by Kevin Ashman
‘What was the name of this deserter?’ he asked.
‘Prydain Maecilius sir’, answered Optio Remus, ‘From the province of Picenum.’
‘What was his unit?’
‘Second Century,’ said Remus, ‘Seconded to the scouts.’
‘One of your own then,’ said Nasica in slight surprise.
‘Yes sir, and I take full responsibility for his treachery. I should have beaten it out of him when I had the chance.’
‘You knew he was a problem?’
‘He is a son of a slave with ideas of grandeur,’ answered Remus, ‘I should have posted him to the auxiliaries back in Gaul.’
‘Ah yes, I recall you have a particularly strong view of freedmen in the legions.’
‘No place for them here sir,’ said Remus, ‘There’s plenty of room in the auxiliaries.’
‘Hmm, quite,’ said Nasica, ‘The point is Optio, what are we going to do about it? He is only one man, yet it would seem he is a bit of a hero within the cohort. Something to do with capturing a Germanic flag back in Gaul.’
‘He did, sir, the second Century’s standard.’
‘Shame!’ said Nasica, ‘Still, hero or not, we can’t allow desertion.’
‘No sir!’ agreed Remus, ‘We have to set an example. Give me a Century of men and I will bring him back here alive. Let the legion witness what befalls traitors on campaign.’
Nasica stared at Remus, flipping a Claudian coin repeatedly as he thought. Finally he slammed the coin down on the table and looked up, his decision made.
‘We are in dangerous territory’ he said, ‘And the task is too big for a single Century.’ He turned to one of the officers present. ‘Tribune Mateus,’ he said. ‘You have been itching to lead an operation. Do you think you can handle this?’
‘Yes, sir!’ said Mateus instantly, his chest expanding at the chance of glory at last.
‘Good,’ said Nasica, ‘The legion is staying here while we await news from Medway. Take the second cohort and campaign westwards. Find this traitor and bring him back. In addition, you will make intensive enquiries as to the source of their gold.’
‘Sir,’ interrupted Remus, ‘This man has brought shame on my Century. I request permission to accompany Tribune Mateus and bring him back.’
‘Granted,’ said Nasica and turned to the Tribune, ‘Optio Remus is a veteran of many campaigns, seek his advice first and heed it well.’
‘What about the other Centurions, sire?’ asked Mateus, ‘It would not bode well for an Optio to be seen as outranking them.’
Nasica thought for a while.
‘You are right, Mateus,’ he said, ‘And despite Optio Remus’s credentials it would nurture unrest amongst the men, but there is a solution. As you know Centurion Scipio was killed in the raiding party on the enemy village.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘The scouts need an experienced leader to command them so I have been thinking about redeploying Centurion Severus to the Scouts.’
Mateus nodded, it made sense as the scouts were a very individual unit and needed strong and talented leadership.
‘That leaves a vacancy for a Centurion in the second Century,’ continued Nasica, and turned to Remus. ‘How about it, Optio?’ he said, ‘You have turned down the post of Centurion many times in the past; and it’s about time you carried the vine stick. What do you say; do you think you can command a Century?’
Remus looked back at the Legatus and considered carefully.
‘In my time I have served under many Centurions,’ he said, ‘Some were brave men and inspired leaders, others seemed more interested in the privileges the rank carries. Most of the second type are now dead. However, I concur that my rank could be an issue on this expedition so I will accept until the task is done. Then I request that I am returned to the role of Optio.’
‘Good!’ said Nasica and threw him a vine stick, the badge of a Centurion’s authority before turning to the Tribune.
‘You have until the next full moon,’ he said, ‘Your task is twofold. I want the location of the gold mines and the traitor Maecilius. Make sure you return with at least one. Dismissed!’
‘Yes, sir!’ answered Mateus and saluted in unison with the newly promoted Remus before ducking out of the tent. When they were outside Mateus turned to the new Centurion.
‘We will take the third cohort,’ he said ‘How long before you can have them ready?’
