Skin (28 page)

We left for Mai Cad, casting jewels and weapons into the Cam to bless our journey;
then we rode south, through pastures and fields of wheat and barley. The sun drew
high as we reached the woodlands that marked the southern border of Summer. These
were not forbidden forests and I could enter them unskinned.

Fraid and her stableman rode ahead. I rode beside Llwyd, soothed by the steady thud
of my grey mare's footfall and her warm strength beneath me. Along the path Llwyd
pointed out fragments of forest life, the track of a fox with an injured front foot,
the call of a thrush fallen too soon from the nest. As the forest turned from beech
to ash, then to oak, he explained the different qualities of the trees. How one was
used in binding work and one in dispelling. How a wiseman would come to one part
of the forest to vision the future and another to remember the past. I gleaned that
there was meaning in every stone and leaf and trickle of water.

We had been riding gradually uphill. When we emerged from the woodland in the late
afternoon, we were at the crest of a ridge that looked to the west. Fields, grasslands
and settlements spread before us in shades of yellow and green, with silver streams
threaded among them and boulders scattered like crumbs. It was stonier, wilder than
Summer. Beside us was a spring that bubbled from within the hill, ringed with stones
and carvings left by others who had worshipped here.

‘We will rest the horses before we descend,' said Fraid.

We dismounted. By the spring Llwyd began murmuring a chant to the Mothers.

While the stableman tethered the horses, I pulled strips of dried fish from my riding
pouches and sat overlooking the flatlands to eat them. Llwyd settled beside me. The
late-day sun was sinking before us, soaking the country in rose-gold light.

‘What is it that we stare upon?' he asked.

I looked at him. Did he trick me? ‘It is Central Durotriga…?'

‘But what do you see in it?' He bit into his fish.

I frowned. ‘Fields, rivers, many stones…'

‘When you train you will see it in a different way.' The sun turned his brown eyes
to amber. ‘You will see the stories.'

I knew he could not tell me the stories until I had skin, but he wanted me to know
they were there.

‘We alter the land,' he said. ‘We speak with it. We take from it in our farms and
give to it in our rituals. But we don't change it too much, or the story is changed.
Think on this as we meet with Cun.'

‘I will try.' I drew my cloak against a needling wind. There was so little I knew.

‘Prepare to mount,' called Fraid.

‘Llwyd—' I touched his cloak as he went to stand. ‘I go to these discussions without
even the most basic learning.'

He crouched back beside me. ‘Then let me give you what I can now.' He leaned close
and I smelled the woodsmoke caught in his hair. Years of reckoning were held in his
face. Like the tribelands he loved, it was more story than flesh. ‘Two things above
all others guide the journeymen and -women of Albion,' he said. ‘The first is knowledge
so that we may deeply understand what is true and what is false. The second is freedom
to choose between them. With knowledge and freedom, a soul may be enlightened. Without
them, it will never be.'

Fraid called us to depart.

Llwyd caught my wrist. His grip was strong. ‘All the power of
the tribes rests in
knowledge and freedom. The Kendra must protect them.'

‘But I will not be Kendra, Journeyman!' I whispered, suddenly frightened by the gravity
of his charge. Was there wrongness in this? I was unskinned. Was I falsely chosen?'

‘You will be Kendra.'

‘How can you know it?'

‘You have the Kendra's heart.'

Our wisepeople are spiders, weaving order from the chaos that would otherwise consume
us.

W
E
APPROACHED
MAI
CAD
as the sun turned crimson. The hill reared from the lowlands,
its walls wrapping around the slopes, like the Mothers' finger. This was said to
be Albion's largest, most splendid hillfort. Only when we were climbing the paths
of the eastern entrance did we see the dizzying depths of the ditches and the sheer-faced
height of the walls.

When our horses were stabled and we had washed in the guesthouse, we were led to
the Tribeking's Great House. His servant told us that the other tribal heads were
not expected until tomorrow morning. Tonight, we three alone would meet with Cun.

The Great House was lined with torches and well-shined weapons. Durotrigan banners
of war hung from the walls and a full cauldron of fragrant stew simmered over the
fire. At the strong place sat a dark,
well-muscled man, wearing the thick torque
of a king. Cun. But where were his wisemen? His warriors?

There was one other with him, whom I had not expected to see: Ruther. My instincts
sharpened. Why was he here?

His eyes widened when he saw me. It seemed he, too, was unaware that we were to meet,
although he did not betray this surprise when he bowed to kiss my fingers and to
greet me as a high guest. Our eyes met for a moment and I wondered if the others
in the room could feel the ribbons of energy that spun between us.

‘This is a great surprise, Ruther.' Fraid's voice was guarded. ‘How is it that you
have come?'

‘I bring knowledge of the campaign and—' he glanced at Cun. ‘I have met with men
of the legions.'

‘The Romans themselves?' said Fraid. ‘You are at the heart of things.'

Cun shifted in his seat as we all took ours. It was clear that Ruther did not have
his trust.

I was introduced to Cun as the servant poured us cups of strong ale. ‘And who are
you to be brought here so young?' Cun asked me. ‘Do they train statecraft at the
tit nowadays?'

‘She is as yet untrained,' said Fraid slowly. ‘We think she may be knowledge-gifted
to the Kendra.'

‘The Kendra?' Cun raised his eyebrows. ‘I have not known one since my boytime. This
will hearten the warriors.'

Ruther's stare bore into the side of my face as Cun described the attack to Fraid.
‘The landing at Cantia was unopposed,' he said, a tendon twitching in his throat.

‘Where was Caradog?' asked Fraid, shocked.

‘He withdrew his men after the mutiny,' said Ruther. ‘The legions took him by surprise.'

