Meat was roasting and a smoky, pungent haze permeated the atmosphere while the heat, after the crisp morning air outside, was welcomed by Loarn and his guest. A number of men were already in the hall – warriors, spending winter with their king and wishing for the swift return of spring that they might return to their adventures battling Picts, Britons and even fellow Scots from back over the sea in Hibernia.
“Here,” the king nodded, thrusting a mug of ale into Lóegaire’s hand and beckoning for the man seated next to him to move so the newcomer could take his ease. “Eat. Drink. Then tell me what brings you here to Dunadd, other than the market.”
The chief took a long drink and sighed happily. This was good ale, much better than the stuff brewed in his village and he savoured the woody taste before replying.
“The market, aye. My boys are down there now getting supplies. But I wanted to tell you about the white stag some of my kinfolk have seen recently.”
“Ah, the stag,” Loarn said, tilting his head backwards thoughtfully as the other men in the hall, sensing a tale in the offing, fell silent.
“You’ve heard about it already, I believe,” Lóegaire said. “Your guards told me a few people had visited with similar tales in recent days.”
“That’s right,” the king agreed. “Of course, we’ve known for years that a white stag occasionally visited these lands. It’s been seen a handful of times before this. I was lucky enough to see it myself once.” He sat in silence for a few heartbeats, lost in the memory of the day when he’d crossed paths with the giant stag. “A magnificent beast, for sure,” he said at last. “And, judging by the recent tales, it’s even more impressive now. ‘The biggest stag anyone’s ever seen’. ‘It glows white in the moonlight’. ‘It has fiery red eyes’. ‘It only shows itself to lone travellers.’ Like I say,” Loarn smiled, “I’ve seen a white stag myself, but it was just a normal beast. Whatever people are seeing now is apparently some kind of magical thing. An angel come down to walk amongst us in stag form perhaps.” He made the sign of the cross for he, like many of the Dalriadans, had converted to the new Christian religion while still following the old ways in some things.
Lóegaire, along with the gathered, listening warriors, mimicked his king’s gesture and sipped his ale. “Could be,” he admitted. “Three people from my village have seen the beast, on two separate occasions. All the witnesses swear the stag did, indeed, glow with some unearthly, ethereal light. One of them said it made a great bellowing noise, like a cow which,” he raised an eyebrow at one soldier’s chuckle, “sounds amusing unless you’ve ever heard a stag roaring yourself.” He looked back to the king who nodded emphatic agreement.
“Nothing funny about it,” Loarn mac Eirc said. “And I expect that sound, in the dark, might make a lone traveller shit his breeches in fright.”
“Indeed, lord king,” Lóegaire smiled. “And that’s not the only weird sound folk have reported. Some of the people in my village swear they can hear a flute playing during the night, out in the darkness, far off.” He shivered and so did many of the gathered warriors.
“Ghostly music?” someone muttered fearfully. “That doesn’t bode well.”
The king frowned, sharing his men’s uneasiness at this new information. “Well,” he said, “apart from the nocturnal music, your tale is much the same as the others we’ve heard so far. Whatever this animal is, whoever hunts it down will win great renown.”
The listening warriors, expecting this was now the end of the chief’s story turned away to continue their earlier conversations and games of dice, but Lóegaire regained their attention when he spoke once more.
“That’s another thing you might not have heard yet, though, my lord.” He waited until there was silence again before continuing. “Apparently the stag – which is essentially a king amongst its own kind – can only be killed by another monarch.” He gazed at Loarn mac Eirc who narrowed his eyes for this was indeed a new element to the story. “That means, of all the men in Dalriada, only you, my lord, can hunt down this beast.”
There were rumbles from the audience at this proclamation. Some of them thought it an interesting addition to the legend, while others were angry because they had looked forward to claiming the white stag’s head for their own.
“Who says?” Loarn mac Eirc demanded, turning away from the chief dismissively.
“A druid.”
