Chapter 8 Still in the Nemeton

Chapter 8 - “Power”

                                

“Thought and character are powerful;
but futures are not changed by thinking them so.”
                                                            - Scribonius Largus

Caradoc’s gray eyes stared deeply into the Druid’s dark eye-holes. The warrior realized this man was not complying, but only trying to act relaxed to presume control. Caradoc would not let him gain a footing, but he knew that if the Druids would not comply, then he could not perform the sacrifice himself. He was not Druid. The sacrifice would lack power. If it were just killing, he would have already done that. However, he knew the custom, and now found himself bound by some sense of propriety.

Kenjar’s lip twitched, his body tensed and he gulped. The man looked ready to give in—to acquiesce. His shoulder relaxed in Caradoc’s strong grasp.

Lowering the sword, he stepped back, eyes sparkling, and gave a broad charismatic smile. “Tell me, oh Wise One,” he paused confident that he could still turn this back to his advantage, “What do you think I need?” He reached out to Kenjar and smoothed his robe, brushing it as though it had his last meal’s crumbs on it.

Raising his chin, Kenjar looked in the direction of the babies. In nasal monotones he said, “We can slay them for your fertility, pour their blood to the mother goddess Morriga’n, and ask for s-speedy recovery of even more children.”

It sounded memorized.

 “Daughters p-perhaps?”

 “You think I wish to give my first-fruits to the goddess? Ha! Do I look like I need a mother?” Caradoc laughed as he sheathed his sword, his hand remaining on the hilt.

“Or, uh, we could cremate them and spread their ashes in your fields. We will p-pray for you to have abundant crops this year.”

“You don’t understand,” Caradoc said, regretting sheathing his sword. He had let the man go too early. Grabbing the Druid’s shoulders, he gave him a shake and then pushed him away. He bellowed, “I don’t need help with those things. I will take care of the land. I will protect it.” He moved toward the children. “You just need to offer up these as sacrifices for ME! No gods, no fertility, just ME!” His voice roared and echoed into the dark.

A light wind began to blow again through the grove.

The children began to wake. They kicked at the dark woolen covering revealing their naked bodies. One of the twins moaned. His red face scrunched.

Just beyond the stone table in the shifting shadows of torchlight, Caradoc saw the other Druids like ethereal spirits coming toward him.  What were they doing—closing the circle on him? He needed to move this along. He turned to Kenjar and said, “These babes are not worth the time it takes your servants to spread the ashes.”

Kenjar’s head came up quickly. “The Druids s-serve the land – not the men of the land,” he corrected.

Caradoc glowered, “You and your swine s-serve me this night.”

Several Druids moved in from the shadows and gathered closer around Kenjar.

Kenjar stammered. “Is it safety from d-d-death or d-d-disease you desire?”

Caradoc raised his head to the stars and laughed. “I have no fear of peril from man or beast, let alone that which I cannot see.” Caradoc lifted his arms high into the air toward the Druid band before him. “I found you—and I stand in your Nemeton, do I not?”

They shuffled, but said nothing.

One of the Druids came forward and bowed before Kenjar. “This is true,” he said, “Even if one knew the location of the sacred grove, even the bravest would never enter it as this man has done.”

Were all these men acolytes? Trainees? Caradoc turned to face the man and watched him slink back into the crowd of shadows.

“Are you all new at this? Are you so quickly undone? Aren’t you the ones who boldly speak before the chieftains in the assembly and we all follow your council? You are highly respected and revered by the people, are you not? Ha! You do OUR bidding. Without question. I am growing tired of this. Don’t you know who I am? I am the man you should be groveling before. You should be bowing to me!” Then to Kenjar he said, “And I am NOT one to be trifled with! Bull’s balls! I only seek their death, and blessing from any god you choose. Let’s get on with it. I need to be off. The night grows as short as my patience.”

“B-b-be calm, my l-lord, we know what you say is t-t-t-truth. You are a great man. We mean no d-d-discourtesy.”

Caradoc stared and tapped his sword hilt. He watched as the man squirmed and apparently determined to leave.

“We know who you are,” Kenjar said. “We have many times s-s-seen your visage in bowls of visions and p-p-portents of the future. All the Druids know who you are.” He stepped closer, putting his shoulders back and raising his arm in a grand proclamation and sign of honored reverence. “You are Caradoc, magnified son of Cunebelinos, grandson to the Most Honorable High King Tasciovaunus—ruler of Verulamium and Camulodunon, Great Grandson of Velaunus of the Cassi who defeated Julius Caesar.”

“Finally, your eyes are open,” Caradoc said. “At least, you trainees have been taught something right.”

Kenjar wrung his robe between his sweaty hands. Beads of distress flooded down his forehead, over his eyebrows, to drop from the end of his nose. He bit his lower lip with his large teeth and then stuttered, “We c-c-can . . . direct their . . . l-l-l-life-force to, uh . . .” Caradoc saw him look at the long-sword. “. . . to your magnificent w-weapon.”

Caradoc stopped. Eyes widened. He tapped on the hilt of his sword again as he thought it over. Perhaps he could gain more from them. “You talk of my weapon. What of it?”

“It is a p-p-powerful sword, my lord, one that could unite all the tribes and bring justice and equity to the land. Given spiritual power, it could even c-c-conquer Rome itself.” Kenjar nodded, showed his teeth. He then let out a long, deep breath.

“That is more to my liking,” Caradoc said, reverently removing his sword from its scabbard. “This sword is the finest weapon in the land.” He held the anthropomorphic pommel up to his chin and then pressed the hilt to his forehead. Then he stretched it up to the sky with both hands and looked at it in veneration.

“My uncle – Epaticus, the fearless warrior—taker of many men’s souls—gave this great sword to me with his own hand,” Caradoc said.

Torch-fire made the blade shine as though it possessed its own fire. In the midst of the flame was the manifestation of Caradoc’s face. He reveled at his reflection in the blade. After a long pause he slowly lowered the blade, turned, and said, “Not the sword. Me. Transfer the power into ME!”

