by Scott Hurst
From Calista’s sneering expression it was clear she understood its significance. Leaning over she whispered in his ear. ‘Strange that you survived even an encounter with a bear unscathed, yet poor Decentius…’
If Salvius had not been there to pull him back, who knew what he would have done? His friend held him fast as Paulinus began to address the congregation. ‘We are here today to honour a young man, taken from us too soon. Killed not by a man of a different tribe, with different customs and different ways. But of the same British blood.’
Immediately Max could feel the tension Paulinus’s words provoked. This was clearly not what the crowd wanted to hear. They wanted condemnation of the Dobunni. Calista was openly scowling. Even his father looked irritated but Paulinus continued, undeterred. ‘Yesterday more British blood was split. Catuvellaunian blood, Dobunnic blood. And in days to come, yet more blood will be spilt. This conflict is neither right nor holy. It is folly.’
There it was again, that word. Right. A decision that must be made, no matter what the circumstances. The death of the two old farmers had convinced him. He would never again stand back and allow wrong to happen - if it was in his power to stop it.
There hostile muttering among the mourners now, but Paulinus was not yet finished. ‘There may come a time, and soon, when this island has to face an onslaught of Saxons from across the seas. Alone. The raiders will come not in twos and threes as now, but in ships twenty or thirty abreast. Then all Britons must stand, shoulder to shoulder, to face a common enemy.’
A voice in the crowd cried out, ‘Our enemies are the Dobunni!’ There were mutters of agreement. Flickering candles showed strong feelings on the solemn faces. Max saw Calista lift her chin, as though with pride. It seemed to Max that even more of the tribe had been drawn into her hateful racist views. Was it possible she and Dye had used Decentius’s death to add fuel to their hateful talk? That cunning bitch had gone quite far enough. Even peaceful Catuvellauni were being infected by her ideas. Did she intend to radicalize the whole tribe to her way of thinking? This race hatred could spark riots. Riots that would tear Catuvellaunia apart.
Severus seemed to have lost the ability or even the will to face her down. Max remembered his new promise. Right or might? Another cry went up. Max shot Calista a look. She stood silent and innocent, as if her rhetoric had not caused the uproar. Had she no idea of the harm she was causing? Riling these people so she could play the revolutionary then go home to her silken sheets and perfumed clothes? If he didn’t stop her, there would be mayhem in the streets of Verulamium. The cry went up in the crowd. ‘Avenge Decentius!’
Dear God, was the funeral to become a mob riot?
Max stood but Severus was already on his feet. ‘Enough!’ he roared. ‘We came here to pay tribute Decentius, not dishonour his memory.’ Thanking Paulinus he turned back to the crowd, growling at them. ‘The service is concluded. You may leave.’
Long after the others had gone, Max stood by the grave with Salvius, unable to say farewell to their friend.
Chapter Six
General Gerontius was a towering man, heavily bearded, his lined face marked by the cares of an old soldier. Still, there was a great sense of strength about him as he advanced into the Vellauni courtyard, at the head of thirty heavily armed soldiers. Felix and his son Aurelius were there immediately, holding lamps for the family as they went to welcome him. As the soldiers formed a guard around their leader more lamps were lit. Severus moved forward to greet him. ‘General Gerontius. It is indeed an honour to meet the Briton who has conquered Iberia and Gaul. High time Rome was shown how an Empire should be run! We Vellauni have a proud history. I myself fought alongside Magnus Maximus…’
Before Severus could expand, Gerontius cut him dead. ‘We all have plenty of old war stories to share,’ he waved an impatient hand, ‘but I have little time and other business to complete before returning to Iberia.’
Max couldn’t remember his father ever showing such deference. ‘Of course. Allow me to introduce my sons, Maximus, my elder, and Dye, the younger.’ As Dye bridled at the inferior status given him, Max greeted the general warmly. When Dye had followed sulkily Gerontius looked them up and down. ‘Fine boys, both of them.’ He mustered their faces, as if searching for something. ‘I heard a strange rumour – that one of you freed an injured bear, trapped in the forest? Which of you was it?’
