Author: David Clement-Davies
Category: Nonfiction
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He the darkest secret learn,
Truths of beast and man revealing,
Touching on the heart of Herne.
Fawn of moonlight ever after,
So shall all the Herla sing.
For his days shall herald laughter,
Born a healer and a king.’
Blindweed finished and opened his eyes. A slight breeze had come up as if from nowhere, rustling the grass. Brechin shivered. His old scar suddenly pained him. The deer looked at each other in silence and Blindweed shook his tired head.
‘Right,’ he said at last. ‘It’s time.’
Without any further protest the young fawns got to their feet. They thanked Blindweed as they went and began to run down the hill together, back to the safety of their mothers. Soon only one was left by Blindweed’s side. It was Lychen.
‘What does it mean?’ asked Lychen in a little voice. ‘The Prophecy. Is it true?’
‘What does it mean?’ said Blindweed. ’Well, Lychen, why don’t we ask Captain Brechin?’
Brechin was standing, gazing back towards the Home Oak.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Lychen nervously, ‘but do you know what the Prophecy means? Is it true?’
‘No, little one,’ said Brechin, looking down, ‘I don’t. But as for it being true I will say only this. There is more truth in Blindweed’s stories, though they are only stories, than there is in the heart of many a stag. So listen to them well. Now off with you, I have business to attend to.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Lychen and, caught between fear and pride, with a skip the fawn turned and shot off down the hill. When he had gone Blindweed walked slowly up to the captain. He had heard something serious in Brechin’s tone and he sensed something was wrong.
‘Captain Brechin,’ he said gravely, ‘it is very good to see you again and to know that at least some of the Hernling remember the old tales. Nowadays everything has changed. No one listens any more. And what with Sgorr and the Draila, they would drive away the spirit of Herne.’
‘Yes, Blindweed, there is much trouble in the Low Lands. But if I remember the old tales it is because you taught us them so well. You taught us that in those tales lies the secret of the Lore.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Blindweed, shaking his antlers. ‘The Lore. It is too much abused.’
‘Well, Blindweed,’ said Brechin, suddenly flexing his haunches and snorting, ‘I’m glad I’ve seen you, for tonight it is the Lore that I shall need.’
With that the captain raced away, up the steep gully towards the Home Oak. The full moon hung in the sky, bathing the valley in a luminous, eerie light as Brechin approached the meeting place. The wind had strengthened, sending great shoals of cloud scurrying across its haunted face. On the exposed plateau, that is such a common feature of the southern glens, twenty Corps members were assembled and around them stood the closed ranks of another fifteen Draila. As Brechin crested the plateau four of these stags broke away and ran up to meet him. They were lead by Narl, a young buck who only that spring Brechin had nearly come to blows with when he blocked his admission to the Outriders.
‘Herne be with you,’ called Brechin loudly and with little warmth.
‘Brechin, you’re late,’ said Narl, ignoring the traditional greeting. ’Drail is growing impatient—’
‘Captain Brechin to you,’ Brechin bellowed. He had halted and already his front haunches were set forward. The three other stags stopped behind Narl and as Brechin pointed his brow tines and stamped, they edged in behind their leader.
‘Forgive me, Captain Brechin,’ said Narl sarcastically, but clearly intimidated by the huge antlers, ‘I forgot how keen the Outriders are on their titles. But if you’d be so good as to join us, Lord Drail has something to tell you.’
Under any other circumstance Brechin would have charged Narl. But now he was keen to know what was happening at the meeting place. He had delayed too long.
‘Surely you mean Lord Sgorr?’ said Brechin contemptuously, and he pushed straight through the four deer. ‘Well then, what are you waiting for?’
Brechin surged on across the heather as the four Draila brought up the rear.
Blindweed was deeply troubled when Brechin left him to go to the meeting place. For two seasons no he had watched the plots of the Draila with mounting disgust. He hated what Sgorr was doing to the herd and though he understood little of politics, he knew that it would bring nothing but harm. Sgorr had even tried to ban the old stories, though too many Corps members had opposed it. But tonight there was something else. He couldn’t quite scent it out but Blindweed had spent too long immersed in the legends of the Herla not to carry something of their magic and not to trust his instincts. Tonight his scars ached and the pain in his left foot had returned. He knew in his bones that something was happening.
