Stonehenge

  Galeth’s younger sons had brought a sharpened stake and a stone maul which they gave to Mereth. He squatted beside his father’s corpse and banged the spirit stake into the turf until it struck the bedrock chalk, and then he gave it three more sharp taps to tell Garlanna that another soul had passed from her domain. Saban closed his eyes and cuffed away a tear.

  “What’s this?” Haragg asked and Saban turned to see that the high priest was frowning at the turf beside a half-rotted body. Saban stepped over the corpse to see that a lozenge shape had been scratched into the yellow grass. “It’s Lahanna’s symbol,” Haragg said, frowning.

  “Does it matter?” Saban asked.

  “It is not her temple,” Haragg said, then scratched at the symbol with his foot, obliterating the lozenge shape from the turf. “Maybe it’s just child’s play,” he said. “Do children come here?”

  “They’re not supposed to,” Saban said, “but they do. I did.”

  “Child’s play.” Haragg dismissed the lozenge. “Have we finished?”

  “We’re finished,” Saban said.

  Mereth looked a last time at his father, then walked from the temple and tossed the ivy that had covered the corpse down the deep hole that led to Garlanna’s mansion. He and his half-brothers walked on through the hazels and the beech trees, then Mereth realized that Saban was still lingering by the corpse. “Aren’t you coming?” he shouted back.

  “I want to say a prayer here,” Saban said, “alone.”

  So Mereth and the others went and Saban waited amidst the foul stench. He knew who had carved the lozenge shape in the Death Place’s rank soil, so he stood beside his uncle’s pale corpse until he heard a rustle in the trees. “Derrewyn,” he then said, turning toward the noise and surprising himself by the eagerness in his voice.

  And Derrewyn surprised him by smiling as she stepped from the trees, then surprised him further for, when he had crossed the low bank and ditch, she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him. “You look older,” she said.

  “I am older,” Saban said.

  “White hairs.” She touched his temples. She was painfully thin and her hair was tangled and dirty. She had been living as an outlaw, harried from woodland to woodland, and her pelts were filthy with mud and dead leaves. Her skin was stretched tight over her cheekbones, reminding Saban of Sannas’s skull face. “Do I look older?” she asked him.

  “As beautiful as ever,” Saban said.

  She smiled. “You lie,” she said gently.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Saban told her. “Camaban’s spearmen search for you.” The rumors of Derrewyn’s survival had never subsided and Camaban had sent scores of warriors and dogs to scour the forests.

  “I see them,” Derrewyn said scornfully. “Clumsy spearmen blundering through the trees, following their hounds, but no hound can see my spirit. Do you know that Camaban sent me a messenger?”

  “He did?” Saban was surprised.

  “He released a slave into the forests, carrying in his head Camaban’s words. ‘Come to Ratharryn,’ he said, ‘and kneel to me and I shall let you live and worship Lahanna.’” Derrewyn laughed at the memory. “I sent the slave back to Camaban. Or, rather, I left his head on Ratharryn’s embankment with its tongue cut out. The rest of him I gave to the dogs. Do you still have the lozenge?”

  “Of course.” Saban touched the pouch where he kept the sliver of Sarmennyn’s gold.

  “Guard it well,” Derrewyn said, then she walked to the Death Place’s ditch and stared at the bodies. “I hear,” she said over her shoulder, “that your wife has become a goddess?”

  “She has never claimed that,” Saban insisted.

  “But she will not lie with you.”

  “Did you come all this way to tell me that?” Saban asked, nettled.

  Derrewyn laughed. “You do not know where I have come from. Just as you do not know that your wife lies with Camaban.”

  “That isn’t true!” Saban snapped angrily.

  “Isn’t it?” Derrewyn asked, turning. “Yet men say Camaban is Slaol and the women claim Aurenna is Lahanna. Are you not supposed to be bringing them together with your stones? A sacred marriage? Perhaps they rehearse the wedding, Saban?”

  Saban touched his groin to avert evil. “You tell stories,” he said bitterly, “you have always told stories.”

