The Making of the Lamb Read online

  Fedwig’s mark of manhood was his sheer size and strength. Younger than Jesus by almost two years, he was nevertheless taller and more stout. His participation in a minor reprisal raid on the Durotriges had secured his place among the warriors. Jesus surpassed him in technique, but Fedwig had learned from Jesus and remained an equal opponent with the sword. The battle axe was Fedwig’s chosen weapon. Jesus and Daniel both loved his company and easy wit. Fedwig still regarded Jesus as his hero, but Daniel never felt any jealousy. How could he?

  Although Daniel had hardly spoken of them since arriving in Britain, he had not forgotten two things about his cousin. The first was the divine vision he saw in Jesus that day in Nazareth; perhaps that was why he had willingly yielded so many of the prerogatives that were rightfully his as the eldest. The second was the dark prophecy of an all-too-real, painful, and shameful death by crucifixion. Even as Jesus had grown proficient with the implements of war, Daniel had tried to discourage his cousin without violating the oath he had given his father.

  Daniel now sported a full beard. Back in Judea, a beard was the mark of a full-grown man, but the Celts, who shaved their faces, leaving only a thick mustache, thought it strange. Except for the implements of hunting, he never took up arms himself. In Daniel’s opinion, the fields of war were filled with the corpses of mediocre swordsmen who would have fared far better not to have been swordsmen at all. He saw no point in joining them.

  Daniel managed the enterprise in his father’s absence, hiring and firing the laborers and negotiating for supplies and transportation, all of which Jesus was happy to leave to him.

  Over the rolling hills along the eastern shore of the harbor and the River Fal, they rode.

  “We can swim the horses across the river to Trellisick where it narrows just ahead,” said Pirro.

  “I think I will check the current, unless you would care to go first,” Jesus replied.

  Daniel and Fedwig snickered. Pirro would never be allowed to forget he had almost gotten Jesus and Daniel drowned, on that ill-considered wade out to Ictus.

  Pirro had asked to come along and search for trade goods that would fill the leftover space in the holds going back to Gaul. It could only be kindness that led Papa to keep him as part of the expedition—so the fool could earn at least a modest living. His part of the business was flawed; although the Romans and Gauls liked Celtic artifacts, the more intricately decorated wares from other regions of Britain were more appealing to them. Constantly out to make a big score, Pirro lacked the patience to haggle effectively, and he often gambled or drank away what modest profits he made. Although he claimed credit for bringing them to Britain by way of the ancient tin route, everyone remembered how he had underestimated the effort required to secure the tin once they got there.

  Fortunately, the tide was slack and the horses swam the channel safely. The hills on the other side were easier for the horses, and they approached Truro, a small community defended only by a single stockade, well before dusk. A sentry challenged them at the gates of the settlement, but Jesus and Daniel were well known, and were allowed to pass.

  “That’s strange, don’t you think?” Jesus asked. “We’ve often come this way, but the entrance has never been guarded before.”

  As they rode on to the common, Daniel detected a sense of fear. Truro was one of the settlements among the Dumnonii with large courtyard houses. In the past, the entrances and windows had been open and, but now the travelers found them closely shuttered. The people, who had been most welcoming in the past, now averted their eyes.

  “They fear the pirates from Eire,” Pirro remarked. “The bards tell of raids in which they kill all the men and carry off the women and children.”

  “We have heard the stories, too.” Daniel slowed his mount to allow Pirro to come alongside. “But we are not even halfway across to the northern shore of Belerium. Don’t the pirates just raid along the shore?”

  “The pickings along the northern shore must be growing slim,” Pirro replied. “Perranporth is less than ten miles away. It’s not too far for the pirates to get here and make it back to their ships in a day, if they decide to raid further inland. That is why the people now do not trust travelers.”

  Daniel nodded. For once, the man was making some sense.

  Despite the shuttered homes elsewhere, they were lucky to find the inn still open.

  Jesus

  The next morning, Jesus looked over the land as they rode forth from Truro. “The Spirit is guiding me to the north,” he said. “That is where the best ore will be found.”

