In the Shadow of the Wall (35 page)

Nechtan’s daughter was of no concern to Brude. “What about Mairead?” he demanded. “Does she know about this?”

“Not yet,” Colm admitted. “She’ll find out when we get back with my new bride.”

“And what happens to her then?”

Colm grinned a wide grin. “Isn’t it obvious? You can have her.”

Brude’s mind was a whirl of confusion. Colm was sly discarding Mairead and he should have been happy that, at last, he had the opportunity to be with her, a chance to recover what had been taken from both of them by his captivity. Yet the callous way Colm was getting rid of her astonished him. He did not know what to say.

“Aren’t you happy?” Colm enquired. “I thought you would be happy. There is, though, one condition.”

“What is that?” Brude managed to ask through his confusion.

“You must both leave Broch Tava and never return. I do not want your presence to cause any discontent.”

A year ago Brude would have jumped at that offer but now things had changed. “What about Castatin?” he asked. “Mairead will not want to leave him.”

“The boy stays,” Colm said flatly. “He is my son.”

Brude wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him that Castatin was not his son, but he bottled up his emotions, holding his tongue because he knew that it could only lead to more trouble for Mairead and Castatin, as well as for himself. He was in turmoil as thoughts and dreams raced through his mind. He had a vision of seeing Cleon again, taking Mairead with him all the way to
Rome
to meet his friend. He could see Cleon’s smile of joy and the welcome he would give them both. Then the dream shattered and faded because he knew that Mairead would not leave Castatin, just as he knew that Agrippina and Vipsania were in
Rome
. They both knew how Brude had betrayed
Aquila
. He could not go back there again.

He scarcely paid attention as they were admitted through the huge gates of Dun Nechtan and led to the great rectangular, wooden-framed hall where Nechtan held his court. It was only when they went inside, strode down the length of the hall, under the watching eyes of Nechtan’s household, his warriors and their women, that Brude forced himself to cast the dream aside and concentrate on what was happening around him. Colm rarely did anything without some purpose and Brude suspected that springing his surprise news on Brude, just before they met Nechtan, was designed to distract him. For what reason, only Colm knew, but Brude relaxed his mind, focussing his attention as if he was entering the arena again, concentrating on his surroundings.

Nechtan was seated on a raised platform at one end of the hall. A great fire burned behind him, both heating the room and making him appear large and powerful as he basked in its light. There were other men seated on the dais: one of a similar age to Nechtan, on his right and two young men to his left. Standing behind Nechtan, just to his right, was a woman with long silver-white hair that hung down overe shoulders of her long, grey robe. Her skin was wrinkled and weather-worn but her blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and keenness.

Colm strode down the hall, his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword, looking as regal as he could. Brude followed, keeping to Colm’s right while Lutrin was on the left. To either side, by the walls, Nechtan’s people stood watching them. The three men stopped a few paces from the dais. In a loud voice, Colm greeted Nechtan. “Hail, Nechtan, son of Feartal, lord of the Boresti. I come to your hall as arranged.” To the others he said, “Hail Talorc, son of Feartal, hail Eairsidh, son of Nechtan, hail Danaidh, son of Oengus.” He did not acknowledge the old woman
.

Brude recognised Nechtan, but the warrior chief who had led the Boresti on their disastrous raid nearly fourteen years before, was now an old man, his belly fat, his hair completely grey and his body tired.
The man to his right must be his brother
, thought Brude. Talorc would be the next leader of the Boresti when Nechtan died. The two younger men were Nechtan’s son and nephew, his sister’s son. Nechtan, thought Brude, already had the dynasty that Colm craved.

Colm continued his greeting. “I bring with me my man, Lutrin, whom you know well. I also bring Brude, son of Anndra, who has returned from the dead and is a master of dark magic.”

All eyes looked at Brude. He wanted to curse Colm for the introduction. In particular, he saw the old silver-haired woman give him a sharp look as if she were trying to see inside his soul with her blue eyes, which reminded him of
Aquila
’s searching gaze. Over the murmurs of the watching men and women, Nechtan spoke to him. “You are Anndra’s son?”

“I am.” Brude made sure he spoke clearly enough for the assembled men and women around the hall to hear him. “I marched with you to the Wall thirteen summers past. I was the first of the Boresti to climb the Wall and I stood in the battle line beside my father when we met the Romans.”

Another wave of low whispering sped round the hall. Nechtan shook his head sadly. “That day is not a happy memory for me,” he said. “We thought you lost, along with all the others.”

“Some survived to be taken captive,” Brude explained. “My father was not among them, but I remember a man called Drugh, who was one of your warriors.”

A swell of voices showed that some of the people remembered Drugh. Nechtan’s eyes filled with tears. “Drugh lives?” he asked.

“I am sorry. I do not know. He lived at least through that summer but we were all sold as slaves, to different owners, and I never saw him again. I do not know whether he is alive or dead.”

“If you have returned, then there is hope that one day Drugh will do the same,” Talorc said, bringing much nodding of agreement from everyone round the hall. Brude doubted that Drugh would ever return home, but he said nothing. The big warrior had obviously been well thought of in Dun Nechtan.

Nechtan nodded thankfully to Brude. “You are welcome in my hall, Brude, son of Anndra. Your father was an honourable man and a good friend to me. And I thank you for news of our kinsman, Drugh.” Then his face grew hard as he turned to look at Colm. His old hands gripped the carved arms of his chair as he leaned slightly forwards. “But you, Colm, son of Lachlann, are not welcome here.”

Brude saw Colm stiffen at Nechtan’s words. He felt the tense expectation in the hall. There must have been around forty or fifty people present, the elite among Nechtan’s people, and they were all waiting to see how Colm would react to the inhospitable welcome.