  Derrewyn shrugged. “If you say so, Saban.” She saw how much she had upset him and so she walked to him and lightly touched his hand. “I will not argue with you,” she said humbly, “not on a day that I come begging a favor from you.”

  “What you said isn’t true!”

  “I do tell stories,” Derrewyn said humbly, “I am sorry.”

  Saban took a deep breath. “A favor?” he asked guardedly.

  Derrewyn made an abrupt gesture toward the trees and Saban had the impression of six or seven people back there in the shadowed beeches, but only two emerged from the trees. One was a tall and fair-haired woman in a ragged deerskin tunic half covered with a sheepskin cloak, while the other was a child, perhaps Lallic’s age or a year younger. She was a dark-haired girl with wide eyes and a frightened face. She stared at Saban, but clung tight to the woman’s hand and tried to hide beneath the skirt of the sheepskin cloak.

  “The forests are no place for a child,” Derrewyn said. “We live hard, Saban. We steal and kill for our food, we drink from streams and we sleep where we can find safety. The child has been weak. We had another child with us, but he died last winter and I fear this girl will also die if she stays with us.”

  “You want me to raise a child?” Saban asked.

  “Kilda will raise her,” Derrewyn said, nodding at the tall woman. “Kilda was one of my brother’s slaves and she has known Merrel since birth. All I want from you is somewhere safe for Kilda and Merrel.”

  Saban stared at the child, though he could see little of her face for it was tucked into the slave’s skirt. “She is your daughter,” he said to Derrewyn.

  “She is my daughter,” Derrewyn admitted, “and Camaban must never know that she lives, so from this day on she will carry another name.” She turned on Merrel. “You hear that? And take that thumb from your mouth!”

  The child abruptly snatched her hand away from her face and stared solemnly at Derrewyn who stooped so that her face was close to the child’s. “Your name will be Hanna, for you are Lahanna’s child. Who are you?”

  “Hanna,” the girl said in a timid voice.

  “And Kilda is your mother, and you will live in a proper hut, Hanna, and have clothes and food and friends. And one day I shall come back for you.” Derrewyn straightened. “Will you do that for me, Saban?”

  Saban nodded. He did not know how he would explain the arrival of Kilda and Hanna, but nor did he care. He was lonely, and the work at the temple seemed endless, and he had missed his own daughter so Derrewyn’s child would be welcome.

  Derrewyn stooped and hugged her girl. She held the embrace for a long while, then stood, sniffed and walked back into the trees.

  Saban was left with Kilda and the child. Kilda’s skin was grubby and her hair a greasy tangle, but her face was broad, strong-boned and defiant. “Come,” he said gruffly.

  “What will you do with us?” Kilda asked.

  “I shall find you a place to live,” Saban said, leading the two out of the trees and onto the open hillside. Across the low valley he could see the Sky Temple where the slaves ground, hammered and scraped the unyielding stones. Closer, just to the east of the sacred path, there was a huddle of slave huts from which wisps of smoke rose.

  “Are you going to pretend we’re slaves?” Kilda demanded.

  “Everyone will know you are not my relatives,” Saban said, “and you are not of the tribe, so what else could you be in Ratharryn? Of course you’ll be slaves.”

  “But if we are slaves,” Kilda said, “your spearmen will use us.”

  “Our slaves are under the protection of the priests,” Saban said. “We are build
ing a temple and when it is done the slaves will be free. There are no whips, nor are there spearmen watching the work.”

  “And your slaves don’t run?” Kilda asked.

  “Some do,” Saban admitted, “but most work willingly.” That had been Haragg’s achievement. He had talked with the slaves, enthusing them with the temple’s promise and though some vanished into the forests most wanted to see the temple built. They would be free when it was done, free to stay or go, and free to enjoy Slaol’s blessings. They ruled themselves and carried no mark of slavery like Saban’s missing finger.

  “And at night?” Kilda asked. “In the slave huts? You think a woman and a child will be safe?”

  Saban knew there was only one sure way to keep Hanna safe. “You will both live in my hut,” he said, “and I shall say you are my own slaves. Come.” He led them down into the valley, which stank because it was here the slaves dug their dung pits, then up to the chalk ring where the air was clamorous with the sound of hammers on stone.

