Song of the Centurion

by Steven A McKay

  “Four days ago,” Bellicus murmured. “You said there was a very pretty red-haired serving girl in the alehouse.”

  “Ah!” A light flickered then within Duro’s memory and he nodded. The girl had indeed been beautiful, much more so than any of the settlement’s other inhabitants, although she was young enough to be his daughter, if he’d ever had one… “Aye, I remember now.” He turned his thoughts to the main street he’d walked down, nodding a greeting to the inhabitants who had, mostly, returned it pleasantly enough.

  There was a smithy on the right, a dilapidated old hovel two middle-aged men appeared to be renovating next to it, the alehouse itself, which was barely bigger than the other buildings, and…

  “There’s a field behind the smithy,” Duro said, a smile splitting his face. “I remember – there were three or four horses in it. Unimpressive animals, small, but they’ll serve us well enough I’ d say.”

  “Stables?”

  Duro shook his head. “Not that I remember. I mean, I suppose there is one, somewhere. But I don’t remember noticing it.” He moved forward silently, head turning left and right, alert for danger. “Come on. We’ll check the field. It’s Dalriadans we’re dealing with, not Roman cavalry. I doubt the horses sleep in the same building as their rider.”

  Bellicus watched his friend walk ahead and a bemused frown appeared on his face. Roman horsemen slept beside their mounts? That was a little fact his tutors had never imparted to him and his naturally inquisitive mind was fascinated by it. Seeing Duro disappear into the dark street ahead brought him back to himself though, and he hurried after the centurion, Cai by his side.

  “Who’s that?”

  A muffled shout came from the house Bellicus was passing and he stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Who’s out there?” The voice came again, a man’s voice, deep and strong and irritated, although the druid detected a hint of fear too.

  “It’s Connall,” he replied, trying his best to imitate the Dalriadans’ accent. “My dog ran off. I’m trying to catch the bastard. Go back to sleep, friend.”

  There was a grunt from the other side of the wall and Bellicus breathed a sigh of relief. Mimicking other peoples’ ways of speech had been something his tutors did teach him.

  Apparently not well enough, though, for the door of the roundhouse was suddenly thrown open and a red-bearded, half-naked Dalriadan glared out at him. The two men looked at one another for a moment, and then the villager’s eyes grew wide as he realised the giant standing before him was a stranger.

  Cai growled and the Dalriadan turned his gaze on the massive wardog, who pulled back his muzzle and bared his teeth. Blanching in fear, the man looked back to Bellicus who had silently drawn Melltgwyn, its flawless steel blade reflecting the pale moonlight. The villager raised his hands to show he was unarmed and not a threat, and backed into his house again.

  “That’s right,” Bellicus nodded, staring at the man. “Close the door and forget you saw me. I’m just passing through.”

  “Who…who are you?”

  The man’s voice was low now, matching Bellicus’s soft tones, and the earlier anger was gone, replaced by amazement and more than a hint of fear.

  The druid thought for a moment, trying to come up with a name the Dalriadan would find impressive.

  “Bel,” he replied, giving the short form of not only his own name, but, more relevantly to this villager, of Belenus, the sun god. Known as ‘the Shining One’, Belenus was venerated by Dalriadans and Alt Clotans alike. Even the Romans worshipped him, in the guise of Apollo.

  “Forgive me, lord,” the man mumbled, eyes growing wider again, apparently not wondering why a god of light was wandering about in the shadows outside his house. “Forgive me,” he repeated, and closed his door, leaving the village shrouded in silence once more.

  Bellicus shook his head, amazed at how superstitious some people could be, and hurried after Duro for the moon was beginning to dip beneath the treeline and the land was even darker than it had been earlier. The frightened villager might feel foolish when the sun was up and his kinfolk told him horses had been stolen in the night, but, when word got around that he’d given his name as Bel, he knew Loarn mac Eirc, or at least Dotha, the king’s pet bishop, would understand all too well what had happened.