‘But he rallied to meet them at the Medway,' said Cun. ‘The
Romans were greater in
number—thousandfold—but Caradog held them for two days in the wetlands. The tribesmen
knew the riverways, but Plautius brought warriors from Gaul, trained in water crossings.
In the end, Plautius scraped together a feeble victory.' Cun spat on the floor. ‘Though
the Romans call it glorious, as Togodumnus is dead.'

‘And Caradog?' asks Fraid.

‘In retreat,' said Ruther. ‘Though he gathers forces among those who have not submitted.
The Romans now send two forces. One northward—' he paused, ‘—the other westward.
Flavius Vespasian heads the legion that is moving west—at least ten thousand men.
'

Fraid inhaled. ‘It could take years for a campaign of that size to reach the western
tribes.'

‘We should send fighters to Caradog now,' said Cun, ‘to halt the advance before it
comes too far.'

Fraid shook her head. ‘The strength of Durotriga has always been our independence.
I will not invite attack by joining against them unprovoked.'

‘And when they arrive,' pressed Cun, ‘will you defend?'

Fraid lowered her cup, her knuckles white. ‘What is the thinking of the tribes, Ruther?'
she asked. ‘The Regni? The Belgae?'

‘Eleven kings have pledged their loyalty. Now they strengthen Plautius's forces through
their knowledge of rivers and trackways,' said Ruther.

‘Others have fought,' said Cun.

‘And?' said Fraid.

‘None have succeeded in it,' said Ruther.

Fraid leaned back, colourless even in the fire's warm light. It was the first time
I understood the weight she must bear.

‘Ruther, you have seen it,' she said. ‘In truth, how strong is this army?'

‘Their strength cannot be overstated,' said Ruther. ‘They fight
in a manner most
unlike our own. It is not simply courage they call on, but strategy. They work as
one force. A greater force than brute strength.' He paused.

‘Speak on.' Cun frowned.

‘The mind of their fighting men is quite other than ours. They do not fight to display
their own courage. There is no battleglory for one man alone. Each is committed,
above all else, to the glory of their commander.'

‘What kind of fighters are these?' smirked Cun. ‘Driven by mindless obedience. That
does not sound like a strong army, but one fuelled by fear.'

‘Exactly so,' said Ruther. ‘They are trained to fear their commander more than their
enemy.'

‘I do not fear Vespasian,' said Cun. ‘The warriors of Durotriga are the fiercest
in Britain.'

‘And man against man we will always beat them,' said Ruther. ‘It is not courage in
question. They fight in perfect unity of style and dress, with short swords behind
large shields. One beast instead of many. Our weapons are useless against a wall
of their shields. And they are well armoured. They make jokes of our robeless warriors
and call them children—'

Llwyd raised his hand to silence him. ‘Our warriors fight naked to draw of the forces
in the earth beneath them. Their courage is sacred. These Roman ways are without
spirit.'

‘There are spirits enough when they drink to their victories,' said Ruther.

I flinched at his disrespect.

‘Enough, Ruther,' said Fraid.

Ruther sipped his ale.

My thoughts sped.

As he set down his cup, Cun's forearm clenched thick and hard
as a taproot. ‘We will
gather an army that will make them soak their skirts—'

‘Or?' said Fraid, interrupting gently. ‘What do
you
advise, Ruther?'

Ruther paused. ‘I have spoken of it before, and it was not well heard. Plautius pursues
a peaceful presence and offers an alliance. A friendship that preserves the tribes,
that strengthens them. Many are taking the offer. It would bring us benefits.'

Without warning there were words on my tongue. ‘Though far fewer benefits than it
brings to Rome.'

All eyes turned to me. Ruther looked bemused.

My heart pounded. I glanced to Fraid and she nodded me to continue. ‘Is the knowledge
of the journeypeople upheld under Roman
friendship
?'

Llwyd smiled at my weight on the word.

Ruther paused before answering, holding my gaze. ‘The journeymen are not well loved
by the Romans.'

‘But if Durotriga submits, as you are suggesting—' my voice quavered. ‘Do we uphold
the journeypeople's learning?'

Ruther's lip twitched. ‘It would not be to our benefit to do so.'

‘So we lose both our freedom and our knowledge.'

A flash of anger crossed Ruther's face. Then it was gone and he softened, speaking
as if only he and I were in the room. ‘Do not fear change, Ailia,' he said, ‘not
one so alive as you. The invasion comes. If we cannot hold it back then let us shape
it to our gain.'

‘And what of the Kendra, should she become known,' I continued. ‘Will she be honoured
under Roman law?'

Ruther met my eye. ‘She would not.'

‘There are warriors waiting beyond this door who would knife you for these words,
tribesman,' said Cun.

Ruther turned to him. ‘Then tell them to think of the solstice wheel,' he said.

‘What?' scoffed Cun. ‘I am in no mood for riddles.'

Ruther leaned forward, wiping ale from his thick blond moustache. ‘It is forward
motion that keeps the wheel upright as it rolls burning down the hill. When it stops,
it falls, and its flames are extinguished. We are as the wheel. And this invasion
is the ground before us. If we do not roll forward, our fire ceases and we will fall.'

‘A pretty image,' said Llwyd. ‘But what if you told them of the oak. Life in its
most sacred form. The seasons turn around it, the winds shake its branches, but it
remains still, its roots fixed in the ground.' He looked at me. ‘Which is stronger,
Ailia, the wheel or the oak?'

I had no answer, compelled equally by each image.

‘We are neither trees nor wheels,' said Cun, shaking his head. ‘And we have never
been under anybody's rule. Even when the Great Bear took the tribes on three sides
of us, we remained untouched.'

Ruther gave a resigned snort. ‘Do not worry. Our dissent is well known to the Romans,'
he said. ‘It is the very thing that will incite them to subdue us.'