“Ah, now I perceive your need,” Kenjar said with more confidence in his voice, “It is POWER you seek. Hmmm, power. Yes. Great power, I presume?” He scratched his bald head as if deep in thought. “We could . . . no. Yes, that’s it,” the Druid said as he carelessly reached out to pat Caradoc on the arm. Kenjar quickly pulled his hand back as if he had put it into a boiling cauldron.

Caradoc smiled.

The warrior felt the wind as it swirled around him. Then, in the quiet stillness of the sacred grove, the Druid drew himself up to his full height, folded his arms across his chest, and spoke directly to Caradoc in a voice that was full of mystery and secrecy. “We have an ancient ritual…”

Caradoc lowered his sword. Jaw tensed. His eyes narrowed, as he focused in anticipation of what the man would say next.

“…It has not been performed for many a time and times.” He hesitated before he went on. The Druid looked pleased with himself. “It is an enchantment of—greatest power.”

As he listened, Caradoc focused his attention on the blade and polished it with his cloak.

“We can send the boys ahead of you to the black veil of shadow,” Kenjar continued, “We could place great power upon them, and they would become your spirit protectors from the other world. They would advise you, direct you.” He leaned closer to Caradoc and whispered, “And tell you secrets only they can see. This would satisfy you, would it not?”

Caradoc leaned back on his heels. “How does that empower me? I will not be sold lies!” The torc around his neck shook as he struck his chest with his fist.

The Druid’s dark eyes focused on the torc. “Is that torc not a symbol of the rope garrote we priests use to strangle those who have willingly given themselves as offerings? Is it not a symbol of great importance to the Catuvellauni, placed at the point where the soul meets the body—a place of great power?”

Caradoc saw the Druid’s eyes gleam. “What are you saying?” He looked around him at the Druids.  They gathered in a tight circle around the table and made a droning sound—a soft thrumming hymn. In the chilled air, their breath raised puffs of spectral fog into the night.

“Men only wear one torc, do they not?”

“Of course. What’s your point, goat?”

“Men have only the power of their own life force.” Kenjar reached and tentatively pointed to the torc. “Even you … my lord. The ritual can change that.”

The Druids thrummed on.

Kenjar then pointed to the table and the twin boys lying naked on the cold stone, the woolen cover kicked off, now lying in a bundle on the ground. With his other hand, he pointed to Caradoc. “You could combine their force with yours.” Then, bringing his hands together, he clapped them suddenly, “And be THREE times the man others would become.”

The Druid band let out a chanting chorus of approval.

Caradoc’s head swam with the intent of what the man was saying. Combined with the chanting, the words had an entrancing effect on him. It resonated to a need from deep inside his very being. “Three times,” he said. “Three—a powerful number to be sure.  “Yes, this is to my liking!” Putting the sword away he said, “Tell me what you require to make this happen.”

“Yes, to do this, we will need the babes, but we will need something else. We will need power. Great power to draw great power. The moon is high and full. That is good, but you must bring us power. Is there anything of value you might offer?”

The grove began to echo with melodic chanting. “Power. Power. Power.”

They repeated it over and over.

Caradoc gestured in the direction of his horse. “I think I have what you need. Come with me.”

“Yes, yes,” the man in white said, as Caradoc led him to his horse. “Something of value—gold perhaps?”

Caradoc grabbed the bridle and pivoted the horse around to remove the sack that still hung from the saddle. As he opened the bag, he revealed the severed head of a man, hair and beard matted with congealed blood.
            “Will this suffice?” Caradoc asked as he grabbed the trophy-head by the hair and held it up.

The Druid moved to examine the offering. “Ah, the head of an enemy—a soul of great power.” Kenjar reverently reached up and took the head, holding it as if it was a treasure, and said, “I’m impressed.” He then moved out of the shadows into the moonlight. “Must have been a great battle.” He slowly turned the head in his hands, “I don’t recall hearing of any conflicts.  Did you . . .”

Kenjar stumbled back, eyes wide in sudden recognition of the disfigured face. He dropped the head to the ground and stepped back making gesturing signs with his fingers. Caradoc could smell the man’s sudden fear.

Kenjar shook his head slowly, rubbed his eyes. His chin quivered. His lower lip vibrated rapidly, but no sound came forth.

Caradoc bent down and slowly picked up the bloody head by the hair.  Holding it out before him in pride, he looked directly into the unseeing eyes. This was not the head of just any ordinary man. This head had belonged to the man that the Druid had earlier spoken of with much honor—the High King Tasciovaunus. Caradoc was certain the Druid recognized who he was holding.

Caradoc wrapped his muscled arm around the little man’s shoulders and held the face of the King before him. “Are you wise enough to know the sign before you?” he said. He moved close to the Druid’s ear, “We will keep this between us, will we not?” Caradoc then pushed Kenjar away. The Druid back-tripped and fell to the ground.

Caradoc held the King’s tortured visage in front of the Druid again, and drunk in the moment as Kenjar’s face drained of color. Caradoc saw him weigh the options and watched in pleasure as the Druid looked up at him with a stare he recognized all too well.

Unable to speak, Kenjar cleared his throat, coughed, and looked once again at the severed head. Then, the man stood up, raised his eyebrows, and slowly nodded to Caradoc.

Caradoc smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s my man!”

He then shoved the head of Tasciovaunus into the cloth sack and tossed it at Kenjar’s chest.

“Take the head of power. Prepare the offerings. We will have a sacrifice!”

He beamed as the Druid glided back to the sacred grove. Above the chanting and noise of preparation, Caradoc could clearly hear the sound of the twins screaming into the night.

old stuff beginning of chapter one?

