Stonehenge by Bernard Cornwell Page B

in the winter before Saban’s ordeals Galeth trusted him to raise a new roof on the hut where Derrewyn slept.
    Saban stripped the rotting thatch, but first handed the skull down to Derrewyn who, knowing that it protected her, kissed its forehead and then looked up at Saban. “And the rest,” she said, smiling.
    “The rest?”
    “The clay,” she said. The unfired clay phallus had crumbled in the weather, but Saban collected what he could from among the rotting thatch and gave it to her. She grimaced at the dirty scraps of clay, but found one fragment that was cleaner than the rest and reached up to give it back to Saban. “Swallow it,” she ordered him.
    “Swallow it?”
    “Do it!” she insisted, then laughed at his expression as he forced the lump down his throat.
    “Why did I do that?” Saban asked her, but she just laughed and then the laugh faded as Jegar came round the hut’s corner.
    Jegar was now the tribe’s best hunter. He went into the forest for days, leading a band of young men who brought back carcasses and tusks. There were some in the tribe who believed Jegar should succeed Hengall, for it was plain the gods favored him, though ifJegar shared that opinion he showed no sign of it. Instead he was respectful to Hengall and took care to offer the chief the best cuts of meat from his kill and Hengall, in turn, dealt cautiously with the man who had once been Lengar’s closest companion.
    Jegar now stared at Derrewyn. Like the other men of the tribe he had been deterred by the skull on her roof, but he could not hide his longing for her, nor his jealousy of Saban. In the new year, when Saban undertook the ordeals of manhood, he would be hunted in the deep forest and all the tribe knew that Jegar and his hounds would be on Saban’s trail. And if Saban failed, then Saban could not marry.
    Jegar smiled at Derrewyn, who clutched the skull to her breasts and spat. Jegar laughed, then licked his spear blade and pointed it at Saban. “Next year, little one,” he said, “we shall meet in the trees. You, me, my hunting companions and my hounds.”
    “You need friends and hounds to beat me?” Saban asked. Derrewyn was watching him and her gaze made him reckless. “Tell me about next year, Jegar,” he said. He knew it was dangerously foolish to taunt Jegar, but he feared Derrewyn would despise him if he meekly allowed Jegar to bully him. “What will you do if you catch me in the forest?” he demanded, jumping down to the ground.
    “Thrash you, little one,” Jegar said.
    “You don’t have the strength,” Saban said, and he picked up a long ash pole that was used to measure the lengths of the replacement rafters. He was taller than Jegar, and he also knew that Jegar would not dare kill him here in the settlement where so many were watching, but he was still risking a painful beating. “You couldn’t thrash a kitten,” he added scornfully.
    “Go back to work, boy,” Jegar said, but Saban just slashed the pole at him, making the smaller man step back. Saban slashed again, and the clumsy weapon whipped past Jegar’s face. This time the hunter snarled and leveled his spear. “Careful,” he said.
    “Why should I be careful of you?” Saban asked. Fear and exhilaration were competing in him. He knew this was stupidity, but Derrewyn’s presence had driven him to it and his own pride would not let him back down. “You’re a bully, Jegar,” he said, drawing back the pole, “and I’ll thrash you bloody.”
    “You child!” Jegar said, and ran at Saban, but Saban had guessedwhat Jegar would do and he let the pole’s tip fall so that it tangled Jegar’s legs, and then he twisted the pole, tripping Jegar, and as Jegar fell Saban jumped on him and beat his enemy’s head with his fists. He landed two hard blows before Jegar managed to twist round and lash back. Jegar could not use his spear for Saban was on top of him, so first he tried to punch the boy away, then he clawed at Saban’s eyes. Saban