The Ancient Order: A Bud Hutchins Supernatural Thriller (Bud Hutchins Supernatural Thrillers Book 1)

by JB Michaels

  The Ancient Order

  A Bud Hutchins Supernatural Thriller

  JB Michaels

  Harrison and James Publishing

  For my Father, the man who inspired my love for history

  For Jack Magnus, ever the champion of my work

  For Andrzej, my brother-in-arms

  “From the opening pages to the final sentence, you are treated to a rollercoaster of fun and frights.”- DT Chantel

  SEE THE BACK OF THE BOOK FOR MORE!

  THE ANCIENT ORDER

  A Bud Hutchins Supernatural Thriller

  By JB Michaels

  PROLOGUE

  “Stand together, men!” The battle-hardened legionary barked a desperate order.

  The devastation surrounding the few soldiers struck fear into their brave hearts. Their brothers-in-arms once full of life and vigor, now lay dead in a most peculiar, inexplicable fashion.

  “Shields at the ready! Let it come. We’ll push it back together. Togeth—”

  A thumping bass sounded once again. Though the sky painted a gloomy gray over the land, the source of this thunder was no storm.

  Sweat poured from their helmets. Heavy gasps gave way to controlled breaths. The soldiers packed themselves into a square. Calloused hands gripped hilts of the devastatingly effective short sword—the gladius. Their visibility low, only the small space between their shields showed the danger that charged them. The force that killed their friends. Their fellow men of the mightiest empire the world had ever known—the toughest men born from the blood of their ancestors with the mission to spread the glory of Rome fell in great numbers this day. The remaining thoughts of their homes, their families, their futures, fell to the wayside as the need to survive prevailed.

  The rumble of a beast’s massive feet moved closer and closer.

  “Stand ready, men! Get ready to push it back!”

  The loud, guttural roar of the monster muted the centurion’s commands and words of encouragement.

  “Hold! Iehova be with us!”

  Chapter One

  Magnus Vicillius looked out onto the shoreline from the small rowboat powered by men in his charge. The gray sky and the cool temperature did little to welcome the warrior to Britannia. The temperature of the air served as harsh reminder of the wear on his body serving twenty years for SPQR. The Senate and the People of Rome relied on his service to maintain and strengthen the empire.

  The neck of the muscular centurion ached. He hurt it pushing a battering ram into the walls of a Germanic fort.

  There were many other scars that riddled his back. The barbarians sent out their women in the night to assassinate him and the other officers. He woke upon the first slash of many. Her wild demeanor nearly killed him. Magnus gained the advantage quickly, but his sleepy state caused him much grief. He rarely slept from that night forward. The incident proved his closest brush with death. No battle or bloody skirmishes with men bigger and stronger than he were as dangerous.

  Still, Magnus neared the end of his term. In just five short years, he would receive the land promised to him and be able to live peacefully. Away from the frontiers filled with uncertainty and danger.

  His reputation preceded him. A greeting party waited for him.

  His men jumped from the rowboat into the shallows and pushed the boat up to the beach.

  “Greetings, Magnus. Governor Gricola requests your presence immediately.” A man dressed in gray robes surrounded by four soldiers looked deadly serious.

  “Take me to him.” Magnus, in full centurion regalia—full metal breastplate, his large belt which held Marius’s mule, his centurion-class helmet with the crimson crest of hair— stepped onto the beach of dismal Britannia. His sandal-boots sank into the wet sand.

  Governor Gricola rubbed his hands on the robe covering his knees. “I sent them past the wall to attempt a peaceful conversion. They have yet to return. I sent for you to investigate and retrieve these men. I assure you I gave them orders to escort the missionary and march on peace and not conquest.”

  Magnus stood in front of the governor with his helmet under his arm. “The tribes in Caledonia historically don’t take kindly to Roman legions marching onto their land no matter the mission.”

  “Of course, Vicillius. I wouldn’t have sent them had I not sent scouts to procure a meeting with a tribal leader who sought knowledge of Iehova or Yeshua or whichever nomenclature they use. Of course, it would be in my best interest to bring Constantine’s god to the frontier.”

  “I shall march with my men upon first light.”

  “No more time should be wasted. I’d hoped they would return in the time it took for the message to reach Rome. Alas, they have yet to return.”

  “I assure you, my men will find out what happened to them, Governor.” Magnus stood tall in the lavish, intricate, wood-carved sitting room of the governor’s villa.

  “That is why I requested you, Magnus. You shall have the full complement of my local auxiliaries manning Hadrian’s wall, if you please.”

  “Though I appreciate the gesture, we’d better not stir up the tribes with another larger force beyond the walls. If we need the might of your forces, I shall send my best messenger for their assistance.”

  “Remember, Magnus. There is a reason we built the wall. Please come back.” The governor stood from his chair and nodded to Magnus.

  The centurion didn’t know if Gricola’s plea was genuine. He’d just admitted that he sent the troop to help convert the pagans of the North to gain favor with the emperor. Over the years, Magnus realized that rarely were the intentions of the patricians in power purely selfless.

  “I appreciate your concern for the finest soldiers of the empire. We will be back, Governor.”

