Spears of Britannia

by Scott Hurst

  Immediately she stiffened under his touch. Her warmth left him as she pulled away. What was he thinking? ‘My apologies, Lady Sabrina.’ The breach in protocol was unforgivable. Not even engaged couples kissed. Far less…

  Sabrina could barely look at him, her breathing ragged. The spark of passion that flew between them had terrified her. But Lupicinius had made her choice clear. Death or marriage.

  Her decision made, she looked Max straight in the eye. ‘The fault was as much mine as yours, Maximus. I’m just so very afraid of what the future holds for us both. And you, off to war …it’s natural for a man without a wife to want to snatch a moment’s happiness.’

  Was that what she thought? That he felt only lust for her? When she turned to go, Max found himself catching her by the wrist. His thoughts were racing. In just a short time, he could be like Decentius, cold and dead… if he were to die without an heir Calista’s son would one day lead the Catuvellauni. Rhoswen herself had said Sabrina would make him a fine wife. And if she were to be sent back to Guidolin he would destroy her.

  Perhaps, he realised suddenly, there was another way…

  Voices echoed along the corridor as Rhoswen and Severus made their way to bed. Sabrina pulled away further. He pulled her back, pinning her against the wall for another breathless kiss. Christ, but he wanted her. Every fibre of him screamed to pull her into his room and make her his. But chastity was a prerequisite for marriage. He respected her too much to take that from her. Taking Sabrina’s face between his hands he searched her eyes deeply. In them he saw a confusion to mirror his own. He saw fear, desire…and hope.

  *****

  ‘Marry Sabrina? Out of the question!’ Severus yelled the following morning. ‘When you marry, it will be to a noble Catuvellaunian! Just like your brother!’

  Max stared at his father, unmoved. ‘Just like you?’

  Severus looked furious at being caught out. ‘That was different!’

  ‘No, it wasn’t!’ Rhoswen contradicted him flatly. ‘We married, Severus, because we loved each other. Sabrina is a fine girl, of noble birth. She’s an excellent match for him! Perhaps, given time, this marriage would be a new beginning, a new pact of friendship between the Dobunni and ourselves?’

  ‘What about her dowry? She’s hardly going to bring one now.’

  Rhoswen didn’t hide her disdain. ‘Our precious son is about to risk his life for the glory of the Catuvellauni. Better to see him settled with a good woman, than worry about a few fields or herds of sheep!’

  Severus gestured to Max in disgust. ‘He’s supposed to be readying himself for war, not a wedding!’ He would not be pacified. ‘Think, woman! Marrying her would mean war against both the Dobunni and General Gerontius!’

  ‘Not if they’re married immediately.’ Once more Rhoswen showed how shrewd she could be. ‘Once they are joined as man and wife in the sight of God, Gerontius cannot demand Sabrina be returned and neither can Guidolin.’ She would not be put off. ‘I could have the ceremony arranged for three days hence.’

  Severus almost yelped. ‘Three days!’

  His wife ignored him. ‘I cannot do it in less. I have a feast to organise. Guests to summon.’

  ‘Have we not better things to do than prepare wedding arrangements?

  ‘Focus on your son’s happiness for now. Give him your blessing.’ She looked at him expectantly.

  Severus still looked uncertain, yet what if this was a way to prevent war between the two tribes? If the two were married, Guidolin would have no choice but to remove his stipulation. It might just work.

  There was no time for more argument. A servant appeared at the door announcing the Dobunnic delegation outside.

  ‘Are we all agreed then? Severus?’ Rhoswen hissed as the Dobunnic delegation made their entry, followed by those Catuvellauni attending the meeting, Calista and Dye at their head.

  Lupicinius was already approaching. ‘It is as I expected. Lord Guidolin insists there can be no peace unless Sabrina is returned to the Dobunni. If you refuse he will take the matter to Gerontius.’ Lupicinius’s eyebrows rose, his dark eyes challenging. ‘So what do I take to Guidolin? The Lady Sabrina? Or a declaration of war?’

