‘He says that we’re close; he can tell by the air, it’s dense with Sullis’ power.’ Cogidubnus whispered something in his own tongue to the rest of his men behind Yosef. With remarkable stealth they fanned out in the dark with hardly a twig disturbed. ‘Now we shall have need of our gods,’ the King muttered, pulling out his Wheel of Taranis from beneath his tunic.
Before Cogidubnus had completed the motion a shrill shriek off to their right pierced the heavy atmosphere, chilling their hearts despite the humidity. A score of torches suddenly ignited thirty paces away, their flames leaping up, bathing the underside of the canopy with a flickering glow and revealing a cage dangling from a high branch. Vespasian turned towards the light, his hands clammy and his hair lank with sweat, and was shocked to see his breath steaming out before him as if he was in a snow-covered land.
And then he saw them.
Out from behind each column of flame appeared a long-robed figure; the druids walked a couple of steps forward and stopped at the edge of a steaming pool that bubbled at its centre. Again the shriek was repeated and Vespasian saw that a young girl, naked and no more than ten years old, was in their midst; the two druids to either side of her held her firmly by her long, golden hair. Tears streamed down her face and she screamed again in abject terror; urine squirted from between her legs. A vicious curved knife was put to her throat to force her head back and a ball of some sort of food was forced into her mouth. A hand clamped her lips tightly shut so that she could not spit and fingers pinched her nostrils together. Unable to breathe she swallowed and, an instant later, convulsed. Her mouth and nose were released and immediately emitted thick streams of blood; blood seeped from her eyes and ears and flowed free from between her legs. She tried to cry to the heavens but her voice was drowned by blood flooding in her gorge and she sprayed a thick mist of crimson into the air. Her knees buckled but she remained upright, supported by her killers. The druids chanted a short prayer and Vespasian recognised the word ‘Sullis’ as they threw the still-twitching small body into the pool whose steaming waters turned red with the innocent blood.
It seemed to Vespasian, watching in horror, that the sacrifice had lasted an age but in reality it had been the work of fifty or so heartbeats. Glancing up at the cage he could make out a figure slumped within, motionless, taking no notice of what passed beneath. He drew his sword and heard the rasp of metal as his companions followed his lead; he started to edge forward with dread gripping his bowels but with his desire to rescue his brother overriding everything.
‘Stay back!’ Yosef shouted, raising his staff in the air with one hand whilst rummaging in his bag with the other.
The bubbling in the pool increased, buffeting the girl’s body, which was floating face-down and still emitting streams of blood; her hair, now stained crimson, spread out from her head like some ghastly bloom.
Yosef pulled the cup with which he had shared wine with Vespasian from his bag and walked steadily towards the pool’s edge, holding his staff horizontally before him, as if warding off the druids on the far side. They began a deep chanting and the turbulence in the water increased; the body undulated on the raging surface and then, as Yosef knelt by the water’s edge, it was forcibly sucked under. The turbulence ceased and the waters calmed; Yosef dipped his cup in the steaming pool and filled it. The druidical chanting continued and Vespasian felt all their eyes burning into him. Yosef rose to his feet and planted his staff in the soft ground at the pool’s edge; he held the full cup towards the druids, bringing out his personalised Wheel of Taranis. He intoned a prayer loudly in his own tongue, his words rising over the druids’ chant; they increased their volume and Yosef did likewise.
An explosion of water erupted from the centre of the pool; drops from the spray splashed onto Vespasian’s face. They were hot and he closed his eyes and wiped them away. When he opened them again he choked on a stifled scream: the girl stood upright in the middle of the pool, her feet just below the surface, and her eyes, which should have stared lifelessly, rolled in their sockets. Words came out of her mouth; deep guttural words unintelligible to Vespasian, but he did not need to understand them to comprehend that this was the voice of a malevolent goddess. His knees weakened and sweat streamed down his face; his breath steamed from his mouth in short puffs and he felt a fear that he knew he would not be able to control. He wanted to turn and run but the sheer horror of the sight transfixed him as the small child’s body, now the manifestation of Sullis, glided through the steam towards Yosef, issuing dark sounds full of malice. And yet, the visible proof of the existence of the goddess fed his faith in all gods and with chattering teeth he whispered a prayer to Mars, knowing that he would be heard, imploring him to aid Yosef in his struggle with the monstrosity.