That brought Loarn’s head back around immediately, and it also brought another man out of the shadows behind them: Dotha, Bishop of Dunadd.
“What’s this?” demanded the clergyman.
“A traveller told us so, two days ago,” Lóegaire confirmed, shrinking back slightly beneath Dotha’s piercing stare. “Said he’d met a druid on the road, and they’d shared meat together. The druid, on hearing about the white stag, told the traveller only the king would be able to hunt it successfully. Everyone else would be wasting their time for a normal man’s weapons would be ineffective against it.”
“Interesting,” Loarn mac Eirc said, pursing his lips, but Bishop Dotha wasn’t finished with the chief of Balmeanoc.
“Who was this traveller? What did he look like?”
Lóegaire shrugged. “Quite tall, middle-aged, muscular. Like a warrior I suppose. He was warned not to go wandering about the place on his own, but he seemed confident enough so, either he was stupid, or well-skilled with the sword he carried.”
“Where did he come from?” Dotha demanded. “And where was he going?”
Again, Lóegaire raised his shoulders in a shrug, irritated now by the bishop’s fierce gaze and harsh tone. “He came from somewhere down south. One of the old Roman towns. Said his wife had been killed and he didn’t have much to live for anymore, so he’d decided to just start walking and see where his feet took him.”
Dotha looked at the chief as if he was an imbecile. “And you believed him? Come on, man, does that sound realistic?”
Lóegaire bridled and half-stood up, but Loarn held his arm, bidding him to remain seated.
“I never thought to question whether he spoke the truth or not, bishop,” the chief spat. “It didn’t seem important. He was just a single man, a lone traveller, and, when he spoke about his wife’s death anyone could tell he was being honest. It was written all over his face. What’s so damn important about him anyway?”
“What did he say about the druid?”
“Only that he met him on the road, and they shared a meal together before parting and going their separate ways. Why?”
“There are no Dalriadan druids in these parts,” Dotha retorted. “Or I’d have been informed of their presence and we’d have run them off. So, if there’s genuinely one of the old religion’s representatives travelling in our lands, he must be either a Pict or a Briton, and that means he’s most likely a spy!” Dotha waved a hand and glanced at the king. “You’ve heard the rumours about Coroticus arguing with the giant, Bellicus, in Dun Breatann. I think this is more than a little worrying.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “We will talk of this later, Loarn, I have to pray just now. I suggest you send out riders to find this druid, and bring him here.” With that, he lost himself once more in the shadows to the rear of the hall.
The king rolled his eyes and some of the warriors sniggered for the bishop was not popular in Dunadd, always telling the folk how to behave and upbraiding them for indulging their vices too much. That sort of talk was never greatly appreciated by fighting men, especially ones like those cooped up here in the hillfort for the entire winter, with little else to do but drink and fight and harass the women.
“He’s got a point about the druid, though,” Loarn said. “Why would such a person be in my lands? It might be completely innocent – perhaps he’s gathering herbs, or some other magical items only found around here. And, if he knows we’re Christians, as he must do, it would seem sensible to not come here in case we treat him badly. Which we would.” He gazed into his ale mug and Lóegaire promised to arrest the traveller
from the Roman town if he should come to Balmeanoc again.
Dotha could question the man himself then, instead of moaning at the chief.
The doors opened, framing two tall young men in the pale sunlight. “Come ahead, lads,” the king grinned, recognising Lóegaire’s sons. They had taken part in the recent siege of Dun Breatann and fought bravely when Coroticus had ambushed their warband on the road home. “Pull up a stool and help yourself to ale,” Loarn commanded. “There’s beef and bread on the trenchers there as well.”
Lóegaire and his sons spent a pleasant afternoon in the great hall then, before remembering they should make the trip back to Balmeanoc while the light held. They got up, unsteadily, for they were considerably drunk by that point, and said farewell to their host.
“What will you do, my lord?” Lóegaire asked. “About the stag I mean? Will you hunt it?”