  Max and Rhoswen looked at Severus, who straightened in his seat. ‘You may take to Guidolin the message I myself will send to General Gerontius. Sabrina has never belonged to Guidolin. She is now promised to another, a commander in the General’s own army. My son.’ He gestured at Max. ‘Three days hence they will be joined before God.’ There was a brief, tense silence before amazed whispers began to run around the room. Max felt relief sweeping through him.

  Calista stared at Max, then stormed from the room, Dye following after her.

  Lupicinius’s reaction was calm and controlled. ‘I will convey your decision to Guidolin. Do not imagine he will be pleased.’

  *****

  Over the next few days Max had no time to contemplate his decision. He was too busy preparing the militia. Most of the cavalrymen who had ridden with him to the Dobunni border had volunteered to accompany him on expedition. Otho, as he’d imagined, had opted to stay at home and ‘advise’ Dye on defence. Max was relieved. The man had experience, but he didn’t trust him. Word had gone out to the whole tribe. His own militia had been joined by another hundred and fifty horseman from all over Catuvellaunia. By the end of the second day he’d recruited two hundred and sixty volunteers as foot soldiers. Max put the veterans in charge of training them.

  Severus and Dye worked to ensure the militia had the equipment they needed. With the council’s help they took control of Verulamium’s metal shops. Other, temporary workshops were constructed which worked day and night, turning out javelins, arrows, swords, shields, as well as all the buckles and belt equipment that turned an ordinary civilian into a militiaman. The shields and the buckles were decorated with the golden twin headed beasts, their necks forming a loop almost like a torc, symbolizing the Catuvellauni legend of twin headed beasts emerging from the earth when the earth was yet empty of people. A row of dots represented their blood. Let his men’s blood be spared in using them, Max prayed. It wasn’t possible to give them all armour or chain mail, but somehow, from somewhere, they managed to gather enough of both for use on dangerous missions.

  Out on the fields beyond the town walls, at the end of a long, hot day, Max took a break, watching another batch of militiamen being taught to stab and parry. There was no making these ordinary civilians into fully effective soldiers overnight. He just hoped they’d complete their basic training before their first battle. Most were hunters used to throwing javelins or using bows and arrows, with no experience of armed opponents or of army discipline. They spoke more of booty, glory and admiring women than the reality of war. Yet he was proud of their enthusiasm and energy, prouder than he could explain. When their first battle came that enthusiasm would be vital. But once they started losing men, as was inevitable, what would happen then? Would they break and run, or retreat in good order, then return for a second and third attack? And when they too were charged? Would they be able to hold their ranks, stay steady? Though they worked hard to train the men, he could see the veterans were worried.

  Some of these men would never return home. At the back of Max’s mind grew a seed of self-doubt. Would he be a good commander to them? How would it be to be wounded? If he were to die, he prayed it would not be slowly. He thought of his mother, and of Sabrina. Was he being selfish, marrying her now? What if he left her a widow? Perhaps even with child?

  And always, drumming inside him, was the thought of the Torc. Would he find it where Heru believed it to be? Could it be that simple?

  Always too many questions and too few answers.

  Something else was troubling him. He sought out Paulinus, needing advice. When he found him at the chapel he was building in his mother’s garden, close to the house. ‘The new recruits are spreading this idiotic rumour, Paulinus, that I’m somehow anointed by God – all because I was mad enough to risk m
y life freeing that bear.’

  Paulinus raised his sparse eyebrows. ‘And that troubles you? That rumour, Maximus, is making men flock to your banner. Surely you are too wise to overrule a superstition that is helping your cause so greatly?’

  ‘Becoming known as Arcturus, does it not smack of the bear cult Lupicinius has resurrected? I want nothing to do with a god brought back to life by Lupicinius’s fanaticism.’

  Paulinus stopped working. ‘Have you ever asked yourself why the Dobunni seek solace in the cult? In times of upheaval people seek to deepen their relationship with the Divine. There is a strong, protective side to the bear cult. You, Max, have been touched with a sacred moment, saved one of God’s precious creatures, one who inspires our enemy. Who knows God’s purpose in all this? Perhaps it’s his way to bring everyone together. The truth of Christ will win through.’ He saw Maximus was unconvinced. ‘What is it you fear in this connection with the bear?’

