Celtika (39 page)

‘I’m searching for an old friend. Cunomaglos. Of the Cornovidi. He looks after my hounds.’

The Avernian looked down at the two stiffened beasts, then again at Urtha, shaking his head. ‘Why do you ask me such a question when your dogs have told you all you wish to know? And why do you lie? He’s no friend of yours.’

And he snapped words at his compatriots; forty men on horse turned to look at us, scowling, then all of them drew away from the column, leaving the bedraggled troupe ahead of them exposed.

The dogs began to bark, hackles rising. They were watching one man among the small party of warriors.

Cunomaglos looked over his shoulder. He was just as I had imagined him, heavyset, umber-haired, mean-eyed and grim. He was wearing a mail vest over green linen, and short, striped trousers, his tattooed arms bare, his calves a mass of scars. He seemed shocked, then reined in, turned and suddenly screamed a curse towards us. He was unkempt, his dark beard untrimmed, his hair hanging thickly from below an undecorated leather helmet.

I had walked the Path for lifetimes; I had seen the way fear and fury can mix in a man’s eyes to give him the appearance of something so wild that he will give pause to the strongest-hearted contestant in combat. I cannot describe in words what I saw in that man Cunomaglos’s eyes at that moment—murder and desperation, perhaps. Had he dreamed of the wreckage he had left behind when he had ridden away from Urtha’s family? Had the spirits of Aylamunda and Urien taunted him from Ghostland? Had the dead among his companions, the
uthiin
who had remained faithful, ridden him down and whispered abuse at him?
Spectres on his back.
Something had happened to this man, and he was now confronting the dread moment of his dreams: vengeance had ridden up to him and said quietly, ‘I’ve come to kill you for killing my wife and child. You stole my life, as I see from your eyes you already know. I’ve come to take it back.’

Cunomaglos stayed as motionless as a statue, his pale eyes not blinking as he stared at Urtha, who abruptly turned and rode back to me.

‘
Got
him!’ the young king said with a quick smile. ‘And did you see the look on his face? He knows what must have happened in the fort. He’s frightened. Now, how far is it to that ocean? Charm me to it soon, Merlin. I cannot wait to rub sea-salt into that bastard’s wounds!’

*   *   *

As the ocean came in sight, a distant shimmer, specked with islands, the Celts began to break ranks, whipping horse and chariot ahead of the main army, bands of men exuberantly seeking the best beaches for games and races. By the time we were riding along the cliffs, not a single strand was in pristine condition, churned up by wheels and hooves as clan challenged clan to every conceivable competition; including swimming races to the dark rocks that rose, like a broken reef, at a distance from the shore.

Throwing-games abounded, using lances, rocks and bulky pouches; the Iceni, from south of Urtha’s own land, and the Belgae from across the water had formed into two teams of forty players, and were reinventing gwdball, a kicking, jumping and punching game using an inflated bladder.

Now Brennos gave instructions to throw up earthworks on the land side, and set up picket stations. For two days another army had shadowed our own. They were spread out across the hills behind us, and moved south in parallel with us. Their intentions were unclear. Brennos had established a very large force of heavily armed men at the rear of the column.

Luturios and his keen-weaponed brigade escorted Cunomaglos and his own men inland, to the far bank of a river that curled and rushed through the rocks towards the edge of one of the beaches. They found a place where there was grass and wood on both banks, backed by craggy rocks, and where the water was waist deep.

Urtha and Ullanna arrived on the near bank, with the other Celts from Argo. Tairon and Rubobostes had stayed behind to guard the Spirit of the Ship.

Luturios and his men withdrew seawards, along the shallow river, and set a fire, sitting down to watch from a distance. If this combat was conducted in the proper fashion, they would be no more than spectators.

*   *   *

Urtha and Cunomaglos laid out their weapons, then approached the river. Cunomaglos had shaved his cheeks and waxed his hair into a single, thick braid. Trousered, naked to the waist except for tattoos, he was formidable. All that earlier weariness and fear had vanished. His arms were huge, ridged with veins. His eyes were so deep in his skull it was hard to tell where he was looking. Perhaps everywhere.

