Bedwyr was sure he had dug the entire outer ditch all by himself. Twice. Not that it was a hot spring day, but his light linen siarc was plastered about his legs. soaked through in his sweat. Digging chalk was not easy work in any temperature. First came the pick, chopping into the hard packed chalk. Then came the shovel, to scoop the broken stuff away, then into the bag to be lifted up and deposited to build up the defensive inner ring. Others followed, setting sharpened stakes upright along the ditch. Bedwyr led the digging effort. Single handed it seemed to him.
Bedwyrs father, King Dhomnaille, had a theory. Bedwyr was sure his father intended to kill him in the proving of it. Or at least work him to death. ” A man should live by his wits. Hard work will teach anyone that.” Bedwyr had been set to digging until he understood that, ” You can stop digging when you can tell me the difference between man and beast boy” His father had ordered.
Bedwyr hadn’t set out to create such an uproar. Though in truth the cattle raid had been his idea. The plan had been to raid a neighboring Brigante farm, steal a few cows, and show his father that they were old enough to accompany the war band. The six of them set out. At thirteen summers, Bedwyr was not the oldest. Gawain at fourteen was eldest and largest. Already taller than most men, Gawain was a force in his own right already. Gawain led the boys troop in image only. Bedwyr called all the shots.
The six of them had gotten lost, turned about when the heavy fog rolled in from the Irish sea. Rather than sneaking into Brigante territory, unable to see moon or stars. The boys fell upon one of Dhomnailles outlying client farms. Old Caw Crennog, the Ordivician farmer that Bedwyr and his “Raiders” had struck. Had raised a horrible outcry. Claiming that the Brigante had invaded.
King Dhomnaille marched out with his war band to meet the threat. Only to find six boys huddled around a smoking fire, wet and cold with a score of frightened cows hobbled and grazing about them. “Honor is the reward of courage.” Dhomnaille lectured. ” Courage is simply doing what needs to be done regardless of how frightened you are. All men piss themselves in battle lad.” Bedwyr and his friends had wakened to discover the truth of that last comment themselves.
The war band had surrounded their sorry camp, after learning that the ferocious Brigante, were in fact a handful of boys. Dhomnaill decided to make a point to them. He certainly succeeded in making an impression. All six of the boys pissed themselves when the war band, woad painted, hair limed, surrounded them and screaming their war cries, charged. The boys came instantly awake. Bedwyr and Gawain snatched up spear and shield while the others just stared, pissing themselves. To be fair, Bedwyr and Gawain were the oldest, they pissed their kilts as well. But, Dhomnaille noted, they had armed themselves and stood. They did not abandon their men.
As furious as Dhomnaille was with Bedwyr. He knew without asking who’s idea it had been. Still, he was proud of the way his son, clearly terrified, had stood when the war band charged. So, Bedwyr had been tasked with digging. Repairing the ruined outer ditch of the very rath he had led the raid on. Old Caw Crennog made sure to come and stare at him daily. taunting him. Bedwyr wasn’t sure which was harder. The back breaking work of digging through packed chalk or enduring old Crennogs taunts and stares.
Bedwyr had also been burdened with memorizing the entire, “Instructions of king Cormac”. He was to recite it before Fedlimid. Bard and Brehon of the Setantii. Two full moons of bone grinding labor sunrise till sunset without break. followed by hours of memorization till he dropped of exhaustion each night passed before it finally clicked. It was not that Bedwyr was slow of thought. Far from it. The problem was Bedwyrs pride. Bedwyr found himself reciting the Instructions as he worked. Beginning a life long habit of reciting maxims to himself .
Sweat drenched and streaked in chalk dust. It came together for him. He had not been thinking of anything but himself. He paid no thought to the repercussions of cattle raiding, let alone the risk of angering the Brigante. A much larger tribe than the Setantii. “A man thinks first. Planning and working things out first” he realized. “A beast merely acts to satisfy it’s hunger. that is the real difference between a man and a beast.” He told his father his revelation. Dhomnaille laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. ” You cost me a silver torque and armband boy!” ” I was sure it wouldn’t take you a week. Fedlimid thought maybe two. No one guessed two full moons! The best lessons are hardest learned eh Lad?” Bedwyr was embarrassed. Cheeks burning he stared at the floor. Wishing he could slide through the cracks between the polished planks.
Seeing the look on Bedwyrs face, Dhomnaille shoved his mead filled horn into Bedwyr’s hands. ” Drink lad, Drink!” he ordered. “All in, that ill begotten little raid you hatched was a service. Though old Caw isn’t the sort to forget how badly you embarrassed him. He raised the countryside swearing the whole Brigante kingdom had invaded. Everyone knows him for the fool that he is now. He won’t likely forgive that.” Drinking deeply, Bedwyr studied his father. ” Son how did you boys scare his guards so badly anyway? There were only the six of you, correct?” Bedwyr couldn’t help but smile. The geese had been inspired. He had hatched that little scheme all by himself. It had worked beautifully.
Caw kept far more geese than he did cattle. Subduing the goose boys had been simplicity in itself. One look at the six of them, woad painted and hair limed, the goose boys surrendered. Fighting warriors was outside their capability. They even tore down the wicker wall, while Bedwyr and his raiders each caught a goose. Tying a long piece of twine about one their legs, an oil soaked rag on the other end of the line. Setting the rags afire and releasing the panicked geese began pandemonium. When the boys, crying war cries and banging their spears on shields, charged the frightened flock, hundreds of geese exploded out of the pens. Scattering throughout the rath.
One of the burning rags ignited hay in the stables completing the confusion. The boys had simply then gathered the cows they could and walked away with them. Caws panicked scurrying people merely assumed they were moving the cattle to safety from the spreading fire. The Boys simply waked out the gates with a score of cows, and kept going. Headed due south as they reckoned it, back to the safety of Setantii lands. The stolen cattle were not noticed until late the next day. They would have gotten away as well, had they actually been in Brigante lands. Being lost, they headed deeper into Setantii lands directly into the path of Dhomnaille and his war band.
Aeron smiled, riding Bedwyrs memories was her secret pleasure.
Next to Bedwyr’s first memories of her, this one was her favorite. She approved of Dhomnailles methods and message. Seeing herself through Bedwyrs thoughts was bewildering. To learn that the poetry he spoke to her was real was thrilling beyond measure. To feel the fire in his veins, his heart pounding in passion. The taste of copper on his tongue. Her taste on his lips. That was how she fell in love with him. Watching him as he healed. Feeling his hunger and need of her caused her to shiver. Aeron was not sure if she was pleased, or worried or what. This was entirely new for her. The Gods are not supposed to fall in love with mortals are they? Sure that this will not end well, she smiles and kisses him gently.