Alexenah smashed through the thick wooden door with more than enough force to shatter it. It broke off at the hinges. Splinters showered into the room. She crashed hard on the swept dirt floor. The large center hearth-fire crackled, flamed, and sent shadows writhing across the dark mud and straw walls. In the back of the roundhouse, two newborn babies woke and cried.
She moaned. Coughed. Forced herself to her knees. Grabbed her side. Then, half crawling, half pulling, Alexenah quickly moved to the straw cot where her children lay.
Terrified, she glanced behind her to the doorway. Her husband Caradoc was somewhere outside. She pushed herself to a kneeling position, and then pulled her torn light-blue peplos dress up over her shoulder. The dress covered the lengthy lionclaw-like cuts that transversed her back, from her shoulder, to just under her left ribs. Blood flowed, pooled and stained at the small of her back where the dress was belted.
She grasped her two sons tightly to her breast and prayed to her God. “All-seeing One, protect my sons. I have placed them into your hands. Keep them, oh Lord, from the plans of the wicked; preserve them from violence. You are my God,” she screamed to the rafters above her, “hear the voice of my prayer!”
Alexenah embraced her two boys and enclosed them in her shaking arms. Sinking her head down, she placed her cheek on one of their little heads. One of the babes rooted to find suckle on her breast. Unconsciously, she stroked one of the boy’s hair. “So pure,” she said, “So pure.”
At that moment, a hulking figure raged through the open doorway and kicked the broken door aside. Caradoc cursed, and then yelled, “Rome will not have my whelps!” Then he staggered across the room to where Alexenah knelt. Her husband reached down and grabbed her by her hair, pulling her head back and to the side.
She said nothing. Looked away.
Then, bending low he angrily whispered in her ear, “And, neither will you! You’re just a slave-wife.” He struck her with the back of his other hand. Letting her go, he reached down and snatched a blanket from where the boys had been sleeping. Then, one at a time, he ripped them from her breast.
Walking over to a table, he slammed the babies upon it. He lifted a wine jar and took a long draught of the thick red liquid. Then, laughing, he poured some of the drink down each bawling child’s throat. Putting the jar down, he bound the two together tightly in the blanket and shoved them both under his arm like a sack of potatoes.
The woman pleaded, “No!” She grabbed his leg with one hand, and frantically reached toward her children with the other. “Don’t take them. Please, please don’t take them!”
The man turned, lifted his leg, put his boot on her chest, and shoved her hard onto the floor. Again, he took a drink, banged the jar on the table breaking it. Caradoc adjusted his bundle and stormed into the night.
“C’mon boys, your mother is sick.”

reading to write

I started reading David Gemmel's book "Troy" with a view to learn how he creates deep characterization. So far I have seen that he includes desription in the "he said" statements and doesn't break conversation with
"he said" if you know who is talking. He uses a lot of past tense "Had" words which I have tried not to use. He uses the word "Had" 12 times on page 12 alone! He uses inner thoughts as if they were giving history or information or how the person feels about something. He is not afraid to use "ly" words to describe things and states what someone looks like rather than showing it. So far, he breaks the rules I have been trying to employ in my writting. i.e. show dont tell, action rather than decription, dont use "Had" or "began" or such words. His chapters are short. Probably 6 pages would equal less than 2,000 words. I will continue to read, as I also want to chomp down on good story, and will try to decern his methods to see if they can help me. I desire to have strong characters who you hate or love deeply. I want to know them. I have probably a whole yellow notepad on who Adminius is and why he does things, but need to know how to make that information ring true and develop him deeply. The same for Alexenah, Jachin and Boaz. oh, one thing I noticed is that Gemmel said someone "said in a deep voice." I have not thought to put voices to the characters. What if Caradoc had a high pitched lisping voice? I did try to put that in Kenjars speech though. Caradoc needs a deep commanding tone. Does it sound like he is chewing gravel? or that he has worn it out by yelling too much, like professional wrestlers do? would Adminius talk softly and tilt his head to the side like the guy on CSI Miami? (I hate that head tilt thing he does. Remindes me of someone who worked at a telephone counselling service too long!)Well, gotta go. Gonna call Caradoc on the phone and listen to his voice. --Jon

old stuff Chapter Eight- Barrow and Farrow

Chapter VIII - “Barrow and Farrow”


“It is not what you are running from,
but what you are headed toward
that makes you who you are.”
--Mardus of Macedonia