Urtha wore a kirtle and a short blue cloak, drawn around his body and pinned at the shoulder with a hound-faced brooch. He had slung his father’s gold
lunula
on top of this, and it was clear that Cunomaglos was aware of that family totem, as it glinted. Was he wondering what it was doing on Urtha and not on the druid, whose ended life had given it up?

It was time to negotiate. The Celts adopt the battle-talk when facing single combat, formal and laconic; and they indulge in exaggerated metaphor as well as insult.

Arms crossed, each man examined the armoury that was opposed to him. Then Cunomaglos shouted, ‘I see you have begged, borrowed and stolen a fine array of weapons. Those big shields are impressive, but they won’t hold me back.’

‘I’d be surprised if you came with that array of weapons all the way from your home. You’ve been doing some begging yourself. Is that a stone groinplate I see? You must be truly scared of the strength of my blade.’

‘I will lend you the stone with pleasure, if you promise not to use the unfair thrust.’

‘Only a coward like you would contemplate the unfair blow. Keep the stone. I’ll use it to weight your dead body in the sea, when I bury you.’

‘In fact,’ Cunomaglos retorted, ‘I had planned to carve it in memory of a brother, and lay it on the earth over your cold, blood-drained corpse.’

‘Then don’t concern yourself with practising with hammer and chisel. On the matter of the fight, this ground is wrong for chariots.’

‘I agree. I would have enjoyed challenging you by chariot, but it would be unfair on the horses.’

‘I would propose only two weapons at a time, the choice to alternate between us.’

‘I’m quite happy with that. We must decide on whose side of the river we begin. And I propose that we keep the river itself for the fifth encounter, though that is just to be clear in the rules, since you will be crow-feast after the first.’

‘Four on land, then the fifth in the river until it’s done, until the death. Yes. And no matter what is happening, how far the fight has gone when we fight on land, when the last edge of the sun disappears behind that hill, the fighting is ended for the day.’

‘I agree with that. Clewvar, who has sharp eyes, will stand the watch for me. Only if we reach the river will we fight to the end of it. Lexomodos will guard my weapons.’

‘Cathabach will watch on my side. Ullanna of Scythia will watch my weapons.’

Although two of Cunomaglos’s men laughed quickly at the suggestion that a woman would supply weapons and armour to a man in combat, it was taboo to insult a woman relative at such a time, and Cunomaglos stayed silent and stiff until the inappropriate insult had been silenced.

Urtha went on: ‘And one further thing: since Brennos’s man Luturios brought us to this place, neither of us can be considered to have arrived first at the ford, and therefore have the right to decide the weapons. I suggest we decide by throwing a spear at that olive tree, growing up the stream, by the grey rock, there. The winner whose throw comes closest to the point where the lowest branch divides.’

‘I agree.’

Each man took up a light spear. They threw together. The shafts came close to touching, but each point found the tree unhindered, and Cunomaglos had made the more accurate cast.

‘I choose the heavy stabbing spears with those wide blades, and the round shields of oak and leather with the bright bronze rims. And to fight on your side of the river.’

‘Agreed.’

Just when you think a combat is going to spring into action, the Celts stop for contemplation and insult. Each man selected five spears and two shields, and Ullanna and Cunomaglos’s weapons man, Lexomodos, met in the river and agreed that this set of arms was equally matched. Urtha ate a meal in silence, sitting cross-legged by the open hearth, staring at his foster brother. Cunomaglos glared back at him.

At dawn they were still sitting by the dead fires, staring at each other. Whether they had slept or not is hard to say, but they rose as one, seemingly fresh, stripped naked and went to the river to wash at the crouch.

‘Today I will kill you, for Aylamunda and my son, Urien. They died because you abandoned the fort.’

‘I expect you will give a good account of yourself for half the morning,’ Cunomaglos replied. ‘You’ll tire after that. I’ll be certain to tell you when the killing blow is coming.’

‘I promise you that the echo of those words is the last thing you’ll hear.’

Urtha pulled his battle kirtle around his waist, made of light material with a purple hem. He tied a leather kilt over this, with a hand-sized circle of metal to protect his groin. He chose sandals for his feet, tied a thin stone across his heart, then cut the ends of his moustache, giving them to Ullanna. He tied his hair into a top-knot, then quickly went away from the view of his enemy, crouched and let go of his bowels.

