By Blood or By Bond

Chapter One

Caolán

They have a force to be reckoned with. I think it will be a good fight on the morrow. What say you, Fáelan?

So, Fáelan replied with a grin. It will be a good fight. Caolán looked over at his friend, grinning back. They were lying on their bellies in the tall grass on top of a bluff, bare-chested in the summer afternoon, the swirling blue tattoos standing out on their skin. They were looking down on the gathered Roman army below them, making camp. The Romans had come north several days ago, and Caolán and Fáelan had been watching their progress since they had first sighted them on a ride and were waiting for them to get closer to their borders before they made their move to attack. Caolán knew that his father, a chief of eight hundred spears, would gladly meet them on the field of battle, and the young man and his sword brothers were more than eager to do the same and test the invaders’ steel against their own.

Let’s go back, the horses are restless, Caolán told his companion, and the two young men slithered down the hillside and raced back down into the valley where they had left their horses. Caolán whistled sharply and his horse, Tairneanach, pricked up his ears and trotted over to him, pushing against his chest playfully. Caolán laughed and petted the beast lovingly, pressing his forehead against his. "Come, mo brathair. We shall rest for the fray in the morning." He swung onto Tairneanach’s back and soon he and Fáelan were galloping home to the village, their long hair whipping back from their faces as they laughed in the careless way that young men will. It was not long before they rode into the snug cluster of huts, leaping off their horses and letting them be taken and cared for while Caolán went to make report to his father.

He found him in the main hall with his warriors, sharpening weapons and speaking of the coming fight. Chief Áedán was an impressive man; he stood near six and a half feet and had long, blazing red hair that he had passed down to Caolán, although the boy had his mother’s dark eyes and not the piercing blue that his father possessed. Áedán’s chieftain’s red and saffron checked cloak was slung over the back of his chair for the heat, and when he saw Caolán and Fáelan enter the hall, he stood to greet them.

Ah then, the young scouts have returned. What news do you bring to us? he asked.

Caolán nodded respectfully. "Mo athair, the Romans are sure to be upon us by tomorrow morning if they continue north. They looked to be preparing for battle as you predicted."

So? the chieftain said with a raised eyebrow. Well, if it is what they wish, then we shall not disappoint them. Barra, tell the men we shall ready our weapons for we will be battling tomorrow. You two best as well, Áedán told the young men standing before him and they did their best to conceal their grins as they made to leave the hall. Caolán, stay a moment.

"Aye, Athair?" Caolán asked as everyone else left the hall to see about their business.

Áedán smiled at him and clapped him on the shoulder, holding him at arms’ length. I will need someone to drive my chariot tomorrow. Is there a young man who will do this thing for me?

Caolán beamed. "Of course, Athair. I will do this thing for you. It would be an honor."

His father continued to smile, though now it was a bit sad and far away. "I wish your máthair could see you. Eighteen summers you will be in another moon; grown into a man now, and one that makes his athair very proud. I wished to give this to you; been meaning to for a while, but now seems as good a time as any, on the eve of battle." He reached under the sleeve of his sark and pulled a gold armband from around his upper arm, handing it to Caolán. The young man looked down at it with a joy in his heart at the gift, for he had always seen his father wear it. It was pure gold, twisted with beautiful craftsmanship with swirling designs on each end. He slid it over his hand and settled it on his upper left arm as his father had worn it. It was still somewhat loose on him, for he was lithe and wiry where his father was broad, but snug enough to stay on.

"My athair gave it to me at your age, Áedán told him. Wear it proudly. It has seen three generations of warriors."

"I will, Athair, thank you for this gift."

Now run along with Fáelan and clean your weapons. I will not see a bit of rust on them in the morning. We shall show the Red-Crests that we are more than capable of matching them in all their cockerel boasting and splendor.

Caolán grinned and nodded to his father before he ran off to do as he bid. He met up with Fáelan again outside the hall and sat down next to him as the other young man sharpened one of his fine hunting spears that Caolán had made him after they joined the ranks of warriors when fifteen summers had passed. He looked over as Caolán settled beside him and noticed the armband he wore.