‘First light, sir,’ answered Remus, but I would rather take my own cohort.’
‘Agreed, said the Tribune, but leave the Ravens behind, they are too closely linked to the deserter.’
‘Sir, there is one Decurion who I recommend we take. He grew up alongside him and knows the way he thinks.
‘See to it’ said the Tribune, ‘We leave at dawn.’
He turned and walked away, leaving the Centurion staring after him, pondering the hand the gods had dealt him. There was no doubt that Tribune Mateus was a donkey’s arse, however his weakness could work to Remus’s advantage. Remus was not interested in gold or any other material goods. As far as he was concerned he would focus on one thing and one thing only, the capture and subsequent killing of the slave-boy Prydain Maecilius.
Chapter 29
Gwenno and Willow walked up the track, flanked by six warriors. Despite Gwenno’s new found enthusiasm the Druids had learnt their lesson and still guarded her closely. They were making their way up to a low stone building overlooking the vale of the Henge that was to be their new home until the ceremony the following morning.
The procession stopped as they neared the hut and Gwenno stared at the reception committee that awaited her. All around the perimeter stood a throng of silent Druid acolytes dressed in robes of vibrant colours. In the centre stood Lapwing, his own midnight black cloak stark contrast to the long white hair that blew gently in the breeze. In his hand was an unpolished staff of plain Oak, the symbol of his clan since their ancestors had walked these lands during the time of the ice, many thousands of years ago.
He waited until Gwenno approached before turning around and leading her into the hut. Gwenno expected the inside to be dark but was surprised to see the circular room brightly lit with hundreds of candles, warming the entire room with their combined heat. The room was sparsely furnished with only a bed and a single chair and opposite the doorway hung a pair of heavy drapes, each flanked by a Druid guard. Lapwing called Gwenno forward and manoeuvred himself to stand behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders as they both faced the curtains.
‘Be not afraid Gwenno of the Blaidd,’ said Lapwing, ‘You carry the pleadings of our tribes to the hearts of the gods. Your purity enhances the songs of our people and the journey you take tomorrow is both glorious and breathtaking. Only a few are ever selected and you are one of those few Gwenno, you are the chosen one. Behold your path Gwenno of the Blaidd, behold the gateway.’
The two guards drew back the curtains revealing an opening in the wall and Gwenno walked forward to stare at the vista before her. A paved pathway led from the hut and up to a ring of enormous standing stones. Gwenno stared around the wooded valley with mixed emotions. Rows upon rows of oak trees flanked the sides of the valley, interspersed with carefully positioned waterfalls that tumbled down the slopes to feed the tranquil moat surrounding the Henge and a carved wooden bridge spanned the water leading to the centrepiece of the whole scene, the altar.
Despite the surrounding beauty Gwenno was transfixed by this final stone and could see the farthest end blackened from the spilt blood of those who had travelled before her. This was to be the last place from which she would be aware of this world, the place where she would be laid on her back and see the sky for the last time. For a few seconds she wanted to scream, to lash out and run from this place but remembering Willow’s instructions, managed to keep her emotions in check.
‘It is beautiful,’ she whispered.
‘Tomorrow,’ said Lapwing, ‘You will take the path down to the Henge. Be brave and pay tribute t
o the awaiting gods. Walk with your head held high Gwenno, you will be walking into immortality.’
The two guards walked out of the hut, followed by Lapwing, leaving the girls alone in the candlelit room. Willow joined Gwenno in front of the window and stared down at the sacrificial altar.
‘I told you it was beautiful, miss,’ she said quietly.
‘How many have there been, Willow?’ asked Gwenno.
‘You are the second this year, miss,’ she said.
‘And there have been others before that?’
‘Yes, miss. Many.’
‘Then what is the point?’ asked Gwenno, ‘They send so many yet still there is a need for more. You would think that if this ceremony is of any use then the gods would have taken notice by now. I fear there are no gods, Willow. And even if I am wrong, then they will not heed our representations of peace and love. They are bloodthirsty and evil gods who revel in pain and suffering.’
