by Scott Hurst
‘We fight under the risen Arcturus – how can we fail, Guidolin? As a last homage to Artur before the battle I have arranged a bear ceremony, a great feast in your honour and to show the god our loyalty and ask for his intercession. I believe you will be pleased.’
Mollified, Guidolin left. Lupicinius gazed after him, an evil half-smile on his emaciated face.
*****
Max’s first priority was to ensure his militia was ready for the coming battle. His heart was heavy when he thought of the odds against them, but there was no other option. If the invasion was coming then they had to fight and fight hard. He could imagine what Guidolin’s army would do to Catuvellaunia if they failed. He had seen the brutal face of war for himself. He had no illusions about what that defeat would mean. In his mind’s eye he saw a wasteland of abandoned towns and villages. Smoking ruins, corpses rotting in the fields, columns of Catuvellauni being dragged off to captivity.
Victor had begun emergency training in his absence, recruiting as many men as possible. Max immediately inspected the new recruits. Their lack of experience scared him, but their enthusiasm was heartening. Time was short.
It was time to put the unity he had forged to the test. Through the veterans who had joined him on the procession, Max sent word to other veterans he knew from Arelate, in particular the men from tribes now allied with Guidolin. If his contacts were worth anything they’d be worth something now. He expected no support from the Corieltauvian veterans and he got none. But a trickle of responses started to come in from among the Cantii, the Icenii and the Atrebates, all from veterans angry about their tribe’s decision to ally themselves with Guidolin, particularly because of his connection with Gerontius. Those veterans volunteered to spread the message amongst their own tribespeople.
Max was humbled by their loyalty, but time was passing quickly and his own efforts at diplomacy were bearing no fruit. He had sent missions to the other tribes. All had returned quickly, their offers of talks curtly rejected by the tribal leadership. The message had been unanimous, almost as if dictated by Guidolin himself: ‘The power of the Catuvellauni will be destroyed forever.’
Soon Max received reports that instead of Guidolin’s allies abandoning him, the Corieltauvi, Cantii, Atrebates and some Iceni had already sent contingents to join his enemy’s main invasion force in Dobunnia in the west. In addition, they’d begun forming smaller invasion forces, intent on attacking Catuvellaunia from the north, east and south. Without allies his own forces would not last long against that assault. Max sat in the light of a single lamp, staring morosely at the Torc, turning it over in his hands in the meditative way that had become his habit. He felt let down, strangely, by the Torc itself. Despite the hardship and pain it seemed to have brought him, deep down within himself he believed the Torc had the power to help the Catuvellauni.
Finally, he admitted the truth to himself. He felt he was letting the Torc down. The real problem was that he wasn’t Caratacus’ equal as a leader. Caratacus would not have sat moping. Caratacus would have done something inspired, something unexpected.
Sabrina came to him and knelt to kiss him soundly, tugging her strong fingers through his hair. ‘You’ve done all you can, my love. Only the power of prayer can help now.’
The power of prayer.
Max was thoughtful for a few moments, his head on her breast. Then he turned to her, smiling. ‘Thank you, my love. You’ve given me an idea.’
*****
The sound of drums filled the cave, filling Lupicinius’s head. The lamplight flickered and danced, guttering crazily as the stream of air from the cave entrance hit them. The Catuvellauni prisoners lay ready, bound and gagged. Three of them, three, the holy number, waiting for the king to shed his seed before he shed his blood. Ideally, Guidolin would have given his blood and his life willingly, but Guidolin was unlikely to go along with that. So Lupicinius had men waiting in the shadows, men who would see to it that the king gave up his life without his consent. Then he Lupicinius would change his name. As Ursicinius, with Artur’s favour, he would lead the Dobunni forward into a dazzling new future.
Followed by two guards, Guidolin advanced into the cave and stared at the trussed girls, their eyes full of terror. His voice echoed in the narrow confines of the cave. ‘What is the meaning of this, priest?’
‘The bear god has spoken. Guidolin, king of the Dobunni, must ravish the Catuvelaunian maidens, just as the Dobunni will soon ravish the lands of the Catuvellauni.’
