by N. M. Browne
Macsen’s face grew tighter with fury as he saw the troops and the slain body of his champion, Gwyn. He kept a tight rein on his emotions. He nodded to the Legate and showed that his hands were empty of weapons.
‘I see my sorceress has excelled herself. I wish I could offer you welcome, but as we speak one of your legions gathers at my gates. I cannot claim any pleasure at seeing another.’
Ursula fought the urge to throw herself into the Veil and be swallowed up by it. The thought of finding herself with the remainder of the legion dissuaded her. Strangely the Legate seemed more comfortable with Macsen’s aggression than with her own words of welcome. She threw a look of anxious appeal at Dan. His face was stony. Even Dan thought what she had done was wrong. She would not cry. She would face this like the warrior she had proved herself to be and not cringe with apology. Even if she had been wrong they had lost nothing. The Combrogi could not win; she had tried to give them a chance. If the gamble had failed, well, they could only die once just the same.
She was so deep in thought that she did not at first notice sixty-five pairs of eyes staring at her. When she did it was to Dan she turned. ‘What?’ she said in English.
‘Ursula, you’ve turned into Boar Skull.’ It was true. It was no wonder the Romans gaped at her in surprise. The clothes she was wearing threatened to cut off the circulation. She ripped off her tunic and leggings to reveal the massive physique of her alter ego.
‘That is indeed a sorcerer,’ said the Legate, his composure ruffled for the first time.
Macsen snorted. ‘Boar Skull is a shape shifter and more beside but I did not ask that she call you to fight for us. Wherever you came from you are Roman and that makes you our enemy.’
The Legate appeared to weigh this up. ‘She … er … he told us the Romans here have tried to annihilate the tribes. Is this true?’
Macsen nodded tersely. There was some muttering in the ranks, silenced by a glare from the Legate. ‘Who is emperor here?’ the Legate asked.
‘Master and god, Caesar Domitianus Augustus.’ Macsen’s answer gave the Legate pause.
‘That man is dead, I have that on very good authority.’ The Legate flushed a deep red, and Ursula got the strong impression that he had some personal knowledge of his death. ‘If a man by that cursed name now claims to be emperor here I do not serve him. I serve Caesar Nerva Traianus Germanicus. Why have I not heard of this false emperor before?’
Dan chose this moment to enter the conversation.
‘I understand, sir, that you have been stationed at York. It is not hard to keep news from such a distant base. While you have remained there knowing nothing of what is going on, the second legion has been able to continue with its reign of terror over the tribes.’
‘How many of the tribes survive?’
‘We number three thousand men.’ Macsen’s reply was firm. He was too desperate to dissemble.
‘And how many live in the towns?’
‘No free men.’
The Legate’s face darkened. He gave Caradoc a hard look. The intricate tattoos on Caradoc’s forearms marked him clearly as of the Silurian tribe. The Legate must have recognised them and spoke to him in Silurian.
‘How many of the Silurians still live?’
‘I am the only warrior here of that tribe. I do not know how many others still live. I have not heard.’
The Legate’s jaw tightened.
‘My grandmother was Silurian of a noble line. Many of my men, especially the auxilia, are of British tribes. We are unusual in having so many of the conquered fighting for their conquerers in their own country. It is not an easy situation.’ The Legate stared thoughtfully at Ursula in her Boar Skull guise. ‘I do not like the sound of this emperor. I lived briefly in Rome under the real Caesar Domitianus Augustus under his last reign of terror. I cannot say that my family prospered under his cruelty. Whoever has chosen to revive his name deserves only his fate.’
‘And what was that?’ asked Macsen levelly.
‘He was assassinated, though most of his killers were later killed themselves by the army. He had wit enough to keep the army well paid and loyal.’ The Legate’s tone was bitter. ‘This false emperor has not chosen a propitious name, though it is one that would appeal to some of the army. What you say is difficult to believe, what proof can you offer me?’
Macsen took from his belt a pouch of Roman gold. He handed the pouch over. Each coin was stamped with the head of Caesar Domitianus Augustus, on the reverse side there was a Raven. The legate examined each coin carefully.
