Free Druids by Morgan Llywelyn Page A

king,” I told him. “Nantorus rides with his charioteer in a wicker-sided war chariot. He wears a tunic of iron links taken from the Bituriges in battle; they have iron mines in their territory,” I added, unable to resist teaching. “His horses are matched brown stallions seized from the Turones, and his long hair flows below a bronze helmet crested with a boar’s head, a trophy of war taken from the Parish.”
    “Ooohhh’” breathed the child, clapping tiny hands. “Are there many chariots? How do they fight in them?”
    “They don’t, not anymore. Once they did, but a chariot is an unstable platform for battle, and now the tribes only use them for the initial display before the real fighting begins. In their chariots the two war leaders will charge at each other, hurling spears and insults, while their cavalry and foot soldiers try to intimidate each other with more threats and insults. Each side wants to look larger and more ferocious than the other.”
    “What are cavalry?”
    “Warriors mounted on horses. My father was horse rank,” I added with sudden pride. “My grandmother had me taught to ride by our warriors when I was not so much older than you.”
    “Will I leam to ride a horse and be part of the cavalry?” the child asked eagerly.
    I had a painful vision of the limitations of his worid. “No, because your clan belongs to the common class,” I said as gently as I could, unwilling to remind him of his blindness. “Only warriors of horse rank can be cavalry. But most warriors, although belonging to the noble class and entitled to wear the gold arm ring, are foot soldiers.”
    As I spoke, I caught a glimpse of Tarvos running forward with the other foot soldiers, yelling with excitement and beating his spear against his shield.
    DRUIDS 49
    “Tell me about the battle,” the boy urged-
    “One of the ways our kings have earned their kingship is through proving themselves as fighting champions,” I explained, “so the opposing kings have their chariots driven in huge circles, trying to make iheir horses look as if they are wild and out of control. Then when they feel they have impressed each other sufficiently, they dismount and fight on foot, with swords. Their warriors watch and cheer their style, then join in the general bat-tle. Some throw off their tunics and fight naked to intimidate their opponents with the size and rigidity of their manhoods-Each side hurls itself against the other in wave after wave, until one side is overcome.”
    “I would like to be a champion with a chariot,” the little boy confided, snuggling against me. His coppery hair smelled of the
    sun. One of his clan came elbowing through the crowd to us.
    “There he is! We’ve been looking everywhere… .”
    He was taken from my arms with reluctance on both sides.
    “The boy often wanders,” his kinsman said apologetically. “He’s quite fearless, blind as he is and small as he is.”
    “He’s safe anywhere near the fort,” I assured the man. “We’re all tribesmen. Even the current enemy wouldn’t hurt him, you know. Children, like druids, are sacrosanct.”
    I watched the bright head being carried away through the crowd. There was a tap on my shoulder- “You can help me,” said Menua.
    He was frowning. Taking me by the elbow, he steered me away from the crowd. “Did you observe how thin the warriors are, Ainvar? Planting weni well but we haven’t yet harvested, and the effects of the bad winter can be seen on gaunt faces. Our men have not rebuilt their full strength. They are running with excitement now, but by the time they reach the Senones they will be dragging their feet. They need the aid of the druids. Particularly yours,” he added.
    His eyes twinkled mysteriously.
    We went to the lodge together. There he rummaged in his carved wooden chest, then removed a mirror of polished metal. Its back was inlaid with bronze and silver wires in a curvilinear design that represented nothing but suggested