by Angus Watson
“Just the essentials, thank you. The wind has changed and there is no time for storytelling. The northernmost ship on the beach is yours. Take it to wherever your legion is waiting. Your part of the plan is the opposite geographically to last year, but the same in essence. You will follow the fleet, see where it lands, then make landfall twenty miles to the north. The ship’s crew are expendable so expend them as you need. You may also take as many captives as you require–talk to Labienus about that. Once landed, make a good camp and remain there until you receive orders from Caesar. Kill anyone who sees you and stay out of sight of the Roman army. You will not fail this time.”
“I will not.”
“You will communicate in Britain by sending your head Celerman, only at night. Have you replaced the one killed by the British dogs?
“Yes. Kelter was killed, Bistan is the new leader.”
“Right. While you are camped, kill anyone who sees you. You should avoid killing Romans, but if a patrol discovers you, their deaths will be blamed on the British. Understand?”
“I do.”
“Good.”
Felix turned to go, then stopped. “There was one more thing…”
“If it’s about the British girl, the position has not changed. She will be vassal queen. You will keep clear of her.”
Felix nodded and left.
He strode away through the sea of tents, wondering which one was Spring’s. He could have found out and circumnavigated her guards by transporting into her tent, possibly, but it was not that precise a magic, and the girl would be certain to knife him before he knew where he was. She was not incapable; the gossip about her castration of Quintus had zipped through the camp like a winter pox. He bit his lower lip and told himself that he’d have her soon enough.
Unless, of course, she used her magic to escape. He didn’t know why she hadn’t done that immediately. Perhaps she didn’t know how to? Perhaps, like him, she could use her magic only for certain tasks, and these tasks changed? Or perhaps she had some design of her own which meant she needed to stay with the Romans? The latter seemed the most likely. So what was she up to?
Jagganoch punched the slave on the back of the head. “Polish harder! In smaller circles, you fly-blown jackal’s vomit.” The buck-toothed fool nodded rapidly and returned to his frantic rubbing of the bladed iron tusk cap. By Sobek, how Jagganoch hated the pathetic man. He despised all slaves. No matter how badly he treated them, as long as he fed and housed them they seemed content. Even worse, if he did show them the tiniest kindness–by speaking to them, for example, even if it was to insult them–they would fawn contemptibly. They were so much less than him and he hated them for accepting it. Had he been born a slave rather than prince, he would have killed his master and become a prince. These worms? They would rather lick his boot after he’d kicked them than rebel.
Bandonda trumpeted from the neighbouring ship. He knew all the elephants’ calls, but he knew his own Bandonda’s best of all. The animal was frustrated to be cooped up again like a common farm animal. Jagganoch felt the same, stuck on the beach surrounded by midget Romans. Soon, though, they would be in Britain and they would be let loose on the milk-white savages, to gore and trample.
“You’ll be wanting to have a look at the aurochs’ armour, I’m sure,” said Manfreena in her strong Eroo accent, Ula still clutching her scraggy arm.
Atlas nodded and the three of them walked back through the village, past smiling Aurochs tribespeople. He couldn’t remember feeling more uneasy. The village was clean and in good repair and the people were cheerful. Yet in the middle of it all was this Eroo witch. Perhaps she’d survived the wave, perhaps she’d taken part of her husband’s name to commemorate him, perhaps she was genuinely loveable. But it all seemed so unlikely.
Elann did not look up as they approached, but carried on beating her hammer on iron.
“Atlas, hold on a minute,” said Reena, “and bend down and touch your toes for me.”
“What?” He remained standing.
“I thought so. Ula, hold him.”
The queen of Kanawan was quicker than Chamanca. Before he realised that she’d moved, Ula was behind him, with one of his wrists in each hand, her fingers gripping so tight that it felt like they’d broken the skin.