  “I’ve found the horses,” Duro said when Bellicus caught up with him. “There might be some in the field, but it’s too bloody dark to see, never mind try and catch them if they decide not to co-operate. Thankfully, there is a stable.”

  Bellicus frowned. “So why are you standing here, instead of readying two of them for us to ride?”

  Duro nodded in the direction of the stable. “There’s two guards. One asleep, the other awake.”

  “Ah,” Bellicus said. “Well, there’s nothing else for it. We need those horses if we’re to escape. Come on, you know what to do.”

  He turned to Cai and placed a finger to his lips, which Duro found amusing, given the dog moved as silently as a wraith anyway, without needing the druid’s sign-language commands, then they headed for the stable.

  The centurion led the way to the door, which stood ajar, letting the dim glow of a rushlight spill out into the street. Duro pointed to the left and held his hands up against his head like a pillow, telling his companion that the resting guard was on that side of the building. Bellicus nodded and pointed to himself, then to the right – he would take on the guard who was awake. After their earlier disaster with Loarn mac Eirc, he knew Duro would not hesitate to dispatch the sleeping Dalriadan, no matter how dishonourable such a killing might be.

  Bellicus crouched low and gently squeezed Cai’s neck between thumb and forefinger. The dog growled, as he’d been trained to do, and Bel rose up to his full height again, pressing himself against the stable wall.

  “What the hell was that?”

  The sound of a man getting to his feet came from inside the building, and then silence. Bellicus could picture the scene as the guard listened, trying to figure out what the low growl had been, not wanting to appear a coward by waking his companion, but wary of looking outside in case some monster waited for him there.

  Finally, hearing nothing, the guard must have gathered his courage, for soft footsteps came towards the door, and a soft muttering, as if the man was trying to convince himself he hadn’t really heard anything at all.

  “Must have been my guts rumbling. I’m bloody starving…”

  The light was blocked as the Dalriadan’s form filled the doorway, then a questing head appeared, eyeing the village for signs of wild beasts. He locked gazes with Bellicus for an instant, before the druid’s hand reached out and grasped him around the throat, squeezing with impossible strength, stifling any cry. With his other hand Bellicus rammed the tip of his sword into the man’s stomach, drew it out, thrust it in again.

  He held the man against the wall as the light faded from his eyes and Duro slipped past, into the stable to deal with the second guard.

  “Bad business, this,” the centurion muttered as he wiped the blood from his spatha on the victim’s cloak.

  “Come on,” Bellicus muttered as he dragged the man he’d killed into the stable. “Remember we’re at war with these people. Get the horses ready.”

  “Aye,” the centurion said, wiping the blade of his spatha again until the blood was all gone. “Sorry, I’m not used to murdering men like that.” He hurried into the back of the stable and quickly selected a horse for himself as Bellicus followed.

  “It’s not exactly my idea of a glorious night’s work either,” the druid admitted, choosing the largest beast in the stalls and placing the crude saddle on the wall on its back. “If only we’d cut Loarn mac Eirc down when we had the chance, these men wouldn’t have had to die.”

  Duro shook his head sadly and opened the rear, double doors, before leading his mount out into the night. “War is never glamourous, is it, my friend,” he muttered. “I’ll pray for those two’s souls when we get a chance
to rest.”

  “That’s a long way off yet,” Bellicus cautioned, bringing his stolen horse out from the stable, glad to see it didn’t appear nervous or skittish. Another benefit of killing the guards quickly, he thought – the horses hadn’t been frightened by the violence and now they stood calmly, ready to carry their new masters to freedom.

  The men quickly mounted and looked at one another.

  “Which way now, druid?”

  Bellicus stared up at the sky, noting the positions of the stars, and pointed. “South. That way.”

  They kicked their heels in and began to move, slowly so as not to make too much noise and draw attention from the sleeping villagers. Cai came at the side of Bellicus, but the druid could tell from the set of the dog’s shoulders that he was very tired. They would have to get away from the village and find somewhere to rest before the sun came up. With any luck Loarn’s men would have completely lost their trail and they’d be safe enough to sleep and gather their strength again.

