Pagan Siege (Tribes of Britain Book 5) by Sam Taw (10 best novels of all time TXT) 📕

an exasperated look, before taking up the eastern and western sides of the inner circle reserved for close family members. Cryda and Ren took a northern and southerly point, while the elders claimed random places in the outer fringes of the henge.

The priest picked up a long staff and untangled the braid of beads, bones and feathers attached to the end, before strolling at a casual pace to the centre of the circle.

I heard one of our most revered elders bellow to him. “Move faster, won’t you, before we are all burned alive!”

He only said what we were all thinking. The wind had altered direction, fanning the flames onto the slopes of the valley in which we stood. It brought thick black clouds to cover the sky and a chill that we’d not felt in more than four moons. Tiny hot embers travelled on the breeze, igniting the parched shrubs all around us. Some of the elders stamped on the burgeoning fires but there were too many sparks to stop them all.

Before Tallack could call an end to proceedings, Endelyn handed her posy to one of her maids and glided into the centre of the inner circle. “Do not fear, my people. All will be well. I shall ask the goddess to protect us.” Throwing her head back, Endelyn began her tiresome chanting in a mystical language known only to the highest of priests from her clan.

Babbling and muttering for a few moments, she then tipped her head forward to speak in our tongue. “Cerridwen, Mother of All Life, hear me now. Grant us your wisdom, your protection and your blessing, so that we may forge a new generation of peace and prosperity among our people and those of our new friends, the Durotriges. May the fruit of this union continue the line of Dumnonii from this day until the end of all days.” Her voice rose until she was yelling the last part above the noise of the crackling blaze that sprang up a short distance behind her.

Most of the elders sank to their knees, making their own promises to the gods. Gytha scampered across the henge and into Tallack’s arms for protection. At the time, I wondered what had induced such folly, when her brother was but a few footsteps away. It was when I saw the expression on my nephew’s face that I understood her actions. He wrapped his arms about her slender young body and whispered words of comfort into her ear.

The flames ate vast swathes of the dry sedges along the valley floor, creeping closer every moment. Ren pocketed his offering and walked over to me. “We must dowse ourselves from the river and walk along its course to safety.” He wasn’t prepared to wait for our Chief’s instruction. Grabbing my hand, he tugged until I followed. We led the charge for others to leave with us.

“Wait!” Endelyn yelled, turning her face skyward. When no one listened to her command, she repeated herself. “Wait! Can’t you hear it?”

We stood still and tried to ignore the roaring of the flames. A bright flash illuminated the sky, blinding us all for a single moment. The deep, continuous rumble, echoing throughout the valley, made us all gasp.

Heavy raindrops fell shortly after, flattening our hair and leaving us all with our mouths agape in wonder. By the time the clouds burst, the elders and their wives were all in awe of Endelyn’s powers.

“She is favoured,” said one woman.

Her husband agreed. “She has the ear of the gods.”

Another shouted, “We are saved!” More of them began chants of, “Bless you, Endelyn. The Mother has chosen you.”

The priestess spun slowly in the centre of the henge of life, taking in the collective adoration. My attention stayed on Tallack and the Duro girl. She was sobbing with relief, her lack of tears masked by the rain streaks down her face. Tallack saw only the bedraggled bride in his arms. Our Chief was utterly smitten.

When the clamour finally reduced, the priestess urged everyone back to their positions in readiness for the ceremony. Ren and I waited for a signal from our Chief, a nod or smile permitting the continuation of the binding.

“Chief?” I shouted above the cracking thunder and forked lightning overhead.

Tallack inhaled sharply, jogged from his witless state. Taking the Duro girl by the shoulders, he held her at arm’s length and gazed into her deep blue eyes. “I’ve changed my mind.” He announced. “Gytha will be the new Ruvane of the Dumnonii.”

Ren shut his eyes and sighed. “Here we go again.”

***

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Historical note from the author.

Recent studies into the genetic makeup of Bronze Age Europeans suggest that they did not possess the genes to enable full digestion of milk as adults. While the data set was extremely small, it would indicate that an intolerance to animal milk was present in the general population for many thousands of years. This being the case, it is reasonable to assume that despite an intolerance, such a readily available food source would not necessarily have been dismissed, nor would it have affected all within a community. With this reasoning, I have chosen to include the use of milk and milk products in the series, mainly due to archaeological evidence supporting the production of cheese for millennia. According to Dr S Charlton, from the department of archaeology at the University of York in 2019, processing the milk into other products reduces lactose and makes it more palatable and easier to digest.

For more information on the rest of the series, please go to: www.carantocpublishing.com

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PAGAN FURY

Three unsuitable lovers.

Two valuable metals.

One critical mission.

The Dumnonii have no copper for their forges. Without a new supply, there will be no more bronze weapons for the inevitable battle ahead.

Joint Chieftain, Tallack, must cross the western ocean to negotiate an alliance with