Yosef kept up his prayer as the ghoulish entity neared him; the druids’ chanting intensified as if it had become a battle of wills.
Yosef released his Wheel of Taranis and pulled his staff out of the ground; Sullis was now no more than three paces from him. Her mouth twitched unnaturally as she uttered her filth, blood seeping from her, her eyes turning uncontrollably; her arms remained at her side, limp and swaying. Yosef pointed his staff at her so that the tip touched her blood-streaked chest; she stopped.
Vespasian shook with fear and cold in spite of the heat emanating from the goddess’s spring; he was vaguely aware of Magnus next to him muttering prayers to every god that he could think of, even Yosef’s. Cogidubnus had raised his Wheel of Taranis and was beseeching the god to strike down this apparition with cleansing lightning.
Sullis pushed against the staff; Yosef’s arm was rigid but the pressure of the goddess made it shake. Slowly and inexorably it was forced back and Sullis closed on him. He kept up his prayer, almost shouting, his voice insistent, whilst holding his brimming cup before him, its water now cooled and no longer steaming. His gaze was fixed on those unnatural eyes that only a short while before had stared in terror at the world for what should have been the last time.
Yosef’s arm continued to be driven back by a force incommensurate with the size of the body applying it; and yet he did not flinch. He continued shouting into the ghastly face. Vespasian felt that he was ordering her to leave; the same words were being constantly repeated whilst the goddess rumbled her refusal. Behind her the druids chanted on, their eyes all fixed on Vespasian and with cold realisation he understood that they were willing Sullis on towards him; only Yosef stood in her way and he seemed to be weakening.
Yosef took a step back and Sullis followed; she was now no more than a foot from the edge of the pool. Taking another step back, Yosef raised his cup. Sullis moved forward, still straining against the staff; her feet left the pool. The moment that Sullis glided onto the damp ground surrounding the pool Yosef dropped his staff. The hideous goddess flew at him, her voice changing to a note of triumph. Yosef flicked his cup, splashing the water into Sullis’ face; the goddess stopped as if it had not been liquid but, rather, solid rock that had hit her. The druids faltered; one or two of them wailed in despair. The possessed corpse convulsed and Yosef grabbed its shoulders, shaking it. Vespasian sensed that it was trying to retreat, to get back to the safety of the pool from which it had arisen so abominably.
‘Now for the druids!’ Yosef shouted between exhortations in his own language for the goddess to depart.
As if a spell had been broken, Cogidubnus rushed forward, his men flowing after him around the pool. Vespasian remained rooted, unwilling to move whilst Sullis remained manifest.
Yosef still had the goddess by the shoulders but her struggles were weakening. Suddenly her head fell back and her mouth opened and from it issued a wind that was more than a deep exhalation; it reminded Vespasian of the beating wings of the Phoenix as he stood beneath it over ten years before. It was a warm wind, not chill and malevolent as he would have expected to issue from Sullis, but, rather, peaceful and contented.
‘Return to God!’ Yosef cried in Greek as the wind rose up through the canop
y. ‘You are free from Heylel; return to God and rest in His bosom until the End of Days.’
The limp body of the sacrificed girl fell to the muddy ground; it was completely pale and devoid of all blood. Yosef looked at it with sorrow as he placed his cup back in the bag.
Vespasian glanced at Magnus; incredulity filled their eyes; their breath no longer steamed. ‘I believe, however long I live, that that will be the most dread . . .’ He trailed off, unable to articulate his terror.
Magnus nodded, vacantly. ‘That really weren’t natural.’
Cries from across the pool drew Vespasian’s attention as Cogidubnus and his men scythed into the druids who, instead of fleeing, stood wailing in despair at the loss of their goddess and accepted death; they were soon obliged and lay pierced and bloodied on the ground beneath the gently swaying cage. Vespasian shook his head, bringing his mind back to the matter in hand. ‘Help me to get Sabinus down, Magnus.’
