Cogidubnus opened his eyes; he groaned as he registered where he was and began struggling against the rope binding his wrists. ‘You shouldn’t have talked about being swallowed, Vespasian.’
‘What?’
‘Look where we are: at the top of the chest, just below the throat.’
With Magnus working behind him, Vespasian leant his head against the central pole and put his eye to a crack in what would soon become their floor; he could see down into the next compartment in the belly of the wicker man where Glaubus and Balbus were sitting back to back also fumbling with one another’s bonds, surrounded by bleating sheep. Beyond them the central pole split into a ‘Y’ shape; each branch headed into one of the legs, whence the cries emanated. He could just make out figures through the wall: the last few marines. He was, indeed, just below the throat; he felt the bile rise in his.
Then a vague hope came to him. ‘The four ropes came out of the throat; they must be tied off to this pole just above us. If we can break through into it we might be able to release them, and then with this wind the man would fall.’
‘And we’ll break our necks,’ Magnus complained, still pulling at the knot.
‘Better than being burnt alive; but we might not if we brace ourselves between the walls and try to land on our feet.’
‘I can’t think of a better option,’ Cogidubnus agreed. ‘And we have a bit of time; there’ll be prayers of dedication before they set the thing on fire.’
Magnus turned around to examine his progress. ‘This plan works upon yet another assumption: that I can get this bastard knot undone.’
Cogidubnus crawled over. ‘You use your teeth and I’ll pull at it; stop me if I’ve got hold of the wrong bit.’
The wicker man continued to rise; it was now beyond the height of the druids below who had resorted to long poles to help erect it.
The wind strengthened the higher they went, whistling through the different sized and shaped cracks, producing various tones and pitches as if scores of pan pipes were being blown at once. The angle grew steeper and Vespasian’s face was forced against the wall that would soon become the floor of the chest section, but he stayed where he was and prayed to Mars that this was how he would survive to fulfil the prophecy made at his birth.
‘It’s coming,’ Magnus growled through teeth clenched around the rope. ‘Pull yourself away slowly, sir.’
Vespasian arched his back, pulling his wrists away from Magnus and Cogidubnus; he felt the pressure of the rope around his wrists tighten and then, a moment later, give a little.
‘Stop,’ Magnus ordered. He opened his mouth and let go of the rope. ‘I’ve made a loop; put your fingers to my chin, Cogidubnus, and I’ll guide you to it.’
The King did as he was told and Vespasian felt a finger push next to his wrist.
‘Got it!’ Magnus exclaimed. ‘All right, pull again, sir.’
This time he sensed the rope giving gradually; Magnus leant forward and yanked with his head and neck. Vespasian felt the constriction around his wrists lessen and began to work them apart until, with a sharp pull of his right hand, the rope fell away.
He hauled himself up as the angle increased; Magnus and Cogidubnus floundered forward unable to support themselves. Pulling Magnus towards him, Vespasian worked on his knot; within a few moments it was loose. The wicker man was almost upright; through the gaps he saw two of the four ropes pulled around to the other side to prevent the colossus toppling as it reached the vertical. Cogidubnus’ wrists were released as the wicker man settled upright, rocking back and forth and making Vespasian feel sick as he looked down from his swaying prison.
Cogidubnus began to scrabble at the wickerwork’s weak point where the central pole cut through the ceiling. It was just within his reach. ‘It’s giving a bit.’ He stuck his fingers through the gaps and pulled up his body with his arms so that his full weight was suspended from the ceiling; he hung there for a moment and then began to bounce. ‘Add your weight to mine!’
Vespasian and Magnus each grabbed one of the King’s shoulders and pulled down; the woven wood began to creak and bend. Below, the druids had tied off the four ropes and were now forming a circle around the base.
Still Cogidubnus bounced as the wind howled around them and still the extra weight of Vespasian and Magnus produced nothing more than the groaning of supple wood. Their efforts became more frantic as it became clear from the raising of their hands that the druids had started to dedicate their sacrifice.
