Dreaming the Hound (43 page)

Others had found places for themselves among the fire pits and rolled in their cloaks and snored lightly for a time before their

dreams and the talk around roused them once more. Cunomar and his newly made warriors had slept at the side through the first night, waking at dawn to bring wood for the fire pits, and to cook. Ardacos had left early and gone out into the forest to prepare for the last part of the new warriors’ rites, which would come later.

Only the Boudica could not be seen to sleep, but rode like a skiff on the tide swell of their words and kept them ever moving forward.

Snow was falling outside when she took her place again at the shield and looked out over the weary, hoarse assembly of her people.

‘Is that the view of you all?’ she asked a second time. ‘If there is one against, let that one speak now. We must have everyone, or we have no-one.’

At her side, Cunomar held his breath. Further along, she saw Unagh tense and then relax as the grey-haired elder from her steading shook his head. Around, others sat quietly. All dissent had been talked out of being, or was hidden, to raise its head another day.

Breaca let herself smile, careful not to break the mask of unsleep. ‘It is agreed, then, that you will spend the winter finding those men and women within your steadings and around who may have the heart for battle, and may answer a call without betraying us before we start. This is only the first step. While ‘Tagos lives and stands against us, we cannot bring the warriors together. This is clear and I swear now before you all that his death will never be my doing. Even so, if we can begin to find those who have the will to fight, and to arm them, and to train them, when the gods send that the time is right, we can act. My thanks to you all.’

She stepped away from the shield and the council was over with no more ceremony, so that the elders began to rise and stretch and seek the door and find a way to fresh air and snow and to plan their journeys home.

The great-house had cleared by early afternoon, so that only the new warriors of Cunomar’s honour guard were left. For a while, they had been rowdy with relief, taking their leave of the parting elders, but, as these thinned and were gone, the youths had become quiet again, awaiting their final test. If they wished to be reckoned amongst the warriors of the she-bear, not simply as Cunomar’s honour guard, then they must follow Ardacos in a bear dance and for that even Breaca could not be present. Already the skull drums rattled inside the great-house. It was not a rhythm to hear long and stay sane.

Her horse was nearby, brought from the paddocks by Unagh,

who had seen the need. Breaca struggled to fit the great bronze shield across her back and considered the effort of mounting and riding to ‘Tagos’ steading. Graine was there, and Airmid, and all comfort. If she rode sensibly, she should be there a little before nightfall; sooner if she rode stupidly fast, later if she slept and let the mare pick her own way through the dusk.

‘Thank you. I’m glad that I—’ She turned, looking down, towards the trackway. ‘That’s Dubornos …’

She knew the horse; it was lame on the left fore, but not badly so, and Dubornos cared for it and would not set it aside. The sound of it ridden hard up the trackway was unmistakable, even with snow underfoot.

Ardacos came to her side, and then Cunomar abandoned his playing of the skull drums and joined her, so that they were all three together as Dubornos dragged his horse to a halt and did not dismount, but turned it, saying, ‘The Latin slavers are at the steading. ‘Tagos has offered them guest rights, and wine. They have already spoken twice to Graine. Airmid has her now, keeping her safe, but if they ask for her, ‘Tagos may not stop them.’

Breaca stared at him, not hearing. ‘To buy? That can’t be. Even ‘Tagos wouldn’t—’

‘Not to buy, not yet, but perhaps to make an offer, and they wil know what they come for if they return in the spring.’

Breaca was already mounted. Sleep, so recently her only thought, was forgotten. Cunomar said, ‘Wait. My horse isn’t far. I’ll come.’

Breaca’s horse was already moving. ‘No. Your warriors need you. This is the price of leadership, and in any case, this is not the time to let Rome know what we have. If we need you, I will send Dubornos back again.’

With that, she followed Dubornos, riding as she had never ridden before.

XXV.

THE SLAVER WHO BORE THE BADGE OF THE LEAPING SALMON HAD never seen a warrior of the Eceni, dressed for battle, with her hair braided at the side and a shield as wide as his arm across her back and a spear in her hand, riding a horse black with sweat and herself no cleaner.