‘No legion known to me fights under the banner of a carrion bird.’
He handed back the coin.
Macsen spoke carefully, weighing each word.
‘I know no honourable Roman would accept gold to fight, but if you could help us rid the land of the scourge of these followers of a false emperor, all the wealth we had would be insufficient to express our thanks.’
The Legate’s eyes narrowed. ‘If, in truth, this legion you speak of fights to support a false emperor, no honourable Roman could do else but join with you to destroy them. No loyal Roman could turn a blind eye to rebellion. It may be that I am not your enemy, but I need more proof than this.’ The Legate paused. ‘I am concerned for my men. Will you let your sorcerer bring them through this …’ He waved his hand in the direction of the yellow mist.
Macsen looked at Kai. Ursula was startled to hear a reflection of her own thoughts from his lips.
‘We can only die once,’ Kai said with a grim grin.
‘How many men do you have?’ said Macsen slowly.
‘Six thousand.’
Something like hope began to light Macsen’s eyes.
‘Ursula, Boar Skull, can you hold the Veil firm for so many?’
Dan had given Ursula, still in Boar Skull mode, his cloak to hide her necessary but rather ostentatious nakedness.
All eyes were on her again. She nodded. ‘Do you have supply trains?’
‘Of course.’
Ursula sensed Macsen’s relief. If the Legate proved to be an ally they had nowhere near enough supplies to feed his army.
‘I’ll try to bring them through too.’
It took a long time. The sun was high by the time the last man was through. Macsen and the Legate had not ceased talking for nearly the whole time.
The Legate had not lied. Many of the men spoke to one another in the languages of the tribes. There was more than one blue-tattooed arm encased in the chain mail of the ninth. Under the orders of the Legate, the army organised itself swiftly and in good order. As the first eight-man section emerged through the Veil they set up a camp among the trees. Each new section joined them until the century was complete. The six centuries, which formed each cohort, arranged their camps in adjacent groups. It was a miracle of military organisation. Soon the entire hilltop was full of men. Men were provisioned, campfires lit. The hill above the valley was covered in thick wood. There was plenty of wood for fires and plenty of cover. It would be hard to see the legion even from Craigwen itself. From the valley beneath it would be impossible. Was it possible that Ursula’s half-baked plan could work? That Roman would fight Roman? She felt very cold and drained. For some reason her head ached as if Rhonwen were near. She had a chilling thought. She had forgotten to tell Macsen about Rhonwen’s disappearance into the Veil. She swayed and Macsen was there to catch her. Her last conscious thought before she passed out was one of horror. In the effort to sustain the Veil, Boar Skull’s comforting bulk had dissolved into Ursula’s true form again. She was herself again and vulnerable.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Ursula woke in the darkness of Macsen’s chamber. Bryn and Braveheart slept together in an untidy heap on the floor. She was still naked but for the cloak she was wrapped in and she was still Ursula. A pile of clothes lay on the bed, warrior’s clothes. She thought herself into Boar Skull’s bulk and nothing happened. The magic that coursed through her veins had gone. She felt bereft without it
. She dressed herself nonetheless in Boar Skull’s garments, merely tightening the belt several notches and tiptoed past Braveheart. He opened one eye and drifted back to sleep.
She thought she heard someone call her name. The courtyard was thronged with people, most of them strangers. There was no one there that she recognised. Still the feeling persisted. Men were stamping their feet against the cold, swigging mead from drinking horns, playing dice or sharpening their swords. Whatever they seemed to be doing, Ursula knew they merely waited. Expectation and fear flavoured the air like spice. The Combrogi’s day of judgement was at hand.
She listened to the talk. The Ravens had arrived and set up their camp. They filled the whole base of the valley. Macsen was not going to give them much time to get comfortable. They expected a siege. Macsen was going to give them a battle. Come dawn the Ravens would taste death prepared the Celtic way. No one mentioned allies. Did they not know or had she dreamed the whole encounter with the ninth legion? She went in search of Dan or Kai. No one took any notice of her. She had the strangest feeling that she wasn’t really there at all.