Colm gripped the hilt of his sword tightly with his left hand. “Your hospitality is rather lacking, Nechtan. I have come, as arranged, to collect my new bride so that I can take her back to Broch Tava.” He kept his voice firm and even but Brude could sense the anger and confusion in him.

“There will be no wedding,” said Nechtan, holding Colm’s gaze as he tried to stare him down. “The arrangements we made these weeks past are no longer of interest to me.”

Colm’s face was dark with anger but he fought to keep his temper under control. Brude, watching him, was reminded of how Colm would react to failure when they were boys. He realised that he was holding his breath, waiting for Colm to explode. The Broch Tava head man, though, somehow managed to keep his raging emotions in check. Still, there was venom in his voice when he spoke. “What has changed then, Nechtan? What is so different now that you treat me like this? We had a bargain!”

Nechtan was not perturbed by Colm’s tone. He remained calm but firm. “What has changed? You pretend you do not know? My friend Gartnait has sent messengers to me, telling me of what you have done to his village.”

“He stole from me!” Colm shouted, his voice filling the hall. “Am I to sit back and let him cheat me?”

“And do you have nothing of his? A son, I am told.” Nechtan waved his hand dismissively. “But petty cattle raids and arguments over goods do not concern me. These things are between you and Gartnait. What does concern me is that you are now demanding tribute from Gartnait under threat of attack.”

Colm had overstepped the mark, Brude realised. Nechtan was overlord of the Boresti. If anyone was going to gather tribute from other villages, it would be him. By demanding tribute from Gartnait of Peart, Colm was setting himself up as a rival to Nechtan, and the old chieftain was clearly not prepared to put up with that. The tribal leader jabbed a gnarled finger towards Colm. “War between our villages is the last thing we need just now. Already Gartnait has received emissaries from the emperor of
Rome
who is marching north towards our lands with an army the like of which no man of the Pritani, now living, has ever seen.”

That stunned Colm and Brude alike. The rumours were more than just talk then. The Romans really were coming north. Brude felt a shiver of doom run through his body at the news. Nechtan’s voice lowered to little more than a harsh whisper but the hall was so quiet now that there was no difficulty in hearing what he said. “Gartnait has no choice but to submit to the Romans but he has told them that you are his enemy. Soon your tiny village will be wiped from the face of the earth and your people will be killed or taken into slavery. So tell me, what am I to do?” His eyes were fixed on Colm as he spoke. “I am leader of the Boresti yet my own people are fighting among themselves. If I fight against the Romans, we will surely perish yet, if I do nothing, one of the villages of the Boresti will be destroyed. You, Colm of Broch Tava, are the cause of this dilemma so I say to you that you are not welcome here.”

Colm was silent for only a moment. If Nechtan had expected him to be cowed by the accusation he had thrown at him he was soon disappointed. “You may be the leader of the Boresti,” spat Colm, “but you are more like an old woman than an old man. You and Gartnait are alike in that. Spineless and afraid. We have fought the Romans before and we returned home rich men. Or do you not remember that?”

Nechtan’s eyes were suddenly sad. He lowered his gaze for the first time. “I remember all too well, Colm, son of Lachlann. That day still shames my memories. We lost too many warriors to call anything we did afterwards a victory. We may have returned richer in wealth, but ever since that day we have been poorer in spirit. I fear the time has clouded your memories. We cannot defeat the Romans. You are only fooling yourself if you think otherwise.”

Colm’s right hand moved to his sword. He began to scrape it free of its scabbard until Brude reached out to grip his arm, stopping the dangerous gesture even as many of Nechtan’s men had reached for their own swords. The threat of violence hung heavy in the air. Colm glared at Nechtan and his brother, his body tense. He shrugged off Brude’s hand, pushed his sword back into its scabbard and sneered at the old men who sat on the raised platform. “I will not stay here any longer to listen to your fears. You are not worthy to lead the Boresti. If Gartnait is too afraid to stand up to the Romans, I am not. When I have defeated them and sent them back south of the Wall, I will return here and we will speak again.” The dire promise in his words was unmistakeable. Brude was tense, his eyes darting round the room, watching for any signs of immediate danger. If Nechtan ordered them to be c down now, they would have no chance of escape.

Nechtan nodded sadly once more. He waved a hand, gesturing for his men to stand down. “You are not welcome here, Colm of Broch Tava, but neither will I see the blood of any Boresti spilled in my own hall. Go now. Return to your village and think on what I have said. I hope you reconsider. You should send emissaries to the emperor and seek terms with him. If you do that, perhaps you will indeed live to return here again.”

Colm glared at Nechtan then span on his heel, striding towards the door, his head held high. Lutrin turned and followed him but Brude looked at Nechtan, his brother, son and nephew. He gave them a bow. As he made to turn, the old woman, who had remained silent throughout the confrontation, pointed a bony finger at him and said in a loud voice, “Brude, son of Anndra! Stay! I must speak with you.”

Brude looked at her, glanced at Nechtan and saw the old man nod. He twisted his head to see Colm and Lutrin going out of the doors. They must have heard the woman’s words telling him to stay behind but neither of them looked back. Warriors pushed the doors closed behind them, leaving Brude alone in the centre of Nechtan’s hall.

Fothair was already anxious but when he saw Colm and Lutrin walking hurriedly back down the path from Dun Nechtan without Brude, he grew even more concerned. The sky was growing darker now but it was still light enough for him to see the silhouettes of warriors lining the ramparts of the hill fort. But where before there had been a couple of sentries, now there was a line of some forty or fifty men looking out over the wooden wall. To Fothair, that could only mean trouble.