‘Miss, don’t say that,’ said Willow shocked.
‘Why not, Willow?’ asked Gwenno, ‘What are they going to do, kill me?’
There was an awkward silence as they both continued to stare down at the Henge. Finally Gwenno turned to her companion.
‘There is no escape plan is there, Willow?’
‘Sorry, miss?’
‘Your plan to save me.’ It was just a ploy to get me up here with the minimum amount of fuss wasn’t it?’
‘No, miss, it’s just...’
‘It’s okay, Willow,’ said Gwenno, gently touching her cheek with the back of her hand, ‘I understand. Don’t worry, I realise now it’s pointless to try to avoid my fate. I promise I will do as expected. I may not believe, Willow but there are thousands that do. I will do it for them.’
Gwenno walked to the bed and picked up the beautiful cloak. She smoothed the fabric lovingly.
‘It is very beautiful,’ she said wistfully, ‘I hope I don’t get blood on it.’ She looked up at Willow and smiled. ‘Your cape is beautiful too,’ she said, ‘We will make a very regal pair you and I as we walk through the valley tomorrow.’
‘I won’t be there,’ whispered Willow.
‘Won’t be there?’ asked Gwenno, ‘Why not?’
‘The path is yours and yours alone, miss,’ answered Willow, ‘I am not allowed to walk with you. My role is to care for you tonight and prepare you in the morning. I will be watching from here.’
Gwenno stared at the younger girl and tears welled in her eyes once more.
‘I will be alone then,’ she said, ‘Not even the touch of a friend’s hand for comfort.’
Willow rushed forward and threw her arms around Gwenno.
‘You can do this, miss,’ she whispered through her own tears, ‘I may be stuck up here but I will be with you every step of the way, I promise.’
----
It was still dark when Willow woke Gwenno with a gentle shake of her shoulders.
Gwenno opened her eyes, momentarily confused as to where she was. Willow stood before her resplendent in her red gown, already prepared for the day’s events.
‘It’s time, miss,’ she said, stroking Gwenno’s hair.
Gwenno sat up and looked around, surprised that she had actually fallen asleep.
‘How long have we got?’ she asked.
‘A couple of hours, miss,’ said Willow, ‘Here, drink this.’
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve made you a drink, it will warm you up a bit.’
Gwenno sipped on the warm wine, resigned to her fate. Willow brought a bowl of warm water from the fire and put it on the table for Gwenno to bathe.
‘Miss, there is something you should know,’ said Willow as she started to brush Gwenno’s hair.
‘Which is?’
‘Before your time comes, something will happen and you may yet have a chance to live.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Gwenno.
‘I can’t tell you, miss,’ she said, ‘All I can say is that when it does, you will know, and when that time comes, you must run. Run as fast as you can.’
‘I don’t understand, Willow,’ she said, ‘Even if I get the chance, what is the point? We are surrounded by guards. Surely I would be caught within minutes.’
‘There will be a short time when their attention will be elsewhere. When that happens, run for your life, like you have never run before.’
‘And what about you?’ asked Gwenno, her pulse rate increasing as she realised it was not yet all over.
‘I will be fine,’ said Willow, ‘You just concentrate on getting away.’
Gwenno was silent for a while until Willow finished brushing her hair. The younger girl passed her the bowl of warm water.
‘You should bathe now, miss,’ she said, ‘It’s almost time.’
‘Willow,’ said Gwenno gently, ‘Will you do it for me?’
Willows eyes moistened.
‘Of course miss,’ she said and Gwenno stood up while Willow washed her body with the rose scented water.
Chapter 30
The warrior sat in the midst of a reed bed, wrapped in his muddy cloak. It was still wet but at least it kept the worst of the biting wind from his freezing body. He had lain in the mud for hours, feigning death as the invaders had rampaged through the forests. He heard a rustle to his right and an old man carrying a woven sack came scuttling through the reeds keeping as low as possible to avoid any unwanted attention. He opened the bag and started pulling the contents onto a rock.
