Read Online Dreaming the Eagle by Manda Scott - Free Book Online Page B

Brigantes who worship only Briga, green for the Cornovii who follow the horned one, grey for the warriors and dreamers of Mona, those individuals selected from all the tribes to study on the sacred island. Only the gorseflower yellow of the Trinovantes was missing, for it was Mandubracios, a prince of that tribe, who had betrayed the hero and his allies to the enemy.
    This was close to home and had the spice of near danger; the Trinovantes held the territory immediately to the south of the Eceni homelands and the truce between the two peoples had never been easy. In the dark, Mandubracios of the Trinovantes grew before them: a venal man who coveted land and power not given him by the gods. He was a poor warrior and lacked courage but made up for it in cunning. When it was clear that he could not defeat Cassivellaunos by force of arms, he travelled to Gaul and petitioned aid from the greatest enemy of all, Julius Caesar, asking for the legions’ help in defeating his enemy.
    Twice, Caesar’s legions invaded. The battle in the first year was the stuff of heroes but that in the second year was by far the greater. The armies met on opposing banks of the river that led to the sea and it was as if the gods themselves were fighting. The battle raged from dawn until long into the afternoon and the water of the river ran thick with the blood of both sides. Warriors died in their thousands, defending land that was not their own.
    Towards evening, seeing they could not prevail, Cassivellaunos led the survivors along secret paths to his stronghold. The place was in marshland, hidden on all sides by forest, and thought safe. It gave sanctuary to the wearied warriors, allowed time to eat and rest and bind their wounds, time for the smiths to forge more spearheads and beat out new blades, time for the dreamers to reach the gods and ask for aid.
    But the stronghold was not safe. Mandubracios knew of it and he brought the enemy with him, whispering in his ear his knowledge of Cassivellaunos’ only weakness. The great warrior had a war hound named Belin for the sun god and he loved it as he loved his children. In secret, men of the Trinovantes stole the hound away, luring it with fresh meat and sweet voices. It came willingly, for it was not a hateful hound unless set at the enemy in war. And so on the morning of the third day, a horn sounded from the marshland beyond the stronghold. Cassivellaunos looked from the ramparts and saw the enemy ranged about him. He lifted his spear and would have given the order to open the gates to attack, but then he saw his favourite hound crucified in front of the enemy ranks with its muzzle bound shut that it might not howl and warn its master. The dog died as Cassivellaunos watched and its head was taken off and mounted on a spear and brought forward with the demand for unconditional surrender. It was then that the great warrior’s heart was broken. If the enemy could do that to a hound, which was sacred, what would he do to the people? He consulted with his dreamers and walked out of the gates of his fort and laid his great blade which had taken many lives at the feet of the enemy, spitting on him as he did so.
    Gunovic stopped there. It was time. Breaca was not the only one weeping. All around her men and women choked and wiped their faces. At Macha’s side, Ban was sobbing inconsolably. He clutched a struggling Hail to his chest and called down ghastly, graphic curses on the enemy, on all who came from Gaul, on the house of the traitor Mandubracios who wore a gorse-yellow cloak. Macha wrapped him in her own cloak and rocked him like an infant, promising him that the story came better and that the great dreamer Onomaris, whose dream was the kittiwake, had spoken with Manannan, god of the sea, calling up a storm to wreck the Roman warships so that Cassivellaunos’ life was spared and Caesar’s legions departed, never to return again. As was always the case, the dreamers won the battle if the warriors