Running around the pool, Vespasian kept well clear of its water, fearful of what other abominations it might hold. When he arrived underneath the cage Cogidubnus was already staring up at it, blood-slick sword in hand.
‘There seems to be a pulley system,’ the King informed him. ‘I’ll send up one of my men to lower it.’
It was the work of a few moments to get a man up into the tree; he soon reached the branch around which the rope was tied off. Untying the knot he began to feed the rope out.
Vespasian held his breath, watching intently the figure slumped on the floor of the descending cage. As the cage reached his eye-level the figure suddenly rolled over. Sabinus’ emaciated, bearded face peered at Vespasian in the flickering torchlight. ‘You took your time getting here, you little shit.’
It did not take Magnus long to force the lock and Vespasian helped his weakened brother out and to his feet. He was smeared in his own filth and his bones jutted through his tight, thin skin; yet despite that he managed to stand upright. He shook off Vespasian’s arms and staggered towards the water.
‘What are you doing?’ Vespasian asked as Sabinus fended off his attempts to help him.
‘I’m going to wash my arse in that pool now that it’s been cleared of goddesses.’
‘I wouldn’t go anywhere near that water – who knows what’s still lurking in there.’
‘Nothing, brother. I’ve been dangling above it for who knows how long, living in fear of the malice that emanated from it; but now it is gone and that is just a pool of hot water and I’m going to have a bath in it.’
‘I’d sooner dunk my arse in a tub of boiling oil,’ Magnus declared, looking suspiciously at the steaming, pinkish water. ‘Less chance of letting in an unwelcome visitor, if you take my meaning?’
‘Thank you, Magnus, if I ever need your opinions on hygiene I shall be sure to ask.’
Leaving Sabinus to his ablutions, Vespasian walked over to Yosef whose face was worn with fatigue.
‘She nearly got the best of me,’ Yosef said, leaning heavily on his staff.
‘How did you defeat her?’
‘I didn’t defeat her, I helped her. I released her from the spell cast by Heylel that confined her to this valley. I took water from the pool that was heated by her wrath at being trapped and I invoked God’s blessing on it. Once she was out of the pool the blessed water that I splashed on her face reconnected her to God, voiding Heylel’s curse against which she has struggled for millennia. She wanted to go and was finally free to do so. By doing Good as Yeshua preached I was stronger than the druids who just fed off Sullis’ malice; they couldn’t pull her back into the pool although they tried. I was able to hold her long enough for her to leave the body she had manifested in and return to God.’
‘Your god has proven his power but he had help from our gods; we were all praying that they would aid you. And Sullis manifest proves that they exist.’
Yosef chuckled. ‘Believe what you will; all faith is good. My God doesn’t need to prove His power.’ He patted his bag. ‘But Yeshua has. The cup I used was his; he used it to share wine with his followers on his last night. I keep it as a memento of him. His goodness seems somehow infused within it. When I asked God to bless the water, Yeshua’s face burnt in my mind and I knew that he was answering his wife’s and children’s prayers and lending me strength. This cup is a very potent vessel and has the power to do great Good.’
‘Kill every male you find down there, Maximus,’ Vespasian ordered his prefect of the camp, looking back down into the valley soon after dawn.
Maximus saluted. ‘What about the women and children, sir?’
Vespasian thought for a few moments. ‘No, we’ll spare them and sell them as slaves.’
‘And then you should set to work cutting down every tree in the valley,’ Yosef suggested. ‘If you deprive the druids of their sacred groves you’ll weaken them considerably.’
Cogidubnus nodded. ‘I agree; we should cut down every grove that we come across. We need to drive the druids away west and north; then perhaps you can start negotiating with the chieftains that still resist Rome.’
‘I would dearly love to capture a few alive,’ Sabinus said, pulling his only garment, a cloak, tighter around his naked body. ‘I’d hang them up in cages and feed them just enough to stay alive and keep them there for years. Most of all I’d like to find that bastard Alienus; think what he’d look like after five years in a cage.’
