The Greener Shore Read Free Page B

Vercingetorix. Labraid is an argumentative boy of ten winters who could be mistaken for much older. Indeed, thinks himself every bit as much a man as Cormiac Ru, who is almost twice his age. This is the source of growing friction between them.
    Onuava’s other sons, Cairbre and Senta, are mine; quiet little lads who cause no trouble. Yet I am mindful they carry their mother’s blood, too. They will bear watching in future.
    Lakutu has a son and daughter. Glas of the nimble fingers was sired by my friend Tarvos the Bull, who taught the Egyptian to speak our language. After Tarvos was killed I married Lakutu, who subsequently bore me a daughter she calls Niav. It is, I believe, an Egyptian name. With her huge dark eyes and pretty ways, Niav enchants every male who sees her. Including me.
    Although Labraid is a king’s son, I predict it is Cormiac Ru who will one day take over leadership of our clan. The Red Wolf simply has a better head on him. Quiet, intense, and endlessly resourceful, he takes his name from his hair, which is the exact shade of burnished copper. His eyes are as colorless as clear water.
    Water is sacred.
    Cormiac was born to farmers who grew barley near the fort of the Carnutes. He was a fearless little boy who once told me that he wanted to be a champion when he grew up, and ride in a chariot. Unfortunately he was of common rank, not of the noble class. Worse still, the child had been born blind. No one expected him to survive to adulthood.
    When Briga came to us from the Sequani tribe she had wept with pity over the little fellow. Some of her tears fell onto his eyes.
    Within a few days he could see.
    Since then Cormiac has been Briga’s shadow, closer to her than the children of her body. Long ago his voice changed from a childish treble to one so deep and resonant I would recognize it among thousands. The Red Wolf is now as tall as I am and has an exceptional gift for the sword. He need only touch a weapon to have it leap into his hand, ready to serve his bidding. I would not want him as an enemy.
    Cormiac respects me because I am Briga’s husband. My membership in the Order of the Wise does not impress him. I am impressed by Cormiac, however; by the proud unyielding core of him. Vercingetorix had that, too. Nobility is not in the blood, but in the spirit.
    The Greeks describe the Celts, or Keltoi, as they call us, as one of the four peripheral nations of the known world, the others being the Scythians, the Indians, and the Ethiopians. The Scythians, who were nomads from the steppes, penetrated the heavily forested territory of the Celts at some time in antiquity and introduced our ancestors to the ridden horse. This new mobility enabled the Celts to explode outward from their homeland. Travelers tell of having encountered Celts as far east as the plains of Anatolia and as far south as the mountains of Iberia.
    Celtic tribes may appear to differ greatly from one another, yet they share a similar culture and possess common characteristics. Celts tend to be poetic and lyrical, volatile and reckless, boastful, generous, impulsive, high-spirited, bellicose, and courageous. All of those qualities were found in Vercingetorix. When I look at his son, Labraid, I wonder how much of the father is in the boy.
    A child is both a riddle and an answer.
    Late at night in the forests of Gaul, when the fires burned low and memory seized my throat with both hands and threatened to choke me, I needed to talk about Maia. My stolen child. She was Briga’s child too, but for me no pain was comparable to my own. So I could not reminisce about Maia with Briga.
    I talked to Cormiac instead.
    He listened in silence, the Red Wolf with his intense face.
    Cormiac had not yet enjoyed a woman. Since he became a man we had lived a solitary existence. We even avoided the remnants of other tribes for fear of paid informers. The Romans had corrupted our people and taught them to betray one another.
    If someone is willing to buy,