The king nodded and clapped the chief on the arm, laughing. “Of course! Look,” he pointed to a spot on the wall near the fire. “I can imagine that white, antlered head mounted just there, between the weapons. It would look mightily impressive, wouldn’t it?”
He wished the three men a safe journey and, as they opened the doors, shouted, “Give that old farmer out there a kick on your way past! With any luck it’ll snow in the night and the bastard will freeze so I don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“It’s already started my lord,” Lóegaire replied, showing the flakes gently settling on the mud at his feet and, as the door closed behind him, Loarn and his warriors cheered and refilled their ale mugs as a servant placed another log on the fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bellicus and Duro agreed that it would be safer if the druid stopped leaving their camp during the day. It was more than likely that word of a druid’s presence in the area would have reached the king since they’d started that very rumour themselves. They knew it was probable that Bellicus wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms by the Dalriadan king or his advisors, and Loarn mac Eirc might even ask the locals to capture or kill Bellicus if he should be seen.
They needed to keep abreast of the latest rumours circulating amongst the Dalriadans though, so it was decided Duro would visit Mochan and find out what news, if any, he might be able to impart regarding the white stag and the king’s possible interest in it. The centurion would take Cai with him, just as an extra layer of protection. If word had been spread about that travellers should be held for questioning, the villagers would be less likely to try and take Duro by force with the giant wardog by his side.
“You take care of him,” Bellicus commanded the centurion. “He’s been my loyal companion for years, and he smells better than you. So, if it comes to a fight, I’d rather he came back to me than you.”
Duro knew the druid was joking, or at least he hoped so, but he nodded in agreement nonetheless. “I’ll be cautious, don’t worry about that. I won’t put the hound in any unnecessary danger.”
Off he went then, canine shadow by his side, to visit Mochan in the nearby settlement. Bellicus settled down to wait, spending the time alone praying and sharpening his weapons, knowing, or at least hoping, he would need them soon, should their carefully-planned scheme bear fruit.
Winter was drawing to a close, as evidenced by the buttercups sprouting on the outskirts of the marshes, and the druid wanted to complete his mission as soon as possible so they might return to Dun Breatann and face Drest and his returning army.
Duro’s return a few hours later gave Bellicus hope.
“I saw men – warriors – leaving the village just as I was approaching,” the centurion recounted as he settled himself by the fire with a drink and some well-earned meat and cheese. “I hid in the bushes until they were gone, then went straight to old Mochan’s place.”
Bellicus pulled a gristly piece of roast beef from a skewer over the fire and blew on it before tossing it to Cai who swallowed it without even chewing. “What did the soldiers want?”
“Two things,” Duro said, and the druid could tell from the twinkle in his eyes that he’d heard good news in the village that day. “One: the white stag is the property of the king, since it’s on his lands, so only he can hunt it. Sightings should be reported and passed to Dunadd. Anyone caught trying to bring down the beast will be punished.”
“That’s good,” Bellicus smiled, tossing another chunk of meat to the salivating dog. “Whatever Loarn mac Eirc believes about the rumours, this edict will stop people trying to kill me any time I wear the head-dress.”
Duro nodded. “Aye, that’s true. But,” he grinned and carried on. “Two: a foreign druid has been reported within Dalriadan lands and should be taken into custody if sighted. A reward will be paid for his capture.”
Bellicus popped a piece of beef into his own mouth this time, much to Cai’s disappointment. “That’s not a huge surprise. We knew Loarn would be suspicious when he heard a possible spy was near Dunadd. I think the white stag should begin appearing again.”
The pair knew the lands around them quite well by now, thanks to their travels, and they’d already chosen a suitable place to lay the final trap: a wooded area not far from Dunadd itself. Although most trees at this time of year were dormant and leafless, there was enough evergreen foliage in the spot they’d chosen – holly, ivy, yew and juniper – to provide cover, especially in the dark.