Thus refreshed he came back and tried each of the heavy spears, for weight and balance. The huge round shields seemed an encumbrance, to my uneducated self, but he tossed each of them into the air to demonstrate how easy they were to use, then went down to wait for Cunomaglos.

Cunomaglos was carried across the river—it would have disadvantaged him to have wet sandals. He was similarly attired, though his kilt was black and he had a strip of metal hanging loosely down the middle of his chest, tied by flax around his shoulders. He had not bothered with the groin-stone.

They put down their weapons and embraced, each kissing the other three times before pulling away and picking up their weapons again.

Cathabach whispered to me, ‘The Three Unavoidable Embraces: for a past shared; for kind words shared; for a future when they will ride the same valleys in Ghostland.’

‘And when do they get around to fighting?’

‘Now, I think…’

When they charged each other I felt sure they must both fall at once. I have seen feral creatures attack each other, or pounce upon prey, but I have rarely seen such animal distortion on the face of men who were at one moment handsome, at the next like creatures from the Greekland world of Hel itself. Red-flushed, foam-mouthed, their voices like high-pitched, one-note horns, they smashed and stabbed and jumped and kicked at each other, whirling, twisting, darting and rolling away from the ferocious blows that were directed to every inch of their bodies.

Urtha’s spear shattered and Cunomaglos backed off, chest heaving, as Ullanna brought him another, and they went to the fight again; and when Cunomaglos’s spear broke behind the head, Lexomodos tossed him another. Spear by spear they cracked and splintered their way through the morning, and when Urtha’s fifth spear shattered they flung shield and weapons aside and went to the river, side by side, plunging into the water and letting the blood flow away from them.

They rested until the middle of the afternoon, each on his own side of the river.

Then they faced each other again, patched and stitched by their helpers.

Urtha called out, ‘I choose the heavy-bladed swords with the ivory hilts, which I see you have, stolen, I believe, from the Trocmii.’

‘Donated!’ Cunomaglos said with an expression of mock outrage.

‘And the small, light shields of ash and leather. We need to get closer to each other to do some damage!’

‘I agree. You danced so far from me, I began to wonder if I would ever see your face.’

‘You’ll see my face this time, and I promise you a kiss on the lips as your spirit departs.’

‘The thought of a kiss like that from lips like yours is the first moment I’ve felt afraid!’

Both men laughed, then gathered the appropriate weapons, and Urtha was carried across the river.

This was a bloodier contest. By the end of it, my ears were ringing. Iron on iron, when struck with such force, creates a sound that lingers in the air, building in volume until the very rocks seem to shriek and shudder with the echo. The shields were splintered and discarded. Urtha took a deep wound to his side, but severed one of the small toes from Cunomaglos’s left foot. They had broken three blades each when they decided to stop and mend their cuts.

It was still a long time until dusk.

‘He’s fighting strongly,’ Manandoun said, as Ullanna applied moss to one of Urtha’s more superficial wounds.

‘Men who know they’re in the wrong always fight strongly,’ was Urtha’s grim comment.

Ullanna said, ‘You’re fighting strongly too. I didn’t know you had such turns of speed in you.’

‘Men who know they’re in the right always fight strongly,’ Urtha agreed.

It was the end of the conversation.

Urtha drank a hot concoction of herbs, and ate a small amount of honey. Across the river, Cunomaglos was testing his foot, making sure he could run and leap with the bandaging about his severed toe. He was clearly in discomfort.

He came to the water’s edge and called for Urtha. ‘If you will agree to no leaping or other foot-attacking, I’ll agree no striking at the flank, where I see you’ve been deeply cut.’

‘I accept those terms,’ Urtha shouted back. ‘And now it is your choice of weapons.’

‘No weapons but what the river can give us. We fight in the river. No quarter. We fight to the death. An end to this, Urtha. That is what I propose.’

‘I will meet you there shortly,’ Urtha called back. ‘I accept those terms.’

He came back to us and put his hands on my shoulders. He said nothing, but turned to Ullanna and gently held her face. ‘You’ve stuffed enough moss into my body to stop my heart. If I die, send reindeers to graze on me. Thank you.’