“You’ve got magic in you,” smiled Reena, “not your own. There’s an evil in you that’s been killed by magic. It means I can’t control you like all these good people. Shame, I was hoping that you’d lead the aurochs’ charge into Lowa’s camp and chop her to bits with that big axe of yours, but it’s not a real problem. I’d take the magic out of you to control you, but you’d die straight away if I did that.” She grinned. “Hang on, that’s no bad idea. I’ll take the magic out of you. Kneel.”
Atlas strained to pull free, but Ula lifted and twisted his wrists and forced him down on his knees. The strength that Manfreena was giving her was amazing. The druid put her hands on his head, then stood back and jigged with her arms by her side, kicking her knees high, as she’d done on the beach two summers before.
Something rose from deep inside Atlas and he thought he was going to be sick, but instead it felt like an invisible vapour pouring from mouth, nose, eyes and ears.
“Throw the body deep in the woods,” he heard Manfreena say. Ula’s grip released and he slumped.
“I will take it.” It was Elann Nancarrow’s voice. “Bones burn hot.”
Part Four
Britain
54 BC
Chapter 1
“It‘s an impressive bit of getting-togetherness, I would reckon, to gather this many ships and have them all sail at the same time. A clever thing to achieve,” said Spring, looking behind them and nodding.
Ragnall was suspicious. Ever since Spring had maimed Quintus Tullius Cicero she’d behaved impeccably, even praising the Romans and asking him to translate her words for anyone nearby.
He peered at her, searching for signs of sarcasm. As was now usual, he didn’t see any. She was looking towards Britain, smiling peacefully, hair blowing in the wind. There had been no repercussions from her attack on Quintus so far, and Ferrandus and Tertius had both sworn she’d acted in self-defence. But their testimony would mean nothing when Quintus was back on his feet. He was a powerful man and apparently he was recovering quickly. Ragnall reckoned Spring’s new “well, I do think the Romans are quite impressive” stance was intended to pull as many people as possible onto her side before Quintus resurfaced and sought revenge. It was a sensible policy but unlikely to work.
“Will the elephants disembark at the same place as us, do you think?” Spring nodded to the four large ships a mile to the south, silhouetted in the moonlight.
“I shouldn’t think so. It was only a merchant that the elephant killed, but it still wasn’t popular. I suspect Caesar will keep them well clear in case they squash someone who matters.” Ragnall said this to get a rise out of Spring. On the journey up from Gaul she’d flown at him when he’d suggested that some people’s lives were less valuable than others. Now she just nodded.
“And Felix?”
Far to the north, well beyond the furthest boat in the massed fleet, was a solitary winking light.
“How do you know it’s him?”
“Just a guess.”
“I don’t know anything about what he’s doing or where he’s going.”
“I see,” said Spring.
It was maddening, standing on a warship that was part of a fleet stuffed to the gunwales with men, beasts and monsters all bent on attacking her island and her people, and being unable to hamper them. She could probably have knifed a couple of praetorians. Ferrandus and Tertius had become much less vigilant now that they were sort-of partners in crime, and Ragnall seemed to be buying her “I like the Romans now” spiel. However, it would be a massive waste of all she’d put up with to kill just a couple of Romans before getting killed herself. Besides, she liked these praetorians. No, she had either to do for several thousand of the
m, assassinate Caesar, or take some piece of information to Lowa that was so valuable it would let the British win the war. So far she’d come up with precisely zero ideas of how to do any of these things. There was nothing to do but bide her time and keep an eye out, while wary that Quintus or his cronies might strike at any moment. She deeply regretted castrating him. She should have killed him.
“I’d like to go to sleep now,” she said to Ragnall. He told her guards in Latin and Tertius went off to fetch her a blanket. He came back with two.
“It’s one blanket each,” said Ferrandus.
“I’m giving her mine,” Tertius replied.
“You’re a dick,” smiled Ferrandus.
“You’re a twat.” Tertius handed over both blankets. Spring nodded thanks, made gestures to show that it was a warm night and she never felt the cold anyway so she only wanted one, and handed one back. Tertius tried to make her keep it, but she insisted and eventually he took it, looking a little glad.
