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Contents
Victor Canning
Dedication
1. Forest Meeting
2. The Black Raven
3. Hunter’s Dream
4. The Keeper Of The Shrine
5. The Centurion’s Cup
6. The Circle Of The Gods
7. The Villa Etruria
8. The Flood Riders
9. The Fortress Of Birds
10. The Island Parting
List of Place and Tribal Names
Victor Canning
The Crimson Chalice
Victor Canning
Victor Canning was primarily a writer of thrillers, and wrote his many books under the pseudonyms Julian Forest and Alan Gould. Among his immediate contemporaries were Eric Ambler, Alistair Maclean and Hammond Innes.
Canning was a prolific writer throughout his career, which began young: he had sold several short stories by the age of nineteen and his first novel, Mr Finchley Discovers His England (1934) was published when he was twenty-three. Canning also wrote for children: his The Runaways trilogy was adapted for US children’s television.
Canning’s later thrillers were darker and more complex than his earlier work and received great critical acclaim. The Rainbird Pattern was awarded the CWA Silver Dagger in 1973 and nominated for an Edgar award in 1974.
In 1976 The Rainbird Pattern was transformed by Alfred Hitchcock into the comic film The Family Plot, which was to be Hitchcock’s last film. Several of Canning’s other novels including The Golden Salamander (1949) were also made into films during Canning’s lifetime.
Dedication
For the One Who Wept
When the Dream Ended
1. Forest Meeting
As the sun tipped the eastern reaches of the forest and fired the pewter sea to silver at the far end of the valley, the May morning was full of song. Through the belling of tits, the monotonous sawing of the chiffchaffs and the melodious pealing of thrushes and blackbirds, Lerg, the big grey wolfhound, caught the clatter of a distantly falling stone on the valleyside path. Except for a slight lift of his muzzle from his crouched forepaws, he made no move; but his grey-flecked green eyes watched the turn of the path where it entered the wide glade. To his right Aesc, the water dog, with the long drooping red-furred ears, had heard the stone fall some few moments after she had caught the human scent coming up on the morning breeze from the sea. On the left of Lerg, Cuna, small, short-legged and wirehaired, neither heard, nor saw, nor smelled anything. Not long out of puppyhood, he was curled into a ball and, empty-bellied now for twenty-four hours, dreamt of vole and rat and hare and the dark tunnels of fox earths and badger sets.
Above them the body hung. The hide thongs about the ankles still bit tight, but those about the wrists, which held the body suspended from the stout horizontal branch of an oak, had stretched so that the balls of the tied feet just touched the ground. But it had been twelve hours since there had been any power in legs and feet to take advantage of earth’s touch to ease the weight of the body on shoulder muscles. Bluebottles, and a small cloud of midges and early gnats, clustered over the crisp-curled head of hair and the brown, sweat-dried face. An hour before sunset a pair of red kites had spiralled down, forked tails splayed, to roost on the upper branches of the oak. Bran, the raven, had given an angry carp, carp and had flown at them, chasing them away inland over the rolling green sea of forest.
Bran sat now on the oak top and watched the newcomer moving up the path toward the glade. Twice during the night a lone wolf, ancient and pack-exiled, had come to the glade’s edge and Lerg had driven him away. Now, five miles away to the east, the wolf fed on a calf among the slaughtered cattle in a stockyard close to the fireblack ruins of a homestead. In the dust of the forecourt an old woman sat holding her long grey hair over her face to keep the day away, keening and moaning softly to herself, numbed by the memory of the horror which had filled the last two days.
The newcomer came to the edge of the glade. It was a girl grown close to young womanhood. The hood of her short brown woollen mantle was pushed back onto her shoulders leaving her fair hair free. Around her waist, over a white, dust-streaked linen tunic, she wore an embroidered belt with a bronze clasp in the shape of two dolphins. On her feet were leather sandals held by a cross-gartering of doeskin thongs which ran up her bare legs and were tied beneath her knees. Over her right shoulder she carried a bulky sack made by the knotting of four corners of a bedcover of green-and-yellow striped silk.
Standing at the edge of the glade she saw the three dogs, saw the rapid mouse-movement of a tree creeper work up the rough trunk of the oak, saw the raven at the top of the tree, and breathed with a slow, anguished tightening of her face as she saw the body. For a moment she closed her blue eyes against memory. A low rumble from Lerg frightened her. To turn away, she knew, for she was no stranger to animals, might bring the dogs after her. To go forward, too, she reasoned, could start the trio of guarding beasts into a violent, rushing attack. She stood where she was and waited, her eyes on the bowed head of the body that hung from the tree, ringed with a moving halo of flies and gnats.
Lerg growled low again and Cuna, awake now, slowly sat up but knew better than to move past Lerg. Lerg was the leader.
