The Wolf of Britannia Part I

by Jess Steven Hughes

  *

  The next morning Caratacus summoned Tog, Clud, and Donn to his home. He explained to them, as well as to Dana and Rhian, his plan to contact members of the council. He trusted them and would learn if they would agree to his plans once Adminios appeared before the king. “We still don’t know if Adminios will comply with Da’s order, but we must be ready if he does.”

  Rhian’s father, Donn, scratched his bulbous nose. “Remember, the councilors be yer Da’s men. Do ye think they’ll see the wisdom of yer plan?”

  “The chieftains hate Adminios and have no love for Ibor,” Caratacus answered.

  “Not all hate yer brother or the Druid,” Donn said. “They be the kind who smell treason in every shadow.” Donn, Epaticcos’s former champion, was now honored as a brave and distinguished warrior among Caratacus’s fighters. Although an outsider, he had a good reputation. Now loyal to Caratacus, he pledged to serve him in any capacity.

  Clud raised his arm and balled his hand into a fist. “Donn’s right. I don’t trust some of them buggers. There’s a couple I’d take a dagger to before I’d tell ’em anything.” He lowered his arm and relaxed his hand.

  “I know who you mean, Clud,” Caratacus answered. “I won’t waste time on them.”

  “If Adminios does obey Da’s command,” Tog said. He jabbed a finger in his brother’s direction. “You’ll have to make sure the chieftains get word before our brother arrives so they can be here to meet him.”

  “Aye, if they’re not here in time, the Druids will block the meeting,” Clud said.

  A frown crossed Tog’s sunburnt face, now scarred from numerous skirmishes with bordering tribes. “We can’t let him get away,” Tog said.

  Caratacus furrowed his brows and pulled on the end of his drooping mustache. “My spies will bring word in plenty of time. Then I’ll send messengers to the chieftains to report immediately.”

  “If not sooner,” Donn said. The old warrior stared at Caratacus, his craggy face filled with determination.

  “Have you heard from the Iceni or Durotrigian kings?” Clud asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Caratacus said. It had been less than a week since he had sent messages proposing an alliance with the two rulers to aid him should Verica invade the lands of the Catuvellaunii and Trinovantes. By taking it upon himself to contact these rulers, it would be seen as an act of treason. He was certain they would back him once Adminios was driven from power. He banked on at least King Unig of the Durotrigians to respond in his favor. They, too, were vulnerable to attack by Verica.

  Caratacus turned to Dana and Rhian, who had quietly listened while the men spoke. “While we are gone, it will be your duty to be on the lookout for anything unusual.”

  Rhian hunched her shoulders. “What shall we tell people, especially Ibor, if they ask where you have gone?”

  “Tell them I’m checking on my holdings—they know that’s part of my duties as son of the king,” Caratacus answered.

  “Should Rhian and I wait until you return home before bringing Fiona from Usk for her training?” Dana asked, looking to Rhian, who nodded.

  “Yes,” Caratacus said. “I’ll know more by the time I return if her presence will be required at the session.”

  “You promised to protect her identity,” Dana reminded Caratacus.

  Caratacus nodded. “So I did. The only person Fiona will tell what she witnessed will be Havgan. He will use the information in a way that will not implicate her.”

  Dana’s shoulders relaxed as a smile crossed her lips. “Thank you.”

  Tog gripped the handle of his dagger hanging from the iron-chain belt on his waist.

  “All I can say is, this whole thing better work, or we’ll lose our heads.”

  *

  About midmorning, after making sure no one was around, Caratacus slipped inside Havgan’s hut.

  The Druid wore a long, homespun tunic and breeches. A gold triskele hung from a thick chain on his chest. They sat on straw mats in front of the little hearth’s dim firelight. As Caratacus told him of Fiona’s discovery and revealed his plan, Havgan tugged on his trimmed but graying beard. “Have no fear, Caratacus,” he said when he finally answered, “I will learn the truth if Ibor and his Druids were involved. Despite their oath of secrecy, there is always someone who can’t keep their mouth shut.”

  “You think so?” Caratacus asked.