He was pondering these things as he walked slowly towards the bottom of the home valley when suddenly he saw a group of thirty Draila moving rapidly up to the meeting place. They were packed tightly and running along a slight gully, out of moonlight, as though trying to avoid being seen. He stopped dead in his tracks but as soon as he did so he realized he was upwind of them. Two Draila nosed him immediately, broke from the group and raced towards him.
‘Hey, you!’ shouted one as they neared the storyteller. ‘What are you doing lurking so close to the Home Oak?’
‘Nothing, Captain,’ said Blindweed. ’I was just telling some stories to the fawns. They like to sit out on the hillside.’
‘Why, it’s only old Blindweed,’ said one of the others. ‘We don’t have to worry about him.’
‘Worry about me?’ said Blindweed. ’Why, Captain, is there trouble in the herd?’
‘Never you mind,’ said the captain. He looked a little guiltily at his companion and then added in a softer voice, ‘The Outriders have nosed fox. You’d better get back to the home valley.’
‘Certainly, Captain. Thank you for your concern.’
The stags raced off again and Blindweed continued on his way, a good deal more troubled than before. In the meadow at the bottom of the valley the herd seemed quiet enough, though Blindweed noticed other Draila moving about amongst the hinds. Every now and then they would stop to talk to them and seemed to be trying to reassure them. Then they would move off to their captains and report. There was much nodding of antlers. Blindweed pretended to graze and as he did so he swayed closer and closer to three stags who were standing by a small thicket. He managed to edge to the far side of the thicket, just out of sight but near enough to overhear their conversation.
‘When is it to be?’ one was saying in a voice that shook with emotion.
‘Soon, Brach, very soon,’ whispered another. ‘You must be patient. Everything is set.’
‘It’s this damned waiting I can’t stand,’ said the first.
‘Silence,’ said a third voice, older than the other two. ‘We need you to be calm when it comes. It’s your job to reassure the hinds.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the first, ‘and it won’t be easy. What if they bolt?’
‘They won’t leave the fawns,’ said the older voice calmly.
‘And if they try, there are enough Draila to hold them. But we must be certain of the lead hind, Fourleaf. Now, I’ve got to get going. I have the Outriders to attend to.’
The stag who had just been speaking turned on his haunches and set off into the darkness. Blindweed was dumbstruck. Very softly the old deer backed away from the thicket and padded back towards the stream. He stopped to drink, his old, calloused lips sucking at the cool water. Then he set off along the bank again, his head buzzing with the talk of plots. At last he reached a clear stretch of open ground and he froze as he heard a snort of pain. It was a hind straining with her unborn calf.
‘Stand off there, in the name of Herne,’ cried an angry voice from the darkness. It was Bhreac, the old doe that Brechin had asked to watch over Eloin. She had nosed Blindweed coming down the stream and now her instincts were roused.
‘Blindweed, it’s you,’ said Bhreac less harshly, ‘I didn’t realize. It’s Eloin. One of Captain Brechin’s hinds. He asked me to watch her.’
‘I just saw the captain on the hill,’ said Blindweed. ’He was going towards the Home Oak. Bhreac, there is trouble in the herd tonight. The Draila are out.’
‘Stags,’ snorted Bhreac in disgust. ‘They always mean trouble. But we hinds have more serious things to think of. Blindweed, I fear this will be a hard one. I have never known a hind to be so late.’
The old deer nodded gravely.
‘Don’t fret,’ he said. ’Eloin is strong and the calf of
Captain Brechin has a better chance than most.’
‘Still,’ said Bhreac, ‘I wish there were something we could do.’
But the two old deer were silent now. They were listening to Eloin’s breathing. It was shallow and painful. They wanted to help her but they knew she had to do this alone.
When Brechin arrived at the meeting place the Lord of the Herd was addressing the stags from under the spreading branches of the Home Oak. Drail had twelve points to his antlers but from their size and thickness it was clear that they had already gone back.
