“This is all bloody stupid,” Duro grumbled as Bellicus rinsed his mouth out with some clean water, freshly fetched from the spring between the fortress’s two peaks that morning. “I thought you men were friends. This isn’t how friends behave.”
Bellicus spat the water out the window onto the grass at the back of the building and bent to stroke Cai’s back as the dog lapped at its own bowl of water. “Think of it this way,” he said. “You are a centurion in your old legion, and Coroticus is your commanding officer – a legate, say. Now, you may have been quite friendly with them over the years – fought beside one another, been drinking companions, and so on. Would any of that matter if you, centurion, had punched the legate in the face in front of the rank and file legionaries?”
“That’s different, Bel, and you know it.”
“How is it any different?”
Duro shook his head and peered out the window, exasperated. “The legions were built on rigid discipline. The scenario you describe might have ended in me being executed, depending on what the legate was like. Many of them, most really, were wealthy sorts who looked down on those below them.”
“Not all of them, surely. That doesn’t sound like a good way to inspire loyalty.”
“No, some of them were all right,” Duro conceded. “But this isn’t the same at all. You and Coroticus have been genuine friends, and you…Well, you’re a druid, which counts for much more than any rank I might have held in the Roman army.”
“The simple fact is,” Bellicus said, pulling his cloak on and putting the hood up both for warmth, and also for the impressive effect it had on his overall appearance, “I am his subordinate and he is the king. No matter who is right or wrong, the king cannot be seen to lose face.”
“What’s he going to do to you then?” Duro eyed his spatha in its sheath beside his sleeping pallet, wishing he could strap it on and go to this audience with the king properly armed. It was, of course, out of the question.
“I don’t know,” the druid admitted. “My fabled foresight has failed me in this.” He lifted his staff – it was as much a weapon as the centurion’s sword, but no soldier in Dun Breatann would seek to remove it from his hands by force. “Let’s go and we shall see. You stay here lad, we’ll be back soon.” He stroked Cai’s head and muzzle and there was another knock on the door, this one a little louder than before, suggesting their escort was growing impatient outside. Bellicus pulled it quickly open, sending the man back a step, an apologetic look on his face.
“Sorry, my lord, I hate to rush you, but we best not keep the king waiting.”
“No, of course not, Butu. Lead the way.”
The soldier seemed pleased that the druid had remembered his name, but he hesitated, eyeing Duro.
“Forgive me, lord, but the king only asked for you. He didn’t mention your Roman friend there.”
Duro’s face darkened and he opened his mouth as if ready to issue a parade-ground style dressing down for the guard, but Bellicus placed a warning hand on his arm.
“He didn’t say Duro shouldn’t come though, did he?” the druid asked. “Well then, lead on. If Coroticus wants to see me alone, I’m sure he’ll say so when we reach the hall.”
The guard was pleased with that solution for he had no desire to argue with the giant druid, so he nodded agreement and walked up the path towards the long wooden building which had been the scene of the previous night’s fracas just a few hours earlier. Smoke issued from the chimney hole in the roof and Bellicus was glad, for it was a chilly morning and he was a little hungover himself which always made him feel colder than usual.
He wondered how Coroticus must be feeling – sick, anxious, leaden-headed, shivery? All these were the usual side-products of a night spent drinking oneself into oblivion, and they might, just might, make the king easier to deal with. He would be in less of a mood to argue if he was as fragile as his consumption of ale at the feast would suggest.
Then they reached the hall and went inside and, once Bellicus’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he felt disappointment. There sat the king at his long table and before him was a jug, and in his hand a wooden cup filled, undoubtedly with the very liquid that had caused all this trouble in the first place.
He heard Duro mutter an oath but managed to refrain from sighing or shaking his own head at the depressing sight as they approached, Bellicus slightly ahead of his companion, towards the centre of the room. He knew better than to try and take his usual place beside Coroticus.
