Diana by the Moon

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Far away, a pinprick of light flickered. Diana watched it grow in size and intensity, until that beacon too, burned brightly.

  The boy tapped her arm and pointed beyond the next beacon. “See? On the horizon?”

  She narrowed her eyes, concentrating. She saw a third beacon, far away, begin to burn.

  “And so it will go until word reaches Arthur,” the boy told her.

  She nodded. The boy had lit the beacon for Arthur. She had lit the beacon for Alaric. It was Alaric’s trust in Arthur that she was depending upon now.

  “Go swiftly,” she whispered, watching the distant beacon shine.

  * * * * *

  The battle had not gone well. Griffin was stitching up a sword slash on Rhys’ arm, while the other men of Alaric’s troop lay around the campfire, eating and recovering. It was fully dark now and the fighting had ceased for the night.

  They had met the Saxons on a wide plain south of Lindum, just where Arthur had predicted but the Saxons had been far fewer in number than they had been led to expect.

  Even outnumbered nearly two to one, the Saxons still fought with vicious determination. Perhaps desperation lent them strength, for they had dealt a blow to Arthur’s army this day and would in all likelihood do the same on the morrow.

  Alaric pushed his bowl of food aside. It was terrible fare and was the cause of some jokes about the villa and the meals they had first eaten there. Compared to Sosia’s highly seasoned cooking, this meal and most others that they had scrounged for since joining up with the main army were bland and unappetizing.

  “The beacon!” Rhys shouted, sitting up. His food spilled into the grass and Griffin’s hand was jerked forward as the needle he held was pulled away.

  Alaric spun to look over his shoulder. The nearest beacon was alight. Far off, another was burning brightly. As they watched, the next beacon to the south sprang up in reaction.

  Word from the north.

  Diana.

  Rhys was at his side. “Sir, it’s from the north.”

  Alaric nodded. “Make preparations. I’ll talk to Arthur.” He walked into the dark, heading for the slight knoll where Arthur’s tent was pitched.

  There was light aplenty around the tent and men worked busily around it but none went in or out. There was a guard at the opening but the flap was shut.

  Alaric approached directly and nodded to the guard. The guard dropped his spear across Alaric’s path. “They’re not to be disturbed, sir.”

  “‘They’? Is Merlin there?”

  The guard just stared stoically at him.

  Alaric called on a form of power he seldom used. “Do you know who I am?”

  “An officer in Arthur’s army, sir.”

  “And cousin to Merlin.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I need to speak with my cousin. You dare bar me from seeing my own family?”

  “Sir, Prince Merlin gave the order himself.”

  “Then I’ll answer to him.” Alaric pushed up the spear and tried to duck under it but the guard was too quick. Alaric felt a fist slam into his temple and he saw a brief shower of falling stars. The sting was minor but it was the last in a long day of bruises and blows and it whipped across the surface of his temper, enough to stir it into life. Frustration of all sorts he could withstand in a normal day but not now when every moment wasted kept him from reaching Diana. Even now she might be fighting for her life and this soldier was delaying him.

  So Alaric vented his anger, with a quick flurry of movements that ended with the guard down on the ground with a bloody mouth, clutching his stomach and noisily sucking in air.

  Alaric stood over him, already regretting his actions. He looked up to find Merlin standing at the now open flap. Tall and with the typical Celtic color, Merlin’s black hair and black eyes were replicas of Alaric’s. What distinguished the two cousins was the air of reserve and watchfulness about Merlin. His eyes were farseeing and because he knew the future, Merlin’s reactions were not always predictable.

  With an injured guard at his feet and bloody knuckles, Alaric should by rights be thrown in chains and flogged, for breaking of discipline in Arthur’s army was not treated lightly. Yet Merlin merely looked at the guard then up at Alaric and raised a single brow.

  “You’d better come in, then.” He turned back into the tent.

  Alaric wiped his hand clean and followed Merlin in.

