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He spoke as if there were truly no doubt. As if over fifteen kings had not already submitted to Claudius, by will or force. As if he were not the only man from eastern Albion who still fought them. ‘How can you be so certain?’ I asked.
‘Because the Mothers will it. Because I will not rest until it is done.’
It was dazzling. I had never seen such self-belief, a spirit so sound, so impermeable, that it shone like polished metal. Silently, I praised the Mothers. They had given us someone who could protect us. I could swear allegiance to this man. I could commit to him my knowledge.
I felt the heat of his appraisal as he took back the cup.
‘Ailia?’ said Prydd the journeyman. ‘Did you say this was your name?’ His voice was unusually high-pitched.
‘Yes.’
‘Is your township Caer Cad?’ Though I was of his kind, a knowledge-bearer, Prydd offered no kinship in his tone.
‘Ay, though it now lies as ash.’ I paused, suddenly hesitant to confess my status. ‘I am thought to be—’
‘I know who you are.’ Prydd turned to Caradog. ‘She is no mere journeywoman,’ he said. ‘Her story has travelled to the edges of Albion, although the journeymen have kept it well-hidden, lest it fall onto Roman ears.’ His mouth twitched beneath a sparse moustache. ‘She is Kendra of Albion.’
No one had yet bade me sit. I stood, unmoving, wondering what configuration of my story had survived and spread. Did it condemn me?
‘This bud?’ said Hefin. ‘She is scarcely ripe!’
‘Years do not determine it,’ said Prydd.
Caradog stared at me. ‘Why was I not told of her?’
‘Why were none of us told of her?’ said Hefin.
‘We believed her dead. Slaughtered with Caer Cad,’ said Prydd. ‘She has been unseen for more than a year.’ He looked at me. ‘Where did you hide the Kendra’s torch when it was so needed?’
I had not expected the accusation, as pointed as a whittled stick. ‘I…I have lived wild in the mountains, and sat in solitude, in contemplation…’
It was common for journeypeople to take seclusion in untouched places. It had been my retribution, my strengthening. It had never occurred to me to see cowardice in it. I glanced at Caradog. What would he see?
‘You lived a year alone in the forest?’ asked Caradog. ‘And hunted alone?’
‘I had my dogess.’ I wished Neha were beside me now, but she had not been permitted to enter the hall.
His brows lifted. ‘Would that I had one warrior so skilled.’
‘Would that I had a spear to show you one,’ said Hefin and both men laughed.
‘The Kendra is Mother-chosen,’ said Prydd over their laughter. ‘None may withhold her, not even the earthly woman who bears her title.’ He looked at me. ‘Your knowledge belongs not to you, but to the tribes.’
‘And so here she is, wiseman!’ said Caradog, before I could answer the reprimand. ‘Are we not honoured to receive her in these tribelands?’
Something altered in Prydd’s expression, as if he had turned a tarnished coin and found its other side gleaming. ‘Indeed we are honoured,’ he said.
‘Why have you come to Tir Silures?’ asked Hefin. ‘We can scarcely keep our own journeymen here. They are always trotting off to Môn on the smallest spin of the stars…’
‘To offer my aid to Caradog’s war.’
‘Horse-end’s war?’ said Hefin. ‘Who do you think provides the men? And the weapons?’
‘What aid do you propose?’ asked Caradog, ignoring him. ‘With respect, journeywoman, the Kendra is a figurehead, albeit a powerful one. I would be honoured to fight in your name, but this does not require you to stand at my side.’
I frowned. ‘I bear the voice of the Mothers—’
‘A long-grown oak bears the voice of the Mothers,’ said Caradog, ‘yet is of little use in crafting battle strategy.’
I flinched at the rudeness. Yet his question was valid. ‘I can augur…and I have visioned for battle…’ My answer wavered. I had been prepared to defend my actions. I had not been prepared to defend the Kendra’s purpose. This had never been questioned.
Caradog shrugged. ‘I have augurers already, but another would do no harm…’
‘I think not,’ said Prydd. ‘That you are returned will hearten our warriors. But you will need to be taken to Môn and held in sanctuary.’