Narina was at the table, and Gavo stood a little way behind them, fully armed and armoured as was usual in an audience like this, and Bellicus wondered who the guard captain would side with if it came to another fight, this time a true, unrestrained battle to the death. It was a silly thought that crossed unbidden through the druid’s mind and he knew immediately there would only be one winner in such a loyalty contest: Gavo was the king’s man and always would be.
To the right of the king sat Senecio, and Bellicus couldn’t help feeling a little stab of irritation at the sight. That was his seat, his place – he was the king’s trusted advisor, or at least he used to be. It seemed the druid had been supplanted by a man who only ever told Coroticus what he wanted to hear.
Things were changing in Alt Clota, and not for the better, as far as the druid could tell.
He stared at Senecio who met his gaze and held it for a moment before smirking and looking away.
The little prick was confident in his newfound position and Bellicus wondered what Coroticus had planned for him as punishment for the previous night’s ‘attack’.
He willed his mind to calm, then bowed and said respectfully, “Lord King. You summoned me.”
“You,” Coroticus agreed. “I summoned you, not your friend. No matter,” he waved a hand as if dismissing his own objection and the room was uncomfortably silent for a time until, at last, the king shook his head sadly. “What have we come to, Bel? We’ve always been close.”
“We still are, aren’t we?”
Coroticus tilted his head uncertainly. “Perhaps. The pain in my mouth would suggest otherwise though.”
Bellicus wondered if he should defend his actions, explain the situation, but he knew everyone in the room, including Coroticus, understood what had happened and why. He had no need to protest his innocence for he had acted as any warrior would have. He remained silent.
“Whatever the reasons for last night’s…unpleasantness,” the king went on, “you will accept that I must be seen to act. To punish you in some way for what you did?”
Bellicus could sense Duro at his back straining to keep silent. Thankfully the centurion’s military discipline kept him in check and the king continued.
“You do understand that, Bel?” He took the druid’s slight shrug as agreement. “Good. Well, what would you suggest we do in order to show the people I’ve acted?”
“Tell them you’ve sent me into exile, lord,” Bellicus replied and was rewarded with a look of surprise from the king. Apparently he had read Coroticus’s thoughts, judging by that stunned, somewhat fearful expression. He was pleased to know the story of this would get out and his magical powers confirmed once again.
He wasn’t quite so happy to realise his friend was planning on exiling him.
“That seems like a good solution,” Coroticus agreed warily, glancing at Senecio who remained expressionless beside him. “Where would you go in that case? And for how long? Obviously, this would only be a temporary thing, to show the people I did something to punish you for your behaviour at the feast – you could return after a time, perhaps after performing some service in reparation?”
Bellicus had thought about this all night and, without hesitation replied, “South, lord. To join the warlord Arthur, and the Merlin. They are all that stands between us and Hengist’s forces and they need every man they can get. I would ask you to send as many men as you can to join me – I will command them as part of Arthur’s army.” He saw anger flash across the k
ing’s face and held up a hand. “Of course, you can wait a week or so before sending the men, so no-one connects them to me. We will simply tell the people I have been sent into exile for attacking you, and then, after a time, the men will travel south to join me. And Duro, of course.”
To Bellicus this was the ideal solution to everyone’s problems. Coroticus would save face, and not have to feel that ludicrous jealousy any time he and Narina – or Catia – were in a room together, and the Saxon threat would be met head on. The anger still hadn’t left the king’s face though and Bellicus could see he must be more persuasive.
“This will allow you to send a message to every king and petty warlord in the land, Coroticus. Hengist ordered his brother, Horsa, to abduct your daughter. They planned to slaughter her as a blood sacrifice to their twisted gods. Sending a portion of your army to stand against them will show everyone you won’t sit idly by and accept what they’ve done.”
Senecio leaned in and muttered something in Coroticus’s ear and the king nodded. The anger never left his face – if anything he became even redder and took a long pull from his cup as if trying to steady himself.
This wasn’t going as well as Bellicus had hoped. What was the problem with this idea of his?