Vespasian looked apologetically at his brother. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
‘Why? Have you killed him?’
‘No; we captured him.’
Sabinus’ face brightened. ‘Then I can hang him in a cage.’
‘I’m afraid not; I gave him his life in return for information concerning your whereabouts. I gave my word.’
‘Well, you’ll have to go back on your word; I intend to have my vengeance on that treacherous little shit.’
‘I can’t, Sabinus, I—’
‘I’m afraid that the situation has changed, sir,’ Maximus put in.
‘How? What do you mean?’
‘Before we left we found one of the men guarding him with his neck broken and stripped of his uniform. I believe that Alienus walked out of the camp in the guise of a Gallic auxiliary.’
Vespasian checked himself from shouting at his veteran officer and then, as he closed his mouth, he smiled and turned to his brother. ‘It seems that you’re in luck, Sabinus; Alienus has been very stupid. Now he’s escaped, our agreement is cancelled without me going back on my word.’
‘That is very gratifying, brother; I’ll have a cage commissioned. Now all I’ve got to do is find him.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll turn up; he hates us too much to stay away.’
PART II
BRITANNIA, SEPTEMBER AD 46
CHAPTER VII
THE BITE OF whips on the mud-grimed, bleeding shoulders of scores of manacled slaves caused the bireme to edge forward a further few paces, releasing four or five smooth, rounded logs from beneath its stern. Teams of slave boys, too young to be hauling on the four long ropes that powered the vessel overland, immediately lifted the freed rollers and ran with them up to the bow of the ship, taking licks from the whips of the legionary overseers they passed. They placed them ready for the ship to trundle onto after the next bout of exertion from the human beasts of burden treated no better than the bellowing oxen harnessed to great yokes in their midst.
The once-proud warriors of the Durotriges were using muscles more accustomed to martial exercise to power Roman ships towards the river estuary, now less than a ship’s length away. Had the slaves been able to register anything but pain and misery they would have smelt the salt-tanged air and heard the gulls overhead crying as they circled the four ships already floated and now moored in a line down the middle of the hundred-pace-wide estuary. Long, low, wide-bellied rowing boats travelled to and fro from a couple of wooden jetties on the eastern bank, ferrying oarsmen and marines with their provisions out to their vessels to mak
e them fit for sea.
Along the bank, north of the jetties, lay the rib-like skeletons of four triremes in various stages of construction surrounded by yet more Britons working under the direction of Roman shipwrights and guarded by two centuries of Cogidubnus’ auxiliaries. Hammering, sawing, chiselling or carrying, these men were not manacled; they were free men having surrendered honourably to the II Augusta during its push westwards through the lands of the Durotriges over the last two campaigning seasons. Now as free subjects of Rome they were being given the chance to earn citizenship by building the ships in which they would serve as rowers for the next twenty-six years.
Standing with Magnus and Sabinus outside the gates of the II Augusta’s camp, overlooking the enterprise, Vespasian looked down the line of eight biremes still to be floated; in one huge convoy they had been hauled overland along the portage way from a river on the south coast of Britannia to this tidal estuary leading out to the sea on the northern coast of the peninsula running southwest out into the western ocean. The thirty-mile route was lined with crosses upon which were nailed those slaves who had fallen by the wayside too weak to carry on. They had been left to die in agony, as a warning to others, with their legs unbroken so that the instinct to survive would ensure that they would continually try to push up on the impaling nail through their feet in order to breathe, thus prolonging their death. The frequency of the crosses had increased as the days had gone by and although Vespasian regretted the financial loss he had condoned the executions in order to ensure that the operation was completed as quickly as possible.
‘Just eight days,’ Vespasian observed with satisfaction to Magnus next to him, ‘it shows what can be achieved if you put your mind to it.’
‘And if you’ve got the slaves to do it,’ Magnus pointed out, watching an older slave who had collapsed to the ground receiving a beating that would probably finish him. ‘I suppose he could be considered one of the lucky ones.’
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 13
