Coroticus’s plan was to sail west until they reached Loch Fada, then follow that north until they came to the settlement at Arachar. Loarn Mac Eirc’s warband would need to pass through the tiny village on their way back to Dunadd, but Coroticus knew his ships could make the journey in half the time the Dalriadans would on foot.
Arachar was surrounded by massive, brooding hills which were stunningly beautiful no matter the season. That inhospitable terrain would undoubtedly provide a suitable place for the Alt Clotan’s to lay an ambush for their enemy.
Gavo didn’t know the area they were heading to particularly well, though. The Dalriadan’s had made those lands their own over the past few years and there was no real reason for any Briton to travel there these days, other than trade. But he knew this stretch of the River Clota they were sailing along now like the back of his hand, having fished here as a child and patrolled it countless time as a man.
Cistumucus, captain of the small ship, called for the rowers to take up their oars on the port side and five of the men scrambled to comply, their powerful efforts enough to turn the vessel right, into the entrance to Loch Fada. Gavo looked back over his shoulder and saw their second ship follow suit.
It was a sunny day although there was little wind, so the journey was comfortable but not particularly fast. They didn’t have much further to sail now though – a couple of more hours traversing the loch would see them making landfall near Arachar before night descended upon them. They would then have a little time to find a campsite, and a place to prepare their ambush, before it became too dark to see what they were doing.
The Dalriadan army would, assuming they travelled at an average walking speed, reach them sometime the following morning. And then Loarn would pay with his life for what he’d said about Princess Catia.
The Damnonii guard captain grasped the hilt of his sword and smiled grimly. There was little reason to suspect this mission would end in anything other than great success, he had to admit. Coroticus had come up with a good plan that should minimise their own losses while wiping out Loarn Mac Eirc and his followers.
What would the king do then? Gavo wondered. The Dalriadan stronghold at Dunadd would be without its king and warband – ripe for the taking. Yet Coroticus didn’t have enough men for such a task, not on these two small ships. Dunadd, like Dun Breatann, was built on a steep hill, and even the small garrison Loarn mac Eirc would have left behind to man the walls would be enough to defend the place for weeks.
Gavo leaned back against the mast and raised his face to the sky, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the bright sun and the refreshing spray from the river. For now, they simply had to defeat Loarn. Coroticus would decide what should be done next, but Gavo expected they would simply loot the Dalriadan dead, harvest a few of their heads, and then return to Dun Breatann, victorious heroes.
Dunadd could wait.
The king had sent out mounted scouts that morning before they cast off, confirming Drest, Cunneda and Loarn had indeed departed Alt Clota to return to their homes, but the idea they might yet return played on Coroticus’s mind. It was obvious from the way the king often glanced back homewards, an anxious frown on his face, until distance finally hid mighty Dun Breatann from view. Only then did Coroticus seem to relax.
That calm demeanour was now shattered however, as cries of alarm came to them from the ship behind.
“What in the name of Taranis is happening back there?” the king demanded, hurrying from the bow to the stern, trying not to step on any of the rowers blocking his passage.
From his position in the centre of the ship Gavo could see the men in the trailing vessel calling out in alarm, with Bri, their captain, gesticulating wildly to Coroticus.
“We’ve hit something!” Bri was shouting, dark features twisted in consternation. “The hull has a hole in it and we’re taking on water.”
“In the name of…How can you hit something this far away from the shore?” Coroticus cried, turning to Cistumucus who had made his way over to stand beside him. “Have the men row backwards – slow us down, so Bri can catch up. Will we be able to take the weight of them with all their supplies and gear?”
The captain mulled it over for a moment then nodded. “Aye, my lord, but it’ll be a squeeze and we’ll be low in the water. I’d suggest making for shore as soon as we’ve rescued them.”
Again the king cursed, but there was nothing else for it. Most of the men couldn’t swim, including Gavo, and, even if they could, the weight of their armour would draw them to the bottom of the loch.
