Elsa M Wilde

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

-Galileo Galilei

PART I

Caledonia

Summer

Think, therefore, as you advance into battle of your ancestors and of your prosperity.

In the very ranks of the enemy we shall find our own forces.

- Calgacus, War Lord of the Caledonians

Some men are born for battle. The clash of iron and the ring of swords speaks to them in a way that nothing else ever could, they know somewhere inside of them how to hold a sword and conquer and enemy without ever being told. They listen for the call of battle horns, wait for it in quiet times to carry on the winds. They say my people need these men, they live for battle and when they march to war they do so with their heads held high, they protect their lands, expand their territory, they conquer armies far greater than their own. They return victorious, they return as heroes. They live for battle. The clash of swords makes them strong. It makes them the men they are. These men are born for battle. I could never be one of these men.

FRASER

"Are you ready?" Laoghaire asks me, the wind blowing her auburn curls back from her face.
I look at her, even on days like this when war carries on the wind she is beautiful. I nod. "As ready as I will be." I answer, giving the closest answer to the truth I can. Her gaze holds mine for a moment, as if trying to remember my face; the way people always do before battle. I want to promise her that she does not need to look at me like that, that I will be back before the fortnight is finished and that Rome will be driven from our lands but I don't. There are some promises I cannot make and know I can honour.
I slip an arm around her waist and she leans against me. The grass of the meadow tickles my arm.
"Caledonia will win." She says quietly, a determination in her voice. "These Romans may be strong but we will be stronger."
I nod. We will be stronger. We have no choice but to be. But when I am honest with myself I am scared about this battle. We have never fought the Romans like this with armies clashing on a bloody field, and that was no accident. The Romans are dangerous, more dangerous than the Northumbrians or the Gauls or the Norse that raid the coasts. The Romans are more dangerous than any enemy we have ever faced. And Laoghaire, although she won't tell me is scared too. Scared for me marching to war, scared that maybe we won't march back from this one. Scared as I am, that maybe the Romans will win. I feel her take in a breath, steadying herself before shifting her position and pressing her lips against mine, it is a familiar gesture, one that is warm and sweet and loving. She breaks away and holds onto me for a moment more, curling the edges of my shirt in her hands.
She takes in another breath and pulls back, "just be careful." She says.
She has seen me go to war before, this is not my first battle but this is different. This is the Romans.
"I will be." I promise her. "I always am."
She smiles at that, a smile can transform her. She is always beautiful but a smile makes her radiate like the sun.
"No you're not."
I brush a strand of hair back from her face. "I try." I reply with a smile. I fiddle with a blade of grass in the meadow next to me and a bird calls from the trees. It is peaceful. Sitting here, in this meadow, with a girl I love I can almost pretend that war isn't calling across the highlands.
"I won't let them get back here. I won't let anything happen to you." I say, fiddling with a stand of her hair.
"I know." She says quietly, "but now I'm not worried about me." She laces her hand with mine and moves to look at me, "just promise me, please, that you will be careful."
I swallow and nod. "I will be."
I sigh and look at the way the sun plays on the stream, we will need to go back to the hamlet soon. But I don't want to. Like Laoghaire has read my thoughts she sighs and stands pulling me up with her. With her hand still laced with mine she leads me through the forests and glens, past the lochs that I have walked by my whole life, the soft sun catches their glassy surface. The stone brochs and roundhouses rise up towards the sky in the glen by one of the great lochs. People move about them, men readying to go to war, women hug them and children dance around them, the little ones not understanding what it means to go to war. Some men stand tall, smiling, almost eager to go and fight for their homeland. Laoghaire follows me as I weave among them. These people I have known my whole life. These people are my family. I find my family by the broch we live in, my father kneels on one knee talking to my sister, Bethóc.
"You hold this dagger." He says to her. "Whenever it is that you need me to be here, you practice with it until you hit every aim." He passes her a dagger, one he has held with him for a long time, the hilt crafted from silver with images of the animals of the forest adorning it. She nods and takes it turning it over in her hands once.
"Good lass." He says, placing a hand on her shoulder.
He then stands, he pulls my mother into a hug, she holds onto him tightly. "Be safe." She says to him quietly.
He leans back and runs a hand through her hair. "I'll be back before you know it."
He then hugs my older sister and hoists her son up onto his hip, the boy giggles when he does.
Bethóc steps forward and wraps her skinny arms around me. I put my hand on her back, as only a child she understands but doesn't accept why we need to go.
"It'll be alright." I say, she nods, looking glum and steps back, her hand gripping the dagger tight. My mother then pulls me into a hug, it is difficult to walk to war but watching your sons walk to war and knowing that there is nothing you can do about it, knowing that they may not walk back must be a different kind of torture.
She holds me tightly, the way she would when I was a wee lad and would cry in the nights. "I love you my lad." She tells me.
"I love you too Màthair." I reply, she holds me at arms length and I see her swallow her tears. She won't cry. She rarely does.
"Be safe my son." She says quietly.
I nod. "I will be."
People start to call, telling us that we are leaving now.
Giric, one of my two brothers puts a hand on my shoulder, "time to go." He says. He brushes his red hair back over his burly shoulder. "I'll look after you." He says to me.
"And what makes you think he needs looking after?" Murdo asks.
"You're right," Giric answers with a smile. "It is you little brother that needs protecting, he has some sense."
Murdo smiles. "Little brother? He is the little brother." He answers, slinging an arm over my shoulders.
"To me you both are." Giric answers. We start to walk to join the other men, those who are staying follow us to the edge of the hamlet. I glance over my shoulder as the clinking of swords and the sounds of the horses surround me. Laoghaire's eyes bore into me, her hair whipped around her face by the highland winds. She has a wild beauty about her here in our homelands. She wraps her arms around me and I hold on tight "Promise you will come back to me" She says to me, her voice tremors but she doesn't let it break. I step back, knowing that I have to leave, that the army is marching out. "Promise me Fraser that you will come home."
I let go of her and walk backwards, my eyes fixed on hers. "I will always come home to you Laoghaire. Do not ever doubt that I will come back to you. I promise you Laoghaire I will always come back to you. "