That is a princely gift on the eve of battle, he commented with a smile, knowing very well who the gift was from.

Caolán couldn’t help a proud grin. "I am to drive my athair’s chariot on the morrow."

"You will not be by my side then, mo brathair?" Fáelan asked with a bit of disappointment. Caolán reached over and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.

I shall be keeping my eye on you. Make sure you don’t get caught under some fat Roman’s backside.

Fáelan grinned back at him. Well, there are others who I will be proud to fight shoulder to shoulder with. Though I wish I could fight my first real battle beside the one I swore a brother oath with.

Caolán cast his eyes down to look at the small scar on the base of his thumb. Do not worry, Fáelan, I feel this shall not be the last time we fight side by side. There will be more invaders, cattle raids.

This is hardly a cattle raid, Caolán, Fáelan said, seriously.

No, the young Celt replied with the same seriousness. It is not.

Why so dark, lads? asked Barra with a grin, as he came up with his jaunty stride and clapped the both of them on the shoulder. There is a fight tomorrow! We shall kill some Romans and send the rest back to their beloved, smelly city. And there is a feast tonight with fresh meat and mead to give us the strength we need for the battle.

The two grinned, unable to keep their solemnity with Barra around. He was always in the best of spirits. Most of the men said it was because he was usually into the spirits. Caolán smirked at him cheekily.

Best watch you don’t drink too much of the mead tonight, Barra. Otherwise we might leave you under the table in the morning and have to go fight the Romans ourselves. We’d be sure to lose then.

Barra wagged a finger at him warningly. If you were not the chief’s son, I would thrash you for that comment, wolf pup. He turned as Caolán made a face at him and Fáelan inconspicuously stuck his spear pole between Barra’s feet so that he stumbled and swung around with an exaggerated glare before he re-gathered his dignity and went striding off to see to other matters around the village.

Caolán and Fáelan chuckled, then went back to cleaning their weapons earnestly.

In another hour the table in the great hall was set for the feast and all of the chieftain’s warriors sat around it, and others besides, sitting along the walls, while the women and boys too young yet to take up spears, served them all like lords and kept the heather beer flowing into their cups. Caolán sat in the place of honor at his father’s right hand with Barra and the other household warriors across from him and his own companions seated at his right; Fáelan was the closest of all as Áedán’s foster son and Caolán’s sword brother.

It was a merry night and some drank many more cups than might seem wise on the eve of battle, but there was laughter and much boasting and Caolán drank and ate in the festive atmosphere with relish, enjoying the savory meats and the thought of sure victory on the morrow as he looked around at his fellow clansmen. All of Áedán’s warriors were men in their prime and numbered such as that they would be equaled to the Romans and would be sure to overpower them in spirit if not strength. Tales of past fought battles were told by the men in loud boasting voices, Barra the loudest of all as he greatly exaggerated his exploits while at one point jumping onto the table and swinging his sword to demonstrate how he had dispatched a whole patrol of Romans, by himself no less. Áedán laughed good-naturedly and shooed the younger man down from the table before he stood and the hall quieted almost instantly as all eyes turned to their chieftain. Caolán looked up at him expectantly, pride swelling in his heart for the man he loved and respected as his chieftain and his father and battle commander all at once.

"Laoich, my warriors; you all know that on the morrow we shall go and fight our enemy, the usurpers who have come with their eagles to take over our land. I know you all understand that we cannot lose this fight for it would mean giving up our homes and families and will seem to the Romans that we are a weak people and this we shall not have."

Nay! Barra cried, slamming his fist down on the table, and the hearty growls of several other men agreed with him. Caolán found himself shouting along with them, his hand clenching around the dagger he used to cut his meat.

We shall fight with hands and teeth if need be, Áedán continued. And if we must die, we shall die like our forefathers who died in battles long past: like men, and warriors. But by all that we hold dear, I swear that we shall take them with us if we must go!

Aye! they all shouted and Barra was so moved in passion that he leapt onto the table again, raising his cup high above his head so that some of the mead sloshed onto the shoulder of his cloak and the table beneath. To Áedán! Our brave chieftain! May we fight and die like men for him tomorrow!