By now Bri and Cistumucus had ordered their rowers to bring the oars in and ropes were tossed from one vessel to the other. Before long they were side-by-side and the men from the damaged ship began transferring their gear across.
When the hole had been discovered in their hull Bri’s men hastily removed their armour and weapons, even the men who couldn’t swim, terrified by the thought of being dragged to the bottom of the loch with no chance of survival. Now, they handed the war-gear to their comrades on Coroticus’s ship or simply tossed it over to land on whatever free space of deck could be found.
Once the first of the warriors had transferred their arms and armour, they jumped across themselves, helped along the way by the king, Gavo and Cistumucus. It wasn’t as easy a task as it should have been, as one boat rose in the water while the other dropped beneath its increasing weight, both vessels tossing and heaving all the while and the nervous men, no sailors, stumbled around as if drunk.
Eventually, only two warriors remained on the holed ship; they were brothers, Gavo knew. He recognised them easily enough as, although one was much younger than the other, they shared similar narrow features and large ears which stuck out like the handles on an amphora. They hailed from the settlement of Cardden Ros and had come to Dun Breatann when Coroticus commanded his nobles to send reinforcements for the fortress’s garrison.
Gavo wondered what use the younger lad might be, seeming no more than about thirteen years of age and slightly built, but even the guard captain had been an untried youth many years ago. They all had to learn the killing trade sometime, and presumably that’s why the older brother had brought the younger along on this mission.
Gavo smiled across the water at the siblings, glad to be seeing the next generation of warriors learning what it was to be men of Damnonii side-by-side, and held out his hand to the elder, Troucisso, who was nearest.
The man jumped nimbly across, landing on the deck beside Gavo with a thump. They grinned at one another, in relief, and in the eternal brotherhood of warriors on the same side sharing a moment of danger.
As Gavo turned away to make sure all was well there was a pitiful scream from behind him and a splash as something entered the water.
“NO!”
Instinctively, his subconscious mind telling him what had happened before he truly understood it himself, Gavo grasped the older brother – whose cry it was that had split the air so terribly – by the arms, hauling him back from the edge of their ship before the anguished man could jump into the loch in a pointless attempt to rescue his sibling.
There was a white froth where the younger lad had fallen in but, although the sunlight illuminated the depths on the other side of the ship, here the shadows made the depths murky and there was no sign of the boy.
“He wouldn’t take off his chainmail,” the older brother cried, struggling to break free of Gavo’s hold. “But he can’t swim!”
“Can you?” Gavo demanded, forcing the warrior to meet his eyes.
“No,” was the near-hysterical reply. “But I’ll learn!”
He tried again to slip free from the guard captain’s grip but Gavo expected it and pinned him easily enough as more of their comrades rushed over to help restrain him.
“He can’t swim,” the man repeated, tears streaking his face, teeth bared in pure frustration and horror.
“Neither can you, Troucisso!” Gavo shouted, their tussle making his words angrier t
han he meant them to be. “None of us can, except—”
From the corner of his eye the captain noticed a blur of motion, and then there was another splash as a second figure entered the water.
“—Coroticus,” Gavo finished lamely, grip relaxing on the astonished warrior.
There was a strange, near-total silence for long moments, as the shocked men of Dun Breatann stared at the rippling waters that had swallowed up their king.
* * *
“Ah, there’s the place I was telling you about earlier,” Bellicus pointed to the horizon, where a plume of smoke could be seen, the pungent smell from it travelling to them even at this distance on the southerly wind. “The settlement where they make the pottery.”
“Where your sword, Melltgwyn, was stolen,” Catia said, her voice a little shaky.
“Aye,” the druid agreed. “But there’s nothing to worry about now. The people there are friendly, and they gave me aid once they realised their own neighbour was a bad lot. Besides, I was able to beat them all when they attacked me, so fear not lass, we’re safe enough.” He smiled encouragingly, reassuringly, then sighed. “I miss that sword. Hopefully they found it in the thief’s belongings. This thing is no weapon for a druid to be carrying.” He patted the hilt of the longsword one of the potters had allowed him to borrow, admitting to himself that it had, in truth, proved its worth in battle and not been found wanting.