Maximus took a step forward. Remarkable how the story had spread. News had gone around like a whispered prayer that Maximus had experienced an unheard of grace. The versions of the stories differed – in some the bear was a messenger guide, in others a warning, in yet others a call to courage for their people. The unusual event had somehow became a powerful statement about him and about the tribe itself. Now even this powerful stranger had heard of it.
Gerontius mustered him carefully ‘Such an act takes courage. I trust that means you can fight?’
Was that the reason he was here – to rally more troops? The Alans, Vandals and Suebi had crossed the frozen Rhine and begun a devastating march on Gaul. Constantine's control of the empire was falling apart. Many of his military forces were still fighting in Iberia, making Gaul vulnerable.
Unthinking, Severus answered proudly. ‘My sons uphold a long tradition of Vellauni fighters. We are of the blood of Tasciovanus and Cunobelin.’
The General raised an eyebrow. ‘How kind of you, Severus, to remind me of your ancestors who enslaved my Dobunnic ancestors.’ There was an uneasy hush as Severus fought for a diplomatic answer. The silence was broken by Gerontius’ hearty laughter. ‘We are all of us Britons and, of course, Romans, these days. Which is what brings me here today.’ Turning, Gerontius unclasped the great gold crossbow brooch which held his cloak at his shoulder then gestured behind him at an assembly now entering through the house gates. ‘Here are some fellow Britons Constantine and I would have you speak with.’ The general waved the group forward, into the light of the burning braziers.
Max stared, horrified. At the head of the small Dobunni delegation stood Guidolin and Lupicinius. Both men looked about as happy to be there as Max was to see them.
Immediately the Catuvellauni leapt to defend their families, tearing knives from their belts. Max was reassured to see Rhoswen quietly leading Sabrina away.
The Dobunni warriors had drawn weapons too. All except Guidolin, who stood staring at Max.
Gerontius’ own guards had edged closer towards their general, hands resting on spears and sword hilts, tensed and ready. The general himself was scanning the courtyard in irritation. ‘Put those weapons away! There will be no more such foolishness between your tribes, do you hear me?’ He stared hard around the courtyard, daring anyone to challenge him. No one spoke. At nods from their leaders the men straightened up from crouched stances, arms falling back to their sides. Each tribe eyed the other warily.
Gerontius looked from Catuvellauni to Dobunni. ‘This tension is the very reason I’ve brought your tribes together. This feuding must stop. By order of Constantine, there is to be no more war between your peoples.’ For the first time the old general’s smile looked genuine. ‘Gentlemen, there is a bigger game afoot now. Constantine III is ready to wrest control of Italy from the weakling Honorius. His chaotic reign has left him totally discredited, though some fools still accept the child as their Emperor.’ The General scratched his beefy nose. ‘True, we have met some problems in Gaul. The usual crew, after a bit of plunder they can drag back to their lairs.’ Gerontius waved his hand dismissively. ‘Given time we’ll round them up, but for the moment they are causing us,’ he stopped and seemed to be examining the night sky, ‘…some aggravation.’ Gerontius cleared his throat, spitting effusively at his feet. ‘What Emperor Constantine and I need from Britannia now is peace - not civil disputes causing disruption and distraction in our rear. We need, nay, demand peace between the tribes and…’ he looked astutely around the assembled men, ‘…we need more soldiers.’
Guidolin’s nephew Vortiger
n stepped forward from the rear of the Dobunni party, surprising Max by his presence. General Gerontius too mustered the young blonde boy, dressed in copious furs, the expression on his face unruffled, despite the importance of the occasion. Clearly Vortigern was a tactician to his bones like his uncle. He played his tribe’s trump card, shared nationality. ‘You yourself are Dobunnic, Gerontius. You expect us to accept Catuvellauni seizing our womenfolk, murdering innocent old farmers? All the while trying to recreate their Catuvellaunian Empire?’
Outraged, Severus stepped forward from the group which had gathered to protect him, Max included. ‘Are we Catuvellauni to accept our farms being burned, our people made homeless?’
Gerontius stared angrily at them both. ‘That is precisely what we expect. Accept the fact that there has been great wrong done on both sides. It is over. Finished.’
‘How can it be over,’ Severus demanded fervently, ‘when justice has not been served?’