Chief Áedán! the hall cried, leaping to their feet and clashing their cups with their companions before they drank their mead to the last drop.

Caolán slammed his empty cup down onto the tabletop and turned to look at his father, watching the small, somewhat sad smile flicker across his lips and his bright blue eyes focusing somewhere far away. The fire that had been in Caolán’s heart a moment before left and he frowned as a sudden unexplainable coldness entered his belly where the mead had burned a moment before and he reached out a hand to touch his father’s sleeve, wishing to ask him what the matter was.

Before he could do anything, though, he was startled out of his dark thoughts by Barra falling off the bench as he sought to find the last drops in his cup. The hall erupted in laughter and Caolán couldn’t help but join in, the coldness leaving him and forgotten as he watched one of Barra’s companions reach over and slap him on the shoulder though he did nothing to help him back up.

The feasting continued late into the night, until one by one the warriors sought out their pallets against the walls of the great hall and were soon snoring deeply, resting for the coming fight.

***

In the darkness, Caolán lay upon his pallet in the great hall where all the warriors slept with their weapons beside them in case any surprise attack might come upon them unawares during the course of the night. The young man fell asleep quickly, excited for the battle, but knowing the importance of a good night’s rest before the fray. However, his dreams would not let him rest and he tossed on his pallet uncomfortably in the throws of the nightmares that plagued him.

In his mind he heard the sounds of battle, the clash of steel and the thunder of the chariots and he was frightened, looking for something, someone. He did not know who, but there was an urgency upon him and he ran over the bloodstained ground, tripping over the bodies of dead men and horses who had met their fate before. He knew there was something he was looking for and yet he did not know what it was; did not know how he could find it—until he looked down and saw his father stretched upon the bloody ground, a spear through his chest…

Caolán jerked awake with a strangled scream, bolting upright on his pallet. Fáelan, who lay on a pallet at his feet sat up as well and looked at him blearily.

Caolán, what ails you? he asked softly.

A dream is all, Fáelan, Caolán replied, but felt a dread in his heart as it hammered against his chest.

It is not all, his friend observed. Tell me what you dreamed.

Caolán wrapped his arms around his knees, fingering his armband. "My athair. He was dead. I…"

Fáelan reached out to grasp Caolán’s knee. "Do not pay heed to dreams, mo caraid. You know they only come to make you less sure on the field. An evil spirit giving mischief to weaken a brave heart."

But it was not like that, Fáelan, Caolán told him firmly. It was like the dream I had about the wolf.

Fáelan looked down at the scar on his arm and then at the wolf pelt that adorned his cloak before he looked up to meet Caolán’s eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments before Fáelan spoke again.

That could have been a coincidence, though it did save my life.

"You were nearly killed."

But you saved my life, Caolán, do not look at the negative, Fáelan told him. "If you had not told me your dream about the wolf I would not have thought about it and it would surely have killed me."

But Caolán knew in his heart that there had been something about that dream and the one of his father that were different than the usual horrors one saw in their sleep. Everyone had nightmares but Caolán knew that his mother had possessed the Sight, and after he had dreamed several years ago of the wolf that had nearly killed Fáelan—if he had not stabbed an arrow through its heart in time—he and his father had begun to think that he might possess the Sight as well. But there had not been another dream like that; not until now, and Caolán felt the dread in his heart despite his willing it away.

Fáelan, he asked softly, "did you know when your athair would die?"

Fáelan looked at him in the dark, his green eyes barely visible in the shadows. I cannot say I knew it like you knew about the wolf, he said. "Every boy fears the day when his athair will not come back from the fray—or hunting, as was the fate of my athair, but it is part of life. I do not think that your dream is anything more than your inner fears."

Caolán nodded, but he knew that Fáelan could not understand the way he felt when he had these dreams. He sighed inwardly as he saw Fáelan’s face sadden in the darkness. It had been cruel of him to mention his friend’s father in that way for he knew Fáelan missed the man very much.

Do not fear, Caolán, Fáelan added after a few moments with a reassuring smile in the dark. "Your athair will be well. We shall all watch the back of our chieftain. And we shall defeat the Roman invaders tomorrow."

