by C. R. May
It was clear that the plan was unravelling fast; it was time to retreat. Solemis took several paces back and called out above the din. ‘Horsetails! Back! Back to the rampart!’ It was the turn of the Romans to be hindered by the dead and dying underfoot as Solemis anxiously called out again to his clansmen to disengage. He watched as Druteos on the right acknowledged his call with a stern nod, moving forward to stab a Roman with his spear as he attempted to pass the command to a battle-crazed Albiomaros.
As his clansmen began to back towards him the Romans edged forward, the light of victory flashing in their eyes. It was barely fifty paces to the safety of their defences, and Solemis choked down the feeling of humiliation as he ordered the retreat. Moments away from being overrun, he knew that he had no choice if he were to save at least a few of the men of his clan and keep the way open for Brennus when he arrived, but he burned with shame as he growled the command. ‘Ready! Get back behind our defences when I say so.’ He watched as the Roman advance faltered as it crossed a line of bloodied bodies and cried out above the battle din. ‘Now!’
Solemis braced himself for one last attack as the men turned and ran, determined to fulfil a chieftain’s duty to his people and be the last to leave the fight as he grabbed the opportunity to cross to his champion’s side. Albiomaros had seen him coming and his gruff voice was as calm as ever.
‘You take those on the left, and I’ll take this side, genos. Let us see how many we can take with us.’ Without looking Solemis could sense the man grinning, as happy as ever, and he felt a wave of emotion threaten to overcome him as he realised that he expected them to die side by side in the streets of Rome.
He shook his head as he replied, and Albiomaros laughed as he heard his childhood name for the first time in years. ‘Our story cannot end here, Acco. We still have to meet Catumanda in the grey forest.’ As the Romans picked their way through the last of the corpses Albiomaros laughed again as he launched himself into a counter-attack, bellowing the name of his people in far-off Albion.
‘Trinobantes!’
Taken aback, the Romans retreated in disarray as Albiomaros cut a bloody path through the spearmen. Solemis glanced across towards the taberna, hoping to see the remainder of his clansmen either retreating towards the barricade or coming across to lend them support, but there were only Romans there now and his bile rose as he realised that they must have been wiped out. Determined to avenge the men who had trusted their lives to him and fought to the end Solemis screamed his own war cry and vaulted into the breach made by his friend. Several fresh bodies lay at his feet as he landed, the blood pulsing from them to add to the sticky mixture underfoot, and Solemis swept his war blade in great arcs as the Romans stabbed and probed in reply.
The first wash of light, the iron grey birth of the new day, picked out the temple of Jupiter high on the Capitoline as their sword blades hacked to left and right. Suddenly, petals of flame appeared among the upper levels of the buildings through which they had passed what seemed like hours before. Solemis knew that the Roman attack must have reached the barrier, and he smiled grimly at the realisation that their druid friend was wrong after all – maybe the grey forest had been in Anwnn, and they had been destined to meet again in the underworld. As the flames suddenly flared into life the crimson light flickered across the features of the men who crowded in on them, their faces contorted by hate as they rallied and fought back harder. Working together as they probed for any weakness in his defence, Solemis’ muscles screamed as exhaustion threatened to overcome him. He had been riding and fighting for a full day and night, and he knew now that the end was very close. A face flashed before him and he brought his elbow crashing up, feeling the man’s nose crumple under the blow as he forced his way back to Albiomaros’ side. The big man shot him a characteristic wink and Solemis felt a sense of peace wash over him as he moved to stand back-to-back with his blood genos, and they prepared to die together.