  It had been a long night. But it wasn’t over yet.

  “Murderers! Murderers! Wake up, wake up you lazy bastards!”

  “Ride!”

  Bellicus kicked his mount into a canter and they raced away, as more shouts came from the village behind them. Perhaps the man he’d frightened had been more curious than afraid, and come to investigate what the tall stranger had been up to, finding the dead guards in the stables. Whatever had happened, the alarm was raised now, and pursuit was being organised. The men of the village would know the terrain well, unlike Bellicus and Duro who were racing into the unknown and forced to travel at a slower pace as a result. They might be heading straight for the side of a cliff for all they knew, and that meant there was a chance they might be caught.

  “Are we going back to Dun Breatann the same way we came?” Duro shouted as the wind whipped past their charging forms.

  “No,” Bellicus cried. “Even if we could reach Arachar, Bri’s boat is hardly likely to be there waiting for us now. We’ll head for the docks, south, at a village called Ard Drisaig, and hope we get there before Loarn mac Eirc does.”

  If they could just find passage on a boat, no matter its destination – as long as it was away from Dalriada – they would have a chance of survival. Dogs couldn’t track them when they were sailing, and riders carrying orders for their capture on land would be bypassed completely.

  “Shit, we’ve stirred up a wasps’ nest back there,” Duro noted, turning to see riders bearing flaming torches already chasing after them. “How did they manage to mount up and come after us so quickly? Bastards were all fast asleep not long ago!”

  “They’re farmers, many of them,” Bellicus replied. “Sunrise isn’t that far off – they were probably about ready to get up and be about their business anyway.”

  “Farmers or no,” Duro said. “We need to shake them off.”

  Bellicus tried to conjure a mental image of the topography of their location but, even if he could remember exactly where he was and what the terrain was like, the locals coming after them would know it better.

  And then he looked at Cai and saw the dog was limping.

  Glancing back over his shoulder, he counted their pursuers. Four horsemen, with others coming on foot, although those were a fair distance off.

  “We can’t outrun them,” he shouted, slowing his pace and pulling Melltgwyn from its sheath once more. “We have to take the riders out at least. Do you have your bow ready?”

  They were moving at a walk now, and Duro cursed, but pulled the short hunting bow from his back as requested. “Aye, I’ve got it,” he growled, taking an arrow from his belt and turning his horse to face the approaching enemy.

  Bellicus nodded grimly.

  “Let’s get this over with then.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Cai. Stay here.” Bellicus looked from the dog to Duro and forced a smile. “Follow me, centurion. When we get within range try and hit the ones on the right of their line. I’ll take the left.”

  “This is madness,” Duro grumbled but began riding after the druid nonetheless. “We’re exhausted and outnumbered deep in enemy territory.”

  “And yet,” Bellicus turned and his smile was gone, replaced by a determined glare. “We will win this fight, and escape.”

  “Just like we did against Loarn mac Eirc,” Duro muttered, raising his bow up and using his knees to bring the horse to a halt so he could aim properly.

  Bellicus waited by his side, the four enemy horsemen coming towards them at a gallop, sure of themselves, or perhaps just enraged by what had been done to their kinsmen.

  “Remember, they’re farmers, not warriors like us,” the druid said. “Once they realise what they’re up against they’ll panic, and their battle-fever will die.”

  “So you’d think,” Duro said, unconvinced. “But I’ve stood amongst the legions, facing men just like this. They’re crazy bastards, and might not fold as quickly as you suggest.”

  The Dalriadans were close now, and the centurion loosed his first arrow. It went wide of its target, but he’d already drawn and let fly another. This one hit a rider in the chest – not hard enough to send him flying off his horse, but enough to slow him and, given the lack of armour on any of the Dalriadans, might even be a killing strike.

  Bellicus kicked his mount into a charge and headed directly for their pursuers as another of the centurion’s arrows whistled close by him, again missing its target.