Caolán gave a small forced smile and made to lie back down. You are right, I am being foolish. Let us rest to be as strong as possible for the morrow.

Fáelan lay down again as well and soon he was breathing deeply, asleep once more. Caolán, however, did not sleep much the rest of the night. He lay staring at the thatched roof, fingering the armband his father had given him and wondering if his dream meant anything or if it was, as Fáelan said, just a dream.

Chapter Two

Viggo

Centurion Viggo Aulus Callias was ready for battle. He walked among the men of his command and saw that swords were being sharpened, weakened armor repaired, and all kit was in proper array. He stopped as he stood over a young legionnaire, folding his arms over his chest as he looked down at the dark young man who was busy putting an edge on his blade.

Stand up, soldier, Viggo snapped out in a commanding tone of voice, tapping the legionnaire with his cane. How dare you ignore an officer?

The young man stood smartly to attention, looking straight ahead as his centurion looked him up and down.

Have you cleaned your weapons? Viggo asked as he started to walk around the young man, his arms behind his back.

Yes, sir.

And polished your helmet?

Yes sir,

Sharpened your sword?

I was in the middle of it when you interrupted me, sir.

Viggo quirked an eyebrow at the young man, putting on a mock offended expression. I’ve warned you before to watch your cheek when speaking to officers, Legionnaire Aulus. It will not do you any good to be put on a charge before we go to do battle on the morrow.

I will try to remember that next time, sir, Aulus said, trying to keep from smirking. Viggo frowned at him for several seconds before his features softened into a smile and he put an arm around the young man’s shoulders, drawing him away.

Come, let us have something to eat, then it’s to bed. We’ll be up before dawn.

You were not jesting when you said a soldier should sleep whenever he has the chance, Father, Aulus said jokingly, pretending a wide yawn.

It’s ‘Centurion’ or ‘sir’ on parade, boy, Viggo told his son, cuffing him fondly on the back of the head. Aulus grinned back then slung his arm around his father’s waist for a moment before Viggo bid him farewell until supper.

I must go see the legate before I join you. Don’t let Hector burn the stew.

I won’t, Aulus told him with a wave and went off to a cooking fire nearby. Viggo watched him fondly for a few seconds before he turned and made his way to the legate’s tent. He was admitted by the guard standing outside and ducked under the tent flap to stand to attention in front of his commander.

Legate Cyrillus was a man truly too old for campaigning, somewhere in his sixties perhaps, with only a bit of hair around his bald head and more than a little thick about his waist. He was busy looking through piles of tablets on his desk while Viggo waited awkwardly to be noticed, tapping his fingers absently against his helmet, which he held in the crook of his arm. Finally Cyrillus looked up and nodded to him curtly in acknowledgement.

Ah, Centurion Callias, I trust the men of your cohort are all in order?

Ready and shined as ordered, sir, Viggo told him. I’ll be briefing the centurions in the morning.

Good, good, the legate said as he continued to fumble through the mess in front of him, finally finding what he was looking for. Have you sent scouts out to assess our enemies?

Two earlier, sir, but they could not get close enough to the village for a very accurate report without being seen. They safely estimated the Britons have at least our number though.

Well, what hope do untamed savages really have of matching the might of Rome on the field of battle, eh, Callias?

Viggo rankled slightly at the careless comment of his officer. Like most of the men, he thought that Cyrillus had really outstayed his post of legate, for, besides the fact he was getting on in years, he had never been very bright or a spectacular military leader. Viggo had his suspicions as to why the legate had been posted to one of the more odious frontiers. Viggo himself did not think that the Britons should be underestimated. This was his first posting in Britain, but he had heard stories of those who came before and he knew the dangers of going head-to-head with the passionate Celtic tribes. And now their legion had been split up to different postings all along the frontier and they only had two cohorts, which made up approximately nine hundred and sixty men. However, he forced a wry smile and said, Very little, sir. But they are still a force to be reckoned with and I, personally, am not quite ready to underestimate them, for the sake of my men and their safety if nothing else.