  A mischievous smile appeared through his whiskered lips. “I have been a Druid for nearly thirty-five of my forty-six years. I can see their weaknesses, especially among the younger ones.”

  Caratacus winked. “No doubt you can, I should have known better.”

  “Everyone acknowledges the fact you should be rightful king.” He shook his head. “The men of the council are not fools. Adminios is too irresponsible. If you are right, then he is in collusion with the Romans. Ibor was foolhardy in predicting Adminios would be the next king. I would be surprised if he did not know your brother is plotting. You must act quickly. Not only will the Romans overrun our lands, but they will destroy the Druids as they have done in Gaul. Ibor should understand that better than anybody. One of them was an uncle, his father’s brother.”

  Caratacus looked about, saw no one. “When I become king, I swear that I will make you my arch-Druid.”

  Havgan bowed his head. “That isn’t necessary. What I do I would have done for any ruler who serves the people as you do and protects the Druids. Adminios and Ibor must go. Ibor is a disgrace to all Druids.”

  Late that afternoon, a messenger from King Unig of the Durotrigians, disguised as a merchant, arrived at Caratacus’s home. The prince lived outside the fortress, his holdings on the plain near the edge of the forest. Visitors could come and go with little notice.

  The courier informed Caratacus that King Unig was interested in a proposed alliance and requested that a representative be sent for further negotiations. Delighted, Caratacus told the rider that he would personally contact the king when the time was right.

  *

  At dawn the next day, Caratacus and his men left Camulodunum. The first leader they planned to visit and the most prominent was Fergus ap Roycal, senior clan chieftain and councilor who lived near the western border of their tribe. Next to the Druids, he was Cunobelinos’s most outspoken and influential councilor.

  Late afternoon enshrouded them as they rode through the dark, pine forest. Tall trees frowned on either side of the patchy, snow-covered trackway. A recent wind had stripped the branches of their frost covering and seemed to lean toward one another, black and ominous in the fading afternoon light.

  The riders crossed a hurrying brook, flowing through breaks in the snow. Cautiously, the horses picked their way along the graveled bottom, hooves clattering against icy rocks, before bolting up the other side of the bank. Climbing the path up the hill, they arrived at the top where the woods thinned. Beyond squatted a large, open field, lightly dusted with snow, waiting for spring seeding. Multi-fingered strands of fog drifted just above its surface.

  In the distance on a low rise stood the small stockade, circled by a narrow moat. Inside sat the longhouse of clan chieftain Fergus ap Roycal. A misty column of white smoke swirled skyward from the home’s thatched roof, disappearing in the darkening, slate-gray sky. Smaller outbuildings and corrals filled with livestock clustered around the palisade like fleas on a dog. The baying of cattle and sheep bleating echoed across the countryside. Mixed odors of manure and smoke carried on the chilly breeze.

  They crossed the moat’s bridge and were met in front of the house by Fergus ap Roycal and four of his guards. He bid them welcome and asked what brought them to his home. Caratacus told him he had urgent news and Fergus waved the men toward his house. Once dismounted, Caratacus and his men followed the chieftain inside.

  The chieftain bade them sit on benches at one end of the longhouse, the area he used to entertain guests and for hearing of minor criminal and civil cases brought to him for judgment. Caratacus sat with Tog, Clud,
and Donn on his right, while his men stood behind them. Fergus ap Roycal and six of his retainers faced them. Servants came forward and handed every man an earthen cup filled with warm mead and were dismissed.

  In the smoky light of a dozen tapers and olive oil lamps, Fergus narrowed his eyes, raised a hand, and motioned towards Caratacus. “Now, tell me your news, it’s about your father, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, and much more,” Caratacus said. He reached inside his tunic and pulled out a leather pouch hanging from a string around his neck. Opening the bag, he removed the silver, horse-headed amulet. Even in the pulsating light of the tapers, the three heads sparkled. Caratacus placed it in the upward palm of his right hand.

  The chieftain took a swig of mead from his cup, belched, and leaned closer to examine the object. He took another gulp and straightened his back.