“So, you punch me in the face,” the king growled and, beside him, Narina flinched at his tone. “Then, as your punishment, you demand I give you command of an army? To travel away down south where you’ll help your new friends?”
“Aye,” Bellicus agreed somewhat testily. “I’d help the friends that helped me find Catia. I’d help them defeat the bastards that took Catia! Why wouldn’t you see that as a good thing?” He looked to the queen, and Gavo in the shadows behind the high table but neither of them would speak up, undoubtedly knowing it would make them seem disloyal. Somehow, Coroticus saw this plan of Bellicus’s as an abandonment, a defection even, leaving his service to join another would-be king – and he even had the temerity to ask if he could take some of Alt Clota’s soldiers with him!
Truly, Coroticus’s paranoia had taken over his senses so he could now only see the druid as an enemy, or at least a disruptive force, within his own camp.
“I have a better idea.”
Senecio nodded grimly, obviously knowing in advance what the king’s plan was, and Bellicus wished Taranis would send a bolt of lightning to strike the man’s irritating face.
“Loarn Mac Eirc said some disgusting things to me when they had us under siege. I presume you’ve heard about it? Good, I’d rather not repeat them. I want you to kill him for me, Bellicus.”
At this the queen sat up and looked pleasantly surprised, before her face fell again.
“How would he do that?” she wondered. “I want that piece of filth dead as much as you, of course, but he’ll be safely inside his fortress at Dunadd, surrounded by his guards. It would be like someone trying to come in here to assassinate you, Coroticus.”
“He’s a druid,” the king said, as if that explained everything. Who needed a plan, when one was a tool of the gods? “Besides, he has Cai, and Duro there will no doubt go with him. Well, what do you say to that, Bel?”
It seemed there was no choice. Coroticus was king after all and these were his orders. Bellicus bowed and murmured assent, noting the small, self-satisfied smile on Senecio’s face. The advisor did not expect to see Bellicus again, and it was understandable, for if he failed in killing Loarn mac Eirc the druid would not be wise to return to Alt Clota.
Yet assassinating the Dalriadan king in his own fortress – set high on a hill and surrounded by natural and man-made defences, much like Dun Breatann – would be nigh on impossible.
Bellicus had done the impossible before though. He did not fear putting himself in such situations.
“I bow to your wishes, as always, lord king,” he said, rapping the butt of his staff on the hard floor of the hall to mark his acceptance of the quest. “I urge you to heed my counsel though, Coroticus: the Saxons must be stopped before they are too strong, otherwise they will sweep us all away, eventually. Aye, even us in the north. Arthur seems a noble enough man to me and one we should be looking to aid.” The king frowned but Bellicus didn’t hold his tongue this time. “End your war with the Picts and Votadini and Dalriadans, my king. The Saxons are a much bigger threat to the future of our lands.”
With that he bowed once more, pointed the eagle-topped head of his staff at Senecio in a gesture that made the advisor’s face turn pale and Gavo grin in the shadows, then turned and led Duro out into the morning sunshine.
Overhead, the raven, Uchaf sailed past, its enormous wings spread wide, majestic and awe-inspiring, then it suddenly swooped down on a cat slinking between two of the buildings, sending the innocent tabby diving for safety. Bellicus took it as a good omen, a friend showing him how to chase away the annoyances of life.
“Shit,” Duro muttered, looking up in dismay at the huge bird wheeling away towards the higher peak of the rock. “That has to be a bad sign, right?”
The druid couldn’t help laughing.
“That depends, my friend, on whether you see yourself as the raven, or the cat. Come on, let’s get our gear ready. The gods will see us right, they always do.”
* * *
The first decision they had to make was how to reach Dunadd. Should they take a boat to Arachar, and then walk the rest of the way? It was tempting, especially since the weather was still cold and miserable, but Bellicus thought it might be good for them to make the whole journey on foot. They’d spent the winter mostly sitting around in Dun Breatann, playing music and drinking ale, so the walking would help them lose the extra weight they’d gained since returning with Catia. Duro, when the options were laid out, declared he’d rather take the boat.