Cogidubnus heaved down once again and this time a small gap appeared between the ceiling and the pole; clinging on with one hand he forced the other into it, grazing his knuckles. Once he had a grip he slipped the other hand in next to it and then pulled himself up with all his strength as Vespasian and Magnus pulled down with all theirs. A loud crack caused their hopes to surge.
‘And again!’ Cogidubnus shouted as the cries of terror from below reached a new high.
They pulled down and, with another series of cracks, the gap grew. Vespasian glanced below and saw the cause of the intensified screaming: a brazier, glowing with burning charcoal, had been brought out of one of the huts. His pulse quickened as they wrenched down again; the gap was now wide enough for a head.
‘A couple more!’ Cogidubnus cried; blood trickled down both his arms.
Vespasian closed his eyes as he put his whole force into the effort; Magnus snarled like a beast at bay. With multiple snaps Cogidubnus fell back and all three of them collapsed to the floor causing the wicker man to sway and then jerk against the supporting ropes.
The gap was now a hole and through it could be seen the knots.
‘Give me a hand up,’ Magnus said, getting to his feet and clambering onto the pole. ‘I’ll undo the two seaward ones so we fall inland.’
The desperate noise continued to rise from below but now it came with something else: the smell of burning straw. Vespasian and Cogidubnus pushed Magnus without ceremony up through the hole as fingers appeared through the gaps in the floor.
‘Break it down!’ Balbus bellowed, tearing at the wicker with Glaubus; below them the sheep ran in circles bleating fearfully.
Vespasian and Cogidubnus both began to stamp and jump on the area around the pole as smoke fumed upwards from the legs along with screams that were no longer of terror but of anguish.
As Vespasian worked he glanced out to sea; the biremes were making their way north, under oars on a heavy swell. ‘We’ll head for the haven, if we make it.’ Cogidubnus’ expression indicated that he thought that was a remote possibility; the tang of roasting human flesh wafting on the wind seemed to confirm his doubts.
‘Catch!’ Magnus shouted from above and threw down the end of the first rope; the wicker man swayed precariously for an instant before Vespasian managed to take up the strain. ‘I’ll untie one more and that’ll do it.’
Vespasian coughed as the smoke started to rasp in the back of his throat; he held on to the rope whilst still trying to trample a hole in the weakening floor. Horrific animal cries rose even above the human agony as, below Balbus and Glaubus, the sheep began to ignite and race around the base of the belly like four-legged torches.
‘And again!’ Magnus shouted, chucking the second rope’s end down for Cogidubnus to catch. Magnus followed it down as Vespasian’s foot finally went through the floor. ‘We’re going down!’ Vespasian shouted at the two centurions as they scrambled to enlarge the hole. He looked below; through the wafting smoke he could see faint figures running this way and that and it seemed to him that there was a different human sound in the air and it was not one of pain. The heat started to scorch his legs; he, Cogidubnus and Magnus looked at each other for a second, as if to say “what choice do we have?”, before letting go of the ropes and then throwing themselves onto their backs on the floor, gripping onto the wall that would end up as their ceiling.
They felt the wicker man sway and then roll; below them Balbus and Glaubus clung on for their lives as the sheep, now b
alls of fire, threw themselves at the walls, maddened by pain.
The construction lurched and teetered for an instant, as if held up by one of the gods to whom the sacrifice was dedicated, before groaning forward just a few hands’ breadths; then, with a stomach-lurching inevitability, momentum took over and the colossus fell, uncontrolled, sickeningly fast, funnelling the smoke up through the wicker to blind Vespasian.
‘Bend your legs!’ Magnus yelled as they were at forty-five degrees; the sudden impact came an instant later and a mighty crash filled Vespasian’s ears as he was propelled forward face first into the jagged wooden weave that separated them from the throat before crumpling to the ground.
The clash of iron against iron broke through Vespasian’s reeling senses; he opened his eyes but his vision was still obscured by stinging smoke. A low groan next to him caused him to turn; Magnus was on his knees clutching at his face with blood seeping through his fingers. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I can run.’ He wiped the blood from his face, contorted with pain, to reveal a gore-dripping mush in place of his left eye, which hung, impaled, on a shard of wood protruding from the broken weave. He blinked his other eye. ‘And I can see, just; let’s get out.’