He did his best; smiling a little stiffly and trying to hide his left hand that made the sign against evil even as his right hand reached

to draw the legionary short sword from his belt. The ex-legionaries who formed his bodyguard had less need to feign the courtesies of guests; they drew their swords openly. One of those behind who watched the wagons leaned in to take the reins of the dray horses.

Breaca walked forward, catching her breath. It was a little before nightfall, with the light less than perfect, but still, she knew how she looked and she was not what a slaver valued in his wares. Led by Dubornos, she had taken a shorter, uncleared path in the closing parts of the ride; thorns had dragged at her, lacerating her arms. Blood had mixed with the white lime paint so that she was marbled in the colours of the gods. Her hair stood up stiffly in white spikes at the front where she had swept it out of her eyes as she rode. She stank of bear grease and sweat and raw blood and the slavers’ horses were terrified of her.

The conventions of Rome demanded other things from the wife of a king. In a havoc of shattered propriety, ‘Tagos stepped forward from the gates and took her arm, turning her at his side.

‘Philus of Rome, allow me to present my wife, Breaca, mother to Graine, who will one day lead the Eceni.’

‘Tagos was more of a diplomat than she had imagined. He spoke with aplomb in circumstances that begged for panic or ridicule and Philus could not but follow the lead he was given.

Sheathing his sword, the slaver bowed his head. ‘My lady, you … I… that is, you …’

Breaca moved closer and words abandoned him, lost in a welter of sweat and the stinking remnants of bear grease.

With evident effort, he gathered himself, striving for courtesy. ‘My lady, you find me at a loss. I had heard word of your skill as a smith and I have seen the exquisite beauty of your daughter, which was described by our late governor, may the gods rest his soul, but I had not expected her mother to be so … to have such … but I have no gifts left that would match you. I have given them all to the king, your husband.’ His gaze shifted right and left, to his closest companions, who stared fixedly ahead and would not put up their weapons.

Breaca grinned artlessly. ‘Your brooch is beautiful,’ she said. ‘I had imagined it Belgic when I first saw it, but now I see it closer, it is clearly not so. The Caledonii make the leaping salmon in such a fashion, with the small pieces of jet and the silver scales so perfectly set. Am I right? Is it one of theirs?’

She was within reach of the slaver’s horse. It fought to step back so that Philus could barely hold it one-handed. He grimaced, sweating, caught between the opposing absolutes of diplomacy and his own clear need to keep the badge that was his symbol.

Breaca took the last step to his saddle horn and would have reached up, but that Graine ran forward from the gates and caught her hand. At eight years old, Breaca’s daughter was no longer quite a child, but not yet nearly a woman. As either of these, she would have been beautiful. Hovering in the no-time between them, she captured and held the attention of the mercenaries as her mother had not done. She wrinkled her nose, theatrically.

‘You smell of bear,’ she said, ‘Ardacos promised you wouldn’t.’ And then, with the wide-eyed innocence of the young, ‘Philus says that I will be the talk of all Rome, that the emperor would wish me at his bedside.’

Graine had been trained in her dreaming by Airmid; she could put any meaning she chose into her words. With her voice, she conveyed the sense that she had been paid the greatest compliment of any child in the empire, while every adult present built an inner picture of the Emperor Nero’s bedside and how a child might be treated there. The air closed tightly cold.

‘Did he? Our guest thinks ahead of himself, it seems.’ Breaca was not a dreamer, but she knew how to call death to walk in her shadow and to let the promise of it loose with her voice.

The slaver flushed scarlet and paled to an ugly, liverish yellow. His fingers fumbled at the clasp of his brooch.

‘My lady, I spoke only to honour your daughter. I apologize for any misunderstanding. Perhaps you will do me the honour of accepting a gift in earnest of my good intentions towards you and your family?’

He was not a man used to pleading, the rustiness of his language said so, adding to the evident pain of losing his brooch as Breaca reached to take the salmon from his unwilling fingers.

‘Thank you.’ It was Caledonian, well fashioned and with a power of its own. She tossed it high, leaping silver in the watery light, and caught it one-handed. The flicker and flash and the suddenness of her reach upset the remaining horses. She saluted the slaver, using the Roman form, loading it with irony. ‘I am overwhelmed. Anything held in such deep affection speaks greatly of the bearer. Come midwinter, the gods will take kindly to such a gift.’

