Read Online Stonehenge by Bernard Cornwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bernard Cornwell
Ads: Link
Sannas.
At the dawn of the day on which the tribe was to walk north, Saban’s father brought him a deerskin tunic, a necklace of boar’s teeth and a wooden-handled, flint-bladed knife to wear in the belt. “You are my son,” Hengall told him, “my only son. So you must look like a chief’s son. Tie your hair back. Stand straight!” He nodded curtly to Saban’s mother, his third wife, whom he had long since ceased to summon to his hut, then went to examine the white sacrificial heifer that would be goaded to Cathallo.
Even Camaban went to Cathallo. Hengall had not wanted him to go, but Gilan insisted Sannas wanted to see Camaban for herself. So Galeth had fetched the crippled boy from his lair in the Old Temple, and now Camaban limped a few paces behind Saban, Galeth and Galeth’s pregnant woman, Lidda. They walked north along the hills above the river valley and it took a whole morning to reach the edge of that high land which meant they were now halfway to Cathallo. For most of the people who stood on the crest and gazed at the woods and marshes ahead, that was the greatest distance they had ever walked from home.
Their path now dropped steeply into thick woods dotted with small fields. This was Maden’s land, a place of rich soil, tall trees and wide bogs.
The men of Hengall’s tribe moved close to their women as they entered the trees and small boys were given bundles of straw boundtight to sticks, and the straw was set alight from smoldering coals carried in perforated clay pots. The boys then raced up and down the path, waving their smoky clubs and shrieking to drive away the malevolent spirits who might otherwise come and impregnate the women. The priests chanted, the women clutched talismans, and the men beat their spear staves against the tree trunks. Even more chants were needed to propitiate the spirits as the tribe crossed a tangle of small streams close to Maden.
Hengall walked at the head of his tribe, but he waited on the bank of one of the bigger streams for Saban to catch up. “We must talk,” he told his son, then glanced at Camaban who limped just a few steps behind. The boy had found another rotting sheep’s pelt to replace his old tunic, and carried a crude leather bag in which his few belongings, his bones and snakeskin and charms, were stored. He stank, and his hair was once again tangled and dirty. He looked up at his father, gave a shudder, then spat onto the path.
Hengall turned disgustedly away and paced ahead with Saban. After a while he asked Saban if he had noticed how plump Maden’s wheat looked? It seemed the storm had spared those fields, Hengall said enviously, then commented that there had been some fine fat pigs in the woods by the river. Pigs and wheat, he said, were all folk needed for life, and for that he thanked the gods. “Maybe only pigs,” he mused, “maybe that’s all we need to eat. Pigs and fish. The wheat’s just a nuisance. It won’t seed itself, that’s the trouble.” Hengall was carrying a leather bag that clinked as he walked and Saban guessed it contained some of the tribe’s treasures. The people far ahead had started singing and the song grew louder as folk caught up the tune. It passed to the walkers behind, but neither Hengall nor Saban joined in. “In a few years,” Hengall said abruptly, “you’ll be old enough to become chief.”
“If the priests and the people agree,” Saban said cautiously.
“The priests just need bribes,” Hengall said, “and the people do as they’re told.” A pigeon clattered through the leaves and Hengall looked up to see in what direction the bird flew, hoping that it would be a good omen. It was, for the bird made toward the sun.
“Sannas will want to see you,” Hengall said ominously. “Kneel to her and bow your head. I know she’s a woman, but treat her like a chief.” He frowned. “She’s a hard woman, hard and cruel,but she has powers. The gods love her, or else they fear her.” He shook
At the dawn of the day on which the tribe was to walk north, Saban’s father brought him a deerskin tunic, a necklace of boar’s teeth and a wooden-handled, flint-bladed knife to wear in the belt. “You are my son,” Hengall told him, “my only son. So you must look like a chief’s son. Tie your hair back. Stand straight!” He nodded curtly to Saban’s mother, his third wife, whom he had long since ceased to summon to his hut, then went to examine the white sacrificial heifer that would be goaded to Cathallo.
Even Camaban went to Cathallo. Hengall had not wanted him to go, but Gilan insisted Sannas wanted to see Camaban for herself. So Galeth had fetched the crippled boy from his lair in the Old Temple, and now Camaban limped a few paces behind Saban, Galeth and Galeth’s pregnant woman, Lidda. They walked north along the hills above the river valley and it took a whole morning to reach the edge of that high land which meant they were now halfway to Cathallo. For most of the people who stood on the crest and gazed at the woods and marshes ahead, that was the greatest distance they had ever walked from home.
Their path now dropped steeply into thick woods dotted with small fields. This was Maden’s land, a place of rich soil, tall trees and wide bogs.
The men of Hengall’s tribe moved close to their women as they entered the trees and small boys were given bundles of straw boundtight to sticks, and the straw was set alight from smoldering coals carried in perforated clay pots. The boys then raced up and down the path, waving their smoky clubs and shrieking to drive away the malevolent spirits who might otherwise come and impregnate the women. The priests chanted, the women clutched talismans, and the men beat their spear staves against the tree trunks. Even more chants were needed to propitiate the spirits as the tribe crossed a tangle of small streams close to Maden.
Hengall walked at the head of his tribe, but he waited on the bank of one of the bigger streams for Saban to catch up. “We must talk,” he told his son, then glanced at Camaban who limped just a few steps behind. The boy had found another rotting sheep’s pelt to replace his old tunic, and carried a crude leather bag in which his few belongings, his bones and snakeskin and charms, were stored. He stank, and his hair was once again tangled and dirty. He looked up at his father, gave a shudder, then spat onto the path.
Hengall turned disgustedly away and paced ahead with Saban. After a while he asked Saban if he had noticed how plump Maden’s wheat looked? It seemed the storm had spared those fields, Hengall said enviously, then commented that there had been some fine fat pigs in the woods by the river. Pigs and wheat, he said, were all folk needed for life, and for that he thanked the gods. “Maybe only pigs,” he mused, “maybe that’s all we need to eat. Pigs and fish. The wheat’s just a nuisance. It won’t seed itself, that’s the trouble.” Hengall was carrying a leather bag that clinked as he walked and Saban guessed it contained some of the tribe’s treasures. The people far ahead had started singing and the song grew louder as folk caught up the tune. It passed to the walkers behind, but neither Hengall nor Saban joined in. “In a few years,” Hengall said abruptly, “you’ll be old enough to become chief.”
“If the priests and the people agree,” Saban said cautiously.
“The priests just need bribes,” Hengall said, “and the people do as they’re told.” A pigeon clattered through the leaves and Hengall looked up to see in what direction the bird flew, hoping that it would be a good omen. It was, for the bird made toward the sun.
“Sannas will want to see you,” Hengall said ominously. “Kneel to her and bow your head. I know she’s a woman, but treat her like a chief.” He frowned. “She’s a hard woman, hard and cruel,but she has powers. The gods love her, or else they fear her.” He shook
Similar Books