Cogidubnus picked himself up, unscathed, a flicker of hope on his face. ‘The head broke off in the impact; we’re clear!’ He climbed through the hole, dislodging Magnus’ eye.
Vespasian helped Magnus through the gap as Balbus and Glaubus scrambled out of their compartment with tunics smouldering and legs blackened with burns; behind them the sheep blazed and crackled.
Focused only on following Cogidubnus and Magnus out of the growing inferno, Vespasian made his way, crouching low, up the throat out into the open; figures ran towards them through the eddying smoke, shouting war cries, across ground strewn with the bodies of druids.
‘Cogidubnus!’ the King bellowed; the figures slowed and Vespasian almost stumbled to the ground with unexpected relief as he recognised them as Cogidubnus’ followers whom Magnus had sent to secure the haven.
After a brief conversation with his men, Cogidubnus turned to Vespasian. ‘We must hurry.’ He ran off in the direction whence they had come. Vespasian followed, helping Magnus who held a piece of material ripped from his tunic over his bleeding socket. Cogidubnus’ men, carrying the two marine centurions and a couple of their own wounded, maintained a rearguard as they raced away from the wicker man. Horizontal, blazing uncontrollably, it consumed the remains of the marines and the sheep. Only its great stag-like head remained untouched by the flames, looking up towards the gods who had been deprived of the most potent part of their sacrifice.
‘How did your men know to come here?’ Vespasian asked as they climbed down the escarpment where the wolves had attacked.
‘Some of the marines made it back to the haven and told them what had happened and that they thought we were dead. As my men are sworn to me unto death they were oath-bound to come to avenge me and reclaim my body. They say the way back is clear; the marines are holding the haven.’
‘The druids?’
‘Dead or scattered; my men came at them through the smoke and caught them unawares. We must be off the peninsula before they regroup.’
‘That gets my vote,’ Magnus croaked, struggling to keep on his stumbling feet as they passed through the bodies of the dead marines; all had wounds inflicted by blades. ‘I’ve just about had my fill of their company.’
‘I’ve a feeling that’s not a mutual sentiment,’ Vespasian observed, placing a supporting arm around his friend’s shoulders as they descended, as fast as the gradient would allow, diagonally down the steep flank of Tagell.
Reaching the bottom they began to scramble along the rocks back to the isthmus. As they negotiated the treacherous slabs of rock, Vespasian felt the urge to stop and look back at the sheer cliff above; seeing Myrddin standing there, he knew that the thought had been placed in his mind.
‘Vespasian!’ the druid cried. ‘We will let you go. Your guardian god’s will has proven too strong for us and our power cannot fight it – this time. Go! Leave this island and return to Rome where you may yet fulfil the prophecy laid out for you. But remember, nothing is absolute; there are many ways for a man to accept death willingly without him realising. We failed to secure yours because we made the mistake of allowing you to see the true extent of our power before you came here. Therefore you feared us. We see that now; Alienus will pay dearly for leading you to Sullis. We pray that another will succeed where we have not and by your death, which we still demand, help to bring to an early end the abomination that threatens the freedom of us all that, even now, grows in the bosom of Rome. The abomination that, although you will have the power to do so, you will not crush.’ Myrddin extended his right arm and held his palm towards Vespasian for a few moments before walking backwards to disappear behind the brow of the cliff.
‘What was that all about?’ Magnus asked.
‘I’ve no idea; what he said made no sense to me whatsoever.’
‘Said? He didn’t say a word; you just stared at each other. And none of us could move.’
Vespasian looked into Magnus’ one remaining eye and saw he was in earnest. ‘I’ve had enough of this; let’s get away from here.’
*
Vespasian’s chest was tight by the time they descended into the haven, following the downhill path of the stream that flowed into the inlet. A marine optio met them, looking nervous to see his commanding officer whom he had left to die.
‘It’s all right, optio,’ Vespasian reassured him, ‘I can’t blame any man for running from that horror.’ He looked over the man’s shoulder to his men who were busy floating the Cornovii’s currachs. ‘Have you sighted the ships?’