Oh phshaw! Cyrillus snorted and shooed Viggo out with his quill, flinging drops of ink over the desk. You may go and see that your men are fed, Centurion. At least if they are to die tomorrow, they may die fat and happy without the grudge of empty bellies to sour them.

Thank you, sir, Viggo said with a salute and marched out of the tent, throwing a weary glance at the guard who rolled his eyes understandingly in return.

Viggo made his way back to the campfire outside his tent and found Aulus and his old friend, Hector, sitting on two of the logs, looking hungrily into the pot that simmered on the flames. Viggo called a greeting to them before he went into his tent and stripped down to his tunic, glad to be rid of the cuirass and cloak in the warm summer weather. He went to sit down next to Aulus who passed him a bowl.

Ah, Hector, Viggo said, pretending to make a face at the stew, though found it hard because the smell was making his stomach growl. "What terror incognita have you concocted this night?"

Hector glared at him and poured a bowl for himself. Oh, shut up. You should be glad you have someone to cook for you. You, who slave all day cracking backsides with your cane.

Is that any way to speak to your senior officer? Viggo asked in mock anger. I should take my cane to you, you slacker.

Hector ignored him as he sat down with his stew. See what I have to put up with? he appealed to Aulus, who simply shook his head.

I’m not getting into it and you know it, Uncle Hector, he said with a laugh.

Viggo smiled and looked over the rim of his bowl at the young man. So, Aulus, your first real battle on the morrow. Do you think you are ready?

With you leading, father, I will fight to the end, Aulus told him firmly and Hector winked at Viggo, though the older man flushed slightly at his son’s ardor.

There are finer men than I, Aulus. You should not listen to Hector.

Oh stuff, Hector scoffed as he refilled his bowl. You’re just the height of modesty.

I would quit while you’re ahead if I were you, Viggo told him, trying to conceal a smile.

Hector made a face at him before filling up Viggo and Aulus’s bowls again. They ate their fill and by then, the sun had gone down and Viggo gathered his cloak to take one last patrol of his men, making sure those on watch were properly awake and that everyone was accounted for and ready for the morrow. When he got back he found Aulus lying wrapped in his cloak, sleeping peacefully by the fire. He left him there and went to see to a bit of paperwork in his tent before he came back out and sat in the cool night air, enjoying the freshness of it after the heat of the day. He took out his whetstone to sharpen his own sword, thinking of the battle that would come. This was his first posting in Britain, and they had yet to fight any real battles there which made him a bit uneasy since he did not know how the Celts fought besides what he had heard from others. It was already one of the harder postings he had been given, and not just because of the unruly climate. The Celts and Britons and their warlike tribes seemed steeped in honor and martial history, much like the Romans, and he almost regretted the thought of having to kill these men the next morning as he had come to respect their culture in his short time here. But it was hardly his place to say anything of the sort. He was a soldier of Rome, he thought a little wryly, and he must needs obey his emperor and fight for his country.

He looked over at Aulus and sighed with a mixture of pride and sadness. This was the young man’s first campaign; he had turned eighteen the last autumn and decided he wished to follow his father’s footsteps and join the Eagles. Viggo had been torn then as well, proud his son wished to follow him, but unwilling to put him in danger. Aulus was all he had left of his beloved wife, Galene, since she had died several years ago from a fever, and the only family he had besides Aulus was his brother’s daughter Lorena. Her parents had died from the fever as well, and he had taken the young girl in as his own, saddened much by the loss of his brother, Flavius, and his sister-in-law.

Viggo looked over at Aulus now, sleeping several feet away from him, wrapped in his cloak by the fire and snoring gently. An errant breeze blew through the camp and the young man shivered, his deep breathing interrupted for a second. Viggo rose and bent over him, pulling the cloak up more snugly around his son’s shoulders. He looked around to make sure no one was looking before he gently brushed the hair from Aulus’s forehead. It never did for the men to see an officer paying any kindness to a soldier, even if it was his own son. Favoritism bred forth discontent and an officer was supposed to be seen as a harsh figure, not given to sentiment. But Viggo could not help his love for his son, nor the protectiveness he felt for Aulus and the other young recruits under his command. He smiled wryly for he knew he was growing far too soft for his own good, but there was little he could or would do about that. He went back over to his previous seat, suddenly startled to see Hector standing by the fire, watching him.

