The Making of the Lamb (29 page)

The rations that evening were small, unlike the Celts’ usual bounteous fare, but Jesus did not come for the meager meal. Daniel finished his ration and went looking for his cousin. He found him on the inner rampart, staring out to sea. Daniel approached, but Jesus took no notice. “Are you still pondering the druid’s riddles?” Daniel ventured.

Jesus finally turned to answer. “No, I have been pondering the riddle from my Father.”

“You had me worried. This business about three gods, now—”

“One God in three.”

“This business is not in Scripture. It sounded like you were getting it from the druids.” Daniel leaned closer to him. “You’re not becoming one of them, are you?”

“No. It’s something my Father talked to me about.”

“Back when we first came ashore in Carn Roz?”

“No. A little more than a year ago, right before
Yom Kippur
.”

“You never said anything about it.” Daniel drew back.
We’ve had our disagreements, but does he no longer trust me?

“It was such a riddle; I did not know how to explain it. I wonder if I will ever fully understand it myself. The druid gods are false, but I think I understand our true God better from the way Elsigar described the workings of his.”

He’s crazy. Or overtired.
“Come. We need our rest.” The two of them turned. Another signal fire beyond the ramparts blazed across the night.

The sea was draped in morning fog. Sentries summoned Tristan to the outer bank of the ramparts. The pirates huddled in groups around a string of campfires just beyond the range of the Dumnonii’s bows. There were not enough of them to successfully assault the ramparts, but their ranks had definitely waxed stronger.

A shout rang out from the top of Morrigan. Off in the far distance, Tristan saw boats emerge from the fog.
Just as Fergus feared. This is no raid; it is an invasion.

Tristan gathered the men. “This castle must not fall to the pirates! It would be the perfect foothold for them to start seizing the land of all the Dumnonii. We must fight to the last man.”

The men roared their agreement. They knew the cruelty of their foes, and they expected no quarter from the enemy surrounding them.

“We must get word of our peril to Castle An Dinas. Someone must ride through the enemy lines.” It would be a desperate flight. He couldn’t assign that task.

Young Fedwig was the first to volunteer.

“I am lighter,” Jesus shouted out. “The horse will go faster with me. I have a better chance of breaking through.”

“Bravely said, my friend,” Tristan responded. “But King Uryen was on the verge of death when we left. Your bravery will live long in song and story among our people, but for now they know only of the spice you gave, and Grannus will blame you for bringing an evil omen regardless of how the king fares. Fedwig will receive a kinder reception.”

Tristan gathered a group of men just inside the gates. With a shout, they charged out at the nearest group of pirates where they were huddled around a fire. The diversion worked perfectly, drawing the undisciplined pirates and thinning their line. Fedwig rode forth a few moments later and found a gap. The men in the sally fell back to the gate, their work done. Two had fallen, and the pirates soon raised severed heads in triumph.
Fedwig is away through the first line, but will he fall into the hands of other pirates coming in from the shore? If he makes it to the castle, will the tribe be ready to defend itself?

The hours trickled by. It seemed an eternity to the men, watching the enemy approach from the sea. Inaction gave rise to anxiety, fear, and doubt. The pirates already on shore began taunting and jeering.

Elsigar shouted back at them from the ramparts. “I cast the supreme curse upon you, just as Carpe did at the Battle of Mag Tured. I laugh at you and give you shame to such extent that your feet will quiver beneath you when you try to attack. Your sons will hang their heads in shame when they hear how you crawl on your bellies away from these walls. I invoke all the skills of my dreadful art.”

The words of the druid had their effect on the enemy outside the gate. None among them knew how to counter Elsigar’s magic. They fell silent and fearful.

The great host of the enemy came ashore at midday and formed up in ranks. Elsigar broke into a song, intricate in its cadence and melody. He sang of how he had fasted on the land overnight and held up the branch of the hawthorn bush. He commanded the hills to swallow him up if he should be in the wrong. Then he laid his melodic injunction on the foes. He commanded them to leave the lands of the Dumnonii in peace, lest all the pregnant women in their homeland miscarry and all those not pregnant have their wombs overturned so they would never bear sons. Any sons already born should break out in such ghastly festering sores and pimples that forevermore all women, even their mothers, would spurn the sight of them and the dripping pus, and those sons would curse the memory of their fathers to the end of their days.