. . . . .

"Fraser." I jump at the sound of my name, pulled from the memory to see Lulach walking towards me, his red hair pushed back over his shoulders. The mountain air bites at me, as if war is carrying on the wind. The carnyx will start soon. Their harsh battle call the voice of war. I pull my sword from its sheath, its heavy blade familiar in my hand, I run my fingers over the intricately carved patterns in the hilt. A reminder of my homelands and my family. A reminder of why I fight. "Aodh said you had a spare shield." Lulach says quietly. I nod and slip into a roundhouse and he follows me in. I pick up a spare shield and hand it to him. He takes it, his hands shaking. It is his first battle today.
"Stay with me today." I say quietly. No one's first battle should be against the Romans. He looks at me with wide eyes and nods. I walk out of the roundhouse and he silently follows me. We have stone houses further north but this is more southern than our lands. In the mass of warriors and the hum of an approaching battle, I find my brothers, my father stands with them as do many men from Smertae. The carnyx war horns start up, their harsh scream echoing over the highlands, the metal, carved boar heads high above our ranks snarling at the enemy.
"Are you ready?" Giric asks me.
I nod. Do we have the choice to be not ready? The Romans have forced war and we must honour that call. Honour the call or give the highlands to their merciless and barbaric rule. They call us savages but I am yet to see proof that they are anything but. My father pulls me into a rushed hug. "Be safe my sons." He says. He glances over his shoulder at us and then turns, mounting a horse and makes his way toward the front of the warriors, as Aodh, the clan chief of Smertæ, he is expected at the front. I look at my brother and he takes my arm, "be safe." I say.
"You too. I'll see you after the battle."
I nod. "May the land offer you protection."
The man leading our warriors into battle stands on a chariot in front of us."Today you have come together, the clans unite to fight the brutality that the Romans offer us." He calls, yells rise and fall around me agreeing with a Warlord's call. "Today we shall forge a new freedom for all of Caledonia and the island beyond. We know not of slavery like the Romans offer, forged in freedom our land is now at the threat of such slavery. With vessels in our treacherous waters and footmen on our shores. Until this time the Romans have conquered all that they have set foot upon, charring land to the east, plundering those across the sea. And today the Romans fight on our shores!" His yells for war echo almost as loud as the Romans. But what we fight for is far nobler. "Romans who steal our women and our children to work as slaves on distant lands. Romans that plunder our lands and take our belongings that burn our granaries and turn every man, woman and child of our lands into their slaves. Who make every man woman and child live under lash and chain! We are the last defense my clansmen! We are the furthest north; beyond us is only a merciless sea. Do not fear these savages, my friends. Do not let idle displays of glittering gold strike fear into your heart for that shall not win wars. That shall not protect from our blows! Do not, my people, let these savages into our homelands. They plunder the world, steal from the rich and enslave the poor. No land can satisfy them. No boundary will ever be enough. To slaughter, slavery and thievery they give a lying name of grandness. They create oppression." He yells, the land giving him his voice and trembling with the force of its words. "And to it give the lying name of peace."
People erupt into shouts around me. Battle cries that rise with the war horns. Today we fight. I turn to make sure Lulach is still with me and then with the sounds of war horns echoing we run to war.