Pagan Siege (Tribes of Britain Book 5), Sam Taw [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

Tallack stood with his mother on his left and me on his right. Between the homesteaders and us was a wall of muscular fighting men. Their presence alone was enough to quieten the dissenters.

“Even if Massen comes back with the tin we need…” I said in little more than a mutter. “You know Fane won’t trade with you unless you give in to his request to bind with his daughter.”

“She’s right, son. Duty is duty. You’ll have to wed the girl.” Cryda said, backing up my statement.

“And make a Duro Ruvane over our tribe. I’d rather slam my pintel between two rocks than let that happen.” His vehemence was understandable given all that had occurred between our tribes over the generations.

“Well,” his mother said, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “You won’t get an heir by tupping your crewman.”

I couldn’t stop myself. My snort of amusement almost erupted from me. None but his mother could get away with such a blunt insult. Neither could he deny her statement. What shocked us more was his solution to the problem.

CHAPTER SIX

“I shall bind with Endelyn. She already carries the heir to the tribe.” Tallack announced to us both, although thankfully, none of his men heard him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She has no Chieftain blood. She’s just some priestly spawn left to go feral on the moors. What good would that do for our tribe?” Cryda scoffed.

“She’s a Dumno, born and bred in our camp. She will make a fine Ruvane and our tribe will stay in good hands when the wolf cub takes over on my death.” It took a few moments for his plan to sink in, for I was sure he was teasing his mother. With every objection Cryda brought up, Tallack countered it with a sensible reason for his choice.

“What about the Duros? Fane will see it as a slight on the alliance.” I said, interrupting the mother-son dispute.

“That’s easy, Aunt Mel. I’ll take his daughter as my second wife. He made no mention of her becoming Ruvane, nor did he say that I must take only one wife.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic. There was a certain beauty in that arrangement for all parties involved. Endelyn would have the status she so craved and reassurance that her son would one day lead our people. Fane’s daughter would become a wife in name only, while Tallack and Treeve could continue their relationship right under the noses of the whole tribe. I couldn’t see Treeve taking the news well though. He looked set on being the first ever man-wife of a Chieftain, making the Dumnonii a source of derision and mirth among the Chieftains at the midsummer gatherings. That would never do. There was little more I could say or do to alter his mind, not that I had the energy or will to see it through anyway.

For the rest of the day, Vina and Kewri went in search of more willow, plantain and goose grease, while I prepared the back strap from a couple of hares for stitching and fresh leaves to cover burns. Every child I examined seemed to be riddled with lice, making me scratch my own head every few moments. I was sure that the mucky creatures had given them to me too.

Every now and then I wandered to the south, squinting at Ren’s hut to see if he’d returned with the Head Hunter’s. Each time I was left disappointed and concerned.

Although Vina and Kewri had set off at different times to complete their tasks, they returned to camp together. I couldn’t make out if this was just a happy coincidence or whether they had designed it that way. Were they finally starting to warm to one another?

Everyone around the compound was industrious. Sea Warriors put their superior carpentry skills to use building new shelters, slaves toiled over huge cooking pots of watery stew for the extra mouths to feed, while elders and their families kept a weather eye on pilfering and potential looters.

It was as orderly as you could expect, considering the cramped conditions and intolerable heat. The calm turned back into a storm when Massen rode in through the northern gate, leading two horses by the reins with his two crewmen slung over their backs. One of the men was still alive, just. The other man had three arrows embedded in his back. Screams from the womenfolk brought people from their huts, including the Chief. One glance was all it took to convey their failure in collecting tin from Clemo at the northern mines.

Massen’s horse skidded to a halt in the dust. It foamed about the mouth and neck. People ran from all directions to lend a hand, lifting the men from their steeds and carrying them into the Long Hut. I went straight to the man with only two arrows sticking from his leg and side. He’d lost too much blood. There was little I could do to help him, but I tried. His mother shrieked her distress and tried to tug the bolt from his side.

“No! You mustn’t. Take that out and he’ll lose the humours he has left.” She deferred to my experience, sobbing quietly into her husband’s neck behind me. Vina brought clean binding cloth, while I made a small cut in his leg to remove the less dangerous of the two arrows. There was such a crowd around me, it was hard to concentrate. If I could get the arrow out of his side, he would either bleed out in mere moments and die, or live long enough for me to slip a few stitches into any of the leaking guts inside and hope he lived out the rest of the day.

With his life in my hands, I decided to try and give him long enough to say his farewells. Kewri moved the crowd back, giving me space to work. I lined up my best bone needle and finest back strap next to Kewri’s knife. It