I met his stare. Most of our learning places had been destroyed by the Romans. The island of Môn was the last training place for the journeypeople. I had long hoped to go there. But not now. ‘I have no wish to go to Môn—’
‘You cannot stay here with the man the Romans pursue above all others,’ said Prydd.
‘Let her stay,’ said Caradog. ‘I am curious to learn of her talents.’
Prydd frowned. ‘It invites danger, War Chief. To her and to yourself. She will serve us best from the safety of the Isle.’
I bristled. They were speaking of me as if I were a prize mare at market. As if I were not the Kendra of Albion. In Caer Cad I had been acknowledged as the voice of the Mothers, Albion’s highest knowledge-bearer. Perhaps they knew, after all, what I had done, how utterly I had betrayed my tribe. Was this why they dishonoured me? But nothing had been spoken, no questions asked. ‘I do not wish to be held in safety,’ I told Prydd. ‘I do not wish to be sheltered from this war. I am ready to stand in danger.’
‘Then you shall.’ Caradog was fastening his cloak. ‘I like you,’ he said. ‘There’s a place for you here.’
Hefin chuckled.
Prydd was silent.
‘I didn’t know war chiefs served as gate-keepers now,’ I said to Caradog as we walked through the vestibule to the outer doorway.
‘I do as I ask my fighters to do,’ he said. ‘How else can I expect their loyalty?’
‘I only observe that it is not typical.’
‘This war won’t be won by doing what is typical.’
We stepped outside. Daylight revealed faint lines in his face, betraying the strain of three years of war. Though he was not especially fine featured, I saw now the evidence of royal breeding—the even bones, straight nose, strong jaw. His expression was one of shrewd intelligence, a sense of constant reckoning mixed with a little mirth. His skin was pale, his hair the colour of dark rust. His eyes were guarded by a heavy brow, their hue, in the last of the sunlight, a shade between grey and green, a melancholy, hybrid colour of neither sky nor earth. There was nothing in his outward form that claimed his authority, rather, it was his certainty, an inner sovereignty, that rendered him magnificent.
I stood, unspeaking. Perhaps it was that I had not been with any human kin for so many seasons, but I was unsettled by him, reminded of another, whom I wished to forget.
Hefin and Prydd emerged behind us. ‘We will feast at sunset to welcome our guest,’ said Hefin. ‘Caradog, will you show her to her hut?’
‘I must leave that to you, chieftain,’ he answered. ‘I have scarcely spoken with my men at camp today.’
‘I can escort her,’ said Prydd. ‘And show her the township.’
I nodded my agreement. I did not crave time with him, but I was curious to see more of the settlement.
Caradog strode away.
Prydd led me down a street of densely built houses, until we stood before Llanmelin’s temple. He seemed to take much pride in it. ‘See its bell?’ he said. ‘The bronze contains gold shipped from Erin.’
Like all journey-temples, its walls were not round, but straight, aligned to the angles of the solstice, and built of timber instead of daub to keep the sky and its weather close. From each of the posts that marked the outer ambulatory hung a rag of lamb, piglet, or dog in various stages of decay: gifts for the sun to be borne by the crows. A cool wind carried the familiar scent.
Prydd led me back to the southern entrance, where we climbed a ladder to the viewing platform behind the wall. To the east were endless crop fields and pastures seamed with dark hedges of gorse. A vein of w
ater glittered on the horizon.
‘It is the river Habren,’ said Prydd, following my eye. ‘Near to the point where it meets the sea.’
‘So close…’ I murmured, surprised. Though I had travelled a much longer, land-bound route, this thin snake of ocean was all that lay between these tribelands and mine. For all my life it had borne boats carrying tin, iron and slate between the Silures and the Durotriges, but now this watery threshold marked the edge of the Empire. Beyond it, the Romans stood in wait. Were any of them staring, as I was now, upon the silver boundary?
I followed Prydd as he walked northwards along the wall. Halfway to the next platform he stopped. ‘That is Caradog’s war band.’