The girl waited, her body trembling under the swift assault of her fears. The strengthening sun burned against the skin of her right cheek. Across it ran a dark smudge of black ash, and above her right eye, dark against the fair skin, was a bruise as large as a crab apple. Lerg growled again and then slowly rose to his feet. The other dogs made no move. Long-legged, lean-bodied, the grey coat shaggy as lichen, he stood as high as a month-old calf. She knew his kind for they were highly prized now far beyond Britain for their speed and courage in the killing of wolf and deer. And the other dog, too, she knew, with its red coat and long ears—a kind that loved water as much as the otters and wildfowl it hunted. Then she remembered that her father had often said, “There is no dog that cannot read the cast of any mortal. Harbour villainy and they will return it. Offer friendship and they will accept it—but at their own gait.” She forced herself to stand where she was and watch the slow movement of the hound toward her. He came, not directly, but on an arc which took him away to her right where she lost sight of him. Without words, the cry locked silently in her mind, she pleaded with the hound … Your master suffers … there is suffering with me, too … leave me free to help him. … She stared ahead at the hanging body. Its top half was covered with an undershirt, its front open, stirring slightly in the morning breeze. The lower part of the body was sheathed in tight-fitting leather breeches reaching just below the knees. On the feet were heavy, metal-studded, thick-soled sandals fastened by thongs at the ankles.
The hound paced back into her view and circled to her left, but this time halted within her sight. He raised his head, looked back at the oak tree and the other dogs, then swung his head slowly round and eyed her. Her instinct was to make some move, some show of friendliness, but she held still. Fear ran steadily in her, but it was a fear no
w that she fought to control. Slowly swamping her own misery and recent griefs there rose in her a warm compassion for the being who hung from the tree, who might still live and need her help. The hound lowered his head and moved toward her, stiff-legged, hackles partly risen. He stopped close to her and, reaching out his muzzle, sniffed at her left hand, which hung against her side. She felt the warm breath on her fingers. Suddenly the hound licked her hand, gave a low, easy growl and turned from her. Lerg walked back to the other dogs and sat on his haunches, his eyes on the girl.
Then, as though possessed by some strange power never known to her before, the girl felt her trembling ease, the quick beating of her heart die down. Without hesitation she walked forward. There was no fear in her now. She eased her bundle to the earth and unknotted the covering. Reaching inside, she fumbled around for a while and brought out a small sharp-edged dagger. She put the haft in her mouth, then crouched and jumped for the overhanging branch. She got two handholds, then swung her legs up and worked herself to a prone position on top of the branch. She eased herself along and began to saw at the thongs of the left wrist. As she cut the last one the body lurched sideways, spun slowly on the stretched thongs of the right hand, and the bound feet dragged across the earth.
The dogs watched but made no sound.
She wormed herself farther along the branch and with a few quick slashes cut the thongs of the remaining hand. The body fell in a heap to the ground. As it hit the earth there was the sound of a long-drawn moan. On the oak top Bran called sharply carp carp, and launched himself into the air in a clumsy spiral.
The girl dropped to the ground. She cut the ankle thongs and rolled the body over onto its back. For the first time she saw the face clearly. It was the face of a youth of about eighteen, a lean, strong, tanned, face, streaked with sweat and dirt, a young tawny-red beard growth fuzzing the square chin. Across the right side of his face was a jagged cut over which the blood had dried in a hard crust.
Oblivious now of the dogs, she went back to her bundle and brought out a small bronze cooking cauldron. She ran across the glade and along the path by which she had arrived. A little way down it a small spring sprang from the hillside. She filled the cauldron and went back to the youth. Pulling a small earthenware beaker from her bundle, she squatted on the ground and lifted the youth’s head and shoulders up onto her knees. She forced his mouth open and poured water into it. He moaned a little and choked, the water spilling over his face and neck. She tried again and this time eased only a little water into his mouth, her hand shaking, chiding herself, “Gently, Tia, gently.”
Slowly she fed him water and when she judged he had had enough, she lowered his head to the ground, cushioning it on a woollen blanket from her bundle. She tore a long strip from the edge of her linen tunic and bathed his face, keeping the water away from the hard crust on his wound as much as she could since it was a better protection than any she could devise. His wrists were raw and bloody with the thong marks so she tore her linen facecloth into two strips and bound them around the wounds.
The sun was climbing higher-in the sky. In a little while, she knew, the glade would be in full, hard sunlight. She would have to find shade for the youth and—since the times were what they were—some kind of concealment. There were men about who would murder for a worn pair of leather breeches and a pair of old legionary sandals.
She hurried away to the edge of the glade. As she went Lerg moved to the youth and lay down at his side, but the water dog, Aesc, followed her and, after a moment’s hesitation, so did Cuna.
Not far from the edge of the glade she found a stunted yew with a tangle of wild clematis in fresh leaf trailing over its lower branches to form a narrow bower. She went back to the youth, took off her cloak belt and, looping it under his arms, began to drag him into the forest. Within the hour she had him in the bower, resting on a couch of old bracken growth and fresh branches, his head and shoulders propped up on her travelling bundle. She refilled the cauldron, fed more water to him, drank herself and ate part of a wheat cake she carried. She undid his wrist bandages, laid dock leaves around the wounds and replaced the bandages. Then she covered him with her mantle and sat by him, looking down at him. He was young, strong and hardened, and tight-muscled, and there were no wounds on him except for his wrists and the cut cheek. She sat patiently watching him, knowing that time and the water she had given him would do their work. A spear’s length away from her Lerg lay couched under a bush. Of the other two dogs there was no sign.