She was woken at dawn the next morning by centurions’ shouts ordering men to the oars. The wind had dropped and they’d drifted off course. All over the fleet oars were slipped out. At almost the same time every boat began to row, on one side only at first. The armada turned ninety degrees and headed for the shore like a multitude of spindly legged larvae crawling on their bellies across the salty sea, ready to savage and gobble up anything in their way.
Near the coast the transports hung back while the twenty-eight warships lined up parallel to the empty beach with a ship-length’s gap between each, two anchors out at either end to hold them in place. It was low tide, and there was a good hundred paces of white-yellow sand between the sea and the low trees and scrub that fringed the beach. Archers crammed up onto the warships’ platforms and scorpions lined their shoreward side, missiles primed and crews ready. To trim the boat, the rowers had all been ushered to the seaward side where they sat mostly looking bored, some bickering about who was taking up whose space.
“What’s going on?” asked Tertius, waking with a yawn.
“I guess we’re waiting to see if the Britons will send their army onto the beach to get cut to ribbons by the warships,” said Ferrandus. “Do you reckon they will, Ragnall?”
“I shouldn’t think so.”
“Clever lot, are they?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but they did send Caesar packing last time.”
“Well, there you go,” said Tertius. Spring was pleased and a little surprised at the note of pride in Ragnall’s voice. Perhaps he hadn’t gone totally toga-wearing? “And what’s that warship that’s hanging back? Hang on, that’s the flagship.”
“Yes,” said Ragnall. “I was on the flagship last time. I would be again if it wasn’t for the girl with us. They’ve got one archer in Britain who can fire a bow like you wouldn’t believe. Of course it is a special bow, but she can—”
“She?”
“She. Queen Lowa, in fact. She’s been training with it for ever. Last year she just missed Caesar from about four hundred paces away, and only because he bent down. I guess they’re worried that she’ll do that again so they’re hanging back.”
“Ah, the famous British Queen Lowa. Do you know her then?” Tertius asked.
“Know her? I… well, a gentleman doesn’t like to say.”
“You fucked Queen Lowa? Yeah? Well, I’ve done Cleopatra. Twice. Up the arse,” said Ferrandus.
“I never said I did.” Ragnall smiled like Quintus had in the tent. Lowa had taught Spring a move where you thrust stiffened fingers into someone’s throat, killing them. Spring imagined herself doing it right then to Ragnall, but instead she smiled, showing some interest because she’d heard him say “Lowa”, but otherwise displaying her blank-faced incomprehension.
“Hang on,” said Ragnall, “speak of the demon…”
A blonde woman in a white shirt and leather shorts exactly like Spring was wearing trotted out onto the beach on a prancing, head-shaking horse. It was Lowa! Spring resisted the urge to shout with joy.
Facing the southernmost warship, the queen raised two fists then lengthened the longest two fingers of each hand. She rotated northwards, flicking her fingers at each boat so that they could be sure the message was meant for all of them. At one point Spring was sure that Lowa looked straight at her. She waved subtly.
“That two-fingered gesture means ‘Fuck off,’” Ragnall informed the Romans.
“We guessed,” said Tertius.
“She’s a beauty,” said Ferrandus.
“You can’t tell that from here, you dog. She could be a bloke in a wig from this distance.” Tertius shook his head.
“That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it? An island entirely populated by well-hung blokes in wigs.”
“As long as they kill you as soon as you step ashore, I don’t care who lives there.”
“No hermaphrodite barbarian is going to kill me!” Ferrandus gave his chest a single beat. “I’ll chop their cocks off if they so much as look at me. Why aren’t we shooting her, anyway?”
“She’s outside our range,” said Ragnall.
“Of the archers maybe,” said Tertius. “A scorpion would reach her, but they’ll be holding back until a lot more of them are on the beach, and then they’ll mince them.”
“It’s actually possible you’re right for once,” said Ferrandus as Lowa slipped off her horse, slotted an arrow, lifted her longbow and drew. She pointed it at their boat. Spring and Ragnall ducked.