‘I’ve got water,’ he said, ‘Cloth for a bandage and look,’ he held up the last item, proud of his prize, ‘Horse meat,’ he said, ‘Can’t have been dead more than a couple of days. We’ll have to eat it raw of course, can’t risk a fire but its meat nonetheless.’
The wounded warrior stared at the older man as he busied himself stripping the cloth into bandages with his knife.
‘Why, Holler?’ asked the wounded warrior weakly.
‘We need food, sire,’ said the old man ‘And we have to clean that wound before...’
‘No,’ interrupted the warrior, ‘Why did you return?’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ asked the man, without taking his eyes from the task in hand.
‘You could have made good your escape.’
‘Escape from who, sire?’
‘From me of course,’ came the reply, ‘The gods have forsaken me Holler, you should too.’
‘I have known nothing else but service to you since a boy,’ said the servant, ‘I have been told what to do, how to do it and when to do it. I have been fed, clothed and have had a roof over my head. I know no other way.’
‘But you would be free,’ said the warrior, ‘There is no one left to hunt you down or administer the whip. You could see out the rest of your days as a freeman.’
‘And what sort of freedom would that be?’ he asked, ‘Whether I serve in a household or wander unfettered through the forests, I will never be free while they echo to the step of the Romans. I am still a Briton and I will never be free as long as one invader remains in these lands. Don’t forget sire, I too have witnessed their brutality. I have also held my hands over my ears at night to block out the screams of the crucified. I have thought of running, but I stayed, and have done so for one reason only.’ He lowered his eyes; suddenly aware of whom he was talking too.
‘Some speech for a servant,’ said the warrior, ‘Probably the most I have ever heard you say.’
‘I know my place,’ said the old man, ‘I was born into servitude and will die the same. Every man should follow the fate the god’s intended, servants, brigands or kings.’
‘Holler, you old scoundrel,’ said the warrior, ‘Your words wound me more than my enemy’s sword, yet I see their intent is to shame me. To embarrass me into action, but don’t you see, it is too late. The battle is lost, the army is slaughtered or scattered across the country.’
The old man grabbed the warriors arm causing him to wince as he jarred the wound in his chest.
‘No
, sire, it’s not too late. Yes the battle is lost and yes the army is scattered to the four winds, but this country is worth fighting for. This time we were but one tribe that stood against the Roman boot and we came so close. If one tribe can do that, imagine what an army made from all the tribes from across Britannia could do. If someone could unite us under one banner then the invaders will be little more than ants beneath our heel.’
‘The tribes spend most of their time fighting each other,’ said the warrior, ‘No one has ever united them.’
‘But this is different sire,’ said Holler, ‘We have never faced a common enemy before. I believe the right man can unite us all and take the fight back to them. It may take years but it can be done.’
‘And where will we find this man?’ asked the warrior.
‘I am talking to him,’ said Holler.
‘What makes you think they will listen to me?’
‘Why wouldn’t they? You alone have faced the invader. Your tribe, the mighty Catuvellauni came close to defeating them. Many lesser men bent their knee to the Romans and took their coin even before they had stepped foot off their cursed ships. You alone faced them down and spat in their face.’
‘And you think I can do this?’
‘I know you can, sire,’ answered Holler, ‘And so do many others.’
‘Others?’
‘Stand up, sire,’ he said, ‘And look to the trees.’
The warrior struggled to his feet and stared across the reed beds. Over a hundred men stood at the forest edge, many wounded but all standing tall and proud.
‘Who are they?’ he asked.
‘Survivors,’ said Holler, ‘Stragglers from many different clans. Only a few but there are many such groups and they seek a leader. They seek their king.’
They stared for a long time before the warrior spoke again.
‘Bandage me up, Holler,’ he said, ‘We have work to do.’
‘Yes sire!’ said the servant and hastened to the task. This was the man he knew, this was the leader that the country needed. King Caratacus, son of the great Cunobelinus was back.
