Rowena – Dunfennan, Britain, 100 BC

  ‘You are a disgrace to this community!’

  Rowena looked at the village chieftain coldly. In his anger, he had risen from his elevated chair in the main hall and was staring down at her with his milky eyes. As a child, she had been terrified of him, but those days were long over. She was just about to retort heatedly when she felt a large, callused hand reassuringly touch her shoulder.

  ‘You have no right to speak to my daughter like that, Oengus. I would have killed the bastard myself if I had been there,’ her father’s calm, deep voice said from behind her.

  ‘I wish you had been, Brandan. At least you could have buried the body, and we wouldn’t be in trouble then. But your daughter let him get away, and now his father demands a galanas of twelve sheep and two carts of purified iron! That is a fortune we cannot afford to lose!’

  ‘A woman has the right to defend herself! What would you have done if he had tried to rape one of your daughters? Would you have told her to lie still and endure?’ Rowena demanded.

  ‘Stupid girl! It is the way of the world. The mighty take their pleasure where they want. If the woman is smart, she can turn it to her advantage.’

  Rowena felt uncontrollable rage rise within her. She was sorely tempted to raise the compacted earth under the straw of the floor under them and bury the old man alive under it.

  ‘My daughter is not a whore and you will not stand in judgement over her,’ her father growled at the chieftain.

  ‘Do you think you are outside my jurisdiction just because you are witches? Her actions endanger the whole community,’ Oengus hissed back.

  ‘This village owes its prosperity to witches, as you well know. Try to cast us out and see how long you will remain chieftain,’ Brendan retorted.

  Oengus’ face became red with anger at this challenge, but he must have recognized the obvious truth in that statement and tried to get a grip on himself.

  ‘We will not remain prosperous if we have to pay the galanas. It will set us back years.’

  ‘We won’t have to. I have sent my son to the druids to ask for a mediator. Even King Brannor will have to bow to their authority.’

  ‘It will take him weeks to get to Ynys Mon, and even if they are willing to send someone…’

  ‘There are three druids only a few days away.’

  Oengus frowned. ‘Those three that are exploring that cave? They are too young and of too low a rank to have great authority.’

  ‘They will be enough. The oldest one among them is the king’s cousin but he will mediate fairly.’

  ‘Let’s hope so then. Now go and help those miners find more iron.’

  Rowena was still shaking with fury when they left the chieftain’s hall and climbed onto a cart they’d prepared for their trip to the mining fields.

  ‘This is an injustice! How can he demand galanas when it was self-defence?’

  ‘Rowena, you are not a child any more. There is little justice in the world, except the one we achieve ourselves. And you know that if you were not a witch, he would have demanded your immediate execution,’ her father explained patiently as he set the horses into motion.

  She sighed. ‘I know. But you taught me to stand up for myself and what is right. Yet what does it bring me? Punishment upon punishment.’

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  Brendan echoed her sigh and put an arm around her slender shoulder.

  ‘I wish there were a perfect world that we could go to. But there isn’t. We have to make do with the one the gods created for us, with all its challenges.’

  ‘But could we not go to Ynys Mon. Surely there is justice on the Isle of Druids. Many of them are witches.’

  ‘Having powers doesn’t make you a better person. There are the good and the evil among the witches, just as among regular humans. Druids may be more learned and wiser than most, but it doesn’t mean they cannot be corrupted or biased, especially when it comes to ruling against a king. That is why I sent Finn for those three who are close. Not only is one of them a Soul Gazer, but the young are more likely to have the courage to stand up to the mighty. As you have often proved,’ Brendan said with an indulgent smile at his daughter.

  Rowena leaned her head on her father’s shoulder. ‘When is Mother coming back?’

  ‘Soon, I hope. But it could be another week or two. Do you want me to send someone for her?’

  ‘No. She can’t help here anyway, and she can do more good in that poor village.’

  ? ? ?

  A few hours later, Rowena wished for nothing more than to hide behind his mother’s skirts like when she had been a scared child. Instead, she hid behind a tree and threw up again, unable to look back at the horror. Five miners lay dead, their body parts intermingled, the stones and surrounding earth saturated by blood.

  Her father picked up a copper basin at the smelting furnace and frowned. ‘They only took purified iron bars and pickaxes. The bronze tools and copper vessels would have been easier to transport and sell, yet they left them behind.’

  ‘That is what you are worried about? Those were our friends and neighbours! I can’t even tell who is who!’

  It was good to be finally able to let out some of the emotion bubbling in her. The feeling of nausea kept coming and going, and she turned away to throw up again. She was no stranger to scenes of violence and even execution, but such bestiality as this was something previously unimaginable.

  ‘I know, daughter, I know. But emotional displays won’t help bring them justice. Or protect our village if whoever attacked them is still close.’

  Rowena took in a deep breath and tried to get herself under control. Her father needed her help and not an extra burden. She followed him to the bloody heap.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Rowena,’ he said gently.

  ‘I do,’ she replied.

  She could tell they were not torn apart by animals but hacked to pieces with sharp weapons and precision. There were puncture wounds caused by arrows on the bodies that were not mutilated.

  ‘Do warriors take the time to gather their arrows after … after they are done?’ she asked her father.

  ‘If they are still usable. But there is not even a broken shaft in sight, nor any broken-off tips left in the wounds,’ he replied with a frown. ‘I don’t see any defensive wounds either. They probably barely had time to notice what was happening.’

  ‘Why they didn’t just rob them? If they had such weapons, our people would have been wise enough to just hand over what they wanted.’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t want to leave anyone who could recognize them.’

  Rowena felt like her heart was beating in her throat. ‘That is what I fear, too. What if it was Cadoc who decided to take a different kind of revenge for what I did to him?’

  Her father looked at her thoughtfully. ‘This would hurt his father’s taxes considerably.’

  ‘Even if he had the brains to realise that he probably wouldn’t care. His pride is more important to him. This is all my fault.’

  ‘No. It wouldn't be your fault even if this were Cadoc’s doing. Calm yourself. Consider the evidence before you. The weapons this was done with had to be of the highest quality. Only a handful of people would have them.’

  Rowena nodded but didn’t feel very comforted. The last few days had been a nightmare she seemed unable to wake up from. Yet there was no way but through. She looked at her bloody hands and withstood the impulse to wipe them off on her dress.

  ‘Let’s see what else we can find.’

  There were no hoofprints, and it was impossible to say whether the bloody footprints were from the workers or their attackers. The miners’ cart had been taken away, but the imprints of the burdened wheels showed that they’d gone southwest to the river. If they’d taken a boat there, they’d loaded the carts onto it as well.

  She returned to the site and checked the fire pit. The wood had long burned down, the ashes were cold already. Something shimmering at the foot of the smelting oven caught her eye. She pushed the scattered pieces of coal aside and picked up a round black object. The stone was much harder than coal, with an unnatural sheen. When she turned it around, she saw it was a beautiful piece of jewellery. Even through the coat of coal dust, she could see that it was intricately designed with stylized plants made of garnet inlay. Something resembling a face was carved at the top, too.

  ‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’ she asked her father.

  Brendan of the Ravenstone squinted at the medallion and shook his head. ‘A most unusual piece. The craftsmanship is outstanding. We’ll bring it to Durnovarum. Someone there may recognize it.’