Bernard Cornwell - Stonehenge Страница 49

'This one will be different,' Saban agreed.

'I hope so,' the old man said, 'but I cannot help thinking that the folk of Cathallo said the same thing when they made their big shrine.' Galeth chuckled and Saban reflected that his uncle was not nearly as slow-thinking as folk thought. 'Or do you think,' Galeth asked, 'that they moved the stones because they had nothing better to do?' He thought about that, then reached out and touched a deerskin bag in which he kept Lidda's flensed bones. He wanted his own bones added to hers before they were buried. He shivered again, then waved a hand to avert Saban's expression of concern. 'This longest stone,' he said after a while, 'is it slender?'

Saban found a piece of kindling in a pile at the hut's edge and put it into Galeth's hand. 'Just like that,' he said.

Galeth felt the long, thin sliver of wood. 'You know what you should do?'

'Tell me.'

'Put it in the hole sideways,' the old man said, and showed what he meant by bending the long thin piece of wood. 'A long flat rock could snap in two when you try to hoist it,' he explained. He turned the scrap of wood sideways and no amount of pressure could bend or snap it, but when he bent it again flatwise it snapped easily. 'Put it in the hole sideways,' he said again, tossing the scraps aside.

'I will,' Saban promised.

'And carry my corpse to the Death Place. Promise me that.'

'I will carry you, uncle,' Saban promised a second time.

'I shall sleep now,' Galeth said, and Saban backed from the hut and went to Camaban to tell him Galeth was sick. Camaban promised to take him an infusion of herbs, but when Saban went back to his uncle's hut he could not wake the old man. Galeth lay on his back, his mouth open and the hairs of his moustache not moving with any breath. Saban gently tapped Galeth's cheek and the old man's blind eyes opened, but there was no life there. He had died as gently as a feather falls.

The women of the tribe washed Galeth's body, then Mereth, his son, and Saban laid the corpse on a hurdle woven from willow. Next morning the women sang the body to the settlement's entrance before Mereth and Saban carried it on to the Death Place. Haragg walked in front of the corpse while a young priest came behind and played a lament on a bone flute. The body was covered with an ox hide on which Saban had strewn some ivy. Camaban did not come, and the only other mourners were Galeth's two younger sons who were Mereth's half-brothers.

The Death Place lay to the south of Ratharryn, not so very far from the Sky Temple, though it was separated from it by a wide valley and hidden by a wood of beech and hazel trees. The Death Place was itself a temple, dedicated to the ancestors, though it was never used for worship, or for bull dances, or for weddings. It was for the dead and so it was left derelict and overgrown. It stank, especially in the high summer, and as soon as the rank smell soured the funeral party's nostrils the young priest hurried ahead to dispel the spirits which were known to cluster about the temple. He reached the sun gate and shrieked at the unseen souls. Ravens called harshly back, then reluctantly spread their black wings and flew to the nearby trees, though the bolder of the birds settled on the remains of a ring of short timber poles which stood inside the temple's low bank. A fox snarled at the approaching men from among the nettles in the ditch, then ran to the trees. 'Safe now,' the young priest called.

Mereth and Saban carried Galeth through the entrance that faced the rising midsummer sun, then threaded the small spirit stakes, which were scattered throughout the temple. Haragg found an empty space and there the two men laid the hurdle down. Mereth pulled the heavy ox hide from the naked corpse, then he and Saban tipped Galeth onto the rank grass, which grew so thick among the dead. The old man was on his side, mouth agape, and Saban pulled on a stiff shoulder so that his uncle lay staring towards the clouded sky. A slave of Camaban's who had died only two days before lay close by; already her pregnant belly had been torn apart by beasts and her face ravaged by ravens' beaks. A dozen other bodies lay in the Death Place, two of them almost reduced to skeletons. One had weeds growing through its ribcage and the young priest bent over the bones to judge whether the time had come to remove them. The spirits of the dead lingered in this grim place until the last of their flesh was gone, and only then did they rise into the sky to join the ancestors.

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 realised 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 towards 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 rumours 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 favour from you.'

'What you said isn't true!'

'I do tell stories,' Derrewyn said humbly, 'I am sorry.'

Saban took a deep breath. 'A favour?' he asked guardedly.

Derrewyn made an abrupt gesture towards 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 building 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 dishevelled. '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 recognised 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.

'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 recognised, 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.'