Past a border of forest, a cluster of tents and timber huts sprawled over several paddocks, fires smoking between them. Carts ringed the camp, livestock tethered to every pole and axle. It was twice the size of the township, and far more densley populated.
I stared in wonder. Moment by moment, the enormity of Caradog’s task revealed itself. He did not creep alone through Albion’s war lands; he moved an army of thousands—men, their wives, elders, children, horses and cattle. And he needed to keep them hidden. Again, I marvelled at his power to convince Hefin to shelter this army. ‘Does the war chief camp among them?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Prydd said. ‘He sleeps in Hefin’s finest guest hut.’
We stood in silence, watching the movements of the camp.
‘Kendra—’
I turned back to him. From this too-close vantage I could see the blue spiral mark pierced into his forehead and the flaking skin on his bald crown. I felt an urge to step backwards but the narrow walkway did not allow it.
‘We must cloak your arrival in some secrecy,’ he said, glancing at the boundary guard who stood at the next platform. ‘The Romans know it is the journeypeople who steer the resistance against them. If Plautius were to learn that our highest knowledge-bearer walks among us once more, he would hunt you like a solstice sow.’
‘But the tribes need to know that the Mothers have returned their Kendra—’
‘We must manage the knowledge. We cannot pour such a strong ale in too large a quantity. We must distribute it artfully, where it will do the most good.’
I said nothing. I had been one year forest-hidden. Without doubt, Prydd knew the weather of tribal politics better than I.
He looked at me. ‘You are young.’
‘Eighteen summers.’
‘How far had you progressed in your training when you were made Kendra?’
‘Not far,’ I admitted. ‘I came late to the poems and the Mothers claimed me quickly. But I’ve known medicine plants since babehood.’
Prydd’s face revealed nothing. ‘You will need further training,’ he said. ‘With an elder. If you will not go to Môn then I must teach you.’
‘As you wish.’ I would do what was needed in order to stay.
I felt his stare linger as I turned my gaze back to the camp.
‘You are bold to travel without kin or companion,’ he said.
‘You know my story. I have none to travel with.’
‘I know the finality, but not the pattern by which it unfolded.’
I shivered as the wind stole through my dress. It seemed that the full story of Caer Cad’s slaughter had not reached greater Albion, and I was grateful. It had taken a year and a season for me to accept that I had acted in truth. I could not be sure others would make the same judgement. ‘When I am better rested I will tell you.’
‘I shall await it.’
As I stared at the camp, busy with people preparing for the evening, I knew a loneliness I had not once felt in my mountain seclusion. ‘Perhaps you would take me to my hut now?’ I asked. ‘So I might ready myself for the feast.’
‘Of course.’
We descended the ladder and he led me to the northern quarter of the township, where a small hut stood apart from the larger houses nearby. Its thatch was fresh and thick, and a ewe skull stared down from the lintel.
Prydd stopped at the door.
‘With whom will I share such a close dwelling?’ I asked.
‘With no one.’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘I am to live alone?’
‘One of your stature cannot dwell among the throng of the tribe. You must be held apart.’
My heart dipped. I had held myself apart for the last sixteen moons. I wanted to bring my knowledge closer to the tribespeople, not further away. ‘I had hoped to live with journey-kin.’
‘The Kendra lives alone.’ His tone was sharp, lacking in respect.
If it was not because of my story, then I needed to know why. ‘Do you doubt me, journeyman? Do you think I am not who I claim to be?’
‘Why should I doubt you? All of Albion awaits you, yet you have come to me.’
‘I have come to Caradog.’
He stared at me. ‘Caradog was not easily welcomed here, where the chieftain’s family has ruled since iron was first dug. It is I who have cleared his path.’
‘He appears to me a man who strikes his own path…’
‘Caradog relies on the journeymen’s favour to succeed in this war. As do all.’
I frowned. This was not the way of the journeypeople with whom I had been raised. Prydd knew the meaning and power of the Kendra better than any. Yet I seemed to conjure neither reverence nor joy in him. My title was not long-gotten and had borne a heavy blow. It would not serve me to make an opponent here so soon. I nodded my acceptance.