Still, he prayed to Lug that Melltgwyn would be returned to him one day.
Their mounts ate up the distance between them and the settlement and soon they rode into the centre of the place, Bel leading them directly to the single storey building the people used as a beer hall. It was a little after midday and he smiled, seeing more smoke, this time undoubtedly from a cooking fire in the rear of the structure.
“Matugena is the cook’s name,” he told them. “She’s a fine woman and she’ll see us well fed, have no fear on that. You might not want to go home to Dun Breatann when you taste her stew.” He smiled at Catia as they dismounted but the girl’s look of apprehension hadn’t left her. She was still plainly frightened of the men here who had tried to kill Bellicus on his previous visit, despite how that tale had turned out. Or perhaps she was simply fearful of anything, and anyone, she didn’t know. It was a worry for him as she’d started to relax a little more on the road north, but any time they saw other travellers, or stopped for supplies in settlements, Catia would be nervous and withdrawn.
“The pottery stinks,” Duro muttered, raising a hand to waft away the stench, but his face brightened as they entered the beer hall and the aroma of roasting meat filled the room. “Oh, now, that smells much nicer! Is that coriander?”
“Probably,” the druid said, holding the door open for Cai who was emptying his bladder before following Bel inside. “I left Matugena some of my herbs in return for her hospitality. No doubt she’s made excellent use of them. Take a seat princess - here.” He pulled out one of the stools and the girl sat, eyeing the door at the back of the hall. “I’ll go and tell Matugena she has three—no four, sorry Cai—hungry visitors to feed.” He winked at Catia. “Matugena loves dogs. She makes wonderful cakes for them. I almost wanted to eat one myself, it looked so good.”
The girl merely nodded without returning his smile and Bel gave Duro a worried glance as he wandered over to the rear doorway and rapped on it with his knuckles. “Hello? Matugena? Anyone around?”
“Who’s that?” The voice was loud and the speaker sounded irritated. “If that’s you again Judd, looking for more stew, I’ll knock you out with this pot. Oh!” The diatribe halted and a ruddy-faced woman appeared in the doorway, grinning. “It’s you again druid. I’m pleased to see you. The herbs and spices you left me on your last visit are almost finished and I could use some more.” She took in the sight of Duro and Catia at the table and held up a hand, as if silencing any further conversation. “Sit, druid. I’m guessing you’re all hungry and looking for a meal, eh? Sit, then, go on. I’ll fetch something for you.” She shooed him away and finally Catia managed a smile as Bellicus returned to sit with them.
“What’s the joke?” he demanded, but his tone was light.
“It’s just funny to see a woman ordering you about like that. It’s not something I’ve ever seen before. Even my mother doesn’t talk to you the way that woman did.”
Bel smiled ruefully. “I knew you’d like her.” He leaned in and peered at Duro and the princess, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Truth be told, I think she probably runs this village—the headman, her father, doesn’t seem to have half the natural authority she commands.” He sat back suddenly, guiltily, as Matugena bustled in from the kitchen, somehow balancing three bowls and a trencher of buttered bread in her arms which she set down before them.
“Dig in,” she ordered, ruffling Catia’s hair before she went off to fetch their drinks.
The princess made a little groan of delight as she bit into the bread, crumbs falling onto the table. “This is lovely,” she said. “And still warm too.”
Duro chewed and nodded agreement, eyeing the bread with professional curiosity. “Tastes like she’s added something to it—”
“Oregano,” Matugena said, reappearing from the kitchen. “My own secret recipe. Have you tried the stew yet, lass?”
Catia shook her head, lifting the half-sized cup and washing down the tasty bread with a mouthful of weak beer. “Waiting on it too cool,” she said softly.