And Tia, elbows resting on her knees, chin cupped in her hands, remembered the night that had passed and the days before it, and knew that there could be nothing in the future that could replace all that had been lost—her brother and his wife dead, the villa and the homestead huts plundered and burned, cattle slaughtered, and most of their own workpeople turned against her and the family. Only the devotion of her maid’s husband, Tullio, had saved her from the savagery of the estate steward, who had laid a drunken claim to her from which she had been saved by the dagger thrust of Tullio’s old service pugio. In a few short hours the peace and ease of her life had been shattered, her loved ones killed and the security of her sheltered, rich life destroyed. She covered her face with her hands. Her body shook with quick spasms which she could not control.
Lerg gave a low whine and Tia straightened up, the spasms passing. As she did so the youth stirred and opened his eyes. He stared without moving at the roof of yew branches overhead, and she saw that his eyes were a dark, shining brown, reminding her of the colour of the closed sea anemones that studded the low water rocks of the beach that marked the estate’s southern boundary. She reached to her side and dunked part of the hard wheat cake in the water of the cauldron. Cradling his head on her arm, she tried to feed him, but he closed his eyes and turned his head away. She filled the beaker and offered him water. With his eyes still closed he drank, and this time he swallowed the water avidly. When she lowered his head and shoulders back onto the bundle, he sighed. She sensed the slow ease taking his body as its strained muscles relaxed. He slept and his breathing, which at first had been heavy and troubled, took on a regular, slow rhythm.
The sun climbed higher. Aesc and Cuna returned and settled a few paces away. Cuna slept, curled into a ball, but Aesc lay couched, her eyes wide open, watching the youth. Somewhere, Tia guessed, the two dogs had discovered food. There was plenty to be found in the ruined huts and the yards and fields with their slaughtered cattle and poultry. Stirred by the tongues of the rabble-rousers, the country people had proved themselves as ruthless as any of the Saxon seafolk on their sudden summer raids. Soon they, too, would be back. Each year they came earlier, and each year more and more of them stayed to swell the ranks of their kinsmen who had made the Saxon shores and the rich corn lands and settlements east of Anderida their own.
The youth beside her began to talk in his sleep. At the sound of the voice Lerg’s ears half cocked and Aesc raised her head. It was difficult for Tia to understand anything of what he said. He spoke sometimes in her own tongue, but it was the rough, slang-filled language of the army auxiliaries, the old language of the barrack blocks and camps, and sometimes he spoke in the true language of the country, of which she knew only a few words and phrases. In his voice there was, too, an accent and burr which was strange to her. After a while he slept without talking. Tia lay back on the grass, aware suddenly of her own fatigue and despair. She had travelled all night blindly across country, fighting always the panic in her thoughts. Within a few moments she, too, was asleep.
When Baradoc woke, the sun was halfway down the western sky. He lay for a while watching the dapple of sunlight through the yew branches, aware of the wrack and soreness in arm and shoulder muscles. He raised his hands and looked at the bandages on his wrist. A confusion in his head cleared slowly. Above him appeared the head and shoulders of Lerg. The hound gave a low whine. Baradoc fondled the grey muzzle and then, gripping the dog’s neck, eased himself to a sitting position. For
a moment his head swam and he shook it to clear his vision, seeing through a blur Aesc and Cuna standing beyond Lerg. Then, as his head swung slowly round, he saw the girl. She was sleeping on the grass, her mantle flung open, the torn edge of her white tunic rumpled above her knees and sun-tanned legs. Her short, fair hair was breeze-fanned across her temples. He looked from her to the dogs and then half turned, wincing with the pull on his strained muscles, and saw the cloth-wrapped bundle on which his head had been resting. Looking again at the girl, he saw now that close to her side a small dagger lay on the ground ready to her free hand. He smiled to himself, guessing much of what must have happened, and knowing gratitude, knowing, too, from one look at her face that she was not one of his people. Her red-thonged sandals would have cost more sesterces than any working country girl could have afforded. Unexpectedly his head began to swim violently. He leaned forward, holding it with his hands, fighting off the vertigo. The attack passed and, as he straightened up, he realized that he must have groaned aloud. The girl was awake and, half risen, was resting on her knees and facing him, dagger in shaking hand.
They faced one another without words, and Baradoc knew that, even though she must have cut him down and looked after him, she could have no surety that such an act of charity would be met with thanks. There were plenty of men in the country today who merited being left to hang for the crows and ravens to pick clean. He looked down at the small dagger which she held in her unsteady right hand, and said, “You won’t need that.” He spoke her tongue. “The gods were good to send you, and the dogs marking your goodness let you pass. I owe you a life. On my people’s sign I swear it.” He pulled the edge of his loose shirt aside and touched his left shoulder.
Tia, fear dying, saw that tattooed on the brown skin was a small, black, crowlike bird with red beak and red legs. She guessed then that he must come from the far west or north, for there lived the only tribes who marked their skins so.
The Crimson Chalice Page 1