Boaz looked toward the place where Primus was pointing.
“See, he already is a hunting hound.” He said. He looked around, picked up their sacks, and put them on his back.
“Come on, brother!” Jachin yelled.
“Hold back. What is it?” Boaz replied, huffing with the added load.
The dog was looking at the field between the wheat field and the woods on the other side. Mother cautioned against going into the woods. The fear was reserved mainly for the Great Forrest in the far north, but Boaz knew that it had been almost ten years since the great fire at the sacred grove. That great tragedy had brought death to so many of the Druid priests. To this day, no one had found out what had caused the blaze. Curious it was that it was during the same time that their great grandfather had disappeared. That was a powerful time, but that was long ago. Boaz had often heard his father say, whenever anyone brought up the subject, that it was a “good day”, and “a day of cleansing and new beginnings”. Truly, the Druids had rebuilt and had become stronger than ever since that mysterious night. To most, the warnings didn’t apply anymore and certainly not to these small woods.
As Boaz reluctantly started to the edge of the field with his brother, he pictured the men of their tribe traveling in groups of at least two or more on a hunt. He longed for the day he and his brother could join the men, using Primus, the great hunting hound, to bring the animals at bay. Swords would make quick work to gain the prize of the beasts cornered by the dogs. He envisioned the hound flushing out the birds from the hedgerows into the open fields where they would have a clear shot with their bows or slings.
Shifting his now more cumbersome load he topped the hill and came to the end of the rows of grain. Climbing the gated, stone wall he looked for Jachin. Where had he gone this time? There, less than half a league ahead of him, he spied him in the pasture; he was gesturing his brother to be quiet. Boaz ran up to him and was about to chide him for leaving him when he saw what Jachin was looking at. There in the pasture was a big black bull. The formidable beast stood alone in the pasture, grazing lazily on the sweet grasses.
“Let’s scare it.” Jachin said.
“Let’s don’t”
Jachin picked up a rock. “This will make him mad. Watch.”
He flung the rock high into the air. It didn’t come close to the animal at all. The second rock was better aimed, yet missed, whizzing past its head. The animal never made a move. It kept right on chewing.
Boaz picked up the next stone and tossed it with all his might. The projectile caught the bull right on the back flank. He took in a quick breath. They heard the thud as it hit the muscled flesh and the boys looked at each other and grinned. Boaz was pleased that his stone had landed on the mark, but felt a little puzzled when the bull lifted his foot as if a fly had bothered him, ignoring the boys’ attempts to move the beast to action.
Not to be outdone, and always more willing to take the risk, Jachin bent down and carefully picked up a rock the size of his fist. He drew in closer toward the animal. Taking careful aim, he hurled the stone, giving it everything he had.
As the rock sailed high into the air, the old farmer come over the hillside.
The man had not noticed the boys until he crested the hill. He must have seen Jachin first, standing with another rock ready to throw. The man draw his sword as he called out to them, “Does your father know you boys are out here?”
Jachin turned to Boaz and was about to say something when Boaz saw the rock he’d thrown come down - right on the bull’s head - between the horns - hard.
The bull let out a bone-chilling bellow, turned around and looked straight at the boys. He then stamped and dug his hoof into the ground flinging dirt high into the air and snorted so that puffs of dust made it appear as if the beast was breathing out fire. Eyes wide, showing white, the animal charged toward them.
Without another breath, the twins took off running as fast as their little legs could go toward the stone fence where the pasture edged up against the woodland. Jachin ran ahead as Boaz tried to catch up. Boaz let out a whoop when he saw his brother leap like a deer completely over the barrier. He had jumped the fence in one bound, his bare feet touching nothing but air.
When Boaz got to the wall, he found a broken place in the stones. Tossing the two bags he still carried over the wall, he tried to squeeze through where the brambles and thorny vines that had grown up in the gap. However, the more he pushed the vines and branches trying to get to safety, the more he tangled in the thicket. He knew that he had to get on the other side quickly or he would be as good as dead. He could not imagine what it would feel like to be gored by the beast behind him. He didn’t want to see the blood and feel the pain. He frantically tore at his trousers trying to escape in time.
With his bracae stuck in the thorns, he heard Jachin begin to laugh. As he turned in fear to look behind him, expecting to see the bull right in front of him, he closed his eyes.
Jachin laughed again.
As Boaz opened his eyes only a squint, he couldn’t see the bull. Then, just at the edge of the horizon, he saw the dreaded beast. It was being calmly led away by the farmer back over the hill. It had only bluffed the charge and didn’t even chase them after all. Boaz let out a loud anguishing “Aaagh!”
Jachin helped his brother out of the thorns, slapped him on the back, and then took off again as if nothing had happened. He ran straight into the woods.
“Wait, you idiot!” Boaz called out to him.
“It’s all part of the adventure!” Jachin yelled.
He had forgotten his pack again. As Boaz picked them both up he saw the tear in his pants. He tried to pat the tear down as if it would stick back into place. Mom will not be pleased, he thought.
Out of breath and feeling that he’d already had more than enough adventure, he slowly walked into the woodland after his brother. He heard a dog barking in the distance.
* * *

