The Wolves of Tarhalle

Artunae never forgot the sight of the hill-fort. Standing meters above the surrounding forests, the hill was a rippling wave that started at the wooden wall, and ended at the massive final ditch. The roadway that led into Tarhalle was curving, snaking through the waves of earth to the gateway. Filled with men and beasts, the line stretched into the surrounding, limitless woodlands. His black eyes took in the sight, the eyes that had seen the massacres of tribes and villages.

Artunae was like many of the Tarhallii, tall, black eyed, with blond or red hair, a full beard, and fond of wolf or fox pelts. Today he wore a cloak of wolf fur, with a bronze helmet, crowned by several white and gray sea-gull feathers. Wearing only bracae of blue-green colors, he was proud to show blue woad streaks of kills. Fifteen on each side, then smaller dashes for lesser men killed.

Artunae leaned against his war-spear, watching the lines of men slowly lurch forward, then stop, then lurch, like a drunken worm. Seven years of warfare had brought Artunae to his homeland. Tarhalle had never given up the idea of control of the Aedui, the Parisii, the entire Gallic land. Artunae had done campaigning, leading spearmen, archers, chariots, across the fields of the Seine, the ridges of the Mastiffs, the islands of the west. Tarhalle had thus become powerful, stretching from the ending land in the north, to the Seine and the island hill of the Parisii, and then to the south, to the border mountains, separating the Tarhallii from the Iberian tribes.

Now, years of conflict had ended, as the the great war-chief Gargallo had conquered the Parisii in the north. Artunae had led a horn of the great bull, circling the hill-fort from the south, across the Seine in wooden boats, fighting the Belgae, the Nervii mercenaries, and Germanic men hired by tin and bronze to fight for the Parisii. They fought, and they died. Artunae waited for his land assignment, hoping for a small hill-fort in the south, where grapes grew for wine, wheat fed the many, and bulls were slaughtered every midsummer's night. He could raise a family, a herd of horses, and his grandsons.


The hall was brilliantly lit, for the roof windows were open, revealing the ruling family of the Tarhallii. Gargallo, in a fox pelt cloak, red bracae, knee length oxhide boots, and a large bronze helm with a swooping eagle, the tailfeathers replaced by white streamers. His face was scared by blue-woad, his blue eyes almost becoming the paint of the face. At seven feet, he was tall by Gaulish standards, even more so against the Greek traders who landed in Marsaille.
Sitting on a animal pelt mound, he awaited the next war-chief. Several were there, awaiting their land alotments, all hoping for the hill-fort of the Cargalii in the southern lands of Tarhalle. Gargallo smiled slightly, knowing what each did, and their rewards. Sitting beside him was his eldest son, Ergar. Born seventeen years ago, he was his father's charioteer, and the next to rule the Tarhallii.

At last, the six foot Artunae, with his blond hair, and red-handed streak. Artunae was sometimes over-zealous, often going to the great island to the north, raiding Maden, and the other tribes. His sea-faring skills were never in question.

Shifting in the seat, Gargallo nodded to his Druid scribe, who began reciting, from memory, the land alotments to the war chiefs.
"To Dudenae, lord of the Sistinae, I give you the island of Houdarae, built by the gods, open at low tide. To Faratane, lord of the Rutarsi, the land of the Sarducae, in the west, on the end-lands. To Girlagae, lord of the Unstere, the land of the Joscii, at the Loire headwaters. To Scargolii, lord of Helstaar, the lands of the Havares, on the northern coasts." As the Druid stopped to remember the final two land alotments, he saw the two chiefs. Artunae, over-zealous and brutal, daring and swift. His son, Ergar, charioteer, lord of the Undarinii, northern horn leader against the Parisii.

Interesting start, but I am a little confused. The story starts with Artunae apparently watching a battle, and then suddenly the scene is the reward giving in the hall.

Was the opening battle a flashback or memory as Artunae waited his turn? Maybe the press of men wasn't a battle?

However, I'm interested to see if the hint of a coming conflict between the ambitious Artunae and the chief's son Ergar, emerges into jealousy or worse.

The opening scene is Artunae standing in line, waiting to gain entrance to the hill-fort of Tarhalle.


Finally the Druid spoke. Artunae, Lord of the Dudarinii, watched with bated breath.
"The King of Tarhalle, has asked that the land of the Parisii be given to his son, Ergar, so he may learn to control a tribe, and defend the homeland. The southern lands of Borgarii, are given to Lord Artunae."

Gargallo heard the thunder of his son's feet, the boy aroused to action.
"What, the land of the Parisii, stinking in the river, decimated by war? A land unkempt, able to grow wheat and barley, fish, and nothing else? Nothing else!"
Gargallo grabbed his son's cloak of wolf.
"Son, we shall talk about your land. A chief copes with adversity, and does not lose his temper." Gargallo kept his voice level, eyeing his son.
Roaring his defiance, Ergar grabbed his knife. Alarmed, the guards moved to stop him.
Suddenly sliting up his forearm, blood began to drip out of the shallow cut.
"Blood of your own, you kin, your son, heir to the throne. Given a slut for a wife, a fallow land, and little else! Where is my antler, father, to scratch a living from the land!"