  Fear was the wrong word – there was almost an…unworthiness. For so long he had felt caught between two worlds, the free-spiritedness of his mother’s ways and the rigid structures of his father’s world. He could almost understand the Dobunni worshiping Artur, a god so free, so powerful. His meeting with the bear, that moment of connection, had affected him more than he wanted to admit. He’d seen in it the power and the vulnerability of his people. Max looked at his mentor for understanding.

  ‘Like a bear torn from her cubs I will fall on them…’

  Max stared at Paulinus, unsure of his meaning.

  ‘Hosea, Maximus. The prophet speaks of God as a bear, protecting his people.’ Paulinus was looking at him keenly. ‘There could be a great deal of significance in your new fame, Max. Somehow, through it, you have come to be seen as a new guardian for your people. The idea will serve you as a reminder, if you are wise. Let the bear stand as a reminder of that fiery anger of yours. You can learn discernment from him. He knows when to hold back and when to act.’

  Max grinned ruefully. ‘What would I do without you, Paulinus?’

  The old monk smiled. ‘We all of us need a companion on our journey. Pray for poor Lupicinius and his bear cult, Maximus. The man journeys alone.’

  *****

  They were finishing up for the day when Sabrina passed, heading for Rhoswen’s garden. Max’s eyes lingered on his betrothed’s retreating form. Salvius and Madoc exchanged glances. Irritated, Salvius gestured to him to keep working, but Madoc was more understanding. ‘We’ll finish up here, Maximus. Go, join your betrothed.’

  He found her sitting on Rhoswen’s little bench. Sitting next to her he took her small hand in his, rubbing his thumb against her palm. They had had no time alone together since that kiss, which had promised so much. He thought of it often. There had been a power in it that thrilled him. ‘Tomorrow you and I will be man and wife.’

  For some reason she couldn’t hold his gaze. Was she afraid of the wedding night? He would be careful.

  She looked at him then, solemn but at the same time proud. ‘Then you leave for Gaul. You will write to me?’

  ‘I promise.’ Better not speak of the difficulties ahead. ‘You may be fighting your own battles here at home. Calista isn’t… happy… at the thought of our marriage.’

  ‘She hates me.’

  Max chuckled wryly. ‘Calista hates all Dobunni.’

  She didn’t return his smile. ‘She hates me because she wanted you for herself.’

  She was shrewder than he had given her credit for. ‘Forget her. She’s a witch. How go the wedding preparations?’

  This time she did smile, though a little sadly. ‘It will be strange without my family and friends here.’ Her father Donocastus had not withheld his permission – Dobunni women were allowed to marry whom they chose – but he would not be attending the ceremony. She shrugged, then turned to look at him. ‘I sense he is glad for me. I’m marrying a good, kind man tomorrow.’

  A movement on the roof opposite distracted Max. He heard a sudden thwack and an arrow thumped into wood, directly between them. Instinctively Max threw Sabrina to the ground. Another arrow flew at them, this time so close it pinned his tunic to the seat. Salvius and Madoc were already racing towards the arrow’s source. Dragging Sabrina to safety Max raced after them, pulling out his knife. By the time he’d caught up with them Salvius and Madoc had one of the attackers cornered. Another man was disappearing over the wall into the street.

  The surrounded man faced them, terrified, then slowly lifted his bow, aiming at Max.

  Madoc moved at a speed that astonished them all. With his long sword he stepped forward, jabbing and slicing. His first blow took off the man’s cheek. The second had him face down in a pool of blood.

  Max rounded on Madoc. ‘How will we know now who sent him?’ There was no clue to the unidentified corpse. Nor would they find the other assassin.

  ‘Most likely assassins sent by Guidolin,’ Salvius offered.

  Max remembered Guidolin’s hate-filled face telling him to watch his back. But he had emphasized in Gaul. Had someone in the city given the killers sanctuary? Did someone in Verulamium want him dead? Suddenly he remembered Sabrina’s words just before the arrow struck. Calista hated his soon-to-be wife. Were the attackers on her coin?