Prydd rattled aside the door screen, then put a veined arm across the entrance as I went to pass. ‘One more word, Kendra—?’ his voice was low.
I hungered to be free of him. ‘Yes.’
‘You are young and little-trained and I would not see you fail.’
I met his eye.
‘You have knowledge of the Mothers greater than any other, but that does not mean you understand the workings of the tribes.’
‘I do not pretend to—’
He held up his hand to quieten me. ‘War has changed this land,’ he said. ‘The Kendra’s title is precious, but it is no longer all powerful.’
I sat cross-legged by the fire, churning from Prydd’s words. In the months I had spent alone on the mountain, I had questioned many times whether I was worthy to bear the title I’d been given. I had never imagined that the title itself could be questioned.
Kendra. Highest knowledge-bearer. None could command me, for I was Mother-chosen, the bridge between the tribes and their creators. How could Prydd deny this power?
I reached for a log from the basket and placed it on the fire. My hut was oven-warm. Like all our dwellings, it was windowless, a perfect circle on the ground. Its walls sang with the spiralling red and black patterns of our totems. A narrow box bed stood against the western wall, piled thick with lambskins and woollen blankets. On the eastern side stood a set of low shelves, furnished with two bowls, a water jug and my old clothes, neatly folded. A servant must have brought them from the cook hut.
This was my home now.
Staring at the flames, I reached into the yoke of my dress and pressed my fingertips to the scar on my chest. The crescent-shaped keloid had grown since it was cut, spreading like a dark red tuber across my skin.
It was ugly, always itchy, and painful to touch, but this scar had been made by the Mothers’ knife and I wore it proudly. This was the wound that marked me as Kendra. I closed my eyes, remembering the moment they had opened my skin to let their song enter me. It felt like a dream now, or a conjuring of trance. But the scar beneath my fingers was real.
Neha stretched on the floor beside me, needing only my presence to be at peace.
Prydd had said that the power of the Kendra’s title had lessened in the war.
I needed to restore it.
It was true that I was not long-trained. I had not yet given my years to memorising the laws and histories that were held in chants and imparted, over lifetimes, from the wise to the init
iates. But my scar bore testament to one moment of transcendence, in which I had stood witness to the Mothers’ singing. To bear this memory was my Kendra’s task. And now, as Rome tore the bonds we held with this country, was it not more important than ever that the soul of our land was remembered?
Outside the robins called to the last of the daylight. I stood up, faced the doorway, and performed the series of bows and arches to acknowledge the sun’s farewell. Then I sat down to chant, running my fingers over my knotted belt to count the cycles.
I stroked Neha’s head when I had finished and she looked up, panting from the fire’s heat. Her face was oddly coloured, halved into night and day, one eye brown and the other pale blue. One saw this world, and the other beyond.
A bell rang in the distance, signalling the commencement of the feast. I re-tied the yoke of my dress over my scar. Now I would stand before the township. By the grace of the Mothers, it seemed that none here knew the story of my past. This was my gift. My second chance.
I did not doubt my title. But Prydd was right. I knew little of how the tribes had changed since I had been hidden. I needed a teacher. If it had to be Prydd, then I would embrace him.
Caradog had called the Kendra a figurehead. I knew I could be more. I knew I could help the tribes to survive the war. I just needed to know how. I had failed once, as Kendra, and barely endured it. I could not fail again.
‘To your liking?’ asked Caradog, pork juices streaming down his chin.
I nodded. The meat was tender and seasoned with sorrel. I bit a strip from the joint on my hook and washed it down with a sip of barley ale. It was good to feast again, to taste the long-stewed flavours of my childhood and drink the sweet, brewed waters I had so long forgone.
The hall was crowded and hot with a raging fire. I had been seated between Caradog and Hefin in the centre circle, closest to the meat, an honoured position. The journeymen and the clan heads of greater Llanmelin made up the rest of the inner ring, while the lesser warriors and their families were seated behind. I glanced at Prydd who ate silently across the fire. He had bowed deeply when I entered the hall, displaying a far greater reverence than when we had been alone.