  Chapter Two

  The next couple days were spent marching northwest to the walls. Magnus’s force of one hundred men were more than up to the task, having quelled barbaric rebellions in Gaul and in the hinterlands of the Germanic forests. The battles of their storied pasts would serve them well in the wilds of Caledonia among the Picts and other tribes that lay stubborn claim to the northern section of Britannia. They made camp at Hadrian’s Wall, about a day’s march south of the unmanned Antonine wall and the last built physical barrier between Roman Britain and Caledonia.

  Magnus removed his helmet and rubbed his scalp. “Tiberius, I want to take three men over this wall and possibly the old Antonine wall. I will accompany them. I need to know what happened, and we mustn’t alarm the native tribes with a full century marching into their territory. You must stay with the rest of the legionaries here. I will need horses.”

  “Very well, Magnus. How will you know where to look for the missing?” Tiberius asked.

  “The governor mentioned a tribal leader who sought knowledge of the Christian god. Upon first light, I will ask the auxiliaries who the tribal leader is and find him.” Magnus sat on his blanket in the comfort of his tent.

  “You speak of the Christian god as if he isn’t yours to worship, Magnus. It would be wise not to use such casual jargon when speaking of Yeshua. Constantinius II is quite the believer in his father’s converted belief. Many of the men believe, and I, myself, have grown quite fond of the message considering I have been digging ditches, building walls, bridges, aqueducts, and fighting for the empire the last twenty-four years with nary a sign from the gods that I am worthy of their dominion.”

  “Tiberius, I am aware of the men’s predilection t
owards the Christian god. I must say I am unaware of your own thoughts of faith. I am Christian outwardly. We must be. It is our charge to be so. Privately, in my heart, I doubt that one man possessed such qualities to subsume and rule over the traditional Roman pantheon. My family gave tribute to the gods my whole life. I find it hard to break such tradition and belief at the request of the emperor.”

  “Yet you are a centurion, a valued leader of the most powerful army the world has ever known.” Tiberius shook his head in frustration.

  “I do and say what I must to maintain my position. Unlike you, I have five more years to go before I am granted citizenship. Now, if you would take your leave of my tent. I need rest. Who knows what awaits us beyond the wall?”

  “Very well, Magnus. I shall see to it that you have your horses at first light. Any specific men you want on your sojourn?”

  “No one specific. You pick. I need rest, Tiberius. Go.”

  Chapter Three

  The sun rose over the green land of Britannia. Magnus decided to wear his chest armor and carry Marius’s mule, his tool bag, but would leave the rest of the armor in camp. For this jaunt over the wall, he favored speed and stealth over the usual brute force. He left his tent and waited for Tiberius with his men and horses. They were a few meters away.

  “Your full armor will not be necessary. I would suggest taking blankets from my tent and using them as robes. I prefer us to go in quickly and commence with the investigation with as little disruption and attention drawn to us,” Magnus barked.

  “Meet your men, Magnus.” Tiberius pointed to the trio from left to right. “Brayden, Romanus, and Cassius, three of the finest legionaries our century offers, and four black horses per your request.”

  The gray of Tiberius’s hair was accentuated in the dawn’s light. He looked older in the mornings. Magnus wondered if he looked as old to these young legionaries.

  “Very well, men. I expect Tiberius has brought you up to speed. We must move with haste and stealth. Upon our exit through the gatehouse, we will ask the local auxiliaries where to find the tribal leader who asked to learn more of Yeshua.” Magnus mounted his horse.

  The three soldiers grabbed blankets and twine from Magnus’s tent and made their shrouds from the dark blue blankets.

  “Send Romanus back. He is the lightest on the horse with any news of emergency. The other two should be strong enough to provide substantial defense until the rest of the century can join you.” Tiberius patted the neck of Magnus’s horse.

  “We shall hopefully return before the afternoon, Tiberius.” Magnus turned his horse and rode away to the gatehouse walls. The soldiers three followed suit, barely securing their makeshift robes over their chest armor.

  The auxiliaries manning the wall looked disheveled and dirty. Not the ideal Roman soldier. The frontier and fringe units often didn’t utilize the level of discipline and care that the fighting legions did.

  “Sir, how may we be of assistance?” a soldier yelled from above them on the earthen and stone wall’s gatehouse.

  “We are requesting to get through to Caledonia. We have business to attend to. We also need to know the name of the chieftain, he who requested to know more of Yeshua.”

  “Aye, not a he, sir. A she.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Magnus kept his frustration invisible, hoping he didn’t hear him correctly.

  “I said the chieftain is female, sir. A she, as it were. Her name is Michaela, and her tribe’s village lies just over the first hill you see to the southwest. She commands the respect of the other tribes and is trusted to guard from any Roman intrusion.”

  “A woman?” Magnus pressed.

  His horse neighed, urging him to move forward. Flashes of his near-death experience at the hands of a woman bothered him.

  “Yes, a queen like Boudicca.”

  “Very well. Open the gate. I shall request an audience with this Michaela.”