  “But that will take us into the greatest danger,” said Daniel.

  “Let us go first to Castle An Dinas,” said Jesus. “King Uryen will know the latest news, and his hillfort is the most secure in all the western lands of the Dumnonii. We will need his permission anyway to extract the ore, and we can hire the workers we will need there.”

  “Won’t the men be afraid to work the tin lodes if pirates are around?” asked Daniel.

  “They face danger anyway unless they abandon their homes, and they still need to feed their families,” said Fedwig. “The ore is heavy, and the pirates will not be able to carry it off that easily. Working the tin lodes may be the safest thing for them.”

  Jesus nodded and led them forward.

  Dusk was approaching as they made their way into King Uryen’s hillfort. Castle An Dinas was the largest and most secure fortification among the western Dumnonii. Three concentric rings of earthworks and gullies surrounded the perimeter, with each ring topped by a wooden rampart. Jesus and his group made their way through a series of switchbacks designed to force any attacker rash enough to attempt the entrance through a killing field of missiles coming from all sides.

  Inside, the hillfort was a hive of activity, stretching over twenty acres. Grains were being stored in cellars, livestock were being settled, and artisans of all kinds were closing up for the night. The warriors retreated to the banquet hall, where the mead was already flowing.

  The hospitality of King Uryen’s hall was offered freely. Though Jesus could be taken for a Briton, Daniel stood out on account of his beard. Pirro, too, had long since adopted British garb, but had not fully mastered the dialects. Most of the chiefs there had dealt with Jesus and Daniel, and some even recognized Pirro. It was enough that they were guests of Bannoch and under his protection for the group to be made welcome at the tables.

  Amongst the carousing, Jesus and Daniel quietly blessed their food and offered thanks to God. By now they had learned enough of how the Britons prepared food that sharing their meals was no problem, apart from occasionally having to decline pork or shellfish. Usually there were plenty of other offerings to choose from. They had to avoid wine, because it was sometimes offered up to the druid gods, but the mead never was, so that was safe to drink.

  As the meal wound down, the drinking continued and the carousing grew louder. Jesus stood up, and the hall quieted. It was traditional and expected for guests to offer toasts and gifts. “My friends and I offer thanks for the warm hospitality of this castle and of good King Uryen,” Jesus began. “May he live long for the peace and prosperity of the people!” Cheers rang out. “As a token of our gratitude, I bring some fine spice from the Orient.”

  An awkward silence filled the hall. Some of the men jumped to their feet and drew swords. Others calmed them down.

  A man with a bent back and a disfigured face stood and faced Jesus. “You are a stranger to our ways, so you must be forgiven for your ignorance. It is a bad omen. Such a gift to someone who is sick implies that spices will be needed soon for burial.”

  “I am sorry. I meant no disrespect. We have come far and travel light. That is the only reason we brought spice. It travels easily.”

  The men in the hall relaxed their glares of shock and disapproval.

  Then Pirro spoke. “We did not know King Uryen was ill.”

  Fedwig let out a groan.

  Pirro’s comment seemed to renew the a
nger in the hall. From the muttering of the men, Jesus realized that Pirro’s explanation had implied that King Uryen’s illness was of no concern in the wider world. He signaled Daniel and Pirro to remain silent.

  The old man stood once again. “Perhaps you should have looked for our king before offering the gift. Nonetheless, I am honor bound to accept it on his behalf. To refuse even an ill-favored gift would be the gravest insult. That would tarnish the king’s name forever.”

  Jesus looked to Fedwig. Perhaps some of the damage could be undone by withholding the gift. Fedwig seemed to read his thoughts but motioned for Jesus to get up and go to the old man. Evidently, withholding a gift, once offered, would only make the situation worse. All eyes in the hall were on Jesus as he approached the elder. From the burlap bag, he drew out several small earthenware jars. The old man snatched them from him.

  “I am sorry that my gift has caused sorrow. That was never my intention.”

  “Nevertheless, you have offended.”

  “We will leave you for the night.”

  “That would be wise.”