The druid’s curse seemed to take away the bravado of the enemy. But still they charged the ramparts. Standing atop the stockade, Elsigar took a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks, and blew at them.

“What does that mean?” Jesus asked Tristan.

“It’s the druidic wind. It sows confusion on the enemy.”

The first wave of attackers broke on the foot of the ramparts. Jesus drew his bow. Arrows flew as fast as they could string them—the enemy was packed so closely that aim made no difference. The enemy fell back and came again, this time with a great ram that they battered against the outer ramparts. Once again arrows flew, and the enemy fell back.

Tristan took stock. His men had nearly depleted their stockpile of arrows. The enemy was coming again with the ram. His trap was laid. Just as they reached the outer gate, he gave the signal to open it.

Thinking they had broken the outer gate, the pirates rushed through. Some attempted to climb the banks, but most flooded on through the maze of ditches until they found their way blocked by the inner gate.

Then the killing began. Molten lead, rocks and the remaining arrows rained down upon the hapless pirates. Their bodies piled up quickly. Few who entered the outer gate escaped.

Later that night, Tristan passed out a ration of mead to his men. As the defenders celebrated their victory, they heard the lamentations of the remaining attackers.

Daniel drank his bit of mead. “Do they lament more the fate of their dead comrades, or the sorrows they believe await them at home from the druid’s curse?”

The next morning, Daniel awoke well before dawn. The men were all sleeping on the terrace that overlooked the outer stockade. Sentries kept a watchful eye on the enemy lines arrayed against them on the mainland.

Pirro was missing from his spot. It occurred to Daniel that he had not seen Pirro since the previous day’s battle. The casualties among the castle defenders had been light, and Daniel was sure that Pirro was not among them. So where could he be? The mystery made him uneasy.

Daniel thought he heard a muffled sound coming from the sea. He turned and looked that way. The moon was still almost full, but a patch of fog obscured the sight. He looked back at the sentries; they continued to face the mainland. He went up to one of them. “I think I heard something coming from Dianeth or Balor. I am going to look. Raise an alarm if I am not back in a few moments.” The sentry nodded.

Daniel made his way toward the sea on the high side of the amphitheater, just below the citadel. He saw shapes moving through the fog as he got closer to the clifftop overhanging the bay between the two promontories. He hollered a challenge. The shapes stopped moving.

A voice answered back, “All is well.” Pirro. At first Daniel was relieved. But this made no sense. Why would Pirro lead a group roaming around the fortress with no torch in the middle of a fog?

He shouted back. “What are you doing?” Then he heard the whistle of arrows, and he sprinted back to the ramparts. “The enemy is in the amphitheater!”

After a moment’s stunned silence, one of the sentries beat the alarm drum. It took more precious moments for the men to wake up and get oriented. Their first instinct was to look for peril from the enemy lines outside the gates.

Tristan ordered warriors with swords and battle axes to defend the rear. The others were to stay alert to defend the outer ramparts.

With his sword in his hand, Jesus joined the warriors forming their line behind the ramparts. “Where are they? How did they get in?”

“Pirro has betrayed us,” Daniel answered. “He’s leading them up the hidden path Fedwig showed us.”

“Get up on the ramparts, Daniel. The men there will need your bow.”

Tristan jumped down and led the warriors in a charge at the still unseen enemy. Jesus met them midway through the amphitheater on the low side, opposite the citadel on Macha. The sentries guarding Morrigan, Bodbh, and Macha attacked the intruders from the rear. The amphitheater filled with the sounds of a pitched battle. Blade clashed against blade. Desperate men on both sides fought through the fog-shrouded darkness.

With the sound of battle close behind them, the men on the ramparts turned to face a new peril. The sound was unmistakable. The enemy outside the gate was preparing a fresh assault from the mainland.

