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

“An apprentice, but I’m your…” He stopped and pulled a face. Clearly, he had no idea what he was to me either.

“Let’s not get into it now. Her name’s Alvina and…”

“Vina. I’m called Vina.” She interrupted.

“Yes, yes. Don’t flap, child. The Duros insisted that I train her so, for the time being, she’ll be staying here with us.”

Kewri snatched my belongings from the girl and dumped them on my bunk. He followed me to the bench containing all my tinctures. “But we haven’t enough room.”

“Then we’ll make room. It’s Tallack’s command.” I gathered together my pot of flour, the last of my dried meats and roots, together with my medicines and hastened back to my friend.

Before I was back on the boardwalk, I heard Vina shrieking at Kewri. “I want this bunk, it’s furthest away from the door.” I had to titter. She was already bossing the poor giant about, demanding the comfortable bed he’d built for himself on the far side of the hut. She was going to be a whole handful of trouble, that one.

On my return to the south end of the island compound, I watched a number of elders with their families lining up outside the priestess’s hut waiting for their blessing. Resources were already tight after Tallack had encouraged them to donate what metal they could spare for tributes to another tribe. These people obviously had stashed some away for leaner days. They carried beaver pelts and pots of grain, Frynkish wine and many other exotic traded goods in offering to the gods.

The priestess stood at her door, accepting the gifts and laying her hands on those fraught with troubles or ailing from whatever was blighting their lives. It was fascinating to watch.

Endelyn looked the penitent up and down, first deciding which of the deities carved into the wooden trunks would best suit their needs. When she’d stripped them of their goods, she ushered them in front of the icon and pressed them down by the shoulder until they were kneeling with heads bowed.

A short time later, she threw her arms in the air and begged whichever god she’d chosen to hear her plea.  If I had not felt the wrath of the gods myself, I should think it all complete nonsense, but it’s never wise to toy with such blasphemous notions. The last time I renounced the gods, we were struck with such misfortune that I was forced to eat my words.

Endelyn finished her entreaty and followed it with an eye-rolling babble of god speak. The elder at her feet peered up at her, passing something small and shiny into her palm. I knew this part of her rituals too. They were paying her with a tin grain or two for a sacrifice. It made me wonder what the old man had done to warrant such an offering. Endelyn obliged with a smile, pocketing the tin and gesturing to her friend, Senara.

It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I sent the shield maiden to the priestess. She was supposed to protect her, make her feel safe after all that had occurred in camp during the spring moons. Instead, the two women had become inseparable, with Senara reduced from fierce warrior to servant and play thing of the priestess. Senara dragged a duck from a wooden box sitting behind their hut. I didn’t need to see what happened next.  It was something I’d observed dozens of times before.

Ren was back in his bunk and smelling a lot sweeter when I returned. I let him doze while I stoked his fire and chopped the meat and roots into a cooking pot. It was hard going without my knives. All I had after the unfortunate trip into Belgae territory was a dagger on loan from my nephew. Its edge dulled so quickly against roots and dried venison strips. Tallack had promised to have new blades forged for my healing kit, but without tin and copper we could not make bronze. I knew it’d be some time before he could make good on his promise. Until then, I had to make do.

The heat in Ren’s hut was intolerable. With the drapes pinned back and the broth bubbling away, I walked through the east gates and into the marshes. Tallack had sent some of his men to remove Kerensa’s body from the water. Treeve stood there, shouting at the Sea Warriors, who did not look pleased to be ordered about by the illicit lover of our Chief. I didn’t linger. As soon as I’d cut what vegetation I needed, I hurried back to Ren’s place.

While the broth cooked, Ren snoozed. I plaited the reeds I’d gathered into a flat paddle with a handle. It was perfect to waft in front of my face, providing a cooling breeze while the air about us was so still. When the broth was almost done, I pounded some dough and spread it out on one of the flat hot rocks to cook. That was when I saw two little faces peeping in through the doorway. Both were grimy; their eyes watery, their cheeks hollow.

At first, I thought that they were looking for Renowden, but one of them took a long sniff at the air with closed eyes. I could hardly ignore them.

“Has your mother sent for me? Is someone injured or sick?” I said, smoothing out a second flat bread to cook. When neither answered me, I looked up at them. “Then what is it? Did you come for Ren?”

They shook their heads. Heaving myself up from the fireside stool, I wiped the sweat from my brow on a sleeve and struggled to the door. They were startled, jumping backwards beyond the thatched eaves.

“Please, Fur Benyn.” The taller of the two boys ventured. “Can you spare some of that stew for us?”

The other grew emboldened. “I haven’t eaten for two