  “We will pray for King Uryen’s recovery.”

  The group stood outside King Uryen’s banquet hall. “That went well,” said Daniel. “You don’t suppose we should go back in and see if someone will put us up for the night, do you?”

  Pirro, oblivious to sarcasm, looked at Daniel with horror.

  Jesus chuckled. Then he heard a man laughing behind him. He turned to face a tall British warrior. The man was in his late twenties. The gold torc around his neck indicated he was a man of some rank.

  “I know you meant no harm or disrespect,” the warrior began. “Grannus was too hard on you. For someone so obsessed with protocol, he should have remembered to offer you shelter for the night. Allow me to make up for his oversight. You must stay the night with my family.”

  Jesus made a little bow. “May I ask who offers such kind hospitality to ignorant strangers?”

  “I am Fergus, son of Uryen.”

  “The king’s son? You have more cause for anger than anyone in the hall,” said Daniel.

  “It takes a noble and generous heart to welcome into your home such as we, who have brought on such disfavor,” added Fedwig.

  “You flatter me and blame yourselves too much, my friends. In other circumstances the spice would have made a fine and worthy gift. I care little for omens. Come, we need to move along so my wife can prepare some beds before we lose the day.”

  Fergus’s roundhouse was bigger than most, as befitted his station as heir to the king. His wife bade them welcome and started making up some bedding.

  Fergus introduced another warrior, his cousin Tristan, who was a few years older than Daniel.

  “How do you come to be living in your cousin’s home?” Jesus asked.

  Tristan leaned against the wall. “I was orphaned at a young age and taken in by King Uryen. Fergus and I grew up together, so I was pleased to join his household.”

  Jesus nodded. Such were the ways of the Dumnonii, opening their homes to livestock and all manner of guests, retainers, and distant relations.

  The smoke from the fire wafted up through the thatched roof and set an eerie glow to the room. “Fergus,” Jesus said, “would you please tell us more of Grannus?”

  Fergus snorted. “Grannus is clever. He wormed his way to my father’s ear with his flattery. My father became sickly and weak a year ago. Ever since, he has listened only to Grannus. He no longer accepts counsel from me or from any of the others who love him truly. And now, Grannus speaks for a king who knows not what is done in his name.”

  “On our way through Truro, we sensed great fear of pirates among the people,” said Daniel. “But I see no sign of that here.”

  “The people have reason to fear. They know not where or when the pirates will strike. They come to our villages in the middle of the night to plunder, and leave with their booty before any aid can come. They kill the men and carry off the women and children. They take the livestock and put everything else to the torch.”

  “What happens to the women and children?” asked Jesus.

  “I hear they are worked mercilessly in Eire. I also hear that the pirates have begun to sell them as slaves to the Durotriges, who in turn sell them to the Romans for a handsome profit.”

  “Can anything be done?” asked Daniel.

  “I have begged my father and Grannus for a company of warriors to go forth and punish the pirates. But Grannus feels safe within the precincts of this castle, and he cares nothing for the miseries of the people. He would rather lose villagers than put any of the warriors at risk. It is cruel and stupid to keep ourselves safe within these ramparts while our people suffer.”

  “The castle seems safe enough,” said Pirro. “I do not see how pirates on a raid would ever breach the walls. From the stockade you would see them coming at quite a distance.”

  “The castle is safe enough from raids,” Fergus replied. “But I fear the pirates sense our weakness and indecision. The land in Eire is poor, and they must envy our fertile farms. They must be spreading word among their kings of how the Dumnonii are too fat and soft to attempt any resistance. I fear one day the Scotti will invade in strength. Once they establish a foothold, it will grow until all the Dumnonii are murdered or enslaved. Not even the south shore of our lands will be safe, and not even this hillfort will withstand an extended siege.”

  “It sounds as if all the Dumnonii are imperiled—even my family’s village at the mouth of the River Fal,” remarked Fedwig. “I would join in to defend our lands if I had the chance.”

  Fergus exchanged glances with Tristan. “And glad I would be to have you fighting by my side, my brother. But the cold night comes on. Let us now rest.”

