Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur, and I'm not making any profit from this story.
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Chapter Eight: Heirs and Hunting
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Banna watched the conversation between Grainne and the two Sarmatians carefully, taking note of their expressions and movements. Though she could not understand what they were saying, she could read the language of their bodies with relative ease, and this did not comfort her. Despite Mordred's confident, friendly tone, he was clearly annoyed; and though the scout remained silent and still, Banna could see from his sharp glances that he too was irritated. As she watched them, Fearghus nudged her ribs with his elbow.
"She needs to improve her manner with others outside the tribe, I think," he murmured, as they watched Grainne lift her chin proudly at the Sarmatians. Banna nodded emphatically, making a face. "Do they mean us harm, Ban? Can we trust them?" The lad's face was open and anxious, and Banna patted his arm reassuringly.
"I believe so. Especially the taller one, Mordred. He seems friendly, unlike the scout." The Knight in question appeared to be in a perpetual state of boredom or sullenness, but it was probably because he was grieving for his friend. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot – Mordred he told me something very interesting when I was trying to kill him," she said thoughtfully, mulling over the Knight's previous words in her mind.
"When you were trying to… Banna!" asked Fearghus in disbelief, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. "That's an interesting time to tell stories. If they're so harmless, though, why were you trying to kill him?"
Banna shrugged. "It was a precaution. I didn't know who he was, so…"
"You've been spending too much time around Donaith," smiled Fearghus. At the look on her face, his smile crumpled and he reached forward. "Oh, Banna, I forgot, I'm so sorry… I shouldn't have…" he whispered miserably, his hand hovering over hers awkwardly.
"It's fine, Ghus. Don't trouble yourself." She smiled weakly at him, and cuffed him lightly on the side of the head in an attempt to lighten the mood. "And I did not spend too much time around him. I'm just a cautious person, and Mordred didn't look trustworthy."
Fearghus looked over at the Knight, who was currently smiling broadly and clapping his companion on the back. "Uh-huh," he said dubiously, earning him another cuff to the ear. He squirmed away clumsily, chuckling. I have to be strong, thought Banna fiercely, her throat aching from the effort of holding back her grief. I must be brave, and quick, and alert.
"As I was saying," she said quickly, trying not to think about the past. "Mordred mentioned that he was the grandson of Morgaine, and the son of… Oh, I can't remember her name."
His mirth forgotten instantly, Fearghus turned to stare at the Knight in shock. "The… but… His mother's name, it wasn't… Morwen, was it?" He looked back at Banna, his pale face even paler than usual.
"I think it was," she replied, looking at him carefully. "Do you know her?"
Fearghus seemed to shake himself out of his shock. "Er… friend of my mother's," he said brusquely, busying himself with retying the laces of his pack. "She married a Sarmatian that served here a long time ago. We have not heard from her once since she left, but…" He trailed off, staring at Mordred once more. "He has her look."
Banna frowned at his odd behaviour, but let the matter drop. She'd find the cause of it soon enough. "But Morgaine is the Great Seer, is she not? The one from whose family line the leaders of the highest tribes are chosen? Would that not make him…"
"The blood has been diluted by the Sarmatian," said Fearghus, shaking his head. "His mother was one of Morgaine's three daughters, all of whom have offspring eligible to leadership positions."
"You mean chieftains?"
"Yes. But those with pure blood, the blood of this land only, are fully eligible. He could only achieve a high-ranking position if many either died, or gave up their positions. One of the daughters, Nimueh, has had a great many children, all of pure blood. All hungry for power. Her husband is quite the opportunist, so if this Mordred was to make his heritage known, he'd have to make it clear to Merlin that…"
"Who is Merlin?" asked Banna curiously. The name was unfamiliar to her. And how, my young friend, do you know so much about this?
"The leader of a group of tribes further to the south, and Nimueh's husband. I think they're trying to populate the land solely with their offspring – they must have at least twelve children. Clever man, Merlin – very opportunistic, like I said. They suffer the heaviest casualties of us all, being so close to the Roman settlements, but his attacks on them earns him favour in the eyes of the Great Seer. When she finally decides to distribute power and land to her kin, I expect they'll reap a rich reward."