  Arthur was frowning over a map, his red-gold hair catching every flicker of the lamp flames. He looked up as Alaric approached and glanced at Merlin. Then, shrugging, he smiled at Alaric. “You’re abroad late. You wanted to see me?”

  “You’ve not heard then? The beacon has been lit. Word has come from the north.”

  Again, Arthur glanced at Merlin, then shook his head. “We’ve been closeted in here for hours. Why is it that you bring me this news and not the messenger?”

  “Sir, the beacons from the north are lit. If they began in Eboracum, then they are not merely reporting a small incursion. It must mean that there is a major invasion of Saxons to the north…it would explain the small numbers here. We must leave at once.”

  Arthur straightened and pointed to a stool opposite him. “Sit, soldier and explain yourself. Why must it necessarily be numbers on the scale that you predict? Report.”

  The order to report steadied Alaric a little. A report must be logical, orderly and free of speculation. A compilation of facts.

  “Sir, if the beacon line originated from Eboracum, then there is only one person who would have lit the beacon there—”

  “Only one? In an entire city?” Arthur was smiling.

  “Sir, Eboracum is a Roman city and you…are Celtic.”

  “My cousin is trying to explain delicately that you are not loved in Eboracum,” Merlin added.

  Arthur laughed. “Romans hating me? That’s hardly news. But is their hatred so strong they would rather perish than be saved by the bastard Pendragon?”

  “The Bishop would, sir and he controls the city,” Alaric replied.

  Arthur’s smile faded. “I see. Continue. This one man who does not hate me…”

  “She—”

  “She?” Arthur’s brow lifted.

  “Yes sir. She would not have sent word of anything other than overwhelming numbers.”

  “Why not?” His question was sharp but Arthur’s expression was one of speculative interest, not cynicism.

  “She would not willingly send word at all, unless she was in mortal danger. Sir, she had no great love for you, either.”

  “Another Roman?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But she would overcome her prejudice to send word if the circumstances were dire enough. Is that it?”

  “Sir, I suspect that she, like the Bishop, would hesitate to send word at all if I had not extracted her promise in this matter.”

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I see,” he murmured.

  “Sir, I know you must deal with the host here, tomorrow but allow me to take a troop north. If there is a war host near Eboracum, the city will stand for a day or so but there are estates and farms and undefended villages…the Saxons will raze the land from the wall to here and be free to join up with these Saxons and continue on their way.”

  “This is exactly why I must deal with this host here.”

  “Then can I go north? All I need is forty men…”

  Arthur was already shaking his head. “If the numbers are as great as you reason, then sending forty men against that army would be a rashness I cannot justify.”

  “We don’t have to engage the entire army, sir, merely help defend some of the outlying farms and villages.”

  “You don’t know for certain that the message originated from Eboracum. It could have begun farther south.”

  “Sir, the Arbus is a natural beachhead and leads directly to the largest city in the north. Where else would they attack first?”

  “Here,” Arthur responded dryly.

  “S
ir—”

  “No, Alaric,” he said quietly but with a whiplash in his tone that Alaric recognized. Arthur had made up his mind. “We must deal with the enemy to hand first, and the only advantage we have over them is numbers. The gods know that even our greater numbers are barely enough. You are asking me to cut those numbers down by forty and deprive myself of one of my most capable lieutenants. It would be just as foolish as sending forty men against an army on the rampage.” Arthur stood up, signaling the end of the interview. “We will face this enemy first, together, and then we will ride north to deal with your Saxon horde. As you said, Eboracum will withstand the assault for a day or two.”

  Alaric stared at his hands, unable to look Arthur in the eye. He did not want Arthur to see his despair. “Sir…she is my wife.”

  There was a little silence, enough to make Alaric to look up. Arthur was staring at him, startled. Merlin’s face was without expression but Alaric suspected that he was not surprised.

  Arthur sank back onto his chair. “You were wed?”