  “Recognize it?” Caratacus asked as he placed it back into the pouch and shoved it beneath his tunic.

  Fergus slowly nodded and grunted. “Hmm, if I remember, your Da gave that to your worthless brother, Adminios.” A frown pushed from beneath his bushy moustache. “Where did you get it? Did you kill the bloody fucker?”

  Caratacus looked about seeing Tog and Clud raising their eyes. A big grin creased Donn’s face.

  Caratacus balled his right hand into a fist and struck the palm of his left. “Were that only true, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Then how’d you get it?”

  “Found it.”

  Fergus glanced to his retainers and back to Caratacus and cocked his head to one side. “Where? You didn’t just find your brother’s good-luck charm.”

  “I did,” Caratacus said in a flat tone, “buried with victims from a human sacrifice.”

  Fergus cocked his head to one side. “Eh? Only Druids conduct human sacrifice. What does Adminios have to do with it? Did that bastard commit sacrilege?”

  “He did.” Caratacus revealed information about human sacrifice, including the Druid Ibor’s involvement, without telling them it came from Fiona, and about Adminios conspiring with the Romans.

  The chieftain took another drink from his cup, but spat it on the floor. “Fucking traitors, both of them. I can see Adminios scheming with the Romans, but Ibor, the old fool is cutting his own throat. The shit-eating Romans will kill ’em sure.”

  “The strange part of this matter is that Ibor said that he learned Porcius advised Verica against taking over Da’s kingdom. He too fears Roman interference.”

  “That’s because the fat bugger has too much at stake like the rest of the traders in our lands.”

  “Regardless, Ibor must be brought before the council as well as Adminios for his treachery,” Caratacus said. “We can’t fine or exile him like Adminios, but he can be sent packing to the Isle of Mona. The head of the Druid order will deal with him.”

  Fergus gulped down the rest of the mead in his cup and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Aye, they’ll exile him to some remote island. That’ll be worse than death for the little spider.”

  “We’ll see if my brother will ride to Camulodunum after he receives Da’s command to appear. In the meantime, after I leave here, I will be riding to the homes of the other clan leaders to win their support.”

  Fergus ap Roycal, a bald-headed, hulking warrior with arms as thick as the legs of most men and powerful limbs to match, stood up, followed by Caratacus. He raised his hand in salute, “I give you my allegiance, Caratacus, son of Cunobelinos, rightful king of the Catuvellaunii and Trinovantes.” He lowered his arm.

  Caratacus reached out and grabbed Fergus’s powerful hand and shook it. The chieftain squeezed it so hard, Caratacus thought he would crush it. “Accepted.”

  “You say you’re going to see the other chieftains?” Fergus asked.

  “I am,” Caratacus replied.

  “Stay away from Cador and Melwas,” Fergus advised. “Those whoresons of sows will betray you.”

  “I’ll bypass them,” Caratacus said. “But I will see and convince the other chieftains.”

  Fergus’s hand, the size of a ham, tightly gripped the bejeweled, bone hilt of his longsword. His grin revealed a row of black teeth like jagged peaks. “Once you’ve finished talking sense into their thick skulls, I’ll drop by and make sure those fuckers keep their word.”

  “Yer my kind of man,” Donn said.

  “That’s all some of them understand,” Clud added, pointing to his own weapon.

  “If I hadn’t been so sick,” Fergus said. “I wouldn’t have missed the Council’s meeting when your father proclaimed Adminios King of the Cantiaci. I would’ve voted against it.”

  “I knew you would have. I remembered you were absent.”

  “Aye. Had a terrible fever. Got a big lump in my throat, and my balls felt they’d been smashed by a hammer. They hurt so bad, I couldn’t move for two weeks. But I’ve recovered, and I can back you now.”

  Caratacus grinned. “I knew I could count on you, Fergus,” Caratacus said.

  *

  When Caratacus returned home after convincing the other chieftains, he went to Havgan’s home. The two sat on fur rugs across from one another around the center, earthen hearth.

  “It happened as you said, Prince Caratacus,” the Druid remarked. “There was a human sacrifice, and Ibor predicted Adminios would be king within the year.”