"So," said Banna curiously, "this Merlin – he rules here?" She drew a quick map on the ground of the land beyond the Wall, marking in locations. An old friend to her father had once come to stay at their home for a winter many moons ago, and he had taught her to write and how to draw maps. A pointless exercise, in her father's opinion, but it had been a long and fierce winter, and there was not much else to do inside the close confines of their hut. Banna's brother and sister had also learnt map-reading and general reading and writing from the stern old man as the winter crawled by, icy and blisteringly cold. How I miss my family, Banna thought absentmindedly.Fearghus leaned forward to study the drawing in the dirt, evidently no stranger to maps either.
"Yes, see… If you just move your stick here," he said, guiding the twig that Banna was holding to a certain point on the map. "This is where he stays most of the time. And then, when he wants to launch an attack…"
"Ahh, I see." Banna traced a line from Merlin's encampment to the Wall. "Travellers going north – or coming south – would pass right through their territory. Tell me, Fearghus, how do you know all of this so…"
"Banna! Fearghus! We must talk." Grainne interrupted their conversation with an apologetic smile. "You'll have to continue this later, I'm afraid. For now, there is something that must be shared between us and out new allies."
"You have formed an alliance with them?" gasped Fearghus, his face uncertain. "Is that… well, is it allowed?"
"Temporary alliance. The circumstances are extraordinary, as you already know, Fearghus." Grainne turned and hollered over her shoulder, "Sarmatians!" as Banna looked confusedly at Fearghus. At her questioning look, he shrugged.
"You'll find out in a minute," he said ominously. "Grainne told me not to say anything until she said so. Sorry, Ban." The Sarmatians walked over to join them, leading their magnificent horses. Next to these fabulous creatures, Banna's little pony Peigi looked a little… silly. But Banna loved Peigi dearly, and she could not bring herself to be too jealous.
"How can we be of assistance?" asked Mordred politely, coming to sit beside Fearghus. Grainne replied in Latin, and the scout mumbled something, looking quickly at Fearghus. A request for an introduction? guessed Banna, as Grainne replied briefly. They talked for a moment longer in Latin, until Grainne finally reverted to their own language. It was quickly becoming all too confusing for Banna, and she was beginning to feel out of her depth. There was something going on here, and she felt a frisson of fear at the seriousness on Fearghus' face.
"Cathalan, son of Coinneach. He is the reason for all the deaths." At the unexpected statement, Banna tried to keep the surprise from showing on her face. Cathalan? But he was one of the nice ones, the quiet ones…She remembered taking the boy out on a hunting trip once, and commending him on his skill. She vaguely remembered that he had a great love for nature, and was constantly stopping to examine plants and animal tracks; often commenting to her about the beauty of their surroundings. He would have been a good apprentice, but now, who knew?
"Then tell me where to find the bastard," snarled Mordred fiercely. Banna shared a meaningful glance with Grainne at the outburst. Things are not always what they seem, she thought forbiddingly. Mordred is not merely the friendly, kind soldier he would have us believe. Perhaps these Sarmatians were more dangerous than they thought.
"No! No, it is not like that at all," exclaimed Grainne, shaking her head vehemently. "It is not his fault, but mine." She paused again, and took a deep breath. "It may take a while to explain this, but I will be as brief as possible. Fearghus, you can mention anything you think I have missed." Fearghus nodded silently, his eyes downcast, and Grainne began.
"You have all no doubt heard of the practise of fostering the children of powerful families. A child is often sent to a place where their parents believe they will learn valuable lessons and make friendships that will aid them in their future ventures. You will have heard of the Great Seer, yes?" She glanced at Mordred and Tristran, and they nodded. "Her three daughters – Nimueh, Morwen and Brianag – and their families will receive power and lands when she either dies, or gives up her position as the Great Seer. The leader of our own tribe has ties with Brianag's husband, Coinneach; so on his eleventh name day, their son Cathalan was sent to us to be fostered." Banna barely stifled a gasp of shock. The son of one of their land's most powerful chieftains had been living with them for nearly six winters, and she had not even known. Grainne gave the tracker a remorseful look, and then continued.
"We were sworn to secrecy. Only the chief of our tribe and myself knew of the lad's true heritage. Coinneach's second-in-command, Henwas, was charged with looking after the child, as well as his best friend and companion, Fearghus son of Feargan. The story we used was that Henwas was our chief's cousin; and that he, his son and nephew were forced to come and stay with us because of Irish raids near their farm. No one thought to question the story, and for these past six winters, Cathalan, heir to Coinneach's chieftainship, has lived with us in safety and friendship." Fearghus, too? Banna was stunned. At the same time, however, she could understand the need for secrecy – the power games played by the chieftains put the lives of their children in danger. It was not unheard-of for heirs to be killed, regardless of their age and importance.
