Stones of Fire

Agnar Cynebald, known as Agnar the Merciless, glowered at the three captured chieftains kneeling before him, their hands bound behind them.

‘You chose to defy me, now your men lay dead, wounded or captured. I will put you to death, of course, but how quickly or slowly depends on you.’

  The three hapless prisoners looked Agnar in the eye, none were afraid to die. The custom among the tribes was that if the defeated leader surrendered, he was executed, his men were then spared. If he refused to surrender, he and his army were butchered to a man. The manner of death for a captured chieftain was always a swift beheading as befitted their rank.

  ‘You can order your men to join my army or refuse, and be thrown to starving boars to be eaten alive. The choice is yours.’

  Ceolmund Leofwine, the bravest of the three captives spoke up. ‘My men will make their own choice; I will give no order.’

 Agnar’s lips curled beneath his broken nose and his dark eyes glinted in his swarthy face. He cursed inwardly. A chieftain’s order bound his men to allegiance. Agnar needed men to replace those lost in battle and Ceolmund’s warriors were the best. All captives were given the choice of joining him or being sold as slaves. They always chose to join him then a great number later deserted.

  Ceolmund said ‘you intend to attack Queen Hirtha of the Durotriges next spring. We have a kinship with her. I’ll not bind my men to treachery.’

 ‘Then your fate is sealed Ceolmund.’ He turned to a slave ‘send for the cart of pigs.’ 

  Ceolmund spoke calmly ‘Hirtha is a powerful sorceress. Many years ago, an invading army perished in a wall of fire she conjured before they got within spear throw.’

  Agnar laughed ‘A simple trick revealed by my soothsayer. Oil was hidden in a trench, the land before it also drenched in it. When the invaders reached the trench it was lit, the ground beneath them then burned. Hirtha is merely a cunning she-wolf.’ 

  Then was Ceolmund was put to his horrendous death and his men sold into slavery as they couldn’t be trusted.  

  Oswald, son Ceolmund, lay on the battlefield where he’d been left for dead. Slowly, he regained consciousness. The axe that felled him had not penetrated his helmet. A voice inside his head said ‘arise, Oswald, go to the Durotriges. Take no weapons.’ 

  In her large roundhouse, Queen Hirtha sat cross-legged on a bearskin. Her eyes were closed, her back erect, Next to her sat her daughter Joscelyne. They sat in meditation, the fire bathing them in a flickering glow. After an hour both stirred then the Queen asked ‘You saw what I saw Joscelyne, Agnar will come next year and he is powerful.’

‘The spring will be wet, mother, his oxcarts will sink, he’ll be delayed.’

  ‘We must plan to defeat him.’ 

  ‘What are we to do, mother?’ Joscelyne asked, her brow creased 'he has a great army.' 

  Hirtha brushed her long black locks from her face ‘I shall sleep child when I awake, I will know.’

  Next morning Hirtha awoke and went to her daughter’s bed ‘arise, daughter, I have news.’

Joscelyne looked into Hirtha's deep blue eyes ‘news, mother?’

  ‘A young prince comes; he will be your husband should he prove worthy.’ 

  ‘And what of Agnar?’ 

  ‘We have to build a temple of stone to focus the spirit of our tribe if we are not to be conquered.’ 

  ‘But we have not the time, surely?’

  ‘Nothing is impossible when magic is used, my child.’

  ‘And about my husband?’ she asked excitedly ‘I shall be fifteen soon, most women are married by my age.’

  ‘Most women your age are not future queens, Joscelyne.

*****

  Oswald’s head ached abominably, each stride jolted, every path seemed fraught with obstacles, a rocky outcrop here, a bog there. He was ravenously hungry and now a swollen stream flowed fiercely before him. The old woman sat in the rain dressed in rags, her scrawny arms outstretched in supplication ‘Oh, fine young warrior please, I beg of you, help me to the other side.’

  Oswald saw one of her eyes was opaque the other dull. She smelt like a pigpen.

 ‘I have no time old mother.’

 ‘Noble sir,' she pleaded 'my husband lies dying, I must go to him. Please, help me?’

  Oswald relented and hoisted the woman onto his back. As he ploughed into the stream, she dug her long nails into his flesh and started screaming in terror. 

  ‘Be calm mother, for I am strong and you are safe.’

 Once over, she wailed ‘Oh, my cat, I have forgotten my cat, please, we must go back.’ 

  ‘No, I must go, be off to your husband, crone.’

  Her face was a mask of misery ‘do you not have a grandmother, young sir? Was she me would your treatment be such? My cat is ancient she will perish alone.’

  A picture of his late, beloved grandmother came to mind, she, too, had loved cats. He sighed ‘Very well, I will go back and look for it.’

 ‘That will avail nought, sir, she will not come to strangers.’

 Oswald groaned ‘The gods punish me this day’ he said and lifted her again. They re-crossed the icy water, the old woman emitted ear-piercing shrieks of terror. Oswald felt like weeping. ‘Why me?’ he called to the heavens ‘what have I done?’ 