Following the area of least resistance in the woods Jachin came into what first appeared to be an open glen in the midst of the trees. The sun was almost directly overhead and illuminating a small hill in the middle of the open area. It rose as tall as a man and appeared round. Jachin had never seen such a mound but had heard of them. Boaz came up behind him and said, “Whoa, do you see that? A burial mound. Right here in our own woods!”
Jachin started to run to it and Boaz grabbed him.
“Haven’t you heard the stories?”
“What stories?”
“You know, about the monster that guards the graves”
“I heard they were just little Pixies”
“No, brother, don’t even touch it. It will bring trouble. Like a thunderstorm or a bad illness…”
“Or maybe seeing dead people’s bones? I’m checking it out.”
Jachin had seen cairns before. They were stacks of stones that marked where someone had been buried. His family usually burned their dead and covered the ashes with the stones. Some stacked so high they called them “stone men”. But an actual burial mound was different. It was old –very old.
He walked around the earthen mound. There were large stones sunk deep in the ground at different intervals. As he got to the other side he saw the opening.
“Hey Boaz, c’mere. There’s a door. Let’s go inside.”
“Let’s not.”
“C’mon chicken.”
He coaxed Boaz over. He really didn’t want to go inside alone. It was dark in there. The side jams of the doorway were stone and brush hung down over the lintel. It was barely a man’s height. Poking his head in, he smelled the must and dryness of the interior. There looked like a passageway leading into it some distance. The walls outside had carvings. He touched them and felt the deep grooves of the swirls and zigzags of the artwork.
“I wonder how old this is. And who is buried here?”
Then he heard the noise. Boaz must have heard it too because he grabbed Jachin’s shirt. Then they heard the Primus growl behind them. They slowly stepped back from the doorway and toward the tree line. They heard sounds coming from the mound. Moans and scratching.
“I’m leaving, brother.” Boaz said.
“Im right behind you.” Jachin replied.
As soon as they were in the woods they headed in the direction of the road. If they could make it there, then Jachin knew they would be safe. As they stepped onto the road Jachin let out a sigh and said “It’s all part of the..” but he didn’t get to finish.
Someone grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. It was a group of boys from Camalodinum out for a march. Jachin knew they were getting ready for the Beltane games where they would be chosen as men of the tribe. The smallest of the group- and somehow in spite of his size- the chosen leader of the gang was known as Toenen. Though older than the boys, he only stood up to their chin in height. He knew who Jachin and Boaz were, everyone did, and he made fun of the ‘half-breeds’ whenever he could. Jachin knew they could get away with it, especially since Caradoc didn’t care. He had heard his father tell others that taking care of children was as bad a being called a lover of men. And if they got beat up, all the better to make them strong.
“Well, what do we have here? The Comhghans out for a stroll?” He said using the term most people called him and his brother. It meant “twins”. They were never called by their names. Just “Comhghans”.
Jachin tried to get up but Toenen put his foot on his chest.
“Where did you little pigs come from?”
“We came from the woods, we found a barrow.”
“A barrow” Toenen said laughing. Like a castrated boar?” They would sometimes castrate the hogs and they would get a hump on their backs as they got older. Therefore, they called the hogs ‘barrow pigs’.
“Not good for much of anything but to fatten up and kill for meat.” The boy jibed as he kicked at Jachin on the ground. “You must be the ‘barrow.’” He laughed again and the other boys laughed as well. “And you,” he pointed at Boaz and several boys grabbed him from behind. “You look just like him. You must be Farrow.”
Jachin tried to catch his breath. He knew what a farrow was too. It was a young pig, usually the runt. A name used for children who were born deformed and taken to the cliffs and killed.
“Barrow and Farrow”
“Barrow and Farrow” the boys said as they marched around Jachin and Boaz. Then two of the boys picked Jachin up by his hands and feet and they carried him down the road. Herding Boaz behind them, they did a mock parade shouting, “Barrow and Farrow, Barrow and Farrow.”
Before long, they grew tired of their game, or tired of carrying Jachin. They dropped him on the ground, and removed his trousers. Toenen gave him a few more jabs and left them in the road. The gang ran away swinging Jachin’s pants in the air. “Barrow and Farrow. Barrow and Farrow. Barrow and Farrow…” the voices trailed into the distance.
Jachin lay there naked except his shirt. He ran his hands through his hair over and over. Everything had gone fine that day until he looked in the grave mound. Boaz helped him up and together they ran back down the road to their hill fort.
When he got back home, he quickly found another pair of trousers and ran to the pig sty and sat amongst the pigs. Maybe that was all he really was. Just a pig. Useless. Even his name had no meaning. Maybe it meant pig in his mother’s tongue as well.
“I will never be anyone. I am nothing. Look at my arms. They are small. I will never be strong. I am just a barrow.” In his mind he didn’t think of the pig, he thought of the grave.
Sitting in the mud, he heard a voice. It was his uncle Adminius. Jachin hunched down hoping he wouldn’t see him. He covered his face.
Whereas Caradoc was in the south procuring land holdings for the tribe, Adminius had stayed behind to care for things. Jachin knew Adminius was not fond of his brother’s warring and refused to participate, claiming need to care for the land at home. Recently he had brought over a big sow to mate with Caradoc’s boar. The boys loved to play with it and had named the hog “Caesar”. Apparently Adminius had just finished putting the sow into the pen when Jachin had chosen his place to hide.
“Come here boy.” He said in a soothing tone. Jachin sat there. “I won’t hurt you. Come sit with me on the wall.” He sat down and Jachin knew he would wait all day if he had too. That was how his uncle was. Very patient.
“Don’t want to.” Jachin said quietly.
Adminius heard the boy and without saying a word, walked over to him. He pushed a sow aside and sat down next to Jachin in the mud.
Jachin turned his head.
After a long silence, Jachin felt Adminius reach over and put his hand on the young boy’s shoulder. Then Jachin was pulled in by the warrior’s strong arm, close to his uncle’s chest. He tensed at first but relenting, he let Adminius hold him there.
Jachin felt like the little bird that had fluttered in his tunic. Just as this little fowl had come to Jachin for help, he knew he could always go to his uncle if he needed him. He buried his face into Adminius’ tunic and wept.
They sat there quietly. Adminius never asked him anything. He just sat there with him until Jachin wiped his tears, got up from the pigpen and walked back to the house.

old stuff Chapter seven - Sanctuary

Chapter VII - “Sanctuary”


“Neither stars nor sanctuary can make a man safe.
Security comes from courage to face fears that are within oneself.”
--Mardus of Macedonia




“Boys! Boys! Take it outside! If you have that much energy, go feed the pigs! Run with the horses but don’t run in the house! Do something, anything, but take it outside!” Alexenah yelled as the twins ran out the front door of the roundhouse.
“Alexenah, they are only boys,” Mara said, “They never fight to hurt one another. They always stop when one of them gets mad.” She gave Alexenah a big smile.
Alexenah wasn’t so sure of that. “They will have plenty of time to fight when they become men.”
“They are almost nine summers old, my lady, and ready to be trained as warriors and given the markings of the tribe.”
“That time will come soon enough, Mara. For now-- I want them to enjoy life and just be little boys.”
. . .