Despite the press of men all around them, Solemis noticed that the light had changed from grey to pink as it moved relentlessly down the Capitoline towards them, and he felt glad to have made it to the light of day. Spears darted in as they parried together, twisting this way and that as they dodged the deadly points. It was only a matter of time now, and soon one broke through their defence to pierce Solemis’ mail shirt. A last-gasp twist caused the blade to pass along his side and the point of Solemis’ sword flicked out to take the spearman in the throat. A heartbeat later his mind seemed to explode in a lightning-flecked storm of pain as a heavy object collided with the back of his helm with sickening force, and despite his efforts to remain conscious and on his feet, he felt himself slipping down into a dark abyss. The Stygian depths felt warm and welcoming, and he struggled against the desire to slide further in as he forced his eyes open for what must be the final time among mortal men.
A foot planted itself before his face, and although coherent thought was almost beyond him now he recognised the boot of Albiomaros as his friend stood protectively over the body of his chieftain. His genos was singing the battle song of the Trinobantes as he hewed at their foe, and Solemis felt a wave of love for the man, his greatest friend.
As he slipped away, his befuddled mind became aware that the carnyx were calling him to the place of his ancestors. Cotos lay dead on the battlefield to the north alongside his beloved war pig, and he realised that his clansman was guiding him to the great hall of their people as the darkness finally took him.
Seventeen
Alexandros raised his chin and whispered into Catumanda’s ear. ‘Is it just a narrow bank?’
The druid shrugged and leaned into him as she scanned the gloom for fire arrows. ‘I don’t know. It’s not my fog, I just asked Manannan for his help.’
A flicker of light, indistinct at first but quickly growing in intensity, arced through the mist to land with a hiss only feet away from the Ksiphias as the men not employed at the oars or helm scanned the sky for more. They were not long in coming, and the following one snickered out of the greyness to land with a thud on the deck. Catumanda quickly doused the flames and refilled her pail from the sea. Hauling on the horsehair rope she was ready and waiting as the next arrow passed overhead and disappeared back into the murk, the heat from its comet-like tail searing a distinct trail through the moisture laden air.
The sea-fret had risen from the surface like the silvered pelt of an old wolf, its flanks moving like bellows as it panted from the chase. Seizing their chance the Greeks had gritted their teeth and rowed through the burning protests made by shoulder and arm muscles, and before the attackers could close they had been swallowed by the haze. The druid heard Alexandros mutter under his breath as if in thought. ‘I could steer a complete circle and resume our original course.’
Sound carried a long way in such stillness and all speech had been banned. Even the long oars had been hauled in as soon as they were concealed, the sailors removing their chiton work shirts and wrapping them around the blades to deaden the sounds of rowing. Catumanda knew that the kubernetes was really asking for her advice now that they had all discovered a new-found respect for their outlandish passenger, and leaned in again. ‘What if they are still holding their position at the edge of the fog, loosing arrows into it to see if they strike us. We would steer straight back into them.’
Alexandros chewed at his lip and blinked away the condensation from his lashes. The day was warm for the time of year and the muggy air was thick and clinging. All of them wore a mantle of fine droplets as they watched anxiously for any signs that the pirates were following them. Another arrow arrived from the haze to fall with a plop alongside the hull of the Ksiphias, where it was extinguished in a hiss of steam. Alexandros looked perplexed. ‘They are falling too close. Soon one will land in a difficult to reach place, and they will mark our position before we can extinguish it. They must be able to guess where we are, but how?’
He cast about the ship but the crew were quiet, and the oars made barely a sound
as they stroked the glassy surface of the sea. All of a sudden an idea came, and he handed the steering oar to her as he lowered himself to the main deck and padded towards the mast. Philippos was there, and Catumanda watched as he bent to whisper to the boy. Despite the sad fate of the Alexa and her crew the boy had impressed the hardy sailors with his seamanship in the time he had been on board. His wiry frame and youthful vigour had been put to good use aloft, and he listened intently as Alexandros gave him instructions.
He nodded that he understood, and a heartbeat later he had scurried up the mast and been swallowed by the fog. It seemed only moments before he reappeared, dropping back to the deck without a sound. Alexandros stooped to listen to the boy’s report and gave a stern nod that he understood. Tearing his chiton over his head he signalled to one of the rowers who scrambled across and dipped into a chest that nestled at the base of the mast.