  “By the Lady of the Lake.”

  Arthur’s brow rose farther. “I see. And your lady’s name?”

  “Diana, daughter of Marcellus Aurelius, deceased.”

  “Roman, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  Arthur laughed a little. “Merlin told me that there was good reason for sending one who hated Romans as much as you into the heart of the old Roman colony and I didn’t believe him. You would think after all this time I would have learned to trust his intuition.”

  Merlin remained silent, as was his way.

  “Sir, let me go north.”

  Arthur was grave. “No. I’m sorry, Alaric. I understand your concern but it’s a concern we all have in common and each of us must deal with it as best we can. The day after tomorrow, perhaps, we can ride north.” He stood again.

  “Sir, she sent word at sunset tonight. It will take a day to ride there. She will not last another three days.”

  Arthur nodded. “I understand. But I must still refuse.” His gaze locked onto Alaric’s. “Is that clear, Alaric?”

  Alaric looked into the eyes of the leader he had followed faithfully for over ten years. “It is clear, sir.”

  “I want your word, Alaric. You will not go rushing off to the north alone.”

  Alaric saw Diana in his mind, standing behind the villa wall, while Saxons poured over the top in bloodthirsty droves.

  “I would view any such act by you as treason,” Arthur added. “Give me your word.”

  Alaric took a deep breath. “I will stay here.”

  The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Late the next day, a steady trickle of people began knocking on the villa gates. Farmers, cot-holders, herders, artisans, people who lived between Eboracum and the estate. All sought refuge and with them came news of the Saxons. The greater part of the host had laid siege to the city. The rest, many hundreds of them, were spreading out into the countryside, attacking any settlement they came across, laying torches to them all.

  The news grew steadily worse as the night lengthened. The Saxons were pushing south along Ermine Street, slowly but steadily.

  At this news, fear leapt tenfold in the household and people began to speak of moving on, taking their chances in the forest. Diana rounded on Florentina, who dared mention the notion within her hearing.

  “We stay here! We stand a better chance if we stay behind the fortifications. We can hold out until help arrives.”

  “Help? From whom?”

  “Arthur! Word has been sent. It is up to us now to wait.”

  Florentina sniffed. “Since when did you change your allegiance to that Celtic—”

  “Florentina!” Sosia interrupted sharply.

  Diana shook her head. “That Celtic bastard is our only hope, Florentina. There is no Roman legion to come to our rescue. There is no one else.”

  “Why would the Pendragon come to our rescue?”

  “He will,” Diana muttered, although her faith on this point was as shaky as Florentina’s.

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then we are truly on our own. But until that time, we do what we can…and we stay.”

  “We’d be better waiting for help to arrive in the forest.”

  “If we do that, then the Saxons will ride through the land completely unhindered. No. We stay and we fight as best we can and we slow them down as much as possible until Arthur gets here.”

  “Us? Fight? We’re not soldiers!”

  “Half the Saxon army are not soldiers, either. They’re farmers, like us. All they have is determination and we have that, too. With a decent defensive shield, we can bring them to a standstill.”

  Sosia lifted her chin. “My lord Alaric told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  Florentina frowned. “You really believe Arthur will come and save us?”

  Diana sighed. “I believe Alaric and he believes in Arthur.” She looked around at the rest of the room, at the dawning hope in their faces. “So let us prepare ourselves as best we can. I want those kettles ready by supper!”

  They turned back to their allotted tasks. Even the strangers who had come for shelter had been given work to do and the children had been busy for most of the day collecting stones.

  Diana turned back to her own task—sharpening her father’s short sword—with a heart more troubled than anyone else’s in the room.

  Sosia leaned closer to her. “They may bypass the villa because the defenses will cause them too much trouble and you won’t have slowed them down at all.”

  “They won’t pass us by,” Diana assured her. “They will assume that such a large villa will be full of riches.” Her mouth turned down. “Or full of food.”