It had not been a dream. The Legate sat within the Great Hall. His Roman dress was covered in a long hooded cloak and he had removed his distinctive head-dress. He and Macsen pored over the clay map. Perhaps seeing the encamped Ravens fighting under alien banners had given him the proof he needed. Macsen had spoken truthfully in one sense; the Ravens did follow an emperor other than the Legate’s own. Whether this was because the Legate was from a different time or a different world or because the second legion really was a rebel group, serving a false emperor, she could not say. She could not quite get her mind round all the possibilities. Her grasp of history was not good enough. Perhaps Dan would know. All that mattered to Ursula was that the Legate seemed prepared to fight on their side.
The two leaders were alone but for the guards which surrounded them; equal numbers of Combrogi and centurions. They had been busy while she was sleeping, that much was clear. It seemed that the ninth legion had hidden itself in the trees on either side of the valley, according to Macsen’s former plan. The two men discussed only the details of their formation: where to place cavalry, where the auxilia and where the main body of the legion. She did not know how long she had slept. It must have been for a long time because it seemed that Cadal had returned from Ireland and was moored out to sea in readiness for a sea war should it prove necessary. She wondered if anyone had told him about Rhonwen. Rhonwen! Now that she came to think of it she was sure that it had been Rhonwen’s voice she thought she’d heard calling her name. Had she returned from wherever the Veil had taken her? Ursula would have liked to tell Macsen what had happened to Rhonwen, but he did not seem to know she was there. Both he and the Legate took no notice of her at all and even the guards failed to challenge her. Where was Dan?
She found him at last in the old barracks arguing with Kai.
‘I am grateful for the helmet, but I can’t use a breast-plate or a shield in battle, Kai. Look, I’ve never fought in one before, really. I’m not ungrateful. Don’t think that. But they hamper my movements too much. I appreciate what you’re telling me but I can’t fight defensively when I’m mad anyway.’
Ursula stood next to Dan, but he ignored her. It came to her suddenly that she was stuck in her ‘not-there-thing’ without the magic to get out of it.
‘Dan!’ Her voice sounded shrill and desperate to her own ears. It did not sound at all in his.
‘How’s Ursula?’ Kai said by way of changing the subject. ‘Any change?’
‘No. She breathes but that is all. It’s been three days. How long can you go without eating?’ Dan’s expression clouded. Kai touched his arm comfortingly. Dan pulled himself together. ‘Is Macsen still waiting for her recovery?’
Kai shrugged. ‘Rufinus, the Legate, is pushing him to attack at dawn. That’s the word among the men too. I don’t think they can keep the ninth legion secret for much longer.’ Kai glanced round and lowered his voice so that even Ursula had to strain to hear him. ‘There have been rumours that Macsen’s sold them out, that he and Lud of the Brigantes will fight between them to see who is to be the more powerful Raven puppet. Not all the men believe it but enough are worried. I don’t think Macsen can wait any longer and still have the warriors behind him.’
‘I don’t see why he’s been waiting for Ursula to come round. I mean he’s never shown any interest before.’
‘You mean he’s not been the same since he saw her naked!’ Kai laughed robustly. ‘Oh, he cares enough for Ursula all right, she’s a lovely-looking woman, but it’s not that. Macsen needs to present our men with a real live sorceress or sorcerer so that she can vouch for the ninth being from another world. There is a risk that our men will fight the ninth, not the Ravens, if he doesn’t explain and that they won’t fight at all if he does.’
Both men were silent for a moment. Ursula knew that she blushed.
‘She picked a risky strategy all right,’ said Kai.
‘But she’s given us a chance where we had none,’ answered Dan hotly.
‘It’s “OK”, Bear Sark. You don’t have to defend your Ursula against me. Let’s go and find the man himself. Even he must have tired of battle tactics by now. He’s as bad as Hane. The way I see it, you charge, kill the enemy and go home. What’s so complicated about that?’ Dan laughed and the two men headed for the Great Hall.
