The Cur

I remember the last day with my parents as if it were yesterday. My father woke me well before dawn to go hunting. He put his hand gently on my shoulder and said, “Korre, wake up. Do not go back to sleep.” I can still feel your loving, soft touch on my shoulder and how your hand lingered there. I rolled out from under my rough blankets in our family hut, making sure not to awaken my sister. I felt proud that we were Cornovii, a tribe in the middle of Britannia, which had thus far eluded Roman slave hunters whose aim was to capture and sell us. Though we had remained free, we were now in more danger, than ever before, as our neighboring tribe to the south, the Katuvellauni, had allied themselves with the Romans and begun capturing us and delivering us into the Roman slave market as well. As a result of this betrayal, we no longer felt free to share hunting grounds with the Katuvellauni. My father had built up the fire in front of our hut and had cooked some deer meat. We also ate hardened bread and a nondescript mush from a carved-out wooden bowl. I sat on a log next to the fire, and my mother came to sit next to me to heat some broth. Both my parents were uncharacteristically eager to feed me. I think Mother knows she may not see me again. We sat in silence on the log in the dark, and Mother gently rubbed my shoulders. The current of love flowing between us needed no words. At one point, my mother gently stroked my cheek in a most loving way. My mother almost always wore deerskins. Her hair was long and braided, her skin brown from the sun. She was lean and had big, capable hands. I watched my father ahead of me on the path — his strong, stooped shoulders and the way he tipped his head slightly to one side when he walked. I watched his swaying gait and how his deerskin clothes hung loosely on his frame. Is this the last hunt for me? Will I ever walk behind my father this way again? The Cornovii hunting party came to a clearing just as dawn was appearing in the sky. Seeing fresh deer tracks, the hunting leader motioned for two men to circle around to flush the deer How I love you, Mother. I was just grown up enough to go on the hunt with the men, but Mother was nervous because the deer had become scarce in our own territory, and we were being forced to venture closer to the forests of the Katuvellauni. It was still dark when my father and I left the camp of crude huts. Mother, I remember how you watched me leave, holding onto me with your eyes. We met the rest of our hunting party in a clearing to the south. When we approached, we saw that some of our party were nervously fingering their spears and knives, bows and arrows, and leather bags for water. Others were sharpening their weapons on smooth stones, and still others were eating. Dawn was about an hour away. No one spoke much. We all knew the danger involved in this hunt. The party started out along one of the well-worn paths through the woods. I walked directly behind my father, happy to be on my second hunting expedition, happy to have been trained by my father who had been trained by his father in how to use the large spear and the bow and arrow. Like my father, I had spent hours practicing throwing the spear, shooting arrows, and honing combat skills with the spear. I had learned well and had a tough and hardened body. And, Mother, I inherited your large, capable hands. toward the rest of us. Running soundlessly, the two men came up behind the deer making an arc pattern. The rest of the men hid in the bushes and behind trees and waited so long that I dozed off as I sat on my haunches behind a tree. My father stayed alert next to me. Suddenly there was a shout! Several deer came bounding out of the woods into the clearing, followed by our two yelling Cornovii hunters. One deer was coming right at my father and me but swerved just before he reached the tree. My father threw his spear and I shot an arrow. Both spear and arrow wounded the deer, but it only stumbled and kept on going. Father and I sprinted after the wounded deer, which could still run remarkably well. We ran hard for a long time, branches cutting at our faces. Just as we were reaching the end of our endurance, the deer faltered and fell, and we came upon it for the kill. My father thrust his spear into the deer’s neck two or three times. The deer struggled . . . convulsed . . . and died. It was only in the silence following our extreme exertion that we realized we were dangerously far from the rest of the hunting party. We are in the Katuvellauni forest! And there were only the two of us! The deer was too large for us to drag or carry, so my father took out his skinning knife and began cutting the deer into sections, which we would sling over our shoulders. This took time. Too long, Father! Hurry! When the carving was finally done, the sun was up in the sky. We stood with difficulty, our knees stiff from crouching. Then we saw two Katuvellauni, their faces painted dark green for hunting and warfare, approaching across the field toward us. There were two other Katuvellauni on another side of the field and two more behind Father and me. My father and I grabbed our weapons, but we had no chance to escape. The last thing I remembered was a large, hard object hitting my head.