“It’s bloody freezing up here, Bel,” he groaned. “And, since we’re going even further north, it’ll only get worse. We won’t be able to kill a sheep once we reach Dunadd, never mind a king, if our toes and fingers have dropped off from frostbite.”
“That’s a bit dramatic,” the druid smiled, throwing provisions for himself and Cai into his pack. “The worst of the winter is probably over. I’m sure I saw some buttercups growing by the well this morning.”
Duro’s reply was merely a grunt. The centurion would follow whatever path Bellicus chose, but he grinned when the druid decided they’d sail after all.
“It’ll be faster than trying to walk, or even ride, since the roads – where there are any – will be in poor condition with the weather. Some might even be damaged or impassable.” He stood up, tightening the leather cord around his pack. “Besides, we’ll still have a few days walk to Dunadd once we disembark in Arachar. That will help us get back in condition, eh?”
“Some of us are already toned and strong,” Duro said, drawing himself up and sucking in his belly which, to be fair, was nowhere near as large as it had been when the two men had first met in Luguvalium.
“You’re a fat bastard,” the druid growled, averting his face so Duro wouldn’t see the smirk there. “Too much of Coroticus’s meat and ale for you, centurion, you’re a disgrace to your rank.”
Duro knew his friend well enough by now to know the jibe wasn’t meant to hurt, but his expression was sad nonetheless. “Maybe I am,” he replied, following Bellicus out the room and down the stairs towards the docks. “But by the time we reach Dunadd I’ll be half this size and damn sight colder!”
They finished packing provisions which Duro collected from the fortress’s quartermaster, made sure they had whatever weapons, light armour and warm clothing they could carry and, finally, packed a small leather tent, knowing it would be absolutely vital for survival at this time of year. Then, hoping they hadn’t forgotten anything, they headed for the docks.
Cai was the only one of the companions who seemed genuinely happy to be going on a journey. He ran down the steps ahead of them, tail wagging, eyes bright, nose sniffing the chill air for the rabbits that were always around in the undergrowth. The sig
ht of the daft hound always brought a smile to Bellicus’s face although he wished Eolas – the dog that had been killed in the fight with Horsa when they were tracking Catia – was also coming on this trip.
He ruffled Cai’s ears as the powerfully built animal bounded up to them as if urging his master to hurry. “At least I still have you, boy,” he muttered, and followed the eager beast down towards the boat that lay at anchor, awaiting their boarding.
Bri, captain of the vessel that would take them along the River Clota to Arachar, sat looking out across the water, ostensibly supervising his crew as they loaded barrels and crates on board. This was to be a trading voyage, with Bellicus and Duro slipping away along the western road once they docked, hopefully without attracting any attention.
As they stepped onto the wooden platform Bellicus noticed Gavo waiting for them, a somewhat regretful look on his hard face. The druid headed straight for him and held out his hand, which the guard captain took in the warriors’ grasp and they embraced, both perhaps wondering if they’d ever see the other again.
“Come to say farewell, eh?” Duro smiled, but the expression wasn’t returned.
“Come to make sure you leave, more like,” Gavo grumbled, looking upwards as if checking no-one was watching. “Coroticus told me to see you were on board when the boat sails. He sends his best wishes for your journey, and bade me remind you that this is the best thing for everyone.”
Bellicus raised an eyebrow then shrugged and called Cai back from a nearby bush which he was relieving himself against. “Get on board, lad,” he commanded, before turning again to Gavo. “We’d best not hang around then, since the king wishes us gone as soon as possible.”
The guard captain laid a hand on the druid’s arm, gripping firmly, and they looked at one another awkwardly.
“Don’t think too badly of him, Bel. I can understand why he’s acting like this, with all the rumours going about…And the queen was furious at what Loarn mac Eirc said to her, so, if you can bring him back, or his head at least, you’ll be held in high esteem again, and things will go back to normal.”
Song of the Centurion Page 15