The barest glimmer of dawn tinged the horizon. Daniel made out shapes coming at them from the outside. This time the enemy carried ladders. Someone had to get word to Tristan. Without swordsmen or axe-men to defend the terrace, the enemy only had to mount the ladders to take the ramparts. He ran to the spot where Fedwig had left his battle axe and grabbed it. He ran down into the amphitheater, swinging his weapon wildly.

Daniel landed the axe in the side of one enemy and in the head of another as he fought his way to Tristan. “We need warriors on the ramparts. They are coming with ladders,” he shouted. Tristan pulled back from the fight. His men were beginning to push the enemy back, but there were no warriors to spare. Already several of his men had fallen.

More intruders were coming up the hidden trail to augment the enemy. The warriors were too few to be everywhere, but Tristan dispatched a half-dozen men back to the ramparts with Daniel. That would not hold that fortification for long, nor did it leave Tristan with enough men to hold back the intruders in the amphitheater, as more of them kept coming.

Daniel reached the ramparts with the warriors as the enemy coming up the ladders began to reach the defenders. Desperately they drew their blades and attacked, trying to gain the advantage as the enemy struggled up the last few steps. Men on the ramparts toppled some of the ladders, and the men hurling molten lead and missiles were doing heroic work. But more foes with ladders kept coming.

The tide of battle in the amphitheater turned against them. Jesus and some of the others were driven back. Looking across the amphitheater, he watched in horror as an enemy axe cleaved through Tristan’s skull.

The enemy was unstoppable. With no one in command, Jesus shouted for the men around him to retreat up Macha to the citadel. A half-dozen warriors followed. Making it into the stockade, they barred the gate.

Jesus looked over the stockade. The enemy had turned toward the ramparts. The bridge from the citadel to the ramparts would not stand for long if the intruders attacked the support posts.

The last gasp of desperation was upon them. At best, the fight behind the ramparts would turn into a general melee. Quickly and silently, Jesus prayed to his Father for protection and strength. Then he formed the warriors into a line, alternating the swordsmen with the axe-men. “Thrust your swords at the enemy like this,” he shouted, showing them the Roman technique. “Let the axe-men take the swings. Now, men of the Dumnonii, let us fight. On to glory!”

With a great shout from the men, Jesus led a charge down the slope of Macha and into the flank of the intruders. The combination of swinging axes and thrusting swords threw total confusion into the enemy. Jesus’s men linked up with the remnants of Tristan’s band, who were all now on the defense. Jesus heard screams of dying men from the ramparts.

Suddenly, above the roar of battle, Jesus heard the horn. That sweet blast identified one warrior and no other. Off in the distance, it had to be Fedwig sounding it.

Leading the host of all the western Dumnonii, Fergus and Fedwig rode up on the hillside overlooking the desperate battle. Onward they charged, sweeping the pirates from the face of the castle ramparts.

A desperate fight was waged along the terraces of all three ramparts, but some of the villagers managed to open the gates. Most of Fedwig’s host rode through to turn the fight in the amphitheater, but some of them scaled the rampart walls to help slay the enemy still fighting on the terraces.

When Fergus’s men came through, the intruders in the amphitheater turned their thoughts to escape. Some tried to jump from the lowest point on the cliffs into the sea, but most of those broke their necks or drowned. Others retreated to the top of Bodbh, which had fallen to them. But now the defenders outnumbered the intruders. The slope of Bodbh was far too steep for horses, so Fergus’s warriors dismounted and drove the remaining intruders up higher and higher on the rocky mount, hacking them down with their blades until the last of them was slain.

A few intruders started down the escape trail to the bay between the promontories, only to see from halfway down the cliff their boats dashed to pieces on the rocks by the waves.

Half an hour later it was over. Fergus found the lifeless body of Tristan lying in the amphitheater. He cradled his cousin in his arms, but he did not grieve for long. Tristan must have died a heroic death—the most honorable death a warrior could hope for. He had surely passed to the Otherworld—the Celtic paradise.

Limbs trembling with fatigue, Daniel sought out Jesus. Finding him alive and unhurt, he embraced him. They were stained with blood. Death and suffering lay all around them. They shut all of that off and simply released their emotions in each other’s arms.