Gerontius advanced towards him menacingly and Max was astonished to see Severus back away. The tense silence was again broken by the General. Slowly he looked from Severus to Guidolin and back again. ‘Gentlemen, this message from our Emperor will be conveyed to all of the tribes. Constantine is deadly earnest. He will have peace at all costs. As incentive, I bring you an offer from your Emperor – and a threat.’ He paused, letting his words sink in. ‘The threat is this. Constantine and I are needed on the continent. Whilst we do what is necessary there Britain will preserve this peace. Any tribe breaking it will suffer. We will use the remaining Roman forces garrisoned here – and if necessary transport troops from Gaul - to crush that tribe’s leaders.’ The general looked around to confirm that his warning had struck home. ‘When I say crush, gentlemen I mean just that. We will kill you. Enslave your families. Raze your homes.’
Severus was pale and unsteady. Max moved to grasp his arm.
Gerontius’ smile widened into something more welcoming. ‘Gentlemen, I also bring an offer, an opportunity. If you fight each other, death and destruction await you. If you fight for us, what awaits is glory!’ Gerontius grinned at the morose faces around him. ‘I’m not offering empty glory but something much more valuable. When we control Rome, when we control its Empire, those who fought by our side will have a share of power. Not just local tribal power, but the power of the greatest Empire the world has ever known. Emperor Constantine is aware of murmurs that Roman control has been slipping here at home whilst we concentrate on matters abroad. Once we have taken full control of the Western Empire, we intend to re-impose full control. Of course,’ he smiled, ‘we will need someone to do that for us. That decision will be based on the tribal leader who has been most useful to us in our fight to win Italy. Gentlemen,’ he challenged, ‘if you give me Italy, I will give you Britain.’
There was a thunderous silence. Gerontius looked around him, fully aware of the impact of his offer. This was what they and their ancestors had always dreamed of, control of all Britannia. ‘So there you have it, gentleman. A simple choice, between death and glory. I hope you make the right one.’
Severus was the first to reply. ‘General, I led a Catuvellaunian detachment to fight for Magnus Maximus. One of my sons will lead another, to fight for Emperor Constantine.’
Grinning, Gerontius stroked his wiry beard and turned to Guidolin. ‘And you?’
Guidolin’s dark eyes were hooded as he exchanged glances with Lupicinius, whose shadowy presence had not left his side. ‘General, you and I are the two most eminent Dobunni today. It will be a pleasure to fight for you.’ With exquisite timing he played his next move. ‘Indeed my plans to lead a detachment to support our noble Emperor are already in place.’
Gerontius’ face was shadowed in the firelight. ‘Excellent. Your Emperor and I are indeed lucky to have two such loyal allies. Gentleman, I have urgent business in Calleva Atrebatum. I will not delay you any longer. Your first priority now is to find a way to live alongside each other in peace. I look forward to hearing the terms of your new agreement and to hearing of your detachments joining our forces. Make sure it happens soon. It will not be long until we march on Honorius.’
By now Severus had rallied enough to match Guidolin’s tactic. ‘My sons and I will escort you to the city gate.’
Gerontius shrugged, his work done. ‘As you wish.’
Max had been bracing himself for border raids. Now it seemed he would be going to war. Thoughts battled within him. Would he come back alive? Would he be brave, as he hoped, or gutless?
Most important of all, once in Gaul, he’d have a chance to seek the Torc. Forcing away the thoughts he made himself focus. They still had to broker a deal with the Dobunni.
The different parties dispersed. Max made for the house, hoping to speak to Paulinus. In the narrow passageway leading from the outer courtyard a figure emerged from the shadows. Guidolin. Instinctively, Max reached for his knife. Guidolin’s dark eyes flickered in the darkness. ‘Put your blade away, Maximus, or Gerontius will have your head – and your family along with you.’ His eyes were slits now. ‘Besides, I should be reaching for my knife, not you. You owe me a double debt now, neither of which can ever be repaid. First you took my sister from me. Now you have stolen the woman I intended to marry.’
Max stared into the cold eyes. ‘Whom you treated vilely.’
Guidolin held his gaze. ‘You are no expert on how to treat women.’ His voice was venomous now. ‘My sister spent two days in your company and went to her grave.’