Ursula sat down heavily. Macsen needed her and she had been unconscious for three days. Kai thought she was lovely. Dan thought she’d done the right thing. No one could see her. She had no magic and she hadn’t eaten for three days. She was too weary to hold so many disjointed thoughts in any kind of pattern in her head. Worse still she thought she could hear Rhonwen calling to her mind. It was a distant echo of a call as if Rhonwen was a long way away, but it was a call none the less. Ursula could have done without it. Maybe she should eat something.
A feast had been prepared. Food was carried into the Great Hall. The aroma of roast pork reminded Ursula that she was indeed hungry. She grabbed a haunch but nobody seemed to even notice that. With the succulent juices of the meat running down her throat and chin she felt strength and magic return. The magic was trickling rather than pouring through her, but at least it had not deserted her. She found a quiet corner of the crowded Hall and steadily worked her way through three days’ worth of food.
Few of the men seemed to be eating with their usual enthusiasm. Many refused the drinking horn and sipped goblets of water. She heard more than one whisper of battle nerves and the need for clear heads and many more whispers of battle nerves and the need to be blind drunk. There seemed to be two distinct schools of thought. She saw the men of Alavna eating together. There was someone missing. She realised with a sudden unexpected pang that it was Gwyn. They were eating but sparingly and sharing the comradeship of thoughtful silence. As her magic returned she could perceive the strange multicoloured aura of fear and excitement that fogged the room like another kind of mist. Just to breathe it was intoxicating. She felt the first flutter of nerves.
Three thousand men could not congregate in that room, large as it was. The doors were opened wide to include the others who ate and sat outside in the courtyard. The Legate, Rufinus, and the other war leaders shared Macsen’s couch, or knelt by its side.
Macsen gave the warrior’s hand signal for silence. For once it came almost instantly and all eyes were on him. Ursula stepped carefully over the seated warriors to stand by his couch. No one saw her.
‘We are here together, the noblest of what is left of Britain. We all know why we are here because today is the beginning of freedom for Britain. For all of you have united together and have no taste for servitude. We are here to defeat the Ravens. They plunder, they butcher, they ravish, and call it by the lying name of “empire”. They make a desert and call it “peace”.’ There was a roar and a stamping of spears and shields. Macsen raised his hand again for silence.
‘Here on the last free
soil of Britain we can have victory. We can defeat the carrion crow that casts its black shadow over this land. They have raped our women, murdered our children, destroyed our sanctuaries and yet we still have power they lack. Remember the druid Prince who died at Lindow. The magic of the land that his death unleashed is with us now and can deliver victory into our willing arms.’ There was more foot stamping and roaring though fewer people knew what he was talking about.
‘Ursula Alavna ab Helen known as Boar Skull, a proven warrior of our people, has called an army through the Warrior’s Veil to fight to rid us of the unkindness of Ravens. An army from another world is with us and together we can free this land.’
At Macsen’s signal Rufinus stood to his feet. He was wearing the armour of Rome but around his wrists he wore the newly-painted warrior tattoo of the Combrogi. The spear thumping ceased abruptly. The men were quiet. It was now or never. Ursula felt again the electric pulse of magic through the conductor of her spine. She was suddenly there in front of the assembled men, like an apparition. There was a massed gasp; then, while all eyes were on her, she transformed herself into Boar Skull at his most massive, complete with moustache and tattoos.
She had failed before. She could not afford to fail again. Macsen had nearly lost them, for all his rhetoric. The very air had cooled to near hostility. Rufinus was too much a Raven to be acceptable to the warriors of the Combrogi. This time maybe she could make a difference.
‘I am Ursula Alavna ab Helen, I got my name for an oath I made at Alavna. I saw there what Ravens had done. I swore an oath to avenge it. To many of you I am known as the warrior, Boar Skull. I trained here and proved myself a warrior of the Combrogi. I swore an oath to my King. I am a sorcerer. With my magic I raised the Warrior’s Veil. I did it to keep my vow at Alavna. I did it to keep my oath to my King.
