Chapter Four

  As they approached the midway point in their journey, the wagon overtook a traveller going in the direction of the village. The rolling gait of his pronounced limp identified him as Dylan, the village Druid, long before he any other details revealed his identity. Crippled since birth, he was the cause of much controversy in the village. The Tribes held good health and vitality very high, and so many of the villagers saw his physical impairment as a sign of displeasure from the goddess of Nature, Ostarna, patron deity of the Six-tribes. Others claimed that, as he was marked as a Druid, who were they to question whether he was worthy or not. If Dylan knew he was at the centre of such a heated debate, then he showed no signs of it, he merely served the community to the best of his ability as an intermediary between the goddess and her people. Despite his handicap, her covered the ground with surprising swiftness. His simple dark green robes flapped energetically against his legs as he walked along the rough track. He whistled merrily, if somewhat tunelessly, to himself and he looked from side to side at the manifest power of the goddess surging through bush and branch, flower and leaf. He stopped and turned as he heard the wagon’s approach from behind.

  Gryffin rarely saw the druid as he seldom made the visit into the village, but his face was much as he remembered it – a round, open face with a large slate grey eyes that spoke of his friendly nature and a deep intelligence. His mousy, shoulder-length hair was kept under control with a simple leather band that pulled it back into what looked a painfully tight ponytail.

  “Good day, Dougal. Good day young Gryffin.” He said in greeting. “I don’t suppose that you are travelling to the village by any chance, are you?”

  “We are, Sir.” Said Dougal respectfully.

  “Then could I be so rude as to ask for a ride in the back of your wagon?” Although only twenty-five summer old, the druid spoke in a serious and formal manner normally seen only in men who had at least twice as many years as him.

  “Of course, Sir.” Said Dougal. He elbowed Gryffin in the ribs, jerking his head to one side to indicate that Gryffin should drop back into the bed of the wagon, making room for Dylan on the seat of the wagon. “Come, sit up here beside me. It’s not very comfortable in the back and the bed has a fair amount of muck and old blood stains.”

  As Gryffin dropped back into the main part of the wagon, Dylan jumped up with unexpected nimbleness. He sat with a contented sigh. “As much as I enjoy walking, I find that I enjoy riding even more. It is a dream of mine that, one day, the goddess will be gracious enough to send me a wagon of my own.” He sighed contentedly. “Could life get any better than that, I wonder?”

  “I don’t think that having to muck out stables is so wonderful.” Said Gryffin quietly from behind.

  The Druid laughed. “Yes, that is one of aspect of having a horse that I hadn’t considered!”

  “Sadly, I’m never allowed to overlook it for long. Bronty sees to that.”

  The druid laughed again, his eyes sparkling with merriment at the younger man’s displeasure. “And how is your wife?” He asked, turning his attention to the elder brother. “She cannot be far off her time now?”

  “Oh, she is well enough, Sir, although her temper deteriorates with every passing day.”

  The Druid held up his hands in supplication. “Please, Dougal, there is really no need to keep calling me ‘Sir.’ Dylan is good enough.”

  “As you wish….Dylan.”

  “Would you look on it as an inconvenience if I called on you both to see how she is in the next few days?” Asked the cleric. “I would like to see that she is all right and that everything is fine with the baby. Perhaps I would be able to pinpoint the exact day of the …er…event.”

  “Bronty would love to see you. With Gryff and I out in the woods most days, she gets lonely sometimes.”

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  As if the mention of the name reminded Dylan of something, he turned in his seat to regard the young man. “And how are you, Young Gryffin?” He asked. “Callun informs me that you are amongst those to take up your weapons this year. I have never had to go through that rite myself, being marked to serve the goddess in other ways. He reverently placed his hand over his heart, over where Gryffin assumed his fetish mark would lie. “I understand that it is quite a nerve-wracking time.”

  “It is that, Sir!” Dylan raised his eyebrow. “Dylan.” Gryffin corrected himself.

  “Well, do not worry overmuch.” The druid reassured him. “You will do just fine. The goddess never makes demands on us that we have not the strength to perform.”