The tension on the optio’s face cleared and he looked mightily relieved. ‘Yes, sir; they’re about a quarter of a mile offshore.’
Four of Cogidubnus’ followers pushed a currach over and held it steady for Vespasian to climb in. ‘Good; how many men have you got here?’
‘Just seventy-four, sir.’
‘Seventy-four! That’s worse than I thought.’
‘Well, it’s seventy-six actually.’ The optio nodded to the men holding the boat as Magnus got reluctantly aboard. ‘But a couple rowed one of Cogidubnus’ men with your message out to the master trierarchus about half an hour ago.’
‘I didn’t send any messages.’ Vespasian turned to Cogidubnus. ‘Did you?’
‘No.’ The King shook his head and raised his eyebrows in admiration as he swung himself into the currach. ‘But you’ve got to hand it to the man; he’s got balls.’
‘I don’t suppose the two lads floating with their throats cut are feeling that complimentary about him right now,’ Magnus pointed out, settling heavily in the bow.
‘We could chase him.’
Vespasian sighed in resignation as Cogidubnus’ men pushed the boat out before jumping in to man the oars. ‘No, he’ll have headed further southwest. By the time we’re all aboard he’ll have a two-hour head start; we’ll never catch him. I’d like to know how he escaped from Judoc, though.’
Cogidubnus took up the steering-oar. ‘There seems to be nothing that can hold him; best just to kill him as soon as you have him.’
‘Well, that’s down to you now, Cogidubnus. Kill Alienus when you find him. Although where he will go with Rome, you and Myrddin all wanting him, I don’t know.’
The King’s florid, round face cracked into a smile as his men pulled on the sweeps, propelling the boat out into the harbour. ‘He’ll turn up. Men who want vengeance always do.’
‘Yes,’ Magnus muttered, dabbing at his seeping socket, ‘and normally they turn up just when you least expect them to.’
‘Oh, I’ll be expecting him every day; it’ll give me great pleasure to send his head to you in Rome.’
Vespasian patted the Britannic King’s shoulder. ‘Cogidubnus, my friend, when I’m back in Rome the last thing I shall want to receive is a souveni
r of this island, however pretty it might be.’
PART III
ROME, JUNE AD 47
CHAPTER XI
THE SEA, CALM and azure, reflected a myriad of tiny, transient suns off its gentle undulations. Vespasian squinted and pulled his face into an expression even more strained than had become the norm during his last six years under the Eagle of the II Augusta. Above, the cause of each fleeting flash of golden light burnt down from its midday high onto his uncovered, thinning hair with an intensity that had been just a memory to him after so long in northern climes far away from Rome. Feeling the strength of the sun warming his body warmed his heart in equal measure as he watched the warehouses, cranes and tenements surrounding the ship-lined harbour of Ostia, just a mile away on the southern bank of the Tiber mouth, come closer with every shrill-piped pull of the trireme’s one hundred and twenty oars.
The flitting shadows of gulls played on the wooden deck, bleached by sun and salt and worn smooth by sailors’ calloused feet; swooping and soaring above, they serenaded the ship with their mournful cries as they escorted it on its final leg of the sixday voyage from Massalia via Corsica. Vespasian turned his head left, shading his eyes, and tried to focus on the huge construction site a couple of miles north of the Tiber and Ostia; two great curving moles extended into the sea enclosing what would be a spacious harbour at whose centre, on a rectangular man-made island, stood the beginnings of a lighthouse.
The trierarchus, standing next to him, saw the direction of his gaze. ‘Claudius had one of the great ships that Caligula built to transport obelisks from Egypt filled with rocks and concrete and then sunk to provide the foundations for the lighthouse.’
Vespasian whistled softly as he surveyed the thousands of tiny figures slaving away – literally – on the new port and the buildings surrounding it. ‘That is a massive undertaking.’
‘It’s even bigger than what you can see; Claudius has ordered that a canal be cut to the southeast to link the port to the Tiber. That way the river transports won’t have to brave the open sea with the prevailing wind blowing straight up the river mouth as they have to when coming to and from Ostia.’
Masters of Rome: VESPASIAN V (Vespasian 5) Page 21
