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

entire area was packed with displaced homesteaders, idle crewmen and gossiping elders’ wives. We were out of grain, with no tin or jewels to trade for more and we had lost control of our mines. Even the fishermen returned from the bay with empty boats. What was there to smile about? After all young Treeve had done for my nephew, I hoped to the gods that he’d not found another young warrior to warm his bed. It was the only explanation for Tallack’s jovial mood.

I followed him right up to the Long Hut, but broke off my pursuit when I saw him aiming for his mother’s house. Still, the thought of him betraying the young sailor, right under his nose prayed on my mind for the rest of the morning. That nephew of mine is simply incapable of being true to one love. It must be a trait from his mother’s side. Her flights of fancy have left her in hot water many a time.

Vina and Kewri were screaming at one another across my hut when I returned. Groaning, I spun about and walked straight back out before they could invent a reason for me to stay. Scanning the island made my head spin. Everywhere you looked, people bickered and argued over space, or livestock. Shelters and fences sprouted in the few gaps between houses until the compound was bursting at the seams.

I stuck my head through the doorway of Kewri’s shelter and sighed. My herd had dwindled to just three goats, two of which no longer gave milk. It was like holding back a flood with your hands. No matter what measures I put in place to protect them, the homesteader’s need for food was greater than respecting another’s property.

With an ever-growing clamour in camp, I needed to get away and clear my head. I collected my old pony from the enclosure and trotted out of the western gate heading north. A half day of foraging would put me straight and replenish my stocks. I took the narrow path through the woods alongside the main course of the River Exe. Other than the snorts and whickers of my pony, the forest was curiously silent. I saw a few tiny birds, but other than those, the entire area was deserted. Had our Hunters killed most of the creatures and driven the rest away?

The track was riven with huge cracks and the tufted grasses were sun-scorched and dry. I did find a few useful herbs along the bank side but not all that I needed. This dry spell was proving more of a challenge than I’d anticipated. As I broke the cover of the woodland on my way to the crossing, I saw a group of compound slaves carrying huge baskets laden with curling sections of bark. Behind them, a row of alder trees was stripped bare of bark, twigs and all lower leaves; their naked trunks left pale and vulnerable.

My heart sank. They had taken too much. Those poor young trees would never survive the next winter. “Ho there!” I called to them. Dutifully, they dropped their baskets, expecting me to give them more orders. “Who asked you to take all this bark?” I knew the answer as soon as the question left my mouth, but I needed confirmation.

“The new Ruvane, Endelyn sent us, Fur Benyn.” One called out across the expanse of the river.

I shook my head at the priestess’s stupidity. These saplings were the closest source of alder for my medicines. With the latest infestation of lice, I was in need of a fair amount of bark myself, not to mention the sticky, sap coated leaves to trap the fleas from the floor rushes. “What about the trees yonder?” I gestured upstream where another such bank of mature trees grew.

The slaves shook their heads. “We harvested those this morning.” One shouted back.

It was my own stupid fault. I’d recommended the deep ochre colour for Endelyn’s bridal gown, but how was I to know that she would take enough bark to dye the clothes of the entire tribe? I left them to carry their plunder back to the compound and chided myself for speaking before thinking. There was half our tribe scratching about to find enough to eat and the priestess was wasting the slaves’ time making dyes. They should all be out gathering roots, mending fishing nets or collecting shellfish for the pot.

I wandered further upstream for some time without finding anything of use before turning my pony and heading home. We would have to endure the fleas and lice for the time being it seemed. My slow trot back through the forest put me in the path of a team of warriors. As far as I could tell, they were a mixture of Head Hunters and Sea Warriors, all hard at work felling trees and weaving hurdles. Most were young and looked ill equipped to swing an axe. Their spindly arms and narrow shoulders had not the strength for the task. At the furthest end of the group stood the young Hunter from the clan trials, Skentel.

Stopping to admire their determination, the man approached me. “You shouldn’t be out alone, Fur Benyn.” He said, clutching the reins of my pony. “There are some desperate folk about. Chased a couple off myself earlier.”

I tittered. “I have nothing left of value for them to steal.”

“You have a horse, good linen, and I dare say a blade or two tucked about your person. That’s more than enough to get your throat slit.”

I looked him up and down, frowning. There was a calm confidence about him, not a swagger like Kitto, but an authoritative air that was seldom seen in one so young. He took my lack of response as a plea for help. “I’ll walk back with you to the island. At least I’ll rest easy knowing you got home safely.” I turned and looked at the group of youngsters hacking lumps out of the trees. He seemed to comprehend