“It’s all part of the adventure!” Jachin yelled, and took off running from the hillfort down the road, ahead of his brother.
Boaz sighed as he saw his brother toss his sack to the ground.
“Where’re you going, Jachin?” he said. He put his hands on his knees and took in a few breaths. He had stopped at the place where the pathway turned to the right and ventured into the woods. It went where the men used it as a hunting trail - away from the direction Jachin had gone. At the junction stood a statue of Ludh, the British god of fun and laughter. Boaz jumped up and removed Jachin’s cap from the statue.
“This doesn’t show respect,” Boaz said as he folded the cap and put it in his own knapsack.
Boaz called out again. ““Hold back! I’m coming! Where’s Primus?”
It was the beginning of summer – Beltane -- and the sun had risen to a beautiful bright day. He felt a light breeze coming out of the woodland against his ruddy cheek. He smelled oak, birch, dry leaves and a hint of something pleasant. “It’s a good day for adventure, but I want to go to the woods.” He looked up to the statue, “Why does he always do that?’ he said, “We could’ve gone hunting.” The statue seemed to stare down the road in the direction of Jachin, and Boaz imagined the face laughing. “Oh, well,” he sighed, as he looked once again longingly down the well-traveled hunting path. “That’s where Primus went. I’m sure of it.” He strained to find any signs of the wire-haired mutt they had brought with them. The woods tugged at his heart, there were so many fun things to do in there.
“There’s boar! And deer -- the red and brown ones -- and birds.” He argued with the statue. It remained in a silent guffaw.
“Yea, I know, we find the game, but can’t catch it.”
Boaz kicked at the dirt. He was caught at the crossroads of two different choices. The dog was nowhere to be seen, and his brother had gone the opposite direction.
“I hate when Jachin does that!” He said, gesturing with both hands in frustration at the statue. “You don’t even care that he ran off – again -- without me.”
Turning back to the trees, he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled loudly, “Primus. C’mon, boy!” There was no answering bark.
The young boy took one last look into the woods, then picked up both his and his brother’s sack and took off down the cobblestones. He saw Jachin up ahead turn and run straight into the wheat field. At this time of year the green stalks of grain had grown to a height just over the heads of the two boys, and Boaz couldn’t see exactly where his brother had gone.
“I guess I should’ve known. Jachin always feels safe in there.”
Arriving at the place where he last saw his brother, he yelled into the grain.
“Jachin! Primus! Where are you guys?”
“I’m over here, Boaz!”
Boaz strained to see where the voice was coming from in the sea of green wheat.
“Jachin,” Boaz cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled again, “Where’s Primus?” and he stepped into the field of grain looking for his brother and the pup.
“Primus! C’mere boy! Where is that mangy dog?”
Just then, Jachin came running out of the thick shocks of grain right in front of Boaz, purposefully knocking him to the ground. “Umph!” Boaz tried to swing out as he went down to no avail. “Hey, whatcha...”
“Sorry, brother. Uh- I, uh, yea- didn’t see ya.” Jachin said.
“Yea, right.” Boaz said as he reached up to take Jachin’s offered hand of assistance. Boaz grabbed it and pulled hard, bringing Jachin down to the ground next to him. They briefly tussled into the wheat, rolling over and over, knocking it down flat as they went.
“I got you, now!”
“N’uh, I got you, Jachin.”
“Ow, that hurt! Hey, let go!”
They stood there looking at each other and Jachin brushed his hair back out of his eyes. Boaz was taller than Jachin by only a finger’s width. No one except the twins noticed the difference. To everyone else they were mirror images. Both had hair the color of the ravens from the north. Their owlish eyes were gray as the fog that seemed to hang on after a storm. Their round, ruddy, sparsely freckled cheeks flushed as they looked at each other for that brief moment. Boaz thought this made Jachin look embarrassed and shy most of the time. As they got older, they tried to accentuate their differences, or create some of their own. Despite their mother’s wishes, they dressed differently as much as possible. Today they had on the usual bracae. Their mother had dyed these long woolen breeches in colorful vegetable oils. Boaz’s favorite hue was blue and Jachin more often wore shades of green. They both wore tunics of brown, the ones with the sleeves that were popular at the time. Their feet were bare, footwear being kept for special occasions or for trips to the town.
Jachin wore his hair longer than Boaz did and pulled it back and piled it on top of his head as Boaz had seen some of the older men do.
Boaz brushed himself off.
“You only do your hair like that because you think it makes you look older than me.”
“I am older. I think it makes me look taller.”
But Boaz knew that when his brother was distressed, he had the practice of running his fingers through the dark curly locks, wiping the bangs to one side, out of his gray eyes, thus ruining his attempt at being unique. This habit would give him a disheveled look.
“That looks cute,” Boaz said, “just the way the other boys like it.”
Jachin gave him a look, squinting his eyes so that they looked like the new month moon. Boaz felt his steely gaze burn.
“That’s enough. We’re finished now.” Jachin said and tried to wrestle Boaz down to the ground again.
Boaz tried to make a voice like his mother, “Boys! Boys! Take it outside! If you have that much energy, feed the pigs! Run like horses!”
They both ran around like horses and made oinking sounds until they were out of breath. Then they both fell down together and lay on their backs looking up at the clouds. Breaking the silence, Boaz said, “He took off! Haven’t seen ‘em. Have you?”
“Who? Father? He’s always gone.” The corners of Jachin’s mouth rose just so slightly; his eyes glinted. They would never do this in their dad’s presence and live. That was part of the feeling Boaz was experiencing. There was a part of him that was starting to get afraid. What if their father hadn’t left after all? What if he came back and was even now watching their antics in the grass?
“No, stupid. I meant Primus.” He punched Jachin on the arm as they stood to their feet.
“Ouch. Hey, lift me up. I’ll find him.” Jachin said trying to see over the tall grass.
Moving behind his brother, Boaz leaned forward, crouched down and put his head between Jachin’s knees. Jachin sat back on his brother’s shoulders. Grabbing Jachin’s legs, he stood up, lifting him above the wheat grasses.
“I don’t see nothin’.”
“Hang on. Quit moving your legs!” Boaz said, trying to hold his brother.
Making a small adjustment, Boaz lifted him up higher, this time with more effort using every bit of strength he could muster to balance.
* * *
Thus settled on his brother’s shoulders, Jachin saw a sea of dark green wheat waving in the gentle breeze of the afternoon. The grain was so thick this year that he couldn’t tell where Primus was.
