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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
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lives.
Fortunately the women had unloaded our supplies before the Armoricans deserted. I have no doubt that Briga’s enameled bowls were the first items removed from our boat. They had been set to one side where no clumsy foot would stumble over them.
In addition to our clothing we had brought a few iron spearheads and axe-heads, one iron cauldron, knives, flesh forks, emmer wheat for planting, smoked pigmeat, dried venison, hard cheese, a large bag of flour, and a small sack of salt. Salt had been the earliest wealth of the Celts, a scarce commodity that lured traders from the Amber Road to a village high in the Blue Mountains. A village called Hallstatt, the womb of our race.
Before the before, that was.
On the beach in Hibernia we distributed our belongings so that every person carried a share. Except for Labraid. Thanks to the overenergetic pounding our healer had given his back, the youth had a broken rib. An apologetic Sulis slathered his torso with unguents, then bound his body tightly so he could walk without much discomfort.
Grannus carried Briga’s big iron cauldron strapped to his back. Her beloved bowls, wrapped in her favorite cloak, were tucked safely inside the cauldron. Instead of walking with me she paced along behind Grannus, keeping a watchful eye on her property.
Cohern’s clanspeople gave us a better welcome this time. They came out of their lodges to greet us; their smallest children soon were playing with our smallest children. I sent Sulis to the chieftain straightaway. She disappeared into his lodge and did not reemerge until the following morning, looking exhausted but pleased with herself.
By the next sundown Cohern’s health had begun to improve.
His people made us as comfortable as possible in their lodges. As I had surmised, the clan had been seriously reduced through warfare. The survivors lived primitive lives. Everything was pared down to the bone. Cohern’s people grew a little barley for ale, and a few oats, but they subsisted primarily on mutton and cheese. Cattle were raised for their hides. Leather was the only valuable commodity the clan had to trade.
Without strong men to defend the herd from raiders, Cohern would be totally impoverished. Meanwhile his clan stood a very real chance of being captured by an enemy tribe and taken into bondage. The blood of Milesios would not save them.
Noble blood had not saved Vercingetorix, either.
The Order of the Wise teaches: We rule in one life and serve in the next.
I spoke privately with Cormiac because it was only fair to warn him. “If you are captured and taken into bondage we might never see you again.”
The Red Wolf showed his teeth in a thin smile. “What makes you think I’d let myself be captured? Don’t worry, Ainvar, I’ll never be far from you and yours.”
“Cohern and I have an agreement.”
“I understand, and I’ll honor it—unless it happens that your needs conflict with his.”
“What will you do then?”
His smile widened by an infinitesimal degree. “Melt away as the wolf melts away into the forest.”
When he began to feel better, Cohern summoned me. “I’ve decided where your people can live, Ainvar. At the far edge of our clanland is an uninhabited valley with plenty of good grass.”
“Is there fresh water?”
“On…er, Hibernia? Don’t make me laugh. Rivers, lakes, bogs, waterfalls…throw a stone in any direction and you’ll have water splashing in your face.”
I asked the obvious question. “If this valley’s so good, why aren’t some of your own people living there?”
“Ah, right now there aren’t enough of us, Ainvar. You know how clans are. They wax and wane like the moon.”
I accepted his explanation. My own family had waned severely. “Tell me more about the valley. How far is it from here?”
“Less than half a morning’s walk. A morning in winter, that is, not high summer. In high summer we have almost no night at all.”
A summer of nightless days.
Fortunately the women had unloaded our supplies before the Armoricans deserted. I have no doubt that Briga’s enameled bowls were the first items removed from our boat. They had been set to one side where no clumsy foot would stumble over them.
In addition to our clothing we had brought a few iron spearheads and axe-heads, one iron cauldron, knives, flesh forks, emmer wheat for planting, smoked pigmeat, dried venison, hard cheese, a large bag of flour, and a small sack of salt. Salt had been the earliest wealth of the Celts, a scarce commodity that lured traders from the Amber Road to a village high in the Blue Mountains. A village called Hallstatt, the womb of our race.
Before the before, that was.
On the beach in Hibernia we distributed our belongings so that every person carried a share. Except for Labraid. Thanks to the overenergetic pounding our healer had given his back, the youth had a broken rib. An apologetic Sulis slathered his torso with unguents, then bound his body tightly so he could walk without much discomfort.
Grannus carried Briga’s big iron cauldron strapped to his back. Her beloved bowls, wrapped in her favorite cloak, were tucked safely inside the cauldron. Instead of walking with me she paced along behind Grannus, keeping a watchful eye on her property.
Cohern’s clanspeople gave us a better welcome this time. They came out of their lodges to greet us; their smallest children soon were playing with our smallest children. I sent Sulis to the chieftain straightaway. She disappeared into his lodge and did not reemerge until the following morning, looking exhausted but pleased with herself.
By the next sundown Cohern’s health had begun to improve.
His people made us as comfortable as possible in their lodges. As I had surmised, the clan had been seriously reduced through warfare. The survivors lived primitive lives. Everything was pared down to the bone. Cohern’s people grew a little barley for ale, and a few oats, but they subsisted primarily on mutton and cheese. Cattle were raised for their hides. Leather was the only valuable commodity the clan had to trade.
Without strong men to defend the herd from raiders, Cohern would be totally impoverished. Meanwhile his clan stood a very real chance of being captured by an enemy tribe and taken into bondage. The blood of Milesios would not save them.
Noble blood had not saved Vercingetorix, either.
The Order of the Wise teaches: We rule in one life and serve in the next.
I spoke privately with Cormiac because it was only fair to warn him. “If you are captured and taken into bondage we might never see you again.”
The Red Wolf showed his teeth in a thin smile. “What makes you think I’d let myself be captured? Don’t worry, Ainvar, I’ll never be far from you and yours.”
“Cohern and I have an agreement.”
“I understand, and I’ll honor it—unless it happens that your needs conflict with his.”
“What will you do then?”
His smile widened by an infinitesimal degree. “Melt away as the wolf melts away into the forest.”
When he began to feel better, Cohern summoned me. “I’ve decided where your people can live, Ainvar. At the far edge of our clanland is an uninhabited valley with plenty of good grass.”
“Is there fresh water?”
“On…er, Hibernia? Don’t make me laugh. Rivers, lakes, bogs, waterfalls…throw a stone in any direction and you’ll have water splashing in your face.”
I asked the obvious question. “If this valley’s so good, why aren’t some of your own people living there?”
“Ah, right now there aren’t enough of us, Ainvar. You know how clans are. They wax and wane like the moon.”
I accepted his explanation. My own family had waned severely. “Tell me more about the valley. How far is it from here?”
“Less than half a morning’s walk. A morning in winter, that is, not high summer. In high summer we have almost no night at all.”
A summer of nightless days.
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