  He took Kilda and Hanna to his hut and that night he listened as Kilda prayed to Lahanna. She prayed as she used to pray in Cathallo: that Lahanna would protect her worshippers from the spite of Slaol and from the scourge of Ratharryn. If Camaban heard that prayer, Saban thought, then Kilda and Hanna would surely die. He supposed he ought to protest to Kilda, demanding that she change her prayers, but he reckoned the gods were powerful enough to sort one prayer from another without his help.

  Next day Camaban came to the temple and wanted to know when Saban would move the longest stones from Cathallo. “Soon,” Saban said.

  “Who is that?” Camaban had seen Kilda in the doorway of Saban’s hut.

  “My slave,” Saban said curtly.

  “She looks as if you found her in the forest,” Camaban said scathingly, for Kilda was still dirty and her long hair was disheveled. “But wherever you found her, brother, take her to Cathallo and bring me the big stones.”

  Saban did not want to take Kilda to Cathallo. She would surely be recognized there, and Hanna’s life would be at risk, but Kilda would not leave him. She feared Ratharryn and trusted only Saban. “Derrewyn said my safety lies with you,” she insisted.

  “And Hanna’s safety?”

  “Is in Lahanna’s hands,” Kilda declared.

  So all three went to Cathallo.

  Chapter 18

  “You shouldn’t be coming to Cathallo,” Saban grumbled to Kilda. He was carrying Hanna, who clung to his neck and watched the world from wide eyes. “You’ll be recognized, and this child will die.”

  Kilda spat into the undergrowth. She had stopped at a stream and washed her face and dragged water through her hair, which she had then tied at the nape of her neck. She had a strong, bony face with wide blue eyes and a long nose. She was, Saban thought guiltily, a good-looking woman. “You think I will be recognized?” Kilda asked defiantly. “You are right, I will. But what does that matter? You think the people of Cathallo will betray us? What do you know of Cathallo, Saban? You can read its heart? The folk of Cathallo look back to the old days, to Derrewyn, to when Lahanna was properly worshipped. They will welcome us, but they will also keep silent. The child is as safe in Cathallo as if she were in Lahanna’s own arms.”

  “You hope that,” Saban said sourly, “but you do not know it.”

  “We have been to Cathallo often enough,” Kilda retorted. “Your brother searched the woods for us, but some nights we even slept in Cathallo and no one betrayed us. We know what happens in Cathallo. One night I will show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “Wait,” she said curtly.

  Aurenna greeted them gently enough. She gave Kilda a cursory glance, made a fuss of Hanna and ordered a hut prepared for Saban. “Your woman will share it?” she asked.

  “She is my slave, not my woman.”

  “And the child?”

  “Hers,” Saban said shortly. “The woman cooks for me while I work here. I shall need a score of men in a few days, more later.”

  “You can have all there are after the harvest,” Aurenna said.

  “Twenty will do for now,” Saban said.

  Saban had decided he would move the very largest stone first. If that great earthbound rock could be shifted then the others must prove easier, and so he summoned the twenty men and ordered them to dig the earth away all around the boulder. The men worked willingly enough, although they refused to believe that such a rock could be lifted. Galeth, however, had told Saban how to do it and Saban now made the task easier by hammering and scraping and burning the vast boulder to reduce its width and so lessen its weight. It took a whole moon, and when the work was done the great boulder had begun to resemble the tall pillar it was destined to become.

  Leir liked to come to watch the stone being hammered and Saban welcomed his son, for he had seen too little of the boy in the last years. While the men roughly shaped the stone the children of Cathallo scrambled over its surface, fighting to occupy its long stony plateau. They used ox goads as spears, and sometimes their mock battles became fierce and Saban noted approvingly that Leir did not complain when he was pierced in the arm so deeply that the blood ran to drip from his fingers. Leir just laughed the injury away, snatched up his toy spear and charged after the boy who had wounded him.