Matugena smiled. “I’ll leave you to it then. I hope you enjoy it.” She patted the girl on the arm and Bel was pleased to see the princess smile and relax a little as she leaned forward to blow on the steaming bowl of food.
The travellers set-to with gusto, for this was the best meal any of them had eaten in a long, long while. Cai hadn’t been forgotten either – Matugena had tossed him one of her meat cakes and he’d wolfed it down in moments before curling up near the dormant fire in the middle of the little hall and falling contentedly asleep.
“That was superb,” Duro announced at length, pushing his chair back and patting his belly. “Why can’t you cook a stew like that, druid, if all you need are a few of those herbs you carry in your cloak?”
Bel opened his mouth but Matugena came in before he could frame a suitable retort and began clearing away the empty bowls.
“Thank you,” Catia said, drawing a grin from the cook.
“You’re very welcome, little miss. I’m glad you liked it. Have you had enough?”
Catia glanced at Bellicus, but Matugena saw the look and tutted. “You don’t need to ask his permission, lass, I’ll bring you another bowl. Anyone else?”
Duro shook his head as did Bel, and the woman went off, returning soon enough with another bowl of the aromatic stew for Catia.
“You finish that, I’ll talk to your father about those spices.”
Catia looked up. “My father?”
Matugena nodded. “The druid.” She frowned, then turned to Bellicus. “You are her da, aren’t you? You look so alike. Have the same eyes. I just assumed…”
Duro cleared his throat and turned away although the druid couldn’t tell if the centurion was embarrassed or amused by the exchange.
“I’m her protector,” Bellicus said. “Catia is a princess of the Damnonii. Those Saxons I was hunting the last time I was here had kidnapped her, remember? We’re taking her home to her father, Coroticus. The king.”
Matugena’s face, ruddy from her lifetime of cooking, flushed even redder than usual and she stuttered an apology, wide-eyed to be in the presence of royalty, but the druid waved her to silence and bade her sit with them. He smiled and assured her she hadn’t caused any offence but inwardly he wondered if anyone else, at home in Dun Breatann, had ever noted the similarities between himself and the girl. It would certainly make things awkward if they did. Maybe he should grow a beard…
“Spices you wanted, didn’t you?” He opened his cloak and took out the small pouches he carried there, la
ying them out on the table just as he had the last time. “Take your pick.”
Glancing furtively at Catia – who placed her hand on the cook’s arm reassuringly, their roles now reversed – Matugena selected a handful of the precious herbs and spices and, as before, Bel allowed her to pour them into brightly-coloured little pots which she brought through from the kitchen along with a cup of beer, no doubt to steady her nerves.
“And I have something else for you, druid,” the cook said, eyes sparkling as she carried her bounty away to the shelves in the kitchen. “Give me a moment.”
“Melltgwyn!” Bellicus stood up, massive form seeming to fill the small beer hall as Matugena returned moments later, carrying a sword in an exquisite scabbard. “You found it.” He grinned like a child receiving the greatest gift in the world and pulled the blade free, examining it for signs of damage or ill-use but finding only bright, clean steel.
“You need another drink?” Matugena asked, eyeing Duro’s empty cup. “You too, druid? Let me refill those, and then I’ll tell you all about it. Would you like anything else, my…er…?” She trailed off, unsure how to properly address a princess.
“Just call me Catia,” said the girl. “That’s fine. And no, thank you. I don’t need anything, the meal you provided was quite exquisite.”
Matugena flushed in pleasure and Bellicus stared at Catia, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable she appeared now, to the extent she was playing the young royal to perfection once again.
The cook brought three more beers and set them on the table, half-emptying her own in one long pull before belching and staring, mortified, at Catia, who laughed so hard tears came to her eyes, which only embarrassed the cook even more.
“Tell us how the sword came to be in your possession,” Bellicus prompted, sitting but holding Melltgwyn on his lap, eyeing it every so often as if worried it would disappear. “Duro and the princess both know the story of how I came to lose it, so they’re almost as curious as me, I’m sure.”
Song of the Centurion Page 5