Grainne pulled a water flask from one of her pockets, and took a deep swig before going on. "Coinneach governs a territory on the western coast of our land, much-raided by the dogs of Eire." She glanced at the scout. "You might know it as Hibernia, as the Romans call it. I will refer to it as such, from now on." Mordred, who had been keeping up a steady translation for the Tristran, paused as the scout nodded. "So, the people of Hibernia often launch raids against Coinneach's land and people. Coinneach fights beside his men as they kill the invaders, and during one such battle four winters ago, among those he killed was a young man, of a similar age with Fearghus here. Insignificant at the time – on the battlefield you must kill, there is no time for consideration or careful planning – but it was later discovered that he killed the son of one of Hibernia's great leaders."
"So they want revenge," said Mordred softly, and Grainne nodded.
"We did not hear this news for two years, however. Coinneach and Brianag could not send a messenger to our far-off settlement without rousing suspicion, so when Murchadh and Iurnan arrived, injured and begging for shelter, we did not think to turn them down. Before we knew it, they became permanent residents – we desperately needed hands to help bring in the crops, and they were fit and willing. We trusted them, though we should have listened to Donaith. He never liked them, never trusted them. It's too late now, however."
"They were always kind to Cathalan and me," said Fearghus suddenly, fiddling once again with the lacings of his pack. "But sometimes, they were too kind. Cathalan liked them, though. We never thought to be in the least suspicious." He fell silent once more, and Grainne picked up the story.
"Then the time came for another training expedition. We…"
"Do you do one each year, or something?" asked Mordred curiously. Grainne snorted derisively.
"Are you always so subtle, Knight? Allies we may be, but when the time comes for us to part, I'm not going to watch you scurry back to your commander with all our secrets." Mordred grinned unashamedly, and Banna could not help but like him. As she looked away from the smiling Knight, she thought she noticed the smallest, most fleeting glimpse of a smile cross the scout's face, but she could not be sure.
"Continue, if you please," said Mordred, leaning forward slightly. "Apologies for the interruption."
Grainne grunted. "Hm. Where… Ah, yes. The training expedition. Cathalan is a good fighter, very strong and determined. He will make a great leader on the battlefield one day, but I realised that in order for him to become so, he must undertake further training. A foolish decision, but it is done now. After much negotiation with both our chief and Henwas, Cathalan and Fearghus were finally allowed to come on the expedition. Cathalan was very eager, Fearghus… less so." A deep flush suffused the young man's face, and Banna's heart went out to him in pity. She wanted to growl at Grainne for her lack of tact, especially in front of strangers; but the leader did not take kindly to being corrected, so Banna merely nudged Fearghus' knee subtly with her own in a show of support. He smiled faintly, though he did not look up. His path lies away from the battlefield, and there is no shame in that. At least, not in her eyes.
"…so he has been stolen, then?" Mordred was asking Grainne.
She spat on the dirt beside her. "Yes. They will take him hostage, I expect, and demand much from Coinneach and Brianag. Perhaps they will kill him. It was a clever trap, and one that has been long-planned. Your friend," she said, directing the statement at the Sarmatians, "was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am sorry. I fear that Banna and Donaith were not, however."
"We were lured away," said Banna, speaking for the first time. "I see that now. We could have defended…"
"But you couldn't have," interrupted Grainne, holding up her hand. "It is done now, as I have said before. Now we must retrieve Cathalan, before he is killed and before Coinneach is forced to make agreements with the Hibernians. You can avenge your friends' deaths once we catch them, Sarmatians; as we will avenge Donaith. But our priority is retrieving Cathalan." Both the Knights nodded, and Banna inclined her head.
"We should leave," said the scout. Is that all he knows how to say? wondered Banna to herself as she got up and walked over to fetch Peigi.
"Do you still have horses?" she asked, suddenly remembering the slain horse down in the bushes. Grainne nodded.
"Though not our own. I will ride Coiseam's pony, and Fearghus will take Dearbhail's mare. The rest have run far from here, or are dead."
"What about the bodies?" asked Fearghus distraughtly, looking over at the neatly-arranged row of corpses. "We can't just leave them like that."
Grainne shrugged helplessly. "It grieves me to do so, but we must. There is no time. We will come back, and honour their spirits. Banna, I heard you speaking the blessing for them; Fearghus and I have said the prayers. It is all we can do for now." Tears glittered in her green eyes, and she walked quickly away, muttering something about finding her horse. Banna smiled sadly at Fearghus, and squeezed his shoulder.
