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

After a long moment she looked back at me. “I can’t think of a single thing. We had slaves to cook, clean, take out the piss pots, do everything really.” I looked at her with fresh eyes. No wonder she struggled with every task I gave her. It explained everything, the uncooperative manner, the sullen pout and her soft hands free of callouses. She was used to luxury. I had no intention of giving into her petulant whims and whines, but I made a decision to be more patient in her tutelage.

By mid-afternoon, we broke canopy to ride along the main track through the forest to the furthest end in search of useful plants and if we were lucky a few mushrooms. It was a long shot, given the dry conditions, but worth a few moments to check out the sites that I knew. As we turned the final bend in the path, I heard laughter. The banter was deep and manly, coming from a clearing off the trail. Safe in our own lands, it could only have been warriors from our camp.

I urged Vina to jump down from the pony and ushered her along. “Go quietly, girl. Don’t blunder through the bushes. I want to see what they’re up to.” Tying the reins of my horse to a sturdy branch, we crept along until we could see them. There was more than twenty men from the Head Hunter Clan, lounging around a fire. Suspended above the flames roasted a whole hoglet. “Tallack must have sent them out to hunt.” I whispered.

“Well, they don’t seem to be in any hurry to take the spoils back to camp.” She made no attempt to lower her voice. I feared that they would hear us and ruin my opportunity to watch them. She was right though. If they managed to kill a young boar so easily, why were they now waiting to devour it themselves instead of going after the rest of the herd? That hog would feed a family for a quarter moon or more. I was in half a mind to stomp into the midst of them and give them a sound reprimand, but I thought it might undermine Tallack even more, having an old aunt of the Chief give them orders.

I hesitated, watching their interactions. Four of the men were shooting arrows at a target scored onto a tree trunk. Others snoozed on their bundles in the shade. One man stood out among them. He was tall, well-built and commanded respect from the others. When he spoke, they listened. When he moved, they watched intently. When he suggested something, they were keen to please him. I knew his name of course. I’d watched him grow up under the command of the twin’s father, Aebba. This man was Kitto, as strong and fierce a warrior as you’d ever meet.

There was no strutting nor preening, like you sometimes see with the younger men. His self-assured manner had a massive impact on the others. If they approached the cooking boar with their impatient fingers, he only needed to gently shake his head and they backed away without a murmur. I remembered him as a child. He was younger than the twins’ father by a considerable amount, but Aebba respected him. Despite the age gap, they had trained together, fought alongside one another and protected themselves from all kinds of danger.

When Kitto was old enough to join the clans, he chose the Head Hunters. I recalled Aebba being disappointed, hoping that he would join him in swelling the Sea Warrior numbers at the time, but when Aebba became Chieftain, he did not choose Kitto to be the new leader of the Hunters. It always puzzled me until this very moment. Kitto was too much of a threat to Aebba’s leadership to award him the honour of leading his men.

Aebba had the sense to keep him pliant with ale and trinkets, trusted missions and his confidences, but never to let him lead. Without Blydh in charge of the warrior clan, Kitto had assumed the role without invitation.

I’d witnessed all I needed. Kitto was unlikely to return to camp for some days while they were pretending to hunt for our people. I shoved Vina back towards the horse and we began the short journey home at a reasonable amble. It was too warm to rush anywhere.

I’m not sure which was more irritating, the constant soggy mud of the winters or the choking dust of the summer. Everything we’d collected, plus our clothes and hair were coated in a fine powder from the track. The horse had taken on a paler colour over the course of the sultry day. He just about yanked my arm off when I relieved him of my bags, removed the reins and set him loose in the enclosure. The old boy rushed straight to the stream and drank his fill, kicking about until it was churned with silt.

Vina carried the eggs as though they were made of gold. With them cradled in the crook of her arm, I told her that she was welcome to a couple for her help. It was the first time I’d seen her smile since the crossing at the Sid. Perhaps she wasn’t so bad after all. I caught her up along the boardwalk and together we went through each of the plants in my bundle. I was just explaining the uses of mallow to her when she stopped outside the shelter Kewri had built for my patients. His feet were poking out of the door.

I peered around the shutters at him lying on his oversized bunk. “What are you doing?” I asked, wondering why he’d dragged his enormous bed out of my house and into the tiny shelter.

“I can’t sleep under the same roof as her.” He jabbed his thumb in Vina’s direction. It was too late in the day for this kind of battle.

“Can’t or won’t?” I smirked.

He responded by narrowing his eyes at me.