So, that night Bellicus appeared, glowing stag’s head atop his shoulders, to a single, astonished traveller passing by the woods.
He did the same two nights later. And again the night after that.
It was the first time the white stag had appeared in the same place more than once and that, the druid hoped, would draw Loarn mac Eirc straight to them, seeking glory and fame and a trophy for his wall.
Their time in Dalriada was coming to an end, one way or another. Either the king would come to them and there would be a fight, or he would not take the bait and they would go home empty handed.
Bellicus wasn’t at all sure how King Coroticus would take such a failure.
* * *
They watched the road to Dunadd that night, praying to the gods that King Loarn would ride out to hunt the now-legendary white stag. For the first few hours only hedgehogs and owls kept them company, the former silent, the latter invisible in the darkness as they made their eerie cries.
Now, at last, it looked like their prayers had been answered.
On the road below, two riders, accompanied by a pair of dogs, were visible in the wan moonlight, long spears held ready as they cantered towards Bellicus and his friend’s hiding place. At that distance, and in the gloom, it was impossible to tell who the riders were – kings didn’t usually go about the place wearing a golden crown after all. But the presence of the dogs, smaller beasts bred for tracking rather than fighting, and the spears, told the druid that these Dalriadans had come to hunt something.
“There it is!”
Bellicus heard the cry, just, through the material of the antlered headdress, and he knew he’d been spotted. Quickly, he lowered himself down behind the juniper bush and hurried away, through the trees a short distance to where Duro and Cai waited for him.
“They saw you?”
Bellicus nodded and shoved the stag’s head into its sack. The luminescence had faded over time but it still gave off a faint glow and the last thing he wanted was for their pursuers to notice it bobbing about in his hands, destroying the illusion. He lifted his staff of office from the ground where he’d left it and strapped it onto his back – it was Melltgwyn, he would need for what was to come next.
“Get ready,” he said, drawing the sword from its sheath. “They’ll be along soon. The dogs will head straight for us. Cai – stay.” The great mastiff lay down amongst the leaves while Bellicus led Duro a few strides east to a clearing. He crouched behind a massive oak tree, while the centurion went to hide by a bush a few feet away from him.
Earlier in the day Bellicus had managed to catch a dove in a trap and, before
butchering it, the druid offered its lifeblood in the centre of this clearing, as a sacrifice to Cernunnos, that the forest lord might bring them success in their night’s endeavours. The edible parts were then quickly cut away, salted, wrapped in leaves and placed in the druid’s pack, while the rest of the remains were left on the ground with the drying blood.
“Two against two,” Duro murmured as they crouched in the trees awaiting their victims. “And we have the element of surprise.”
Bellicus nodded wordlessly. The odds were good, and the hunting dogs would be no threat – Cai would see them off without any problems, that was a certainty.
They waited, senses straining, for what seemed like hours before, at last, soft footsteps could be heard converging on their position. The hunters were almost silent, but it was impossible not to step on a twig or catch a foot on hidden undergrowth and Bellicus was easily able to gauge their approach.
From what little he had been able to see of the Dalriadan riders on the road both men were large and well-armed. It was possible a fight could go badly if the plan didn’t work as well as Bellicus hoped, but he trusted the gods. They had led him this far after all, and now the end of what once seemed an impossible mission was in sight.
The dense woods had forced the hunters to dismount and they came in sight at last, dark shapes that moved slowly, stealthily, heads turning from side to side as they tried to catch sight of the elusive white stag. The foliage hid their dogs from view, but Bellicus could hear their questing noses, sniffing the air and the leaf-strewn floor.
The beasts had brought their masters directly towards the ambush, but now they sensed the danger lurking nearby, possibly from the scent of Cai who lay ahead of them, silent and unmoving, in the shadows at the edge of the clearing. They pulled up, despite the blood and remains of the sacrificed dove just a few paces ahead of them.
Song of the Centurion Page 21