His voice was fighting the wind as his great, shaggy form limped back and forth. The ranks of Draila around him were nodding enthusiastically. Brechin smiled as he recognized some of Drail’s own sons among his bodyguard. It was typical of Drail to grant special privileges to his own.
Drail was not an unattractive deer but his eyes had a wary, cruel look. To the left of Drail Brechin caught the glint of Sgorr’s single eye in the moonlight and the flash of his long front teeth. A deer with no antlers can sometimes grow fierce teeth which, when used skilfully, can prove nearly as dangerous. On Sgorr’s head were the stumps of bone where the antlers had failed yet again. His left eye, now just an empty socket, was closed up by a deep scar that ran straight across his left scent gland.
‘And these rumours and lies must cease,’ Drail was saying.
‘If any deer has a genuine complaint he can bring it to me or to Sgorr. The Draila will be happy to investigate...’
As Brechin drew nearer and trotted up the line towards the tree, some of the Corps members stamped appreciatively. Drail broke off at once to address the captain.
‘Brechin. So good of you to join us,’ he said sarcastic- ally. ‘We thought you had got lost. Bandach gave me your heartfelt apologies but still, perhaps you can tell the young Corps members why a captain of the Outriders chooses to come so late to a meeting of the council?’
‘Lord Drail,’ replied Brechin coolly, ‘perhaps you are mistaken. The Herla may only stand in council when all the captains of the Outriders are present. I see here only young bucks. But no captains. Where are Straloch and the others?’ At this one or two of the members of the Corps nodded their antlers in agreement, but others of the Draila stamped and moved forward.
‘But you are present, Captain Brechin,’ said a thin, hard voice. It was Sgorr. ’Don’t the Outriders see you as their lord? You can represent them.’
‘Sgorr. You know full well that the captains of the Outriders meet as equals. Equally they must be present if the council is to be called.’
‘That may be,’ said Sgorr, smiling, ‘but isn’t it strange that such a respected Outrider cannot come when the Lord of Herds asks? Is nothing sacred any more?’
Sgorr’s tone was sly and sneering.
‘Lord Drail,’ said Brechin. ’All the herd knows that one of my hinds, Eloin, is very close to her time. The pregnancy is proving difficult and I had to attend to her first. Perhaps even the captain of the Draila can understand that?’
‘I only understand,’ said Sgorr coldly, ‘that Captain Brechin shows little respect. Perhaps he forgets that the council comes before any other matter in the herd. Besides, isn’t it strange that he spends so much time with a hind?’
As though on cue the Draila nodded and snorted.
‘As I’ve said,’ continued Brechin calmly, ‘this is no council, so I cannot see—’
‘Silence, Brechin,’ cried Drail suddenly. ‘You forget yourself. Now I have something to say to you, all of you. Captain Brechin, you are an example of just how little respect is shown in the herd. It is time that stopped, time some changes were made. First and most importantly Anlach will be with us soon enough, so the members of the Corps should know that I, in consultation with Sgorr and the Draila, believe that it is dangerous and wasteful to the strength of the herd that there should be such regular challenges for the lordship. And as for the choosing of hinds. . .’
The wind had dropped now and Drail’s voice sang in the moonlight. If the members of the Corps had not been rooted to the spot by the sheer enormity of what they were hearing they might have noticed a group of thirty or so Draila moving silently through the heather behind them.
‘Therefore,’ bellowed Drail, ‘the members of the Draila have voted that I should continue to guide you for three more summers at least.’
Drail paused to listen for the effect of his words as the Draila began to close in around him. They had already heard the news. Brechin stood quite motionless. He didn’t know whether to laugh or shout. Indeed he could hardly understand what Drail was saying. Not even he had suspected that Drail would try this. To hold himself in place without even a challenge! It was unthinkable. It meant – Brechin tried to weigh up the idea – it meant abolishing Anlach. It was like abolishing the forest itself.
Across the home valley a hind, heavy with her fawn, winced in pain. Nearby an old doe came forward but Eloin stamped and told her to stand off. Eloin lifted her head and sucked at the air. Her muscles tightened and she started to shake. Around her the forest and the stars and the great moon began to swim before her eyes.
