A Painted Winter

  Table of Contents

  Place names with modern location

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty–Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Author’s Note

  Landmarks

  Cover

  Place names with modern location

  (in order of appearance)

  North

  Caercaled King’s Seat hillfort, above Dunkeld, Scotland (Canmore ID 27172). The standing stone circle is at the base of a steep slope of Newtyle hill to the south of Dunkeld overlooking the Tay river (Canmore ID 27206). The row alignment of standing stones are the East Cult stones to the east of Dunkeld (Canmore ID 27127). The burial chamber/cairn is the Ninewells Cairn to the east of Dunkeld in line with the Loch of Lowes (Canmore ID 27115).

  Caerdwabonna Clatchard Craig Fort, Cupar, Scotland (Canmore ID 30074).

  Caermhèad Myot Hill Fort, Falkirk, Scotland (Canmore ID 45957).

  The Ruined Wall The Antonine Wall, Scotland.

  Gowan Govan, Glasgow, Scotland. Evidence of occupation since bronze age (Canmore ID 44189 also see work of Dr Claire Ellis).

  Farming settlement near ruined Roman fort Inverquarity Roman Fort, Kirriemuir, Scotland (Canmore ID 33713).

  Caertarwos Burghead promontory fort, Scotland (Canmore ID 16146). Burghead well (Canmore ID 16157).

  Rīgonīn Enclosure near village of Rhynie, Scotland (Canmore ID 87197, also see work of Dr Gordon Noble). The two stones described are the Craw Stane (Canmore ID 17199) and the Rhynie Man (Canmore ID 17128).

  Caeredyn Edinburgh, Scotland.

  Banntuce Hill fort at Mither Tap, Bennachie, Scotland (Canmore ID 85507, also see work of Dr Gordon Noble).

  South

  Saxon Shore Series of Roman sea forts on the eastern English coastline – running from Norfolk to Hampshire, England and corresponding western side of France.

  Londinium London, England.

  Corinium Dobunnorum Cirencester, England.

  Aquae Sulis Bath, England.

  Coria Corbridge (near Hadrian’s Wall), England.

  Vindolanda Vindolanda (near Hadrian’s Wall), England.

  Vercovicium Housesteads fort – Hadrian’s Wall, England.

  The Great Wall Hadrian’s Wall, England.

  Prologue

  In year 43 of the Common Era (c.e.) Emperor Claudius led an army to the island of Britannia with the purpose of conquest and occupation. By the end of the 1st century the Romans occupied all of southern Britannia. As the decades went on, the Romans controlled a vast and seemingly ever expanding empire. But despite attempts to conquer the north of the island, the mountains and Iron Age people of the Scottish highlands had remained beyond their control. The Great Wall was built to protect the Roman army and to keep away the ‘barbarians’ of the north from the civilised south. The Romans called these native northerners the Picti or ‘Painted People’. In reality the people living beyond the Great Wall in the glens, mountains, on the edges of lochs and rugged coastlines were not a single group of ‘Picts’, but rather were made up of many different kingdoms.

  Away from Britannia, the Romans controlled an immense Empire, and were constantly at war. Under the strain of defending their borders, the Empire also fell victim to plague and famine. By the 4th century, many public buildings were no longer maintained in Britannia and the Roman legions were progressively withdrawn to mainland Europe to fight against the Germanic threat. The tribes of the north had long suffered at the hands of the Romans, but had remained unconquered and ruled the mountains and jagged coasts. As Roman law and order dissipated, the door was opened to Rome’s enemies to descend on Britannia.

  One

  Winter, 366 C.E., Britannia

  Thundering hooves echoed across the field, shattering the dawn silence. A young woman pressed her back against a towering grey rock on the edge of the stone circle. Perspiration trickled through her hair and down her neck, turning cold and clammy in the icy air. She peeked around the standing stone. Pale winter light pierced through the low, hanging mist and crept across gloomy fields as the silhouette of three mounted soldiers galloped towards her.

