Chapter Fifteen
I was pretending to relax in Farldant’s bed-space, deeply regretting the perverse logic that had put me into this pickle. As an indicator of humankind's progress in the five thousand years since the stone age, I provided a poor example. The most artful ploy I had been able to come up with was, get yourself comprehensively mangled to win friends and influence people. Of course, I knew a bit of Judo and that was a good thing. Judo is handy for loosening a school bully’s bowels, but I won’t stop a tank. Farldant was the Challenger Mark II of the Stone Age. Only a bull Aurochs was bigger or more dangerous.
Blaith and some of his men had been lounging around after a good meal. I had tagged on to them, trying to be cool. Farldant had not shown up. The thought that he was scared to face me never crossed my mind. If you’d ever seen this guy you’d understand why. He was built like a brick sh – err - garage. His massive feet looked like a pair of squashed terriers. His muscles had muscles, and his chest was like a bin lorry. You get the idea? Big!
The fight I got into that afternoon however, was not with Farldant but with Serren. He called Blaith out of his house to talk. Serren never entered the warriors’ house. With the rest of his men I followed Blaith out into the late afternoon sunshine. Farldant joined us moments later.
Serren drew himself up to his full height and addressed Blaith in a loud, theatrical voice, so everyone could hear. I could only get a disjointed scattering of his words, so it made little sense to me. I noticed others joining the growing crowd, bringing each other up to date in animated whispers. Whatever was being said had Blaith looking distinctly shaken, but more worrying was he kept glancing at me. I noticed others looking at me too and sensed a growing hostility. What had I to do with this?
Blaith turned to face me and spoke. Farldant grabbed me in a bear hug. Another man joined in and tied my hands. Somebody clubbed me from behind, and knocked me to my knees. People spat at me. A few lashed out with fist and foot. I was dragged away to follow Serren and Blaith. The monks and warriors fell in behind their two leaders. I didn't know where we were going or why everyone suddenly hated me. All around me people jeered and spat, and hit out at me with sticks, or fists.
We were heading for Stonehenge. I kept asking what was happening, but earned a punch in the mouth each time. The pace was heavy with ceremonial; monks chanted and knocked sticks in rhythm. We faced the low sun, which was lucky for me because people only had one hand free for hitting me. They needed the other to shade their eyes. By the time we reached the totem inside the new circular bank and ditch, I had few doubts that this was going to my death. I was about to become Stonehenge's first human sacrifice, a distinction that would never make the guidebooks.
Farldant eyed me with disgust, and pushed me into place before a rank of monks at the new totem. A semi circle of the remaining priests, warriors and lay people formed facing them. Serren’s monks were dressed in their painted, ground brushing leather cloaks, and head-dresses of feathers and animal faces. At centre stage stood Serren, puffed up and thrilled to be doing whatever it was he had in mind.
As his voice rang out over the gathering I heard him say the name Erutruin. He jabbered, repeating it several times and pointing at me. A roar of anger rose from the crowd behind me. Realization suddenly struck me. I was here to face a murder charge. Serren was stitching me up, telling them I had killed Erutruin. I had seen his men hiding, not burying, the corpses in the circular ditch, and now I knew why. Obviously, he and his monks were the real killers, but they were accusing me.
The deaths may have been unintended, but the idea to frame me was calculated and deliberate. I could easily imagine him plotting with his maniac monks. Rather than bury the corpses properly, why not use them to get rid of me and make Blaith look foolish for trusting me? It suited him perfectly.
Droning on Serren spat his venom at me. I watched Blaith’s head sink with shame. Serren then turned to face the solid ranks of his ridiculously robed priests for his big finale. His voice rose, trembling with theatrical emotion as he sang out the ludicrous catalogue of my so-called crimes. He included not just one murder, but all four, and with that his priests moved aside to reveal the four corpses, one of which, I had been much closer to than I care to remember.
The crowd howled with fury. Farldant and the other warriors had a struggle keeping them from tearing me apart, and spoiling whatever entertaining death Serren had planned for me. But, in that moment of supreme terror, I caught a look on Farldant’s face that puzzled me. As the crowd calmed, the big man stepped up to the row of corpses and bent over each one in turn, inspecting their wounds. When he had done, he raised his hand demanding silence.
Now I won’t try to translate word for word, because I can’t. But, you know how it is when you get a feeling for something you don't actually know? Well, I get that. I hear the odd word and that gives me a clue and then another word that sort of confirms what I thought was being said, and then I get the whole picture. So what I’ll do here is this, I’ll tell you what I think was said.
Farldant went first.
How can this young man kill four of our best fighters on his own? What weapon did he use? I see the wounds of arrows, spears, axes, even clubs. How did he carry and deploy all these different weapons and face four fighting men at one time?
If you had waited for the invention of steel so that somebody could have made a pin, you could have heard one drop in the silence that these questions brought down upon the crowd. Even the look on the faces of some of Serren’s priests suggested that they too would like to know the answer to that one.
Blaith’s face was as white as the chalky earth under our feet, and he wavered like a great tree in a stiff wind. In absolute silence, save for the breeze ruffling the feathers of the monks’ headdresses, Blaith bent over each corpse in turn and examined their wounds. Straightening up he looked questioningly at me, then at Farldant, then at his brother. I could almost see the thoughts working in his head like clockwork. He had caught his brother in a lie, caught him trying to bring shame on him in front of all the people. I knew that he would milk this to the full. My life was no longer a consideration. Power, pride, and sibling rivalry was now at stake.
The high priest looked down at the ground, flummoxed. He hadn’t been expecting that.
They were too sick and weak. They could not fight well. This, or something like it, was said by one of the priests, who naively, thought he was helping his master.
As he heard the man’s words Serren’s face fell like a fat frog from a flat rock. Facing the bemused priest, Serren glared at him with more hatred in his eyes than even I had seen from him. Realising his error the priest swayed weakly and looked about for support from his brothers in holy Lued. Finding none, he staggered backwards and ran from the temple.
How did your man know they were sick and weak? This was Farldant speaking. Is that how your men managed to kill them?
Again Serren looked more lost and panicky than a piglet at a wolf convention. No, he did it, screamed Serren.
One of these brave fighters lying here is Chanberu, my own brother. He was the fiercest fighter. That was Farldant again, and everybody agreed with him about Chanberu. He was said to be a great fighter.
This is Farldant again. This man, he said clasping my shoulder with his big hand, could not have killed him, even if he was sick and as weak as a dove chick. Tell me how he killed four such men, even if they were crawling like speared boars. Tell me how he used so many different weapons.
I tried to look all sort of weak and pathetic at this, and although I say it myself, I think my acting convinced everybody that I really was a pathetic useless wimp.
The crowd’s mood had swung in support of me by now. I felt as though my life was being handed back to me one minute at a time. People behind me were touching my shoulders and my back, as if they were trying to take back the punches they had given me.
Farldant turned his back to Serren and laid his hand on my shoulders, facing up to the crowd. I do not a
ccuse this man of killing my brother, and I offer him a bed place at my hearth as my new brother.
Blaith stepped up and faced Serren. This was his big moment. He was not going to waste it. His voice rang out so everybody could hear him. Here in this holy temple, I have heard your words brother, and seen the justice of Lued. We have all seen that the goddess will not allow one of her sons to be wrongly accused. I ask you brother to find the killers of these good men and bring them to me, and I will ensure that Lued sees justice done.