suddenly cool as can be, laying a plan to give those upstarts a beating they won’t forget! We ranged ourselves out among the trees, and Eremon took to the path to challenge them, single-handed. Three attacked at once, the cowards! He lured them by retreating, and they raced after him … and then we poured out of thetrees and fell on them!’ He shook his spear. ‘You should have seen the fight! Of the ten we killed, half were Eremon’s trophies – and not a wound on us. They broke and ran. Ran! Can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun!’
Belen leaned in, the fox-tails falling forward from his fur cape. ‘Talorc, what do you think of the prince now you’ve seen him at close quarters?’
Talorc’s face was still bright with their success. ‘He brought us honour, and showed courage. He’s smart, too, and fights like the god Arawn himself.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I would rather have him and his men by our side than not, when the Romans come.’
Belen sank back on his heels, and threw a satisfied look at Gelert.
Now it was clear that Talorc was itching to be away, for the news of the raid had already spread. Throwing his checked cloak over his shoulder, he made his excuses and strode back down into the throng of people gathering at the gate tower. Soon Belen and Gelert could hear his voice booming out the tale, as his wife hung, big-eyed, around his neck.
Belen looked up at Gelert. ‘Strange times, Lord Druid, strange times. Can it be the gods have sent us such a man at this time of need? A man of great ability, it is clear. Your talk of a good omen is proved right. I will call the council together, and we’ll hear the tale in full.’ He hurried away, his short, bulky figure disappearing into the dusk shadows between the houses.
Gelert opened his mouth to call him back, then shut it again. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He had said to the council that the arrival of the men from Erin was a propitious omen. For he had many reasons to encourage closer relations with Eremon of Dalriada.
Deep in him, wisdom warred with avarice. The wisdom whispered that this Eremon might prove difficult to control. The twin calamities of the King’s death and the Roman threat had provided Gelert with a rare opportunity to finally exert his full power over the tribe. In their terror, they were like children, looking for a father’s protection. But, Gelert was a druid not a warrior. For him to become the real power behind the throne – to steer the tribe’s fortunes, to be King in all but name – he still needed a man with a strong sword arm. One who owed him much; one who would depend on the Chief Druid’s backing to make his name.
Yes, he needed a strong man … but not a hero.
Doubt writhed in his heart, until avarice rose, reminding Gelert how powerful he himself was. The prince was a beast that wielded a sword well, that was all. He was merely a warrior. He could be as easily directed as a man directs oxen at the yoke.
And then there was the girl, Rhiann.
Proud and scornful, just like her bitch mother Mairenn, who’dlooked at him with the same contempt when she threw his marriage offer back in his face, all those years ago. And the girl was likewise a priestess, and equally disobedient and wilful, always preening with her so-called goddess power.
Well, he wouldn’t make the same mistake with her . She would be yoked to the plough early, for his gods had whispered the source of her suffering, and how to increase it until she could no longer raise her face to scorn him with those blue eyes.
Mairenn’s eyes .
Ah, yes, the prince could become quite a useful weapon. At this, avarice finally triumphed, and Gelert left, wondering how soon to take the young man aside.
The carvings on the gate that led to the crag flickered shadows across Conaire’s pained face. ‘Take us to your healer’s house, quickly!’ Eremon cried to the Epidii men who took over the litter. He was so intent on ensuring that they did
Belen leaned in, the fox-tails falling forward from his fur cape. ‘Talorc, what do you think of the prince now you’ve seen him at close quarters?’
Talorc’s face was still bright with their success. ‘He brought us honour, and showed courage. He’s smart, too, and fights like the god Arawn himself.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I would rather have him and his men by our side than not, when the Romans come.’
Belen sank back on his heels, and threw a satisfied look at Gelert.
Now it was clear that Talorc was itching to be away, for the news of the raid had already spread. Throwing his checked cloak over his shoulder, he made his excuses and strode back down into the throng of people gathering at the gate tower. Soon Belen and Gelert could hear his voice booming out the tale, as his wife hung, big-eyed, around his neck.
Belen looked up at Gelert. ‘Strange times, Lord Druid, strange times. Can it be the gods have sent us such a man at this time of need? A man of great ability, it is clear. Your talk of a good omen is proved right. I will call the council together, and we’ll hear the tale in full.’ He hurried away, his short, bulky figure disappearing into the dusk shadows between the houses.
Gelert opened his mouth to call him back, then shut it again. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He had said to the council that the arrival of the men from Erin was a propitious omen. For he had many reasons to encourage closer relations with Eremon of Dalriada.
Deep in him, wisdom warred with avarice. The wisdom whispered that this Eremon might prove difficult to control. The twin calamities of the King’s death and the Roman threat had provided Gelert with a rare opportunity to finally exert his full power over the tribe. In their terror, they were like children, looking for a father’s protection. But, Gelert was a druid not a warrior. For him to become the real power behind the throne – to steer the tribe’s fortunes, to be King in all but name – he still needed a man with a strong sword arm. One who owed him much; one who would depend on the Chief Druid’s backing to make his name.
Yes, he needed a strong man … but not a hero.
Doubt writhed in his heart, until avarice rose, reminding Gelert how powerful he himself was. The prince was a beast that wielded a sword well, that was all. He was merely a warrior. He could be as easily directed as a man directs oxen at the yoke.
And then there was the girl, Rhiann.
Proud and scornful, just like her bitch mother Mairenn, who’dlooked at him with the same contempt when she threw his marriage offer back in his face, all those years ago. And the girl was likewise a priestess, and equally disobedient and wilful, always preening with her so-called goddess power.
Well, he wouldn’t make the same mistake with her . She would be yoked to the plough early, for his gods had whispered the source of her suffering, and how to increase it until she could no longer raise her face to scorn him with those blue eyes.
Mairenn’s eyes .
Ah, yes, the prince could become quite a useful weapon. At this, avarice finally triumphed, and Gelert left, wondering how soon to take the young man aside.
The carvings on the gate that led to the crag flickered shadows across Conaire’s pained face. ‘Take us to your healer’s house, quickly!’ Eremon cried to the Epidii men who took over the litter. He was so intent on ensuring that they did
Similar Books