  She jerked her head back and spread her hands across the rock, pushing the jagged edges into her palms until her skin throbbed. I’ll never escape.

  Once more, she craned her neck around the stone. The soldiers wore the gold-plated helmets and red cloaks of the Roman army. Outside the circle, they stopped their horses. Leather creaked as a soldier gripped the reins. One soldier reached behind his head, pulled an arrow from his quiver and drew the bowstring back.

  Shaking, she stepped out from behind the stone to face the Roman soldiers. I’ve avoided this for far too long.

  A soldier raised his hand and nodded to the archer, who stretched the bowstring back to his lips. Metal crunched against bone as a horse chewed its bit.

  Her heart pounded in slow rhythmic beats, as though a blacksmith was striking an anvil. Sulis, I am ready. Take me to Tirscath.

  The soldier lowered his hand. A crack echoed around the circle as the bowstring hit against the leather bracer on the archer’s arm. The arrow spun towards her.

  She shut her eyes and opened them again. Light. Dark. Light. The arrow struck her chest, ripping through skin, fat, and muscle, wedging deep within her heart. Her eyes watered. The wound seared. Stumbling backwards, her feet left the grass and her back slammed into the frosted ground. She coughed and her mouth filled with blood.

  “Should we bury her?”

  “No, the woman told me to leave the body here.”

  Blood dribbled from her lips and crept across her cheek, into her ear. Light. Dark. Light. She squinted at the sky. White flickering arms of winter sun flexed and punctuated the silvery veil of mist. Dark.

  Two

  Seven years earlier, Summer 359 C.E., Caledon

  A raindrop spattered on Brei’s bowed head. He wiped it away with his wrist and looked at the black smear of watery ash that clung to his forearm. Acrid smoke stung his nostrils.

  Brei knelt next to the surging River Tae and slipped his hands into the cool water to scrub another man’s dried blood from his skin. They’ve taken Anwen. Tears gathered, threatening to spill over his inflamed eyelids. We should have run away together. How can I forgive my mother for keeping me away from Anwen?

  He sniffed and spread his hands across his face. The stubble that had sprouted along his jaw prickled against his palms. Will they be furious that I left the battle? Are they looking for me? Two raindrops landed on the silty riverbank, forming a circular depression on impact. No, everything was in hand. They didn’t need me.

  A haunting wail of women keening echoed out from within the city walls. Brei sighed and pushed his hand against the gritty sand and stood up. Dawn glowed crimson onto the grey
clouds clustered above the hill fort. Brei adjusted the fit of his linen tunic that fell above the knees and walked towards the city walls.

  Savage fire had roared through the forest and, by morning, Caercaled, capital of the Kingdom of Caledon, cowered beneath a thick smog. The city sat on the west-facing side of the Hill of Caledon, on the northern bank of the River Tae. Three stone tiers were cut into the slope, culminating in a stone tower that rose eight hundred feet above the river. The flat land around the hill’s base was enclosed by an outer wall that held two garrisoned gates, Northern and Western. Inside, on the lowest level of the city, were hundreds of roundhouses that surrounded a great centre circle. As the hill sloped upwards, two further walls enclosed more roundhouses interspersed with small pens and stables. The hill steepened and gave way to a forest. At the summit was a ten-foot-wide wall and, inside, loomed the enormous stone tower.

  Smog clogged Brei’s lungs as he wandered from the river along a wooded path to the city. Many of the pine trees outside the walls smouldered. Ashes swirled through the air, and he spat out the chars coating his tongue. Giant oaks survived with blackened trunks and curling, crisped leaves. The roundhouses that cascaded down through the wood to the river had been torched by the Roman soldiers. Villagers huddled by the smouldering remains of their homes, their faces red and swollen as they clutched each other.