Catumanda caught Philippos’ eye and beckoned him across as the Greek sailors began to work furiously. ‘What did you see?’
The boy cocked his head and whispered. ‘Everything! This fog only covers the bottom half of our mast, the rest is in clear air. From the top you can see the other boat standing off and firing arrows at us. If they move into the fog they will lose sight of us, so they try to set us alight first. They have no mast, so they cannot send a man aloft.’
A soft thud came from amidships, and she looked back to see that Alexandros had folded his work shirt and placed it against the bracket that held the mast. The other member of the crew was taking careful aim, ready to strike the shirt again. Philippos saw her narrow her eyes and explained. ‘There is a wooden pin that passes through the mast-step and secures the mast in place. Once it is removed the mast can be lowered and we can make our escape.’ They both started as a meaty clunk echoed through the ship, and Catumanda looked back to see that the pair must have decided that the need for speed was now more important than silence. The mallet struck again and the peg popped out as Alexandros worked it free with a twisting motion. As the mast came down willing hands grabbed at it and laid it carefully onto the cross trees, the sopping wet sail hanging, curtain-like, between them.
The fire arrows arrived in a flurry as the pirates saw the mast sink from sight and realised that their ruse had been discovered, and Alexandros hurried back to the take the pedalia from the relieved druid. Pulling it to his chest he called out, all need for silence now gone. ‘Put your backs into it, boys. Let’s put some distance between us!’
The arrows were pattering all around the Ksiphias now as the ship pulled away. Another thunked into the hull near the waterline and Catumanda was about to douse it when a gentle wave careened along the strake to smother it. The ship was moving quickly now, and Catumanda watched as the kubernetes worked the blade to zigzag south. The fall of arrows was growing ragged as the pirates groped blindly for their prey, and soon they stopped completely.
Alexandros raised his chin and sniffed the air like a dog tracking a scent, and a smile spread across his features as a steady breeze returned. He called down the deck. ‘Get the mast back up and sheet the sail home.’ He threw Catumanda a grin. ‘Let’s ride this wind away from here!’
* * *
At first sight she thought it was a cloud and her mind went back to the brooding peaks of Ordovicia, each capped by its bonnet of greyness, as she and Ruffos the carter had followed the course of the River Sabrinna to lower, gentler lands. Philippos was riding the masthead as he craned forward, eager to catch the first glimpse of his home city, and Alexandros tossed in an observation as he followed her gaze. ‘The mountain that overlooks the bay is called Vesbios in my language, druid.’ He chuckled as he worked the pedalia and guided the ship eastwards. ‘It means “hurler of violence”. Hopefully, you will not discover how violent the god can be!’
Catumanda felt a kick of excitement as she realised that the darkening cloud above the mountain was coming from within, and her face turned back just as the crew heaved on the braces to bring the great woollen sail around, hiding it from view. The druid raced along the deck, halting at the prow as the great bay containing the Greek city of Neapolis opened up before them. The Ksiphias cleared the lee of a large island and tears of emotion welled as the mountain that she now knew to be called Vesbios came clearly into view. The slopes and fire-capped dome had haunted her sleep for as long as she could remember, and the druid drank in its lines as the slap of the waves on the bows sounded in her ears.
Philippos appeared at her side, and he pointed out Neapolis at the head of the bay as the bows of the ship began to turn; within the hour they were docking alongside a busy jetty. It would be the first time that she had stepped ashore in one of the great cities of the south and Catumanda marvelled at the bustle and sense of chaos which reigned there. She retraced her steps to the steering platform and came to Alexandros as he supervised the docking of his ship. He sensed her presence and looked up with a gleam in his eye. ‘There is no payment due, and no need for thanks, druid,’ he said. ‘Were it not for you and your god, we would all be slaves or lying on the bottom.’ Twisting his mouth into a rictus he drew his thumb across his throat as he made a tearing sound. He smiled. ‘To live to see our families again is all the payment that we require.’