  * * * * *

  By morning, they could see distant smoke that spoke of the Saxon approach. There was a collective shiver of apprehension throughout the villa but no more was spoken of running and hiding. Grimly, they turned back to their tasks.

  Minna dogged Diana’s heels throughout the day, as Diana kept busy finding work for newcomers. Minna was aware in some distant way of the threat of the Saxons and she did not attempt to find the girl an occupation as she normally would. Instead she allowed Minna to help her devise makeshift weapons for those who were capable of fighting.

  Diana found herself constantly looking to the gate whenever someone else was admitted, to see if the new arrival was a dark haired soldier. She knew her hope was foolish, for even if Alaric set out immediately he had seen the beacon, he could not possibly arrive earlier than the morrow.

  One small hope lay in the fall of night. If the Saxons halted their progress to feast and sleep throughout the night, then their chances were good that Alaric, and help, would arrive at the villa gates before the Saxons did.

  But as the sun began its slow climb down the western sky, the smell of wood smoke became stronger and the rising smoke columns drew closer. When Diana paused to listen, she fancied she could hear horns and war-cries.

  Toward sunset, it was no longer in doubt that the Saxons were on their way. The sound of them, at first a subdued murmur, grew steadily louder. Diana eyed the lowering sun and looked toward the north anxiously. If the Saxons did not progress far enough to see the estate, they might settle down for the night where they found themselves. The villa would be relatively safe for another night. If the sun did not set quickly enough, then they would come upon the villa and then Diana and the household would have to battle until nightfall, or longer, if the Saxons were bloody-minded enough.

  Diana stood upon the roughly dressed wooden planking of the rampart, watching the road to the north, waiting and listening. Minna stood by her, her hand clutching Diana’s tunic. They were silent.

  Below them, the last of the people slipped into the villa.

  Then Diana saw the Saxons. Peaked metal helmets, long flowing hair and beards, it seemed there were a hundred or more of them and each carri
ed a sword, or axe or spear that glinted red in the sunset.

  Blood.

  “Shut the gates!” Diana shouted.

  “Bar the gates! Shut them! Shut them!” came the echoing cry and Diana felt the wall vibrate beneath her feet as the gates were slammed shut and the bars dropped down over them.

  Diana realized that she was trembling. Now that the moment was here, all she could feel was a fear that threatened to overwhelm her and take away all her senses. She picked up Minna’s hand and clutched it. “God help us, Minna. Have I made the right decision?” For the hundredth time, for the last time, she reminded herself that she trusted Alaric. Help would come.

  She watched as the Saxons saw the estate and veered off the road onto the track that led to the villa. Their march seemed to speed up a little. Eagerness? Diana shivered at the thought.

  “You were right, my lady. They cannot resist a ripe plum,” Sosia said from beside her, making Diana jump.

  “What are you doing here?” Diana snapped. “Go and tend the fire pit!”

  “I will go soon enough,” Sosia replied calmly. “How long must we hold out until the Pendragon comes?”

  “We can’t look for them until tomorrow at least. So we must hold out until full dark.”

  Sosia nodded toward the approaching Saxons. “Do you think darkness will stop them?”

  Diana bit her lip. “They’ve had a full day of raiding and murder. They’ll want to fill their bellies and sleep, soon. If we’re not as easy to pluck as they think, then they might leave us until the full light of day.”

  “So we must show them our thorns,” Sosia murmured and turned and made her way back to the ladder.

  The Saxons were halfway to the villa now. They were marching past the fields Diana and her people had spent days planting and tending. Just ahead of them the track made a sharp curve around the fields to approach the gates. When the leading warriors reached that point, a horn was lifted and blown and the blast of sound made her jump. In unison they all lifted their shields and weapons and cried aloud in their native tongue. They began to run toward the villa, straight across the well-tilled fields and the ground trembled under their feet. The noise of their rush was thunderous.