The slaver knew enough of Eceni rites to see where she led; in his mind, he saw her cast his jewelled fish into the waters of the gods’ pool, where no mortal man might find it again. Of all possibilities, that one had not occurred to him. She watched the pits of his eyes grow large and small again. If they had been in battle, he would have struck for her then, aiming to kill.

They were not in battle and Philus, former fish-bearer, had his eye set on the greater game. He forced a smile and put his closed fist over his heart, where the brooch had been. ‘I am honoured, as will be those who made the fish when I tell them of your gift.’

He let his horse move at last, so that it spun on its hocks and kicked away from her. His parting words were shouted over his shoulder, muffled by the thunder of his retinue, ‘My lady, I await the day of our next meeting. May it be soon.’

Breaca was laughing, weakly, for relief and the look on Philus’ face when she took the fish badge, and the sudden release of terror. The world was lighter than it had been, with flashes of bright white at the margins of her vision and a reddening tunnel lined with night in the centre. She felt a small, cool hand press into her own and a thumb grind on her knuckle. Graine hissed at her, in the voice of the elder grandmother. ‘They’re watching. Stay awake. You can’t fall now.’

‘I wasn’t going to fall.’

‘I think you were. Your daughter is wiser than you know.’ ‘Tagos came to stand on her other side, completing the family. Between them, he and Graine held Breaca upright, while appearing to lean on her for support.

They stood like that, bonded in their need, until the last of the slavers’ horses was too small to be seen. Graine stepped away first.

‘The elder grandmother wishes you well,’ she said.

Breaca pressed her palms to her eyes. The grit of the lime paint ground into her skin and did nothing to help her wake up. Slurring for lack of sleep, she said, ‘Thank her for me. I’ll do it myself later. For now, I need to wash and then to sleep.’

‘Tagos caught at her arm. With an oddly brittle formality, he said, ‘My bed is ready. I would be honoured if you would use it.’

She was sleeping already, clearly, and falling into disordered dreams. ‘Tagos had not shared her bed since the end of

Breaca’s first winter in his steading. She slept in her own bed, in Airmid’s hut on the western side of the compound. The prospect of falling into that bed, in that room, in that company, had sustained her through the last half-day of the elder council’s deliberating.

She stared now at ‘Tagos. He seemed sober, which surprised her. His eyes were open and dark and met hers without flinching. It occurred to her she might still be awake, and that the world, therefore, was not as she had left it. She said, ‘I don’t think I heard you correctly.’

‘I think you did. I am inviting you to sleep in my room, which was once also yours. Only to sleep. Please. This time it matters.’

Graine said, ‘Airmid is with a woman of the Trinovantes who gave birth three days ago and has milk fever. She will not return before tonight. Her fire is banked low and the hut’s cold.’

‘Is it?’ Dawn had broken but the rising sun had not yet penetrated the cloud. If anything, the morning was colder than the night had been. Breaca was shivering and had not noticed. Frost bit at her feet. The air smelled of snow and storms.

‘Tagos waited. He, too, needed to be moving. The tips of his ears were blue with cold and distress. For no better reason than that, Breaca made her decision. ‘Is your fire lit?’ she asked.

‘Of course. Built high and hot.’

‘Then I accept your offer. Thank you.’

‘Tagos’ room had changed since she was in it last. The coin chests were gone, all bar one, and the ornaments that had lain on them. A sword hung above the bed; not one of hers, but well made. The iron lay pale against the smoked wood of the wall and a vixen’s mask had been worked in bronze on the pommel. She had not known ‘Tagos still owned any blade, nor that he would dare to display it. The Roman ban on weapons was absolute and the penalty the same for a king as it had been for Eneit, a thirteen-year old boy caught at a grave mound with a sword he did not know how to use.

She ran a finger across the edge to test the honing and found it battle-sharp. ‘Did the governor give you dispensation to own this?’

‘No. The governor is locked in the west planning his attack on Mona for the spring. Three cohorts of legionaries from the Rhine will overwinter at Camulodunum and when they march to join him, the attack will begin. I don’t think whoever

he has left in charge will venture north to see us, but if anyone comes, we will hear of it and I will take it down as I did when Philus was in here.’