  “Sorry! I’m not used to shooting from the back of a horse!”

  The druid waved his sword in the air in response to the shouted apology and bore down on his target, a blonde-bearded young rider holding a hay-fork. It wasn’t the sleekest weapon Bellicus had ever seen, but he knew it would kill him just as quickly as any spear if it should hit him at speed.

  His opponent’s eyes blazed, and he angled his mount to head directly for the druid. Time seemed to slow for Bellicus as the distance between them closed and the Dalriadan drew back his arm, preparing to thrust his fork ahead. The druid kicked his horse to the right though, and switched his sword to his left hand. Confusion filled the Dalriadan’s eyes and he tried to change his own weapon to the other side, to counter the druid’s movement, but it was too late. Bellicus’s sword had already swung round and hammered into the man’s neck.

  Duro had managed to loose yet another arrow, hitting one of the enemy horses in the side, but now he’d been forced to draw his sword and trade blows with a farmer wielding a long knife.

  Bellicus switched Melltgwyn back to his right hand and charged at the man fighting Duro, slicing a wide gash in the man’s bald head as he rode past. The Dalriadan screamed and fell to the ground as the druid turned his horse and walked it over to stand beside his friend’s.

  “For cart-horses,” he noted, “these are surprisingly biddable.”

  Duro merely grunted and watched as the two remaining riders faced off against them.

  They didn’t have time to wait though, for each moment allowed the footmen to catch up and sheer force of numbers would see the end of the fight. Bellicus looked at Duro and they nodded in unison, then kicked their mounts ahead and attacked.

  The Dalriadans were brave, but they were unskilled in battle and, no matter how crazy Duro thought them, they were no match for the druid and the centurion, both of whom were well-versed in the art of swordplay, even from horseback.

  “Let’s go,” Bellicus cried when the last of the enemy riders had fallen. He could see that at least one of the men – the bald one – still lived, but he was no threat. The villagers running towards them were screaming in rage as they watched the slaughter of more of their kin, but they were too far away to do anything other than shout.

  The druid urged his horse into a gallop in the opposite direction, back towards Cai who lay on the grass, patiently awaiting his master’s return. Duro thundered along behind him and, when they reached the dog it stood up and ran by their side, still limping, but moving quickly enou
gh.

  Unless it pulled up, or one of their mounts stepped in a pothole, they would easily outrun their pursuers now.

  The first part of their escape was complete, and they were all still alive. Bellicus prayed the gods would continue to look favourably on them until they could rest, for he was close to collapse.

  They all were.

  * * *

  “We have to stop.”

  It was a measure of their exhaustion that Duro didn’t even bother to answer his friend’s pronouncement, simply reined in his stolen mount and slipped down, onto the grass.

  They had been riding for close to an hour, Bellicus judged, since the fight at the village. Ideally, of course, they should have kept going, putting as much distance between themselves and the Dalriadan’s chasing them as they could, but it simply wasn’t possible.

  If they didn’t rest now, they would be unable to move when the sun came up in a few hours.

  “Here. Eat this.” Duro tossed some bread to the druid and they slumped onto the grass, chewing hurriedly. They had stopped by a copse of beech trees which, although leafless at this time of year, offered some concealment from searching eyes. There were some evergreen bushes and Scots pine trees with low-growing foliage that at least hid them should Loarn mac Eirc’s subjects come close.

  The horses’ bridles were, helpfully, equipped with pegs on ropes so they could be tethered to the ground and not wander off home. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

  Bellicus poured some water into his hand for Cai to drink and shared some fatty meat from his pack with the dog. “Sleep, my friend,” he said softly, stroking the animal’s sleek brown coat. “You’ve earned it.”

  The dog seemed only too happy to follow his master’s orders and lay down on his side, eyes closing almost immediately after, muscles jerking as he experienced some dream.

  “You too.”

  Duro shook his head. “No. You sleep while I take first watch. I’d say you’ve exerted yourself more than me this night.”