Dreaming the Bull Read Online Free PDF Page B

governor has sailed away and we must destroy his legions before another comes to take his place. I’ve asked Hail to take care of you while I’m gone but really he’s old and he needs you to take care of him. Will you do that for me?”
    He would do anything for her, she knew that. Reaching up, he touched the silver feather that dangled in her hair. It was beautiful, each part of it perfect, so that Cunomar could imagine the smith had taken the wing feather of a crow and dipped it in silver, running gold in bands round the quill to number the hundreds she had killed. He wanted his mother to kill another thousand Romans so that she could have more feathers but the words were too complicated so instead he smiled for her and said, “I will guard Hail, I swear it, my blood for his blood, my life for his,” as he had heard the warriors do.
    It was the right thing to say. She clasped his head in both hands and kissed his forehead, then rose swiftly, speaking again in Eceni. A shadow fell across the ground before him and Cunomar turned to find Dubornos at his side, the tall, gaunt singer with sparse red hair who was one of his mother’s oldest allies.
    Cunomar was not afraid of Dubornos, but he did not understand him. In a world where the wearing of wealth was an open honouring of the gods, the singer bore no gold or silver adornment, but only a narrow band of fox pelt on his upper arm to mark his dream. Moreover, he carried about him a grief that drained him of humour and he spoke rarely and always with great gravity as now, when he reached down and took Cunomar’s hand as if he were a small child andsaid, “Warrior-to-be, I have pledged to stay and take care of the younger children. Will you help me with that?”
    Anyone could tell that he found it uncomfortable to speak so and would have preferred to take care of the children himself. Still, it was not done for a warrior to turn down a request for help before battle. Cunomar withdrew his hand as politely as he could and touched the skinning knife at his belt. “I will help,” he said, “my life for theirs,” and he saw his mother clasp Dubornos’ shoulder and heard her soft word of thanks and knew it was what she had wanted.
    There were eight children, of whom Cunomar was the second youngest. With Dubornos’ help, they scrambled up the mountain to take their place in a high eyrie, behind a rocky escarpment that gave them a view down to the river and across to the enemy fort that squatted on the opposite side of the valley.
    Cygfa joined them presently, her face tear-streaked from her parting with their father. His sister may have been going to be a warrior sooner than he, but, in Cunomar’s opinion, she did not know how to part properly with the warriors before battle. She spoke briefly with Dubornos and then the two of them came to lie with Cunomar, one on either side. They watched as the mass of horses threaded their way down the mountain and the warriors of the she-bear, who went into battle on foot wherever possible, ran down the slopes, grey as boulders with the woad-grease, and were swallowed by the mist.
    For a while, stillness held the valley. Trumpets sounded distantly from the fort. The Romans, too, had seen the beacon but there was no knowing what they made of it.Certainly they were not likely to believe that the beacon hill had been taken and their fort was under attack. The gods or the dreamers, or both, kept the mist thick around the river and sent layers of it rising on the warm morning air, concealing the movements of warriors. Looking carefully, Cunomar could see the glint of a mail shirt or a spear tip, but the harness and helmets of the warriors were well wrapped to keep them quiet and unseen for the longest possible time.
    The boy’s attention drifted. He was watching Hail who was, in turn, watching a spider string a web across the heather when Cygfa nudged his elbow and hissed. He raised his eyes in time to see his mother and father lead the