Scargolii, the eldest of the war-chiefs, stepped in.
"Father, son, give up this quarrel. If you seek a better land, Ergar, seek it eastward, to the Belgae. Your wars will be bloody, and captives many. You will win greater fame against them, than sit amongst the piles of gold and silver that Artunae will accumulate. Is gold more valuable than fame? Son of Gargallo? Answer your elder!"

Ergar spit on the ground, then spoke loud, "To win fame is fine, but fame does not feed my sons, fame does not make a land new, fertile. Fame gives only appreciation, not gold, not tin, not silver, nor slaves."
Turning around, the son of Gargallo stripped a cotton cloth into a band, and began to wrap his arm.

Artunae watched the exchange, feeling guilty for the falling out. He had sought the land from the other chieftans, not from the prince of Tarhalle. Turning swiftly, Artunae strode out the door. The other lords followed, calling their horses, riding to their new lands. Artunae stood by the door, looking around the city. Standing nearby was Gargallo.

"Fear not my son, Artunae, for he will learn to accept my judgement."

Ten years later.....

Ergar watched as his war-bands swarmed onto the ramparts, bare breasted and fierce. Gargallo had given him land, and Ergar had taken to the Belgae with a fury. Nervii, Arbonae, Fugarii, they were all enslaved, taken to Tarhalle, or to the many other hill-forts in his land. The Parisii hill-fort was the largest hill-fort, aside from Tarhalle and that fat man, Artunae's hill-fort in Borgarii lands. That day, ten years ago, Ergar had watched as Gargallo had given away his chance for an easy life.
Now, as King of Tarhalle, and High King of the Tarhallii lands, he could exact revenge on Artunae, and his kin.
Turning his attention to the hill-fort, the last fort of the Udobarii. The first men had gone across, and the rest swarmed over. More slaves for the market, for the land, for his small harem, and for his army. Slaves, rather than down-trodden, were given a chance.
Swear to Teutone, god of war, and take an oath to Ergar. Trained with sword and spear, with horse and shield, the warriors were "Oath-Soldiers" of Grasold. They were given wolf pelts, bronze swords, two hunting spears, a horse, a round shield, and a fief of land for duties to the High King. Children were taken from hill-forts and made into Grasold.
Ergar rode through the town, watching as the cone-houses were ransacked, pelts containing gold and bronze were hauled away, men chained, women raped, and the town pillaged.


Artunae rode through the slave market in Tarhalle, picking out the youngest boys. Most were between seven and eight, the youngest already taken by Ergar, Girlagae, his high war chief, and the war chiefs that followed Ergar. Already Artunae had a fair sized corp of Grasold, nearly 5,000 of them, Ergar having 7,000. However, Artunae had another 4,000 in the city of Dunaradee, in the Northern Island. He had negotiated with the tribes along Cornwallae, and had taken a town for his own, built a fort, and garrisoned his men there. The tin trade had given him a healthy treasury, and the plentiful wheat farms had only supplemented that.
Artunae had prospered in the ten years. His wives had given him ten strapping sons, and numerous daughters. The king Faratane had married one of his eldest daughters, secure their friendship. Now Artunae sought to mend his fence with Ergar, paying homage at the yearly High King's Feast.

As darkness descend, Ergar watched as the kings took their seats. A large table was set, with hundreds of platters of food. Goose, deer, cattle, horse, fish, apples, Greek olives, snails, and much more. The High King's Feast also featured homage, paid in bronze spearheads, inscribed with the name of the king. Ergar then began the feasting. Hours of feasting, beer, Greek wine, Etruscan wine, Iberian beer, Northern Island beer, and more. Finally, the homage.
First was Faratane, then Scribala, son of Scargolii. Dudenae, Girlagae, Hudernara, lord of the Nervii lands. Last was Artunae. As he approached, the hall fell silent, as the man approached, bearing a gift of a gold torc as well as the spearhead.
"O lord, High King Ergar, lord of eastern sea shores, southern Island, Parisii, Belgae, lands that stretch to the Rhine! I pay thee homage, and bring a gift, a portion of my wealthy, golden torc."
"Artunae, I am honored by such a gift. However, I fear that your payment for your fealty is paltry. I ask for a simple gift, one that you would find small. I gift you with a choice. Give me Borgarii, and your Grasold, sacrifice your sons to Teutone, and your treasury."

Artunae was startled by the request, then angered.
'What of my service to your hall? I have given my taxes, and sometimes more. I have built hundreds of houses in Tarhalle, and sacrifice bulls to your health!"
"I want your land, or you shall pay, Artunae!"