  A few hours later Jesus was disturbed in his sleep. He looked up as the waning light from the central fire filtered through the smoke to show Fedwig fully dressed and gathering up his sword and battle-axe. Quickly, he followed his friend outside. “What’s happening?”

  “Go back to bed, Jesus. You’re a guest of my people. This is not your homeland, and it is not your fight.”

  “What fight? I thought Grannus refused to send any aid to the countryside.”

  Fedwig sighed. “Fergus and Tristan organized a small group of warriors. No one’s meant to know. They got word that a band of pirates just laid low the village of Padstow. The pirates appear to be camped there, so Fergus will lead his men in a reprisal. They woke me a few minutes ago to ask if I would join them. We must leave quietly. But this is not your fight.” He walked away.

  Jesus followed. “I did not learn the use of the sword to stand idly by while my friends are overrun in their homes. We have become as brothers, Fedwig. Where you go into harm’s way, so do I.”

  Tristan walked up to them. “What is this? You are not a warrior. You’re a merchant, Jesus.”

  Jesus swiftly drew his sword and, before Tristan could react, pressed the tip of the blade to Tristan’s throat. “You were saying?” Jesus asked with a hint of a smirk.

  Tristan backed away, hands raised in surrender. “I guess you know how to use that.”

  “This is wrong, Jesus,” said Daniel.

  Jesus turned and faced his cousin.

  “Do not choose the path of war and death. It is not the path for you.”

  “These people fight for their lives and freedom.” Jesus sheathed his sword. “The cause is just—as just as when David led our own people. It will prepare me for the time when Israel will battle for its own freedom.”

  “If you go, I go, too!” said Daniel.

  “And what will I tell Joseph if the two of you come to harm while I am safely ensconced in this hillfort?” Pirro joined them.

  Fedwig rolled his eyes. “We might as well bring the women, too!”

  “There is no time to sort out who is gifted with the sword and who is not. Join us, if you will, any of you,” Tristan pronounced.

  “What is this?” Fergus came walking up.
“We said we would take Fedwig—not every trader passing through.”

  “Jesus knows the use of the sword. He proved that just now.” Tristan rubbed his neck. “The others insist on coming too. They know they do so at their peril.”

  A servant ran up to Fergus. “Your father sends for you. There is little life left in him. He is passing quickly.”

  “You must stay,” Tristan said. “If your father goes, we will need a new king. If you are not here to stand, then Grannus will succeed your father to the destruction of all. I will lead the pursuit.”

  “Very well, cousin.” Fergus clapped Tristan’s shoulder. “May the gods be with you and protect you—and all the rest of you, too!”

  Jesus exchanged glances with Daniel. He could have done without Fergus’s appeal to his pagan gods on their behalf, but this was no time for argument.

  Guided by moonlight, they rode slowly at first. Coming alone, and in pairs and small groups, the village warriors joined in. Coming to join them on horseback was a figure Jesus had not seen since the day Uncle Joseph established the tin refinery in Carn Roz. It was Elsigar, the druid. Jesus twitched.

  “I thought we came to fight with arms,” Jesus remarked to Fedwig as they rode together.

  “We did,” Fedwig answered. “The druids always come, too. They come to invoke the favor of our gods. The men will not fight without at least one of them present.”

  “My Father is always with me. I do not need any kind of priest to ride with me in battle.”

  Elsigar’s eyes widened in astonishment when he saw Jesus. But then he turned to Tristan. “The gods will try us. They are angry that the king has denied aid to his people for so long, and angry, too, that he has avoided our counsel. But fortune may yet smile upon us before this business is done.”

  By now the company had grown to several dozen men. They spurred their horses into a gallop and raced toward Padstow. The full moon shone and cast long shadows across the moor. The wolves howled. The cold night wind roared. Onward they rode to their fate.

  Elsigar

  The devastation of Padstow awaited them. Smoke from the fires appeared all too quickly in the distance. Ghastly heads of dead men nailed to trees confronted them as they rode into the village. No house remained standing. There was no sign of women, children, or livestock.