Guidolin spoke and his voice seemed almost timid. ‘You mean rape them?’
Lupicinius was used to the man’s arrogance. The Shadow within him laughed now too, gratified that his challenge had wiped that arrogance away. The sound of his laughter was high, clear, revealing a spirit no longer bound in reality. ‘Take these Catuvellaunian women, as you will soon take the lands of their people. Or will you refuse to do as the bear god demands?’
Guidolin surveyed the scene around him, taking in the lamps and the drums, his eyes moving from one girl to the next, as they lay, legs parted and bound, at his feet. The Dobunni chief licked his lips. Lupicinius could not tell whether it was in lust or nervousness. Behind him one of his two guards made the sign of the cross on himself, repeatedly. The other looked on, in horror.
Confusion seemed to mingle with fear in Guidolin’s eyes. ‘Take all three of them? Now?’
Lupicinius laughed again, and this time the mockery was evident. ‘You are human, but the bear god is powerful. Mighty of claw and mighty of loin. Pray to him for strength.’
Over his shoulder Guidolin looked at his guards. Lupicinius intercepted the glance and saw an opportunity. ‘You may dismiss your men, if you would sow your seed in private.’ Inside Lupicinius was exultant. Artur smiles on me.
Guidolin changed his mind, ‘Let them stay. I do this for the good of the tribe, for the mighty Dobunni.’
Lupicinius frowned, irritated. ‘Let the ceremony begin!’
As the tempo of the drumming increased, Lupicinius circled Guidolin, slowly chanting and invoking the blessing of Artur. The whole cave seemed to throb with the power of the drumming. Lupicinius felt the power rise up within him, felt the bear god’s joy. Tonight Guidolin would be dead and he would be the new priest-king of the Dobunni.
As the drumming reached a crescendo, Lupcinius gestured Guidolin towards the girls. ‘My Lord, can you not feel the power rising? Now is the moment. Take them. Shed your seed.’ Reaching down reluctantly he ripped the tunic of the first girl, revealing her breasts in the lamplight. Casting an eye towards Guidolin’s crotch he saw he was now ready to do his duty.
Guidolin advanced towards the terrified girl, undoing his bracae.
A shout, half angry, half terrified rang out behind them. ‘Stop! In Christ’s name, stop this terrible evil.’ The guard who had blessed himself seized Guidolin’s arm. His shout brought other guards rushing into the cave, armed with swords and spears. Lupicinius thrust himself back against the cave wall in fear. The Christian guard rushed forward, using his knife to begin freeing the girls.
As they saw what was happening, Lupicinius’s own men stopped drumming and emerged from the shadows.
It was now or never. Lupicinius gave the signal for the attack.
Suddenly the cave was full of fighting. Somewhere in the midst of the struggle Guidolin tried to defend himself. Out of the corner of his eye Lupicinius saw another guard shepherding two of the girls out of the cave and into the night. The third girl had fallen, bright crimson spreading across her gown. Men lay dying on the packed earth floor. Suddenly another cry erupted from the cave entrance. ‘Save Lord Guidolin!’ More men rushed in, hacking and stabbing.
It was soon over. Guidolin himself dispatched the guard who had crossed himself, stabbing a sword he had acquired from somewhere deep into the man’s side. ‘Treacherous bastard!’ Guidolin screamed, fear and anger tightening his voice. For some time after the man was clearly dead, Guidolin kicked at the lifeless body. Finally he d
rew breath to look at the carnage around him. He reached for Lupicinius’ hand. ‘I owe you my life. It seems your men saved me.’
Lupicinius, the bear god screaming with anger inside him, forced himself to smile. ‘It was an honour, my Lord.
*****
‘Brothers of the Guild…’ Paulinus felt his own tension, addressing his assembled brothers once more. So much depended on this meeting. ‘We have met in secret for many generations. A necessity under the long years of Roman domination. But if we are to prevent calamity for this island, we must be prepared to change. It is in this spirit that I introduce a visitor.’ He gestured behind him to the young man entering the room. ‘I give you Maximus of the Vellauni.’