  Bodies littered the path as he approached the thick outer stone wall of the city. Warriors and farmers, women and children lay where they had been slain. Despite the blood and ash that coated their bodies, he recognised them all. An elderly man, who once worked the bellows in the blacksmith’s furnace, lay contorted on his back. Clotted blood smeared across thinning white hair where his skull had been struck with the lead sling-shot ball that lay at his feet. The wail of women intensified as Brei continued past the Western Gate. The warriors guarding it were crumpled on top of one another, slaughtered at their posts. A Roman soldier’s body sprawled across a warrior of Caledon. Brei kicked the dead Roman off, and the limp body rolled onto its back with a sickening thump. Dead eyes stared back at him. The gold-plated helmet and red cloak were all that Brei needed to see to justify his hatred.

  “Brei!”

  He looked to where the wooden gate to the city should have stood. The stones on either side of the gap in the wall were scorched black. Through the gap, the path opened into the large centre circle, covered in the battle’s dead. Romans, warriors, and villagers, equalised by the disarray. Through the smoke he saw his younger brother, Taran, limping towards him, the tattoos covering his chest and biceps glistening black against his pale skin.

  “Brei,” Taran croaked as he collapsed into Brei’s arms. “I thought you were dead. I thought I was all alone.”

  Brei pushed Taran back and examined the blood caked into his blond hair. A blade had slashed his head and lines of crusted blood streaked down his neck and chest. “What do you mean? Where’s Father?”

  Taran clasped his hands around Brei’s neck and sobbed. “Everyone is dead. Father. King Uradech.”

  Brei’s heart quickened. “And Mother?”

  “I…I’ve looked for hours. I searched everywhere, but I can’t find her. A villager said they saw her being taken by the Romans.”

  “Then Aífe, Naoise and Dylan, are they gone too?”

  “No, they’re all safe. They were in the tower. The villager said he saw Mother here in the centre circle. She must have left the tower and…and been captured.”

  Brei held his brother and wept. “I thought everything was under control. What happened?”

  Taran pushed away sharply and glared at Brei. “What happened? Did you leave the battle?” Taran scowled at Brei’s silence. “Where the fuck were you?”

  Brei studied his brother’s face. They were the same height, even though Taran had seen two fewer summers than Brei. “They took Anwen.” Brei’s voice cracked as he spoke.

  Taran’s eyes narrowed. “I saw the farmstead burning. You saw it too, didn’t you? Did you leave us, in the middle of battle, to chase after the farmer’s whore daughter?”

  Brei threw Taran’s hands off him. “Anwen isn’t a whore, Taran.”

  Taran smirked. “Not yet, at least. But she deserves what’s coming, for your betrayal.”

  Brei pushed Taran in the chest. Taran was solid, despite his youth, and did not flinch.

  Taran shook his head. “The warriors will kill you for this, Brei.”

  Brei scanned the circle. Blackened piles of ash were the only remains of the roundhouses. Women stood over corpses, wailing. His uncle, Gartnait, hovered over a body, and Brei wondered if it was the beloved King Uradech. He clenched his jaw, his chest tightening over his hammering heart.

  Taran stepped closer, his eyes slits beneath the blood and ash. “But I didn’t save you last night to watch your execution today.” His hoarse voice slipped to a whisper. “I should kill you. You deserve to die for betraying Caledon.” He lunged forwards and hurled a fist into Brei’s eye.

  Brei staggered backwards, his eye throbbing. Taran struck him again, knuckles smashing against Brei’s cheekbone. Brei’s brain jolted in his skull, the ground swayed beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees. Taran’s fists found Brei’s stomach and struck him repeatedly.

  “Did you care if I died?” Taran shouted, between blows.

  Brei choked and squeezed his chest against his knees.

  “What about Father?” Taran yelled, punching Brei’s ribs. “We fought back to back, and he died next to me. Where the fuck were you, Brei? When they took Mother, where the fuck were you?”

  Taran’s knee smashed into Brei’s nose and he blacked out.

  Brei cracked open an eye. The wooden roof of his chamber churned, and his head pounded. He screwed his eyes shut and realised something soft covered his face. With shaking fingers, he reached up and brushed at a cloth that sprawled across his cheeks. His nose seared at the movement, and he recoiled.