 They reached the other side and the old woman scurried way to a clump of shrubs calling her cat. After ten long minutes with thunder and lightning crashing and flashing a scrawny black cat crept from its hiding place to be scooped up by the woman. She returned to him, her eye glowing with gratitude. ‘May the gods reward you, young sir.’

  ‘The reward I crave, woman, is to have thee silent as we cross back.’

  ‘It shall be so, sir.’

  And silent she was, but the cat climbed onto his head digging in its claws deep into his scalp and screeching its fear of the raging waters. Oswald prayed for patience.

  Reaching the far bank once more, he placed the old lady down gently, the cat leapt off his head and slunk away. She clung to him smiling, her thin lips drawn back over her few remaining blackened stumps, her breath stank like a dung pile. ‘I have a reward for you, young warrior’ she said and took an amulet from around her neck. ‘It is made from the metal that falls from the heavens, it would please me greatly if you wore it.’ 

  Oswald took the amulet, it was heavy, silver-grey having jagged but not sharp edges in the shape of a star. It felt warm in his hand. He bowed, realising this must be the only thing of value she possessed. ‘Thank you, good mother, you are most generous’ he said humbly. He bent and kissed her forehead ‘now, I must take my leave for it grows late and I have far to go.’

  He turned and hurried away; he had gone but ten paces when he heard her say ‘go in peace Oswald the Great of the Durotriges.’

  He was shocked. He had not told her his name or where he was going. He turned sharply. The old woman had vanished.

*****

  ‘Call the council of the six Joscelyne, have them attend me in one hour.’

The three men and three women assembled, Hirtha described the temple, the type of stone required and the date for completion. 

  Silence followed then Willa, the healer, spoke. ‘Great Queen, the stone you require lies four dozen leagues distant. Cutting and carting would take years, not months.’

  Hirtha extended her hands palms up. The council rose from their places and floated. ‘Have faith, Willa, the stones will cut like mud, they will weigh nothing.’ She lowered the startled council.

  ‘A young warrior arrives tomorrow. If he and Joscelyne are willing, they’ll wed, followed by three days of feasting. Afterwards, shall our sacred work commence.’

  Approaching the Durotriges village, Oswald saw there were no sentries, nor did the dogs bark at him. 

  Hirtha herself welcomed Oswald and introduced him to Joscelyne. The very air seemed to crackle between them as they eyed each other admiringly. A meal followed then Oswald was shown to the bachelor quarters.

 ‘Well, daughter?’ said the Queen ‘Did you find him handsome?’

   ‘Handsome? No, he is beautiful, mother.’

  ‘I set him a test. He is strong and compassionate. He will rule with you after my time if you will have him.’

  Next morning Oswald was surprised to see families sitting in circles their eyes closed, chanting. He felt a warm vibration emanate from them running through him like the joyful current of life itself. 

  Over breakfast, the bachelors told him their only law was: If it harms no other, do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.

 Oswald felt uncomfortable among them ‘where are your swords, your war axes, your spears?’ he asked ‘How do you defend yourselves?’

  A frail young man stepped forward ‘My name is Bloewold’ he said ‘strike me.’ When Oswald refused, he said ‘please, try to strike me, I will not hurt you, Oswald.’ The others laughed and Oswald’s face burned, how dare these non-warriors scorn him.

  He threw a punch. The blow stopped six inches from Bloewald’s face as if it had hit a solid pillow. He struck again with the same result. Frustrated, he kicked out. Bloewold smiled and jerked his hand forward an inch. Oswald was propelled backwards by an unseen force. He sat down sharply, bemused.

 ‘What sorcery is this?’ What evil do you practice here?’

  Bloewold helped him up, smiling. ‘No sorcery, Oswald. We train for this. We are the protectors.’

  Later, Oswald was summoned before the Queen and Joscelyne who took his hand. A great wave of love surged through him as he gazed into her emerald eyes.

  ‘My lord Oswald Leofwine, will you be my husband? Will you take me this day before my tribe and prove me a worthy successor to my mother?’ 

  Oswald felt the love that consumed him was pure ‘I will, my noble lady.’

  Among the other tribes, it was the bride’s father who made the marriage match, this was alien to him, yet it felt right. 

  That night at sunset they took their vows before the altar stone spread with a white sheet. Hirtha officiated. Then she stripped them naked to cries of appreciation from the tribe.

  ‘You must lay her upon the altar and consummate the marriage, all must witness the match is pure.’

  When it was done, Hirtha raised the sheet high ‘Behold, the virgin blood.’

  The tribe responded crying ‘the union is pure, long live this sacred union.’

 There followed three days of feasting, dancing and merriment yet none got drunk. Oswald was amazed.

  After three days of hard marching, they reached the stones. Ninety men and ninety women with chisels, ropes and hammers. Hirtha muttered an incantation. ‘Now, cut as instructed.’ They found the stone where they cut was soft as clay yet an inch from their chisels was solid. Cutting took only four days.

