Free Dreaming the Eagle by Manda Scott Page A

voice altered, gathering a sense of portents to come - ‘they did all of these until last winter when her son Caradoc, at eleven years old, took his warrior tests from her people and won his spear. Now his mother’s spear flies second to her son’s.’
    ‘At eleven? He passed his warrior’s tests amongst the Ordovices at eleven?’ It was ‘Tagos, sister’s son to Sinochos, who asked. He was twelve years old, nearly thirteen, and he was due to take his tests at the winter gathering. It was considered a good age with no shame if he failed the first time. To pass, he had to throw a spear and hit the mark nine times out of nine at fifty paces. Less than one in ten who tried it passed first time.
    ‘He did.’ Gunovic nodded. ‘It was attested by all their dreamers. None has taken them younger and succeeded. He will take the tests of both the Trinovantes and the Catuvellauni in the next year. His father does not approve and will do nothing to help him, but I have seen the boy, and he will succeed. When he does so, he will be a named warrior of three different peoples. There is no man, including his father, who has ever achieved such a feat.’
    ‘And will the son slaughter the dreamers as his father has done, or will he honour them, after the way of his mother’s people?’
    There was a shocked silence. It was Macha who had spoken. In the same cold voice, she said, ‘It is ten years since the Sun Hound killed the last of his true dreamers. There were two. He had them skinned alive and their bodies nailed to a hazel tree and took instead Heffydd the False who speaks his master’s words as if they came from the gods. Will the firebrand son follow him in his sacrilege, do you think?’
    ‘No.’ Gunovic shook his head. ‘The Ordovices hold the lands that lead to the sacred isle of Mona. Of all the tribes, they are bound closest to the dreamers. Caradoc despises his father and follows his mother in everything. He will not drive out the dreamers, wherever he comes to rule.’
    ‘Good.’ That from ‘Tagos, who had sat with his fists bunched, ready to fight but with no obvious target. He let them relax and rolled his shoulders as one does cooling down from a fight.
    Sinochos said, ‘So then what of the Sun Hound who has three different sons by three different mothers? Has he finished his sowing of seed or need we warn our daughters to be wary of Trinovantian men with plucked noses and heads thick with wine?’
    There was a ripple of laughter, not quite sure of itself. Gunovic stood, stretching his legs. ‘Oh, he’s too old. It’s his sons you have to warn them of; they come in threes and are inescapable. And smiths with dry throats and hairy nostrils. Warn them of those as well.’
    He grinned so his teeth shone in the firelight and the absurdity of it made them laugh again, which was a good way to finish and wiped away the last memories of the first sun hound and its death at the hands of the Romans. Only Ban did not forget. He slept for the night with his mother as he had not done since he was three years old, and Hail slept in the space between them.
    Gunovic left three days later, the richer by three new pack horses, a big bay threeyear-old colt that would be trained and ready as a riding horse for him to take when he next passed by, the promise of grain to fill his packs when he came back in the autumn, nine blocks of salt, a tunic in pale undyed wool with a border in Eceni blue, a set of bone needles and a selection of dried herbs that would heal both himself and his mounts if he could remember which were for poultices and which to take with food - and such finished and part-finished weapons as Eburovic felt he could spare in the circumstances.
    As befitted his status, he also carried a message directly to the elders of the Coritani through whose lands he was to travel next. It said that the Eceni considered the attack in the autumn to have been the act of rash youth and it should not be allowed to foment