“What are you doing?” laughed Tertius. “She’ll never reach—”
There was a scream, then a splash.
“She’s only hit the fucking helmsman!” squeaked Ferrandus.
There were a succession of thrums as scorpions shot their missiles although nobody had given the order. Spring peeked over the edge. Lowa was back on her horse, trotting northwards along the beach, still raising and lowering an arm to deliver her two-fingered message to the Romans ships. One scorpion bolt missed her by a few paces, but the rest were miles off.
It looked like other ships assumed the general order to shoot their bolts had been given and more and more were loosed, until a whole flock of hefty wood and iron missiles were zooming in elegant arcs towards the little rider on the beach.
Lowa did not seem to notice. She trotted along, happily signalling at the Romans. And one point she tweaked the reins and the horse stopped. An instant later a scorpion bolt passed so close it must have shaved the hairs off the animal’s nose. It ploughed into the sand and threw up a huge fan. Lowa trotted on as if nothing had happened. The scorpion salvo ended and there was a pause for reloading. Lowa raised her longbow again. Spring didn’t duck this time. It was too much fun watching thousands of Romans all dive for cover.
Lowa lowered the bow, flicked her fingers one last time, then galloped from the beach.
“Wow,” said Dug, sitting on the side of the boat. He nodded down to the corpse of the helmsman that was floating by, face up, a long poplar arrow shaft sticking out of his heart. “I’d say that was one–nil to the Britons.”
“Maybe,” said Spring, “but the Romans have got a lot more where he came from.”
Chapter 2
“That was close,” said Mal, peering through the gorse, over the dozens of scorpion arrows littering the beach, to the line of towering warships. Each of them was several times larger than any boat Lowa had seen before. Together they looked more like a chain of wooden, cliff-sided islands than a line of ships. How could they stop a force which had weapons like these?
She shrugged, but the size of the warships and their firepower had rattled her. Mal and Adler had told her about the warships and their missile power, and Mal had insisted that it was an idiotic idea to ride out onto the beach and goad them, and it had been, but at least she now knew for certain that any troops sent to oppose the Roman landing would be slaughtered.
“So what do we do?” Mal asked.
“That solitary boat heading north must be Felix and his legion.
I’m going to take the Two Hundred to have a look at them, and see if Elann’s new arrows have any effect.”
“Are you sure? We heard what they did to the Tengoterry cavalry.”
“The Tengoterry charged them. We won’t. We’ll shoot from a safe distance. If the arrows work, we’ll carry on shooting. If not, we’ll retreat. Quickly. They cannot be as fast as horses.”
“Are you sure that’s a good plan?”
“My mind’s made up.” She’d thought this through and she knew the risk. From what she’d heard it was possible that the demons could outrun horses. That’s why she was going herself.
“Fair enough! And the four elephant ships heading south?”
“Atlas should be back with the aurochs soon. Until then I’ll send Chamanca with the chariots to either hold them until I need the chariots, or to lead them north.”
“Makes sense. Shall I get back to Big Bugger Hill and make sure the scorpions are ready?”
“No, have a deputy oversee that. I’d like you to stay here with the remaining three hundred cavalry split into squads of sixty, and shout to me at Big Bugger what the legions are doing. They’ll send cavalry patrols of their own inland. If they send them out in groups of fifty or less, kill them. Groups of more than three hundred, stick some arrows in them and retreat. Anything in between, use your judgement. Do you know where all the false roads and hidden tracks are?”
“I think so.”
“Make sure all the riders do.”
“So, in essence, you want me to discourage Caesar from leaving the shore.”
Lowa looked around. Nobody else was in earshot. “No. But that’s what I want him to think you’re doing.”
She sprinted back to her horse and Mal watched her go. In seven years, Lowa had matured into a fair, respected and effective ruler. She’d been better than most from the off, but as the years had gone by she’d developed a toughness and a way of reacting to situations that showed a wisdom well beyond her thirty or so years. But she still ran everywhere like a child.