  On the fifth day, Hirtha raised the stones. ‘Tie your ropes about them, and pull’ she ordered. And so, four days later, they returned to the village. 

  For the next month Hirtha, studied the stars making calculations, then drew her plan on a scraped goatskin. She gave it to Oswald who oversaw the digging of the foundations. After another month the work was completed. Now Hirtha turned her attention to the defeat of her enemies. She made strange requests of her people but they brought what she asked without question. A furnace was built which Hirtha filled with sand and from which a strange new material poured which she moulded into iridescent spheres. 

  The Durotriges were a mere two thousand. Agnar’s army was three times that number yet the people were unafraid for their faith in their queen was unshakable. 

*****

Agnar sent for Daeldrik, his soothsayer. ‘look into your scrying vessel’ he ordered ‘what are the witch's plans.’

  Daeldrik took his polished silver bowl and poured water into it then sprinkled in a dark powder. Purple clouds swirled as he stared. ‘I cannot see my Lord; she has cloaked all sight. I see victory, but it will be delayed, for there will be floods.’

  Agnar snorted as he tugged his beard ‘What attack date is most auspicious?’

  Again, Daeldrik pored over the bowl, then breathed a satisfied sigh. ‘The summer solstice, my lord. 

  ‘Ah, yes, the pagans will be celebrating and unprepared. I am pleased Daeldrik.’

  ‘You have nought to fear Great Agnar for they are unarmed save for small daggers they use as tools. Their Queen has much silver and gold, their corn is plentiful, their animals are fat. Their women and children are lithe and the men healthy. They will command high prices.’

  ‘Even so, Daeldrik, send out spies, see what preparations she makes.’

  The spies returned, reporting that a great stone temple had been built surrounded by a ditch. They had captured a young goatherd and tortured him. He revealed the temple was built using great magic. ‘We slit his throat sire and stole his clothes and some goats to make it look like the work of brigands.’ 

  Agnar was worried, a great stone temple? How could this be so? He sent for Daeldrik again. The soothsayer gazed into his scrying bowl, this time he saw nothing, but dare not admit it. ‘I still foretell a great victory, mighty Agnar. First, you must surround them then attack with the rising sun at your back.’

  The night before the solstice Agnar’s army was in position. Inside the temple, Hirtha sat on the altar stone facing east, on her right Joscelyne, on her left Oswald. Around them sat the tribal elders, all were quietly chanting.

  As the predawn sky turned blood red, Agnar placed himself where Daeldrik had directed. As the sun's first rays broke the horizon, they shone between two mighty stone pillars illuminating Hirtha sitting naked, a golden torq about her neck. Her eyes blazed reflecting the sun’s rays. For the first time in his life, Agnar felt fear. He raised his horn and blew a long blast. His army cried their blood lust and charged. 

 Around the ditch, the protectors raised their hands and with a mighty shout thrust them forward. Inside the temple, the chanting rose until the very stones reverberated, amplifying the wall of power. The enemy warriors were stopped dead. Behind the protectors, women threw the spheres the Queen had made high over the Agnar’s men where they burst in the sunlight. A rain of droplets cascaded down. The women then threw torches and the liquid exploded. Warriors screamed in their death throes as purple flames raged.

  Agnar drew his sword and slew Daeldrik. ‘A great victory, you said, but you never said for whom.’ He took up three spears, three people would not live to enjoy their victory. He ran towards the twin pillars throwing his spears with great speed and accuracy. The first sped towards Hirtha who waved her hand and deflected it. The second flew at Joscelyne's heart. She raised a finger and it fell to earth. The third spear flashed into Oswald’s chest, struck the amulet and shattered to dust.

  As the sun rose higher, its light reflecting from Hirtha’s eyes grew in intensity as she focused on her enemy. Agnar’s robes caught fire, he shrieked and writhed in his death agony. Hirtha’s power held him up and kept him alive, burning, inflicting upon him the agonies he had readily inflicted upon others. When at last the sun cleared the horizon Agnar fell in ashes. 

  Oswald felt Hirtha’s hand upon his arm. ‘Please, my lord, carry me home, for I am spent.’

  Looking at Hirtha, Oswald saw that she had aged greatly. He recognised the old woman he had carried over the stream.

 Laying on her bed, Hirtha beckoned Joscelyne and Oswald near. ‘My time has come, my children. I leave you to rule the people wisely and with compassion.’

  ‘But mother’ Joscelyne cried, we do not have your power, we cannot hope to match you.’ 

  ‘Your powers will grow, Joscelyne, rule wisely aided by your strong prince.’

  Oswald took her hand ‘is there ought we can do for you great queen?’

  ‘You can tell our story down the ages, Oswald. Let our mighty temple stand on this, the Plain of Salis, forever and henceforth let it be known as The Great Henge of Stones.

The End