  Chapter Four

  This particular section of Caledonia geographically was no different to the land of Britannia, yet Magnus couldn’t help but feel a strange and ominous presence in his surroundings as his horse pounded the grassy ground over the hill to the view of the Pict village. The many straw rooftops and stone structures that made up their homes dotted the land below. Strange she chose to build her village here in a low-lying area, yet perhaps she’d learned of Julius Caesar’s brilliant and shrewd strategy to build double fortifications around Vercingetorix’s hilltop village and starve and weaken the people therein. Magnus looked beyond the village, and there the forest began. Perhaps not a terrible choice for a village since the wilds could provide an easy retreat.

  Thoughts of strategy always played in Magnus’s mind. He’d hoped he would not have to employ any large-scale tactics on Pict lands, yet it might be necessary.

  Magnus checked the twine around his waist. “Men, when we reach the village, I will travel the interior alone and summon Michaela. Two of you stay near the outskirts of the village at the bottom of this hill. Romanus, you stay up here and keep close watch over us. Should anything happen, make haste to Tiberius and bring the rest of the century with you. It, in all probability, won’t come to that. Let’s hope this makeshift robe helps me blend in with these barbarians.”

  Magnus made his way down the hill to a village entrance and tied his horse to a nearby tree. He would enter the village on foot. He walked the dirt paths and entered the village. There weren’t many Picts milling about quite yet. The hour was still early. Perhaps, the painted people slept well into the day. Magnus never had direct contact with the tribes this far north. A few females opened the doors to their quaint straw, stone, and earthen quarters. A few children ran about on the path. A father chased after them. Their clothes were mostly brown and looked tattered as if the proper regalia of Rome had yet to reach them. They looked dirty. Magnus wondered if he should roll in the dirt more to make himself look rugged. He decided against it.

  He approached the man chasing the children about the path.

  “Greetings. Where may I find Michaela?” Magnus asked in a very serious tone.

  “Mornin’ to you too. Say, you wouldn’t happen to want any children? I have two that are raring to go and find a new home,” the father with a long beard said.

  The children giggled while hiding behind a stack of straw.

  “I am afraid I have enough responsibility as it is, sir,” Magnus answered.

  “Oh! I was just havin’ a bit of fun with you, mate. Michaela is up the center path.” The father pointed to the center of the village.

  “What is it that you want, stranger?” A commanding female voice sounded from behind Magnus.

  Magnus turned to look upon a short woman with tightly braided hair, a considerably tone musculature, and thick eyebrows that framed piercing blue eyes. “I request an audience with Michaela. It is of great importance.”

  “You have my attention. In fact, you have had my attention since I watched you descend the hill on horseback. I am also aware of the three other men in your party. Now, what is it you want?” Michaela responded.

  Magnus looked at the father. “Is it possible for us to converse with more privacy?”

  The father quickly ran and continued to play with the children.

  “I shall walk with you as you exit the village.” Michaela turned and began walking in the direction from whence Magnus came.

  “It is my understanding that you requested a Christian missionary to learn more of the Christian god, Yeshua. The governor sent the missionary and a small dispatch of Roman soldiers to ensure the priest’s safe arrival and return. I was sent here to inquire on their behalf and the governor of Britannia.”

  “I anticipated your arrival, Roman. I can bring you to the sanctuary. I will show you the way with no weapon and no escort as a sign of peace. I have to warn you that I have exhausted my most able-bodied men and finest minds to investigate… I am afraid we have no answers for what you are about to see.”

  Chapter Fi
ve

  Magnus did not enjoy being led by a female Pict through a strange forest in a strange land. His men followed. He had to admit she was adept at riding her horse and guided the four Romans through the forest with conviction. Her knowledge of her land was most valuable, of course, for the task at hand but equally unsettling. The centurion didn’t trust her no matter her attempt to put him at ease. She could have easily staged an ambush with a small band of her barbarians hiding in the trees. Perhaps, that is the fate that befell his Roman brethren he was sent here to find.

  The cool air whipped through the trees and pushed at Magnus’s chest and face. The sound of a steady stream of water grew louder.

  Michaela slowed her horse and dismounted. “Best to leave the horses here. The sanctuary is just ahead.”

  “Very well, men. Dismount. Ready your gladius.” Magnus turned his horse to his men and dismounted.

  “Shall I stay back with the horses, sir?” Romanus asked.

  “Not necessary. We shall secure them to these trees. I want us to stay together unless otherwise noted depending on the situation.” Magnus tied his horse’s reins around a knobby, thin oak tree.

  The four Roman soldiers followed Michaela on foot up a slight elevation that ended in the thinning of foliage and trees that showed the clearing where the sanctuary was located.

  Magnus noticed Michaela do something rather peculiar before she entered the clearing. The sign of the crucifix, a Christian act. Had she already converted?

  The Pict warrior queen entered the sanctuary. There was a gnarled and mighty oak in the center of the clearing that bordered the steady stream of water that most likely poured from highlands somewhere to the northwest. There were stones with strange swirling symbols that dotted the grass in front of the tree. There were also patches of straw that seemed out of place. Caesar had written of places like this. The Druids practiced their vile religion in similar settings.