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

men crammed into the room. We pushed past the warriors standing at the back until we could see those sitting at the top table. Tallack’s mother teetered on the very edge of the platform, cradling her babe while sitting on a tiny stool. In her former place, at her son’s side sat Treeve with a self-satisfied grin fixed across his plump face. The priestess sat on a fur cushion in the tall wolf’s head chair where my dead nephew once sat. Her eyes stayed firmly on the fierce shield maiden to her left, Senara.

So, this is how it would be, our Metern and new Ruvane of the Dumnonii, shunning their family and advisers before the binding ceremony could make it official. I stood on tip-toe to see over the heads of the elders in front of me. The central Ruvane chair was gone. In its place lay a wooden crib, bedecked in ochre coloured bedding. As if any of us needed reminding that Endelyn carried the heir to the tribe. These four duplicitous youngsters, held all our lives in their hands.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ren and I struggled towards the top table, stepping over young and old who were gathered to hear Tallack’s announcement. The heat was beyond oppressive, yet my nephew thought it sensible to make the slaves serve the food before he spoke. They passed bowls of thin stew through the back door from the cooking huts and slid them down the tables until every man had their allotted portion. The top table dined on roasted birds. From the smell, I would say it was goose.

Endelyn picked on a few morsels while the rest tucked in as though they hadn’t eaten in a quarter moon. Can’t say that I blame them, their platters looked delicious; tender meats and juicy roots all bathed in a rich gravy. My small table in front of them, did not receive the same lavish meal.

As my stew cooled, a film of grease hardened at the edges of the bowl. I ate it nonetheless and was grateful. My wasted day of foraging had given me an appetite. When Skentel and his young warriors arrived from the woods, those sitting near to the back made room for them at one of the tables. There was just enough food left to fill their bowls as Tallack stood to address the crowd.

His face was still raw from his encounter with Kitto, but I admit to being proud of the neat little line of stitches crossing his eyebrow. Considering the battering he’d taken; he was remarkably cheery. “I called you all here tonight to hear my decision with regard to clan leadership. You already know that I’ve appointed Massen as my successor within the Sea Warriors. As we sit here, he and his crewmen are making my fine ship and the other remaining vessel, ready for the next voyage, but more on that later.” He coughed, breaking his concentration. Endelyn leaned forward in the wolf’s head chair. Tallack caught the movement in the corner of his eye, turning to gaze into her pale blue eyes. He was transfixed. She gave him a little nod of encouragement, which prompted him to face us once again and continue.

“The Head Hunter trials were fought valiantly and they proved beyond doubt that we Dumnonii have the best warriors in the whole land. Kitto certainly gave me a tough time…” He grinned touching the bruises to his jaw and making everyone chuckle. “But it was not a fair bout. By all rights, Kitto should have won.” I held my breath. Was the idiotic man going to admit to Endelyn’s treachery? What could possibly be achieved by revealing the truth to our whole tribe? Kitto glared from the side benches. His men peered around them waiting for the Chief to explain.

“No, Kitto was not at his best. An ague of the gut gave me an unfair advantage. He is a formidable warrior and one I am honoured to have at my side helping me to defend our lands and our people from those who would attack or betray us.” The men roared and cheered, thumping their fists down on the table and stamping their feet on the hard floor. Tallack raised his hands to quieten the rabble. “With Kitto leading the Hunters and Massen taking charge of the seas, let this be a time when we fight together as one people and one tribe, against all who threaten our existence.”

The Chief wafted his hand towards Kitto, inviting him to stand and take his share of the praise. This he did with an exaggerated flourish, tutting and waving coyly, but there was a flush to his cheeks above his wry smile. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out his expression. Had he learned of the priestess’s mischief or was he genuinely pleased to remain subordinate to my nephew? Ren and I exchange knowing looks, both fearing the worst.

I noticed as the warrior passed me, that his wounds were clean and stitched, though not by my hand. He must have asked one of the weaver women to tend them.

Tallack turned to me. “Aunt Mel, I need the dagger I lent you.”

I should have remembered where I’d seen it before. As it happened, I carried the knife with me after Skentel’s warning about desperate folk who might slice open my throat. Now I would be wholly without protection. I stood and passed the blade to my nephew.

He snatched it from me and turned back to Kitto. “This was the oath blade given to me by my father, the great Aebba the Wild. By rights, you should have my brother’s dagger, but its whereabouts following Blydh’s death remains a mystery.” He turned the knife in his hand until the bone handle was directed at the warrior. They locked eyes for a moment. The whole room fell silent, wondering if Kitto would accept the binding oath of clan leadership. Had Tallack done enough to assure Kitto’s loyalty or