their long days of hard marching.
Calgaich stood in the shelter of the trees, leaning on his spear, looking down into the wide river valley that lay far below the ridge crest. Cairenn struggled up beside him and dropped her pack.
Calgaich pointed with his spear. "Rioghaine, the King's Place, the largest rath of the Novantae, which stands on the shores of the great sea loch. It is my home.” There was a warmth and pride in his voice that Cairenn had not heard before. She watched him silently as he stared out over the valley. He was almost home.
Thin skeins of smoke from many cooking fires arose from the sprawling rath across the wide river. The many wattle-and-daub huts of the settlement looked like varicolored toadstools, for while the fresh heather thatch of some of the huts was the color of honey, other huts were capped with older thatch, dirty with age and smoke. A bluish haze of smoke hung over die rath and drifted toward a low hill, upon which were two great earth and timber ramparts that followed the slight contours of the hill and looked like two huge snakes, one coiled within the other. Within the irregular oval of the inner rampart were many huts crowded together. The westward-slanting sun reflected brightly from the spear blades of warriors who stood guard along the inner rampart.
The frothing water of the shallow river flowed swiftly over glistening black stones in its course to the bay opening from the great firth to die south. To the left, screened by a thick fringe of trees, was a wide and long loch surrounded at a distance by high hills that hung over the valley and dark waters like brooding giants with shaggy crests of conifers and thick bracken.
A huge and ungainly structure stood on a naked outcropping of rock just to the south of the dun, the ramparted hill fortress. The central part of the structure was not unlike the drystone tower in which Calgaich and Cairenn had found shelter their second night ashore. This tower, however, was many times larger and in excellent repair. Extensions had been built out from it on two sides and one of the extensions stood right on the edge of a precipice overlooking the river. Smoke rose from the central tower.
Calgaich pointed at the gaunt tower* “The Dun of Evicatos, who was my father's father."
“Whose spear and sword you carry."
He nodded. “They were made in an outbuilding of the dun . What do you think of Rioghaine, the King's Place?"
“It is beautiful, Calgaich."
“There was much fighting here in the old days. The Selgovae once claimed this place as their own. The Novantae came by sea from somewhere to the southwest. There were great battles fought here. The river ran red with blood. The smoke of burning huts rose high in the sky." His voice began its singsong chant. He held out his spear and shook it. “In time the Novantae drove the Selgovae to the east. It was not until the time of the Romans that the Novantae and the Selgovae became allies against the Red Crests. The Romans defeated the Selgovae, but never the Novantae! That was long ago, long ago." His voice died away.
The wind shifted and murmured through the trees. It moaned faintly through the river valley. Cairenn shivered a little.
“The Selgovae are our allies again," Calgaich continued. “They've fought beside us many times against the Romans. They are great warriors. My own mother, the gods bless her, and keep her well, was the daughter of a union between a chief's daughter of the Selgovae and a Roman legate." It was as though he were talking to himself. His hands tightened on his spear shaft until the knuckles stood out whitely.
Cairenn looked quickly into his set face. She had thought he was of pure Celtish blood, such as the Selgovae and the Novantae, but for him to be of one-quarter Roman blood—and still have his intense hatred of Romans—was indeed strange.
Calgaich looked down at her. “The Red Crests have been too long in this land. Time and time again the wild waves of
Calgaich stood in the shelter of the trees, leaning on his spear, looking down into the wide river valley that lay far below the ridge crest. Cairenn struggled up beside him and dropped her pack.
Calgaich pointed with his spear. "Rioghaine, the King's Place, the largest rath of the Novantae, which stands on the shores of the great sea loch. It is my home.” There was a warmth and pride in his voice that Cairenn had not heard before. She watched him silently as he stared out over the valley. He was almost home.
Thin skeins of smoke from many cooking fires arose from the sprawling rath across the wide river. The many wattle-and-daub huts of the settlement looked like varicolored toadstools, for while the fresh heather thatch of some of the huts was the color of honey, other huts were capped with older thatch, dirty with age and smoke. A bluish haze of smoke hung over die rath and drifted toward a low hill, upon which were two great earth and timber ramparts that followed the slight contours of the hill and looked like two huge snakes, one coiled within the other. Within the irregular oval of the inner rampart were many huts crowded together. The westward-slanting sun reflected brightly from the spear blades of warriors who stood guard along the inner rampart.
The frothing water of the shallow river flowed swiftly over glistening black stones in its course to the bay opening from the great firth to die south. To the left, screened by a thick fringe of trees, was a wide and long loch surrounded at a distance by high hills that hung over the valley and dark waters like brooding giants with shaggy crests of conifers and thick bracken.
A huge and ungainly structure stood on a naked outcropping of rock just to the south of the dun, the ramparted hill fortress. The central part of the structure was not unlike the drystone tower in which Calgaich and Cairenn had found shelter their second night ashore. This tower, however, was many times larger and in excellent repair. Extensions had been built out from it on two sides and one of the extensions stood right on the edge of a precipice overlooking the river. Smoke rose from the central tower.
Calgaich pointed at the gaunt tower* “The Dun of Evicatos, who was my father's father."
“Whose spear and sword you carry."
He nodded. “They were made in an outbuilding of the dun . What do you think of Rioghaine, the King's Place?"
“It is beautiful, Calgaich."
“There was much fighting here in the old days. The Selgovae once claimed this place as their own. The Novantae came by sea from somewhere to the southwest. There were great battles fought here. The river ran red with blood. The smoke of burning huts rose high in the sky." His voice began its singsong chant. He held out his spear and shook it. “In time the Novantae drove the Selgovae to the east. It was not until the time of the Romans that the Novantae and the Selgovae became allies against the Red Crests. The Romans defeated the Selgovae, but never the Novantae! That was long ago, long ago." His voice died away.
The wind shifted and murmured through the trees. It moaned faintly through the river valley. Cairenn shivered a little.
“The Selgovae are our allies again," Calgaich continued. “They've fought beside us many times against the Romans. They are great warriors. My own mother, the gods bless her, and keep her well, was the daughter of a union between a chief's daughter of the Selgovae and a Roman legate." It was as though he were talking to himself. His hands tightened on his spear shaft until the knuckles stood out whitely.
Cairenn looked quickly into his set face. She had thought he was of pure Celtish blood, such as the Selgovae and the Novantae, but for him to be of one-quarter Roman blood—and still have his intense hatred of Romans—was indeed strange.
Calgaich looked down at her. “The Red Crests have been too long in this land. Time and time again the wild waves of
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