The brothers were instantly on their feet. ‘For shame, Brother Paulinus, this is unprecedented! Only guild members are welcome here.’
Maximus held his hands out. ‘Please direct your anger at me, not at Paulinus. I am the intruder.’ He pressed on. ‘Brothers, my mentor has explained your sacred purpose to me.’ Sharp intakes of breath were heard all around the room. Max held his hands up again. ‘I understand your indignation, but surely the Guild’s secrecy was only a tool to achieve the end for which it was created? Not the end in itself?’ They seemed to be listening to him. He pressed his advantage. ‘As men of God you hold much influence within your own tribes. I have come to ask you to use that influence for the good of Britain. In three days’ time, if we cannot prevent it, a large Dobunnic force, along with its allies, will lay waste our lands and leave Catuvellaunia to the ravens. You know Guidolin. You understand what he is capable of. You also understand what the other tribes do not - that once he has crushed us he will turn and attack his allies. Britain will be ripped apart by civil wars, wars that will leave us totally defenceless against foreign foes.’
There was a stirring in the room. ‘Do you honestly believe there is a place in Guidolin’s empire for a source of power controlled by God, not himself? Do you think he will spare you?’ To his relief Max heard mutterings of agreement, more certain this time. His voice softened. ‘Instead of Guidolin’s hunger for power, I bring you my vision of Britain, a Britain united in peace and harmony, a Britain where the tribes respect each other, trade their surplus, live peacefully alongside each other, and when necessary unite in arms to face our enemies. To that end, I am here today to propose a council of all the tribes of Britain which would solve disputes between tribes peacefully. Led by a single chief who could lead all the tribes against foreign enemies, as Caratacus did against Rome. I propose myself as the new Rex Britannorum.’
Max could hear more murmurings now. ‘Brothers of the Guild, the task before us today is to separate Guidolin from his allies. To turn them from him, so that they fight not against us but for us. A difficult task but, with your influence, not an impossible one. There is still hope.’ Max paused and carefully withdrew an object from the leather bag at his side. ‘I bring you a symbol of that hope.’ And he held up the shining Torc of Caratacus for all to see.
A gasp went around the room. Old men, men who had waited decades for this moment, tears in their eyes, moved quietly forward, reaching out to touch the shining gold. A single voice in the room shouted out above the murmurs of wonder, ‘Maximus Arcturus, Rex Britannorum.’ Another voice took it up, shouting more strongly, ‘Maximus Arcturus, Rex Britannorum!’ Another voice and then another, until the whole assembly acclaimed him as one.
*****
Felix coughed gently to announce his presence. The atriensis had never allowed his grief over Aurelianus to keep him from his duties. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, my Lord. There is a gentleman here who claims to be a doctor. Says he has news of vital importance to share with you. As proof he brings with him a ring from your brother’s wife?’
Max raised his eyebrows enquiringly. ‘You’d better show him in, Felix.’
At first Max thought the curious creature with his puffy face and shifty expression was nervous. The smell of drink soon convinced him otherwise. Max became impatient. With Guidolin’s invasion so close, he deserved far less time than his militia, whatever news he carried. ‘You claim to have information?’
Nervously the man approached, opening his hand to show Calista’s ring. Max recognized it immediately. ‘What news do you bring me?’
The man swallowed hard. ‘I have valuable information, sir. Information that could save Catuvellaunia.’ Bleary eyes met Max’s impatient gaze. ‘If you reward me well.’
Max was not inclined to bargain. ‘Don’t waste my time,’ he snapped. ‘If your information is genuinely valuable you will be rewarded.’
The man hesitated, calculating. Max’s patience was exhausted, ‘Out with it!’
The old healer held his hands up, obviously fearful. ‘The day before your father died she came to me. The Lady Calista. I did not recognize her, my Lord. But when she was paying me, she gave me this ring, which, when I tried to sell it, was recognized as hers.’
If Calista had voluntarily gone to see such a man she must have had good reason. ‘What was the ring in payment for?’
‘A potion, which she meant for ill.’ The man hesitated then gabbled nervously. ‘I didn’t know it was for your father.’