Jachin lifted his hand high into the air with as much bravado a young man can have and yelled, “I’m king of all the tribes in Briton!”
Boaz yelled up to him, “I have to talk to my brother in Camalodinum about the Red-crest Roooomans!”
Jachin almost lost his balance as Boaz reared up on his legs.
“Oh, and don’t forget his favorite Inn is there.” Jachin said as he acted as if he was wiping the dregs of the brew from his long moustache with the sleeve of his shirt.
Drum, drum, th-thr-drum, a covey of quail took flight by the tree line at the edge of the field startling Jachin. “Turn me around!” He said thinking that perhaps the dog had scared them up. “There’s birds!”
“Primus likes to hunt,” Boaz said.
“But he is still a young pup.” Jachin said picturing in his mind the dog running and fumbling over everything, his large paws pounding the ground. The dog would usually find the covey only after he had run over them. Trying to catch the birds as they took flight is a big game to Primus, Jachin thought.
“He jumps up and down, snapping and yapping for a long while even after the birds fly away.”
“Someday when he calms down,” Boaz said with a confident voice, “he will be a great hunter.”
When I get older, I will too. Jachin thought, as he strained his eyes into the distance.
“Well?”
“I’m looking, I’m looking”
“I’m getting tired” Boaz whined, “I’m gonna drop you if you don’t hurry up!”
“Just a little . . . more . . . time. Just buckle up your breeches, Brother.”
The way the grass moved like waves reminded Jachin of last summer when they had gone to the pond to hunt frogs. He remembered the way the sun sparkled off the broken surface of the pond. It seemed magical to him. As he watched the moving heads of grain, it threw off his perception. He started to get dizzy. His head fogged and everything started spinning around. He felt nauseated as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. His mouth was dry. Careless of keeping his balance, he raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Let me down! Let. Me. Down! Nothin’, to see up here! Let me down! Boaz? Boaz! Let me...”
Boaz dropped to his knees, and then fell forward with the weight. Still holding on to Jachin’s legs, he took him down with him to the ground.
Thrashing his legs forward, Jachin stuck them out, landing amazingly on his feet.
Boaz crashed to the ground.
Stumbling back a step, Jachin turned around and looked at his brother, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised high. His hair was sticking up in front.
Boaz sat up, shook his head back and forth.
“Are you okay, Jachin?”
Everything was still spinning. “Yea, just got a bit dizzy is all.”
“Did ya see ‘em?”
“No.”
“Jachin, you sure you’re alright?” Boaz sounded concerned.
“No, uh, yea. The wheat is way too thick,” then clearer and pointing, “He may be way over by the trees.”
Boaz stood up and grabbed Jachin’s arm moving it to the correct direction. After a few minutes they together yelled into the walls of grain.
“Primus! – Priiiimuuuussss!” Putting two fingers in his mouth Boaz whistled loudly for the dog. Nothing. The wind rustling through the wheat was the only answer they received.
“Hey Boaz? You remember last summer when we took Primus with us to the big pond near that old forest up north?”
“Yea, I ‘member, Jachin. You stole Father’s bow and took his new arrows.”
“I borrowed them. Besides, he made me do the fetching --”
“You mean ‘fletching’!” Boaz corrected as he smiled broadly, laughing at his brother.
“Yea, that too. Anyways, I thought we could get ‘em back in place before he noticed they were gone. ‘Sides I made the arrows, I thought he wouldn’t mind us using them for the hunt. You, know, testing them to see if they flew true or not.”
“Yea, using them- not losing them, Jachin!”
“How was I supposed to know arrows don’t float? It was the pond, I know it! It was cursed or sumptin’. Just swallowed them up it did.”
“Yea, right, just like when you thought there was a bear under our beds that ate your sandals!”
“Well, it did!”
“Yea, right.” Boaz rolled his eyes.
Jachin wasn’t sure what to do. He could never win an argument with his brother, so he just laughed. “Ha, we never did catch any frogs!”
“Next time let’s use a net or tie a string on the arrows or something, alright? What were we going to do with them anyway, if we got one?”
“Don’t know.”
“It was sure funny, though, to watch Primus jump into the pond and chase after every barb you flung into the water. Guess he thought we were playing a game and had thrown him a bone or sumptin’!”
“Yea, Brother. He brought back everything he could find. Sticks, lily pads, an old boot….”
“Yes, everything –- except –- THE ARROWS!” He hit Jachin on the arm again, and they both went down wrestling. They giggled and laughed together, loudly and unafraid, hidden in the tall grain.
“Hey Jachin?”
Hearing the serious tone of Boaz’s voice, Jachin’s laughter calmed down.
“Uhhh, yea?”
“Father never found out you took those - did he?”
“Naw, he never noticed. He didn’t ever acknowledge my craftsmanship or even thank me for making them for him in the first place. He didn’t care. I just wanted him to like me is all. He called them ‘boar’s dung’ and threw them toward the fire in the hearth. But, of course, he was too drunk and missed the hearth completely. He yelled at me and said that I was nothing but a ‘goat-driver’ and they were ‘half-skewed’.” Jachin used words similar to what his dad had actually said, but felt uncomfortable using the language of their father’s angry words. “Yea, he then tried to hit me . . . like always.”
“Whad’ya do, Jachin?”
“I ducked, and tried to escape the blow. I hit the table and knocked over a jar of Mom’s ointment or something.”
“Is that when you got that blue stain on your arm?”
As Jachin rolled up his tunic sleeve to show Boaz the unique mark, they heard something crashing through the wheat field.
“It’s a great . . . big . . . giant . . . BEAR!” Jachin said excitedly in a breathy whisper as if yelling through clinched teeth.
Boaz laughed, “I know where you’re going with this.” And then in a tone of mocking fear he said, “Oh, no, not THE Great Big Bear . . .from the . . . uh, oh, yea, the Forever Forrest!”
“Yea, the Forever Forrest! And us with no weapons!”
Boaz grabbed Jachin’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Jachin? Uh, we really could use those arrows now!”
“Well, Brother, you could just scare them away with your big muscles . . . “ He brushed Boaz’s hands from his shoulders, “and your ugly face!”
Boaz let go. “We’ll be killed dead for sure. No one will ever find our bodies to cry over! But, then again . . Who’d cry over you, anyway?”
Jachin punched Boaz in the belly, but laughed at the remark anyway. They were about to go at each other again when they heard a low, menacing, deep growl, not unlike what they thought a wolf would do before attacking innocent little lambs. The twins looked wide-eyed at each other, screaming at the same time:
“RUN!”