  “I hope that you are right.” Said Gryffin with feeling.

  “I am. Just trust in the goddess.” Smiled Dylan

  They passed the rest of the journey making idle chit-chat about various aspects of village life – general gossip on whose scandalous actions were on everyone’s lips, who was in the Eron’s good or bad graces at the moment and why, most of which Dougal had picked up from his visit to the village tavern when he was last in town.

  It was just before noon that the village came into view. The two hundred or so thatched houses that comprised the main body of it stretched in four main ribbons along the thoroughfares that followed the cardinal point and that all met at the large central square. The square itself was dominated by the only building completely made from stone, the hall of the village Eron, which dominated one side of the it. Even the roof was at odds with the rest of the village, being made of baked clay tiles. The other three side were a collection of stores and workshops, including the village smithy and the large building that Dougal had come to look on as his second home, the Tavern. Not far from the village, on a small hill, was the imposing stone circle enclosed by a raised earth bank that gave the village its name. To the rest of the Aedua this place was simple known as ‘Henge.’ All towns and villages had some form of circle. Some were of stone, many where made of wood, a few were enclosed by earthen banks, but almost all were smaller than that built here. As no breeze was blowing this day, a smoky haze from the many cooking fires and the black fumes belching from the busy forge mixed and hung low overhead, shrouding the village and hiding much of the bustling activity within from view. Yet it could not mask the sounds of a thriving community. After the peacefulness of the countryside, it seemed a riot of noise and strident voices. As they entered the village its life became more apparent. Young children chased barking dogs along dusty streets while warriors in the red and green tartan of the Aedua strutted in masculine arrogance or flirted with any woman foolish enough to be delayed from their work by such nonsense. The wagon’s passage slowed as Dougal navigated the many obstacles and obstructions, both human and not, until he eventually pulled it to a halt outside the tavern. It was from here that Callun was in the habit of conducting his daily business, enjoying its relaxed environment, only using his hall for more official meetings. It was in here that the Eron had arranged to meet Dougal today so that they could mix business with a friendly ale or two.

  “I think that this is where I take my leave of you.” Said Dylan as he jumped down from the wagon. He winced as he landed awkwardly on his weaker leg.

  “Are you alright?” asked Gryffin with some concern. He jumped down lightly from the back of the wagon, placing a steadying hand on the man’s shoulder while the druid tentatively put his weight back on his painful ankle.

  “I am fine. Truly.” Insisted Dylan, sadly. “I sometimes forget that I am not as others and behave in a manner most unsuited to my condition.”

  This comment concerned Dougal. He had had many conversations with the druid over the past few years, and he had never caught any hint of bitterness over his affliction. Dylan caught the emotion as it passed across the hunter’s face.

  “I am sorry if I have embarrassed you. I usually accept my ‘gift’ from the goddess with much better grace. Whatever other burdens she has placed on me, she has shown me her favour by putting her mark upon me.” He smiled to try and ease the man’s obvious unease in the subject of the conversation. “Oh, listen to me prattle on about on about myself. I’ve kept you from your business with our inestimable Eron, Callun, for too long. I’ve some errands of my own in town that I must see to first, but I may call in to the tavern and share a tankard with you – repayment, if you will, for the lift and pleasant company.”

  “You owe us no payment, but your company would be welcomed all the same.” Smiled Dougal, realising that he did, indeed, enjoy the druid’s company.

  Dylan nodded his thanks. “I shall see you soon then.” And, with that, he limped off across the bustling central square in the direction of the forge.

  Dougal turned to Gryffin. “Off you go too, Gryff. You don’t get to see many lads your own age out in the woods. Go off and enjoy yourself. When you get hungry, come back here and I will get you something.”

  “I will see you soon then Dougal. And remember that Bronty says not to drink too much.”

  “I am the man of the house, and I’ll drink as much as I like!” he declared defiantly.

  “Ha! We shall see.” Snorted Gryffin as he dodged his brother’s boot and ran off across the village square.