  *****

  The house was decorated with flowers from the garden but there was nothing else traditional about their hurried wedding. Usually the nuptial would have begun with a celebration welcoming Sabrina’s property into the marriage. But there had been no dowry offered. Rhoswen fussed around, making last minute changes. ‘Do not blame Donocatus, Maximus. Clearly he thought a dowry was more than his life was worth. There have been many other gifts given by family and friends. Everyone loves a wedding.’ She smiled at him, and Maximus smiled back. Inwardly he determined to make it up to Sabrina. This wedding was not how she had wanted it, but he was surer than ever they were doing the right thing. A scurry of activity at the gates warned of his bride’s arrival. Max went to receive her, his heart beating hard.

  Salvius and Madoc carried Sabrina over the threshold, before leading her into the main hall.

  Seeing her, Max felt his heart swell. Sabrina looked demure but beautiful, her dark hair dressed skilfully under the heavy veil. Round her neck she wore the simple string of pearls which was her only gift from her father. Shyly she stepped towards him, offering him the hawthorn bridal torch. Maximus gave her, in return, a heavier, stronger torch, along with water, symbols of the life they were now to live together. Paulinus began the ceremony. Clasping their right hands together, their dear friend recited the traditional words used to bind men and women before God. Sabrina bowed her head, crowned with flowers, as she said the words, ‘Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia’. As she said them, tears shone in her eyes. Wheresoever you go, there I go. Bitter sweet words. Where he was going she could not follow.

  Looking round the gathering Paulinus raised his voice. ‘You good people are here not just to witness this wedding but to pledge support to Maximus and Sabrina. I would ask you to stand by them always, through good times and bad.’ Cheers rang out. Calista and Dye were notably silent. Rings were exchanged. Their vows were sealed with a kiss which left Maximus wanting more. As the witnesses signed the contract, the guests made for the feast. It was a lavish affair. There were guests to attend to, family and friends to welcome. Yet all through the celebration Maximus was conscious of Sabrina. Their eyes were on each other all evening, long, lingering glances which quickened Maximus’s manhood at the thought of the night to come. After the dancing he fed her cake, linking arms as they drank toasts together. All the while excitement rose in him. Soon she would be his.

  The wine flowed. He was asked to share his bear story for the hundredth time. Before too long lusty songs began to be sung. It was time. Traditionally he should have ripped Sabrina from the arms of her loving parents, allowing them to show their reluctance at losing her. Her family wasn’t there, but he’d not rob her of that tradition. Waiting his moment he spied her wi
th Rhoswen and Severus then made his move. Sweeping her over his shoulder, he strode towards their room, Sabrina’s small fists pummelling at his back. She was a fine actress – her show of reluctance almost had him convinced.

  A sudden furore made him turn around.

  A sad procession of humanity was coming through the house gates. Exhausted and dirty, he barely recognized their family from up north, thought too far away to get to the wedding on time. Under the astonished gazes of their guests, led by Trenius, his father’s cousin, they made their way towards Severus. As they walked through the celebration, their misery was all the more marked amidst the happiness and gaiety. They must have been walking for days, old men, women wrapped in cloaks clutching babies and toddlers. Some were carried on makeshift stretchers, some wounded. Max gently dropped Sabrina to the ground.

  These people were refugees.

  Severus pulled Trenius into his arms. ‘Dear God, what’s happened?’

  Trenius fell on Severus’s neck. Their cousin could barely get the words out. ‘Saxon raiders. They burnt our home and stole our slaves. We only just escaped with our lives. We’ve left others behind on the road, cousin, too sick to continue. Will you send your men for them?’

  Suddenly a figure flew at Maximus, a plump, voluptuous young woman.

  ‘Adrastia!’ Max almost staggered under her weight which pulled him away from Sabrina.

  The girl kissed his cheeks soundly. ‘Maximus! If there’s one joy in this horrible affair it’s that I see you again,’ the young blonde pouted. ‘I can’t wait for a bath. I can’t bear for you to see me like this.’

  Standing to the side, Sabrina took her in. Adrastia was one of those effortlessly sensuous girls, buxom and frivolous, just the sort men seemed to like. Even dirty and dishevelled she was stunning. And that hair …beautiful. Even if she was shaking it at her new husband.