Attempting to run crosswise through the grain rows was difficult. At first they ran together, fearful of what was behind them. The sound they had heard sent chills into Jachin’s bones. This was no game. The noise grew louder, more ominous, and ...closer.
“AAAgh! We are gonna die!” his brother screamed.
“Maybe you are, Boaz, but I’m not gonna die.” Jachin called back.
“What?”
“Not as long as I can out-run you!”
As he ran on past his brother, he slapped Boaz upside the head. Jachin ran away from what sounded dangerous trying to put as much distance as he could from it. Then he ducked down to hide in the grass. He tried to still his breathing and be as quiet as he could, pretending no one would ever see him there. Another roaring growl and then Jachin heard what sounded like a little girl’s scream.
“Oh, no! Not Boaz!” He could hear the sounds of the fight in the grass; the tearing, the growls, the awful sounds of his brother being torn to pieces. He envisioned a wild boar three times their size, tusks as big as thrashing scythes.
With a sense of urgency, he pushed his fear aside. In determination, he steeled himself for the fight. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, he turned back toward the frightening sounds of the melee and confusion. Not knowing what else to do, he ran as fast as he could, retracing his steps to help Boaz. Jachin knew he could joke around with his brother, but no one else could mess with Boaz and get away with it: not as long as he was around, at least, not here in the wheat field. If he couldn’t kill the beast, boar, wolf, or . . . whatever; he’d at least try to help Boaz get away to safety.
He had gone farther ahead of Boaz than he realized and it took a while in the deep grasses to find his way back to the sounds. Searching, listening, dreading, he kept parting the grass with his hands.
“I must keep pushing.” He knew Boaz would have done the same for him.
Frantically, he came to an abrupt halt at a clearing where the grain was smashed and trampled down. He broke into the area of the devastating attack. Expecting to see a horrific scene of blood, guts and death, there before him was his brother on his back -- being smothered by a big gray and reddish-brown, wire-haired animal.
It was all over Boaz with his giant paws, long snout, a face that looked like he had a scraggly old man’s beard, drool included, big brown eyes, and his short wagging tail: licking his brother’s face and hands with his enormous tongue. He watched in amazement as Boaz tried in vain to ward off the dogs obvious affection for his young master.
“Primus! Boaz! You found him!” Jachin ran over and dove into the ruckus pile, landing right on Boaz’s belly. They both hugged the dog and accepted the loving attention he gave them in return.
To Jachin, this was what life was all about and today was paradise. No cares, no fear, no father. The only thing missing was that their mother, their dear Matrona, was not with them. ‘The best mother in the land’, according to the boys, was back at the hillfort.
Jachin thought to himself: These three: Mom, Boaz and Primus, are the number one, most important things in my life. Thank the Good All-seeing One I at least have them!
The rest of the day the boys spent in adventures as they reenacted the stories of renowned heroes. They fought unseen monsters, rescued fair maidens; avoiding their grateful kisses - only briefly - and then pretended to better the other and being the best at wooing the girls, practicing elaborate kisses in the air. Jachin felt that they were one hundred times more skilled than any of the other boys in all the land at mastering, beating and subduing the “dreaded enemy”. They did this over and over again, always winning the day, never tiring of the playful fun. They used sticks for swords and dirt clods for arrows, in this magical Wheatfield of Dreams.
With Primus, the war hound, as their constant companion, these two, thought Jachin, in truth, could do anything. When together there was nothing they could not accomplish, no obstacles they couldn’t overcome. It was as though they fed off of each other’s energies. Although they really couldn’t read the others thoughts and anticipate intent, it seemed to others that they were somehow magically connected. It had happened more than once that the boys had noticed that someone had made the sign against evil just as they had walked by. The twins were so much alike; so inseparable, so confident in each other’s presence that it truly seemed they could conquer the world, even Rome, if they wanted.
The sun was growing low in the sky, the shadows lengthening, as the boys tried to see who could jump the highest. Primus had taken off again somewhere into the grain. Taking a short run to get momentum, Jachin jumped as high as he could. As he reached the zenith of his jump, he was completely surprised when a little sparrow flew out of the sky above and right into his tunic! He heard the cry of an eagle as he came down with the bird fluttering in his shirt. He had not known that it was a bird at first, but after hearing the eagle and feeling the movement on his chest, he quickly figured it out.
He knew he must have had a strange look on his face, because Boaz stopped jumping and came over. Jachin put one hand out to stop him from coming further and the other to his mouth to tell him to be silent.
Making sure the animal was safe he spoke into his shirt. “It is ok. I’ll take care of you.”
“What are you doing, brother? Have you gone completely mad?”
“Shhh, there is a bird in my shirt.”
“Riiight, and I have a mouse in my breeches . . .”
“No, really, I do!” Jachin gave him a look to say he meant business and wasn’t playing around. It was one of those looks that signified that it was time to stop wrestling.
“You are safe little one. The evil won’t harm you now.”
Jachin felt the warmth of the bird on his belly and felt the rapid beating of its heart slow as the bird stopped flapping. It felt good. He vowed, “I will always keep you, take care of you and protect you from harm.”
“You got to let it go, ya know?” Boaz said softly.
“No I don’t.”
“You’ve hurt it, or killed it. Either way, it will surely make you sick. Birds are nasty – unclean.”
“Boaz, it’s not dead. It’s still alive. I can feel its heartbeat!” He felt his own as well. He couldn’t believe this was happening.
Just then, Primus came out of the grass and right to where Jachin was. He came up slowly and put his nose up to Jachin’s stomach. He smelled the bird. Jachin was afraid he would scare the bird away; but he didn’t. As Jachin looked carefully down his tunic to see if the bird really was still alive, Primus started growling. When the dog let out a loud bark, the little bird flew out of the shirt, into the air, and away.
Boaz gasped in astonishment and looked in wonder at his brother.
“The bird was really there!”
Jachin turned to chastise the dog.
“How could you do that?” He had kept the bird so safe!
Primus wasn’t looking in the direction of Jachin . . . or at the direction of the escaped little bird. His focus was on something in the tall grasses to the south.