  Once the stone’s weight had been lessened they dug two trenches down its long sides. That took six days, and it took another two to bring the seasoned sledge runners up from the settlement. The huge runners were laid in the trenches, and then, using two dozen men and levers so long that their outer ends had to be hauled downward with hide ropes, Saban raised one end of the great rock so that a beam could be shoved beneath it. Raising the one end took a whole day, and another was spent lifting the back of the stone and putting three more beams beneath. Saban fastened the beams to the runners, then dug a long smooth ramp up from the bedrock chalk.

  He had to wait now, for it was harvest and all the folk of Cathallo were busy in the fields or on the winnowing floors, but those harvest days gave Saban a chance to spend time with Leir. He taught the boy how to draw a bow, geld a calf and stroke fish out of the river. He saw little of his daughter. Lallic was a nervous child, scared of spiders, moths and dogs, and whenever Saban appeared she would hide behind her mother. “She is frail,” Aurenna claimed.

  “Sick?” Saban asked.

  “No, just precious. Fragile.” Aurenna patted Lallic fondly. The girl did indeed look fragile to Saban, but she was also beautiful. Her skin was white and clean, her golden eyelashes were long and delicate, and her hair was as bright as her mother’s. “She has been chosen,” Aurenna added.

  “Chosen as what?” Saban asked.

  “She and Leir are to be the guardians of the new temple,” Aurenna said proudly. “He will be a priest and she a priestess. They are already dedicated to Slaol and Lahanna.”

  Saban thought of his son’s enthusiasm in the war games that the children had fought around the stone. “I think Leir would rather be a warrior.”

  “You give him ideas,” Aurenna said disapprovingly, “but Lahanna has chosen him.”

  “Lahanna? Not Slaol?”

  “Lahanna rules here,” Aurenna said, “the true Lahanna, not the false goddess they once worshipped.”

  When the harvest was gathered the folk of Cathallo danced in their temple, weaving between the boulders to lay gifts of wheat, barley and fruit at the foot of the ringstone. There was a feast in the settlement that night, and Saban was intrigued to see that both of his children, and all the orphans who lived with Aurenna, were at the feast, but that Aurenna herself stayed in the temple. Lallic missed her mother and when Saban made a fuss of her she looked as if she wanted to cry.

  There was a fire burning in the temple, its glow outlining the skull-topped crest of the embankment, but when Saban walked toward that embankment a priest stopped him. “There is a curse on it this night.”

  “This night?”

  “Just this night.” The priest shru
gged and gently pulled Saban back toward the feast. “The gods do not want you there,” he said.

  Kilda saw Saban return and, leaving Hanna with another woman, came and took his arm. “I said I would show you,” she said.

  “Show me what?”

  “What Derrewyn and I have seen.” She drew him into the shadows then led him north away from the settlement. “I told you,” she said, “that no one would betray us.”

  “But you have been recognized?”

  “Of course.”

  “And Hanna? Do folk know who she is?”

  “They probably do,” Kilda said carelessly, “but she has grown since she was here, and I tell people that she is my daughter. They pretend to believe me.” She leapt a ditch then turned eastward. “No one will betray Hanna.”

  “You are not from Cathallo?” Saban asked. He still knew little about Kilda, but her voice betrayed that she had learned Cathallo’s language late. He did know that she was little more than twenty-two summers old, but otherwise she was a stranger to him.

  “I was sold into slavery as a child,” she answered. “My people live beside the eastern sea. Life is hard there and daughters are more valuable if they are sold. We worshipped the sea god, Crommadh, and Crommadh would choose which girls were to be sold.”

  “How?”

  “They would take us far out on the mud flats and make us race the incoming tide. The fastest were kept to be married and the slowest were sold.” She shrugged. “The very slowest were drowned.”

  “You were slow?”

  “I deliberately went slowly,” she said flatly, “for my father would use me in the night. I wanted to escape him.”

  She went south now, approaching the temple. No priest or guard had seen them loop far out into the fields and there was only a sliver of a moon to light the stubble. “Be quiet now,” Kilda said, “for if they see us they will kill us.”