He’ll be all right, the man said.

I’ve told you about creeping up on me, Hector, Viggo groused at him as he sat down and took his sword across his knees once more. You’ll have a blade between your ribs one of these days.

Hector smiled and sat down next to the centurion, drawing his knees up to his chest. Is it hard to have your son in the army? I don’t know how I would feel about it myself.

I would rather keep my eye on him more than trust his care to someone else, Viggo told the younger man quietly as he worked a nick out of the blade. Which is why I pulled strings to get him put into your century.

What think you of tomorrow’s action, Viggo? These Celts, do you think they stand a chance against us?

They have given the legions trouble thus far, Viggo said. I think it best not to underestimate them, despite what Cyrillus thinks. Some might call them barbarians and savages, but they are a brave, proud race; I think we should not rest too easily.

Did you tell that to old Cyrillus? Hector asked with a smirk.

Not in so many words, though it would doubtless have made no difference if I did; he’s a man of one mind only, Viggo replied. And not much of a mind at that.

Hector chuckled and then was silent, seeming to mull over Viggo’s words before he spoke again. You do not like being here, I can see it.

That is not something an officer should say to his superior, Viggo told him, annoyed.

But is it something a man should say to his friend; and are we not old friends, Viggo? Hector asked. And do you not appreciate my opinion?

On occasion, Viggo told him with a small smile. Hector sighed in a longsuffering fashion, and Viggo put his sword across his knees, setting the whetstone to one side as he looked over at the centurion. The truth is, Hector, that I am a soldier of Rome, and I go where my emperor sends me, and I do my duty. I do not have time for sentiment or wishful thinking.

That might be the visible truth, Viggo, Hector said, looking him in the eye. But what lies under that?

Viggo sighed as he sheathed his sword. I think that fighting a determined people is only a way to lose good men. The Celts and Britons have never oppressed us, nor do I see a reason to invade their land that has nothing but a good supply of metals that we could most likely find elsewhere. This is their land and they will defend it to their last breath. There is no reason why we should force them to it, nor do I think they will surrender. It would be better, in my opinion, to leave them in peace and fight the politicians who really want the ruination of Rome.

Hector smiled. That sounds more like the man I met who saved a poor slave boy from a cruel master all those years ago.

The corner of Viggo’s mouth quirked up slightly as he cuffed his friend on the shoulder. I should have left you. Little did I know that that innocent whipping boy would become such a jabberer. He was silent then, looking into the fire before he spoke again. Do you miss Rome, Hector? Do you ever long to go back home?

Sometimes it is all I can think about, Hector told him softly. I miss the countryside as I know you do. The best years of my life were spent at your family villa, especially during the harvest time. When we would work all day and be so tired, yet so happy, at the end of it.

Viggo smiled sadly. It’s been too long since we’ve been back home. And Lorena with no one but old Kaeso for company. But it will be a while before we go back now.

I do miss it though, Hector said quietly.

Viggo punched him lightly in the shoulder. What about that woman here? Do you love her enough to take her with you?

What woman? Hector asked, shifting slightly in the firelight.

Oh come now, Hector, You know I know you too well not to see when you’re lying! Give me a bit of credit.

I don’t know, Hector mumbled. Perhaps.

Viggo shook his head with a sigh and stood up. Well, I for one have had enough reminiscing for one night, otherwise you’ll have me in tears—you know how I hate reminiscing, Hector! I’m off to bed and you had best do the same. Briefing’s early. Let the other centurions know.

Yes, sir, Hector told him with a salute and Viggo turned to head to his tent, bending to touch Aulus gently on the cheek before he left and closed the flap of his tent behind him. He rested his sword with his armor against the foot of his cot and then slumped onto it, falling into a deep sleep, dreaming of home in the Roman countryside.

Chapter Three

Caolán

Caolán woke to Fáelan shaking his shoulder