The words hung in the silent room. As Salvius drew his dagger and grabbed the man a thousand thoughts coursed through Max’s mind. Severus sudden sickening, his dying before announcing his heir, that look of calm on Calista’s face at his deathbed…he gestured to Salvius to hold back. ‘I should have you executed immediately,’ he said coldly. ‘Why have you come forward now?’
The man was wailing in terror. ‘Calista tried to have me killed after they seized power. If they come back, she won’t fail again.’ He paused, sudden hope on his face. ‘I need to get far away from here. That’s why I asked for a reward.’
Salvius tipped his dagger point under the man’s chin. ‘Your reward is that you’re not dead already!’
Had Dye known what she had done? If not, this information was very valuable indeed. If he could get this revelation to Dye and the exiled nobles in time… Why would the Catuvellaunian exiles march on them from Dubonnia if they knew Calista had killed their king?
Max wiped his hand across his forehead. Even if he could bring the Catuvellaunian exiles over to his side it would do little to counter Guidolin’s massive superiority in numbers. But it was a chance.
*****
Lupicinius stared suspiciously around the empty room. ‘Where are the other brothers of the Guild?’
Paulinus looked at him calmly. ‘It’s just you and I, Lupicinius.’
‘But the sanctity of the room still applies? You can’t harm me here?’
Paulinus smiled serenely. ‘I’m not going to harm you. In fact, I intend to help you. You and I were brothers once. We should be allies now, in Christ.’ God forgive him that terrible lie.
Lupicinius’s gloated maliciously. ‘You have come to realize your doom, Paulinus that you seek me out? Well, be quick. Tomorrow Guidolin’s mighty army will crush your little protégé. If he even knew I was talking to you he would have my head.’
Paulinus couldn’t resist the barb. ‘Always good to see such a bond between master and servant.’
‘Even a foreigner like you should know that our king derives his authority from Artur, and therefore through me. I am the real power in the tribe. Without me they are lost,’ Lupicinius snarled.
Paulinus looked at him with compassion.
He seemed to believe the grandiose notion. It was clear now how mentally unstable Lupicinius had become. If he agreed to their plan they would have to watch him carefully in the days to come.
‘Your message, Paulinus?’
Paulinus looked serious now. ‘It is this. The Guild desires to help you.’
Lupicinius laughed a short harsh sound. ‘The same Guild which exiled me now wants to help me?’
Paulinus buried his balled fists in the sleeves of his cassock. ‘Let’s say we recognize that it’s time we all put our litt
le…’ he paused, searching for the right word, ‘…disagreement in the past.’
‘There was no disagreement, Paulinus. You hated my views on the faith. You hated me. There was no misunderstanding.’
What we hated was your adulteration of our creed, your weaving of the one true faith with the old religion. Your ancient superstitions contaminating the glory of Christ’s Truth. It took every iota of self-control for Paulinus to control his tongue. ‘Let us just say that we now realize we may have been a little hasty in breaking with you entirely.’
Lupicinius laughed again, this time a roar of triumph. ‘So now you know your man is going to lose, you woo me?’
It was on Paulinus’s tongue to deny it, but his inner diplomat won the battle. ‘The Guild is aware of the tensions between you and Guidolin. Given the stark choice between you, we would welcome you as leader of the Dobunni. Whilst he is entirely Godless, you at least have some faith.’
Lupicinius began to move away, but the Shadow whispered to Lupicinius to listen. Here was another route to power, another blessing from Artur. Paulinus, his enemy, needed something from him. From the one they had banished. Lupicinius massaged his temple with grimy fingers. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘A necessary sacrifice.’ Paulinus swallowed the bitter taste from his mouth. Could it ever be God’s will that a man die? Yet there seemed no other way. ‘That you ensure Guidolin not live through the coming battle. If he is removed, the Guild will use its influence with Maximus to ensure an honourable truce. You will have control of Dobunnia.’
Lupicinius was eyeing him closely. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’
Paulinus smiled. ‘You don’t, but you also know for certain that you can’t trust Guidolin, other than trusting him to kill you eventually. Just as you can certainly trust him to kill you very soon, should he ever find out about this conversation.’
