moor when the morning sun strikes it. We left a trail of burning villas for miles behind us.”

"Don’t they man the wall with legions to keep you wild Caledonians out of Britannia?”

Calgaich shook his head. "The wall wasn’t intended purely as a defensive measure. No wall could keep
us
in our own country. It is garrisoned by auxiliaries—Asturians, Thracians, Gauls, Belgae, Dacians, Helvetians and Numidians, as well as others from all parts of the empire, who serve the damned Romans. Three legions of Roman soldiers are stationed permanently in Britannia—the Sixth Victrix, the Second Augusta and the Twentieth Valeria Victrix. They are only called up when the frontier boils over too much. As I said, it’s unusual when a legion is called out to repel a raid.”

She looked at him curiously as he lay so close to her on the hard ground. “You seem to know a lot about the Roman military situation in Britannia.”

He looked at her quickly. “They are the enemy! To know one's enemy is to be forewarned!” He stood up and lifted his pack. “Come! We have a long way to go before we reach Guidd's steading.”

She stood up and slung her pack over a shoulder. “Calgaich,” she said.

He turned. “What is it?”

“You didn't mention that Britons themselves served along the Great Wall.”

“They don't. British auxiliaries are like most Roman auxiliaries, they don't serve in their own country. The Romans are too clever to allow anything like that. One British auxiliary serves in the Teuton country east of Gaul.” Calgaich's voice died away and the faraway look came in his eyes. He looked at her suddenly. “Why did you ask me that?” he asked her sharply.

“I was just curious, that's all.”

Calgaich strode on. “There
are
Britons serving in Britannia, but they pride themselves on being Romans.”

“What do you mean?” she persisted.

He looked back at her. “Most of the only true Romans in the three legions of, Britannia are the legates, tribunes and many of the centurions. The common legionnaires are mostly descendants of the early Roman legionnaires who served in Britannia hundreds of years ago and married the British women whom they had conquered. Their sons, in turn, joined the legions and themselves married British women, or the daughters of other legionnaires, until the strain of blood in the legionnaires of today is almost pure British. But they call themselves
Romans
and are proud of it!”

“And the leaders of these legions? They are Romans?”

He nodded. “For the most part. Some of them are descendants of Romans who served in Spain, North Africa and other places, but they are still
Romans”
He spat out the word “Roman” as though he had a mouthful of bad meat or fish.

“Is it possible then, that these British Romans
like
being under Roman rule?” she asked.

“They know nothing else. They are too many years away from the old free days of their ancestors. Not even the dimmest memories of those days remain with them, or their fathers and grandfathers. The children are raised either in the
vici,
the settlements behind the forts of the Great Wall, or in the
coloniae
farther south, near the legion garrison towns. The
vici
and the
coloniae
are inhabited for the most part by retired legionnaires and auxiliaries with their wives and families. The children are raised to eat Roman food, speak the Roman language, wear their mode of clothing and to follow their religion and customs. They know nothing else.

“The boys, most of them, are sons of legionnaires or auxiliaries and are expected to enlist themselves when of age. They know they can’t become Roman citizens until they have served their time. To be a Roman citizen is considered the greatest of honors for Britons or any other slave peoples. When they retire, they return to the
coloniae
, or the
vici
, marry British girls, who are themselves the daughters of retirees, raise their families, and start the process all over again. This has been going on for three hundred and fifty years.”

“No wonder they can’t think otherwise. Even as you, Calgaich, can’t think any other way than the way you were raised.”

He looked around at her quickly. “Do you find anything wrong with that, woman?” he snapped.

“There must be more to life than raiding and fighting,” Cairenn said defiantly.

He stopped walking and stared at her as though she were not in her right mind. “There is hunting, woman!”

“I meant much more than that, Calgaich.” She, too, stopped walking and met his gaze.

A disquieting feeling possessed him. “Where do you really come from?” he asked.

“From the country of the Ordovices. You know that.” She straightened her tired shoulders, proud of her heritage.

He narrowed his eyes as he studied her face. He looked into her eyes as though he were trying to penetrate a screen or veil she might have put up to conceal her true self. A man could lose much looking into those eyes, perhaps even his soul. Calgaich turned quickly and strode off toward the forest.

They turned inland and found a secluded glade where they rested and slept until the sun began to slant to the west over distant Hibernia. When they arose, Calgaich led the way through the gathering shadows of the late afternoon. A high, precipitous ridge loomed above them. Calgaich climbed it with an eagerness that belied their long days of hard marching.

Calgaich stood in the shelter of the trees, leaning on his spear, looking down into the wide river valley that lay far below the ridge crest. Cairenn struggled up beside him and dropped her pack.

Calgaich pointed with his spear. "Rioghaine, the King's Place, the largest
rath
of the Novantae, which stands on the shores of the great sea loch. It is my home.” There was a warmth and pride in his voice that Cairenn had not heard before. She watched him silently as he stared out over the valley. He was almost home.

Thin skeins of smoke from many cooking fires arose from the sprawling
rath
across the wide river. The many wattle-and-daub huts of the settlement looked like varicolored toadstools, for while the fresh heather thatch of some of the huts was the color of honey, other huts were capped with older thatch, dirty with age and smoke. A bluish haze of smoke hung over die
rath
and drifted toward a low hill, upon which were two great earth and timber ramparts that followed the slight contours of the hill and looked like two huge snakes, one coiled within the other. Within the irregular oval of the inner rampart were many huts crowded together. The westward-slanting sun reflected brightly from the spear blades of warriors who stood guard along the inner rampart.

The frothing water of the shallow river flowed swiftly over glistening black stones in its course to the bay opening from the great firth to die south. To the left, screened by a thick fringe of trees, was a wide and long loch surrounded at a distance by high hills that hung over the valley and dark waters like brooding giants with shaggy crests of conifers and thick bracken.

A huge and ungainly structure stood on a naked outcropping of rock just to the south of the
dun,
the ramparted hill fortress. The central part of the structure was not unlike the drystone tower in which Calgaich and Cairenn had found shelter their second night ashore. This tower, however, was many times larger and in excellent repair. Extensions had been built out from it on two sides and one of the extensions stood right on the edge of a precipice overlooking the river. Smoke rose from the central tower.

Calgaich pointed at the gaunt tower* “The Dun of Evicatos, who was my father's father."

“Whose spear and sword you carry."

He nodded. “They were made in an outbuilding of the
dun
. What do you think of Rioghaine, the King's Place?"

“It is beautiful, Calgaich."

“There was much fighting here in the old days. The Selgovae once claimed this place as their own. The Novantae came by sea from somewhere to the southwest. There were great battles fought here. The river ran red with blood. The smoke of burning huts rose high in the sky." His voice began its singsong chant. He held out his spear and shook it. “In time the Novantae drove the Selgovae to the east. It was not until the time of the Romans that the Novantae and the Selgovae became allies against the Red Crests. The Romans defeated the Selgovae, but never the Novantae! That was long ago, long ago." His voice died away.

The wind shifted and murmured through the trees. It moaned faintly through the river valley. Cairenn shivered a little.

“The Selgovae are our allies again," Calgaich continued. “They've fought beside us many times against the Romans. They are great warriors. My own mother, the gods bless her, and keep her well, was the daughter of a union between a chief's daughter of the Selgovae and a Roman legate." It was as though he were talking to himself. His hands tightened on his spear shaft until the knuckles stood out whitely.

Cairenn looked quickly into his set face. She had thought he was of pure Celtish blood, such as the Selgovae and the Novantae, but for him to be of one-quarter Roman blood—and still have his intense hatred of Romans—was indeed strange.