Perhaps it was Guidolin’s pain, perhaps his own grief at the loss of Decentius. Holding up his hands he took a step towards Guidolin. ‘We were friends once…’
The man opposite took a step back, naked hatred in his eyes, ‘There will be no friendship between us, and none between the Dobunni and Catuvellauni. I came simply to personally deliver a warning. Watch your back in Gaul, Maximus of the Vellauni!’
*****
As the Vellauni moved to their horses Guidolin whispered urgently to Lupicinius. ‘Gerontius may talk like a Roman, but he’s still of our blood. We must use the time left to get him on our side. The Vellauni know it too. That’s why they cluster around him now like flies round shit. I will ride with him now to stop the Catuvellauni gaining advantage, and take Vortigern with me. That leaves you in charge of negotiations with this scum. I care little what you agree with them. When we take control of their territory, it will all become ours anyway. I have but one imperative. I want Sabrina back.’
Lupicinius eyed him strangely, then nodded. ‘You trust Gerontius? Do you believe he would help us build a Dobunnic empire in Britain?’
Guidolin’s face was impassive. ‘We play all sides of the game. That way we cannot lose. In private we continue to develop alliances with the Corieltauvi, the Iceni and the Cantii. As to abroad, if Constantine overthrows Honorius and enters Rome with us at his side the Dobunni win. If we persuade Gerontius to overthrow Constantine and take power himself, the Dobunni win. If the tide goes against them in Gaul we abandon Constantine and Gerontius to no doubt ignominious deaths, along with the best Catuvellauni warriors. Again, the Dobunni win.’
Lupicinius smiled his acknowledgment of Guidolin’s cunning. ‘You will lead the Dobunnic detachment to Gaul yourself?’ Please Artur, let it be so. Surely the man would not survive it?
Guidolin nodded firmly. ‘I must make myself invaluable to Gerontius. Besides, this expedition will give me the chance to deal with Maximus. It’s just as easy in war to kill someone on your side as on other.’
Lupicinius’s hollow-cheeked face showed uncertainty. ‘Severus only said he would send a son. He did not specify which.’
Guidolin frowned. ‘Severus has always favoured Maximus and Dye’s position grows weaker through his alliance with his fanatical wife.’ Pulling his beloved bear pelt around his shoulders, dismissing Lupicinius he turned to go. ‘Don’t forget. Your one responsibility now is to get Sabrina back. I am trusting you, Lupicinius,’ he smiled unpleasantly, ‘though sometim
es I don’t know why.’
Lupicinius watched Guidolin mount his horse and whispered under his breath. ‘Indeed, Lord Guidolin. I don’t know why you trust me either.’
*****
By the time Max returned discussions were already under way. As he entered the courtyard Paulinus was already thanking God for the prospect of peace between the two tribes, though there was no evidence of it in Severus or Lupicinius. The instant Paulinus finished, Severus spoke up. ‘Lupicinius, where is Lord Guidolin?’
Lupicinius acted as though he had barely heard him. He could barely look at him. All his energy was focused on Maximus. When he heard Maximus had freed the bear he had trapped, Lupicinius’s fury towards him had burned in his belly and burned still. Each day the Shadow whispered to him that Maximus had made a fool of him, and that he should suffer for it. And suffer he would. This ridiculous legend growing up around him – his being hailed Arcturus…and yet Lupicinius was afraid. How much more of the Artur’s power was to seep away from him? Was it possible Artur favoured Maximus? He had thought to be up against a dying chief and two squabbling siblings, not a growing power. Lupicinius spoke with difficulty, trying to hide his anger. ‘Lord Guidolin has been called away by vital business. Speaking of lateness, your son is tardy also – he obviously found more diverting company elsewhere. Perhaps a call on his Dobunnic hostage, the Lady Sabrina?’
Max locked eyes with the Dubonnic priest. For some reason since their meeting in the hillfort the priest had come to hate him even more. ‘All that time alone in the wilderness has cost you your manners, Lupicinius. I am late because I was talking to your master. As to any Dobunnic hostage, Sabrina is here of her own free will. I believe an entire ox team would not be sufficient to drag her back to Corinium. You may ask her yourself, if you insist.’