  Caratacus’s chest tightened, heat rushed to his face. He hadn’t realized the discovery would affect him so much. Was I hoping that Fiona’s tale was a lie—that a Druid would not violate a sacred oath of silence? “How did you find out?” Caratacus finally asked.

  Havgan gave him a diabolical smile. “I made discreet inquiries among the brethren, especially among the acolytes and novices. They are the most vulnerable, because they are still learning their craft.”

  “And?”

  The Druid pursed his lips. “Despite their training, I found one who hates human sacrifice, no matter what the reason.”

  “Who is he?” Caratacus asked, his feelings a mixture of relief and surprise.

  Havgan stepped to the entrance of his home and looked outside. Apparently satisfied, he returned and sat. “His name is Owen. When I was making queries, not directly, if you know what I mean, I mentioned about the rites practiced by our Druidic brothers in Gaul. I told him how the Romans slaughtered them because of the practice.”

  “So it bothered him.”

  “Indeed.” Havgan scratched his trimmed beard. “Human sacrifice by the Gallic Druids upset him, but their murders by the Romans even more so. I mentioned that there was the possibility that one day the Romans might invade our lands. Owen started shaking, and I had to calm him. He fears we, too, will be murdered.”

  “He’s right,” Caratacus said. “What else?”

  Havgan shook his head. “As much I assured him nothing would happen, Owen wept and blubbered about the human sacrifice he’d participated in in the forest near the village of Usk. As you had told me earlier, it was just like the girl, Fiona, described. They killed a young woman and her new born babe—a sacrilege.” Havgan paused and took a deep breath. “Only someone of nobility who willingly volunteers is supposed to be sacrificed, and only in great time of danger or famine.”

  “I agree,” Caratacus said.

  “Owen was especially alarmed when Ibor proclaimed that Adminios would be king within a year. He was afraid Adminios would kill you and Tog.”

  The muscles in Caratacus’s legs and arms tightened. Traitor! Does he think by becoming king with the backing of the Romans he will be allowed to rule without their interference? He will be no more than a puppet, selling out our people. Caratacus exhaled several times before calming himself.

  “What is the matter, Prince?” Havgan asked.

  “I have heard this story before. But for some reason, when it is described by a Druid, who witnessed the killing, it upsets me more. For me, the word of a Druid holds more credibility than that of a peasant.”

  Havgan nodded. “You will find Owen
a creditable witness.”

  “Then he will testify against Ibor and Adminios?”

  “He will, but I had to promise there would be no reprisals against him.”

  Caratacus focused on the Druid’s dark eyes. “You can assure Owen there won’t be. He is only an acolyte and had no choice but to participate.”

  “I also promised the young man the Supreme Druid Council on the Isle of Mona would also forgive him.”

  Caratacus nodded. “All right, now it’s a matter of waiting for Adminios to answer the king’s summons. He may have to send another command warning to either show up or he’ll be brought before him in chains.”

  Havgan jabbed a finger toward Caratacus. “It might be better for all of us if he were brought here in shackles.”

  Chapter 32

  The morning after Caratacus had returned from his journey to see the chieftains, he visited his father at his home. The main room of the longhouse was well lit by torches and pleasantly warmed by the central fire, where broth bubbled in a black cauldron and venison roasted on a spit, slowly turned by one of Cunobelinos’s serving women.

  The walls were fitted with ornate, Roman tapestries depicting hunting scenes. Near the embroidered pictures hung the king’s spears, shields, and other weaponry.

  Suspended from the thatched ceiling were bunches of herbs used for food and medicinal purposes. In the same area strips of venison, beef, and fish were also suspended so they could be preserved and gain flavor from the smoke and warmth drifting up from the hearth.

  As usual, Ibor was present, sitting with them on a low stool by the fireside. The fluttering light gave the priest’s cobwebbed face the vision of some craggy demon from the underworld, and his long, white tunic changed continually from light to dark like a specter in the moonlight. The Druid spent ever more time with the king as his mental condition deteriorated.