Alexandros looked back to the dockside, waving and grinning as the mooring ropes were secured. A boarding ladder was thrown across and Catumanda laughed as a mob of small boys and girls, the hair on their heads uniformly dark and curly, raced across to hurl themselves into the arms of their fathers. The women, more constrained by their ankle length clothing, followed them across, and soon the reunion was in full flow.
Alexandros saw Catumanda’s surprise and explained. ‘Each ship is reported by watchers on the shore as it rounds the headland and word is passed to the families of the crew.’ He started to move towards his family members but paused and looked back with a smile. ‘May your gods bring you health and happiness, Catumanda.’
Catumanda collected her crane-skin bag and staff and stole from the ship as discretely as possible, Philippos scrambling along in her wake. Standing on the quayside Catumanda was struck by the multiplicity of the people who worked the area. Clearly ships from all around the southern sea regularly called at the city, and Philippos explained their origins as they walked. The cosmopolitan nature of the waterfront was also helping her to blend in, and she was thankful for it after the rigours of her journey. Not only did she appear to be the only one there dressed in trews but her shaven scalp, braided red hair and oak staff marked her out as unmistakably barbarian.
As Catumanda snaked her way through the multitude she suddenly realised that Philippos had left her side. Casting around, anxious not to lose her only guide among the heaving mass of humanity, she was relieved to hear a familiar whistle carry from a side passageway, and she shook her head, smiling as she caught sight of the boy’s amused face peering around the corner. Forcing her way through the crush Catumanda found herself standing in a stone laid passageway that led away from the dockside in a gentle incline. Too narrow for carts, the alley was bordered by twin gullies that served to channel rainwater and any waste water down from the small homes that marched their way up the hill. Philippos caught her sleeve and guided her across. ‘Keep to the centre as much as you can,’ he said with a look of distaste. ‘Far more than rainwater finds its way to the harbour along those channels.’
Lines had been stretched across the passageway and clothes were drying in the warmth of the afternoon sun as Philippos ducked and weaved along. He obviously knew his way around, and Catumanda called after him as she struggled to keep pace. ‘Is it far to your home?’
The boy stopped and waited for her, a smile playing upon his lips. ‘We are not going to my home. You said that you needed to go to Hektor’s.’
Catumanda drew up before him, leaning into her staff as the climb and the heat of the day sapped her strength. ‘But Hektor’s family live on Sikelia,’ she said.
Philippos laughed. ‘Did he tell you t
hat?’
Catumanda realised that, no, he never had. The boy laughed again at her puzzled expression. ‘I tried to tell you outside Emporion, but you would not listen, so I waited until we got here.’
‘But Hesperos told me that the Alexa sailed from Syracuse. I just assumed…’
Her speech trailed away as Philippos suddenly placed a finger to his lips. He came across and lowered his voice as a woman came from a doorway to rest in the sun. The house was small and, Catumanda could see through the opening, sparsely furnished. Her clothes were old and worn but both home and clothing were clean and tidy, as was the boy who toddled at her feet. The druid shared a look with Philippos and he gave a small nod of confirmation before wandering away. Now the time had finally arrived Catumanda felt like she wanted to walk on by. The woman’s life looked hard enough without hearing the news that she would bring, but Catumanda steeled herself as she remembered the last look she had shared with Hektor as he had been swallowed by the depths, and the promise that she had made to the seaman. Gathering herself, she walked across, the woman gaping in astonishment as she was suddenly confronted by a hulking barbarian on her doorstep. The druid pulled a sympathetic smile, settling down alongside the woman so that her great size seemed less overwhelming. ‘Hello, Aikaterine,’ she said. ‘My name is Catumanda.’ She reached forward, tousling the dark locks of the boy as he sailed his wooden ship through a dusty sea. ‘And this young man must be Thestor.’