‘No. It is unthinkable. You cannot. It is against all the laws of Herne.’
Brechin was speaking now, in a clear, strong voice. The thunder of his words made even the assembled Draila stir uneasily.
‘It is already done, Brechin,’ said Sgorr, stepping forward and baring his teeth, ‘and many of the herds in the Low Lands have accepted Drail’s command.’
‘You’re a fool, Sgorr,’ shouted Brechin. ’The Corps will never allow it. And you,’ he continued, turning suddenly to address the younger stags, ‘listen to me. Drail has gone mad.’ But as he said it Brechin started. From the darkness antlers were emerging on all sides. Lines of Draila were flanking them everywhere. Their heads were lowered and their antlers prone. The trap had been sprung; they were completely surrounded. For a moment irresolution wavered up and down the Corps.
‘You were saying, Captain Brechin?’ sneered Sgorr.
‘No,’ shouted Brechin. ’If the Corps accepts this, the Outriders never will.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Sgorr coolly, and as he did so five Draila stepped towards Brechin. ‘The Outriders. I believe Lord Drail was coming on to that.’
Suddenly the assembled stags were transfixed by a great, bellowing bark that shook the air from across the valley and, as they looked on, they saw the silhouette of a deer on the far hillside. He was surrounded by four stags and their antlers were burying themselves deep into the deer’s sides, slashing and goring at his flanks. It was Captain Straloch. The cry was taken up from another hilltop and then another, until it seemed that the whole glen echoed with the cries of pain.
‘Oh, Herne. What is happening?’ shouted Eloin as she stood shaking by the rowan tree. ‘The pain. It’s terrible.’
The two old deer standing nearby were motionless but their bodies too were trembling. Yet their worry was no longer for Eloin and her calf. They had heard the cries of the Outriders on the hills and fear was moving through the herd like a wind.
‘Who fights with me?’ cried Brechin. ’Who fights for the Outriders?’
Brechin lowered his head and charged straight at Sgorr an
d the Home Oak. But his way was suddenly blocked by a forest of bone as a line of Draila lowered their antlers and closed ranks to block the path to the Lord of the Herd. He pulled up on his haunches and pawed the earth violently.
He had to think quickly. All around him stags were locking antlers. Brechin swung round as a young Corps member cried in pain. A Draila had charged him and gored him in the side with his brow tines. Other members of the Corps were standing down, intimidated by the surrounding stags. But a few were fighting, bucking with their antlers or rising up on their hind legs to box in the manner of hinds and of stags in velvet.
Suddenly Brechin noticed that to his right the way was momentarily open, leading up to a patch of higher ground. Brechin dashed for the opening, bucking and tossing as he ran. In an instant he was clear, rising up above the melee. He felt the wind on his face and his head began to clear. But, as he stopped on the hillock and wheeled round to survey the scene, he saw another stag racing towards him. Brechin dug in his hoofs and prepared to fight. The stag came nearer and nearer and suddenly Brechin heard a familiar voice. It was Bandach, the young stag who had brought him Drail’s message earlier in the day.
‘Bandach,’ cried Brechin delightedly. ‘At least some stags have sense and courage.’
He had noticed that Bandach’s face was torn open at the cheek.
‘But I doubt the others will fight,’ panted Bandach. ’There are too many of them and we’re still in velvet. Have you noticed? The stags whose antlers came out of velvet first are leading the attack. Sgorr must have picked them out specially. But many of the Corps members’ antlers are still too soft to be much use. We never even nosed them creeping up on us.’
‘Brave Bandach,’ said Brechin. ’You’ll make a fine Outrider.’
As he said it Brechin and Bandach looked at each other and there was the full horror of recognition in their eyes. But they did not have long to share it for in that instant they heard a bellow from below. A Draila had spied them on the hill and now ten or twelve stags were racing towards them.
‘Well, Captain. Do you think me a spy now?’ said Bandach, his eyes gleaming with pride. ‘Come then, let me show a captain of the Outriders how a young stag can fight, for they mean to kill you, Brechin.’