"I'm sorry about Cathalan. You must be worried."
He smiled tightly. "Yes, but at least he's alive. The rest…" he gestured towards the bodies of their comrades, "They died for us, Banna. They had no choice, but they were killed. I would do anything, anything to get them back."
"But you can't. It's done, Ghus, and we must focus on finding Cathalan. We will grieve once this is over." The words were difficult to say, but they had to be said. She did not want to lose Fearghus because he was distracted or guilty.
"Do you hate him? Cathalan?" asked Fearghus, grabbing her arm as she went to check her saddlebags.
Banna frowned. "No, of course not. He had no choice in this; he can't help who he is. You are both one of us, Fearghus. Never doubt that, understood?" She gripped his shoulder firmly and lifted his chin with her other hand. "Did Cathalan paint that tattoo for you?" she asked, noticing the design on the young man's cheek.
"Oh. Yes," said the young man sadly, running his fingers over the markings. "They're leaping salmon, a stag, and a boar. The three things we decided we most wanted to eat when we arrived back home."
Banna smiled. "And where so you think you'd be finding those, eh? Near our poor old camp? Mm… I doubt it." Fearghus rolled his eyes at her dramatically.
"Dreams sustain me, Ban."
"Yes, but dreams are not the stuff that meals are made on." She poked him in the ribs, and walked over to ready Peigi. It was going to be a long, hard ride north – she just hoped that she'd have enough food.
"How many bannocks have you got left, Ghus?" she called across the clearing, examining the three pitiful little rolls she had left. Fearghus grimaced.
"Only four. Do you think it'll be enough?"
"Keep your eye out for animal prey on the ride, not just human," she replied, wishing that it was summer, or at least autumn. There would be berries, then, and other food to be foraged. Prey was scarce on the ground at this time, too, but food was not their main concern.
"Banna!" Banna looked up from the saddlebags as Grainne approached, holding a small skin bag. Her heart began to thud against her ribcage, the reality of the situation truly making itself known to her. "Will you make the woad paint?" Banna nodded wordlessly, holding out her hand to receive the bag of deep blue powder. Fearghus approached as she crouched down and poured some of the powder into a small clay bowl from her travelling pack.
"A great honour," he said, watching as she fished around in one of her deepest pockets. "Though I hope you don't mean to make it the same way Henwas likes to." Henwas was well-known for his opinion that urine was the best liquid with which to mix the woad powder; a method that Banna found a little disgusting. She finally withdrew a small clay flask wrapped in rope, and withdrew the stopper. The last of her…
"Mead?" Fearghus groaned longingly. "Why didn't you tell me about this before? Are you sure you want to use it for making the dye, because we could always…"
Banna tipped the contents of the small bottle into the clay bowl and grinned. "Oh… sorry, Ghussy. My hand slipped."
"You torture me," wheezed the young man, holding a hand to his heart. "Do you need some water for it, too?" He held out his own water flask, and Banna nodded gratefully, tipping a small amount in. She then mixed it all together with a small clay pestle until its consistency was thick and smooth. Fearghus called Grainne over, and all three knelt solemnly around the small bowl, dipping their fingers in the thick dye.
"There is no turning back, now," said Grainne, her voice distant. The other two nodded, and with a shiver, Banna began to draw the designs.
Spiral, eagle, leaping deer. Horse, hound, curve and knot.
The hunt had truly begun.
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A/N: There's some interesting information out there on the web about some of the things I included in this chapter. You can get an idea of some of the Pictish designs mentioned by typing "Pictish designs" into google images; and it was actually quite interesting reading about how the woad paint is made – I'd recommend googling it, too, if you're interested. By the way, bannocks are a bit like bread rolls.
The pronunciation guide, as always (and from now on, 'd' means deceased, if I put it next to a name)…
Grainne – GRAWN-yuh
Feargan – FER-gun
Brianag – BREE-uhn-uhk
Nimueh – NIM-whey
Peigi – PEG-ee
Coiseam – KOSH-um (d)
Dearbhail – JER-vul (d)
Donaith – DO-nee (rhymes with 'bonny') (d)
Cathalan – KA-hul-an
Coinneach – KOIN-nyuch
Grainne – GRAW-nyuh
Fearghus – FEAR-ah-gus
Murchadh – MOOR-ah-chu
Iurnan – YOOR-nun