  “I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.”

  Brei opened his eyes and focused on a silver-haired man in white robes perching on the edge of his bed. He groaned as he recognised the man. The Eldar Druwydd. “Am I dying?”

  The Eldar Druwydd smiled. “No, but your brother made a good go of it. Your uncle, Gartnait, pulled him off you just in time. Serenn has seen to you, she thinks you will live, but your nose is broken and will hurt for some time. When you can sit, she has made a potion for the pain.”

  Brei lifted his body with his elbows and leant against the stone wall.

  “Have this,” the Eldar Druwydd said and smiled as he thrust a silver goblet into Brei’s hands. Brei sipped with his eyes closed. Serenn had attempted to mask the bitter herbs with honey, but the concoction was still revolting to swallow. He opened his eyes and studied the deep wrinkles that cut across the man’s forehead. Most men Brei had known died before the decrepit hand of age marked them. Grey spots covered the Eldar Druwydd’s retreating hairline, but he grew his silvery locks long, and they curled down onto his shoulders and into his lengthy white beard. The corners of his pale green eyes were unlined, and Brei wondered if this was the first time the Eldar Druwydd had ever smiled at him.

  Brei drained the goblet and handed it back.

  “You’re probably wondering why I am visiting you,” the Eldar Druwydd said, adjusting his long white robes, so the folds fell straight to the ground.

  Brei cleared his throat. “I didn’t even know you were in Caercaled.”

  The Eldar Druwydd nodded. “I was in Rīgonīn when I heard the news that King Uradech had fallen. We rode four days, with little rest, to get here. Serenn says you’ve barely woken. Such is the strength of your brother’s rage. I wondered if he was trying to kill you so he could have the throne to himself. But Serenn pointed out that Taran had his sword but did not use it.”

  Beads of sweat ran from Brei’s underarms and dampened his linen tunic. That’s why he’s here. He’s come to execute me for abandoning the battle. “Did you ask him?”<
br />
  The Eldar Druwydd inspected the folds of his robes and tugged. “Yes, I did.”

  Brei’s pulse thumped. Will it be the triple death? Is it so bad what I have done that they will prevent my soul from ever reaching Tirscath?

  “Taran said he was beside himself with grief and took it out on you. I am surprised. He seemed such a stable child. King Uradech often told me he favoured Taran over you for the throne of Caledon. But,” he pressed his lips together and released them with a soft “pop”, “it is good that we have seen his instability before it was too late. Caledon needs a stable leader to help heal the wounds of this attack.”

  Brei’s head felt it might explode from the pain of the blood rushing around his body. Why would Taran protect me?

  “I am sure you realise by now that it is you, Prince Bridei, whom I would ask to make a claim for the throne.”

  Brei frowned. The contracting of his facial muscles pulled at his nose, and he winced. “Me? Surely you would prefer my uncle Gartnait. Or my cousin Talorc?”

  The Eldar Druwydd shook his head. “I would not ask either. I have plans for Talorc in Vortriu, and Gartnait is not a warrior. He knows how to plan harvests and organise trade, but he does not have the heart of a king. He would be better as your advisor. You are a warrior, Brei. Perhaps less passionate than Taran, but youth will give you the stamina to lead Caledon through this adversity.”

  Brei glanced down at the linen sheets on his bed. “I’m not a warrior.”

  The Eldar Druwydd arched his white eyebrows. “You were seen at the battle defending Caercaled. You have been trained by King Uradech and seasoned warriors,” his face relaxed into a smile. “But you are young and injured, so I will forgive this momentary lapse of confidence.”

  A servant girl tapped on the entrance to Brei’s chamber.

  The Eldar Druwydd frowned. “What do you want?”

  The girl bowed and addressed the stone floor. “Forgive me, but there is a girl from the farmsteads, Anwen. She wants to see Prince Bridei, but no one will let her in.”