Spears of Britannia

by Scott Hurst

  *****

  Max stood staring into the darkness. The message had been written in Paulinus’s hand. Max could only pray that mention of Calista’s ring and the old monk’s promise of peace had been enough to convince Dye to come to the meeting place.

  Salvius stood at his side, firmly grasping a less than fragrant Themistocles, hand firmly over his mouth.

  Finally Max saw them coming. Two hunched figures picking their way silently through the scrubland towards the stream that marked the border with Dubonnia. The last time Dye and he had been here it had been to look for the missing girls. Here they were, meeting in the same place, but things were so very different.

  Max kept a careful eye on the woodland around him, suspecting a trap. But there was no sign of anyone else, just the two figures as arranged, and the sound of trees creaking in the wind. The shorter figure took the lead. A bodyguard, presumably. Gradually he was able to distinguish the features of the man he knew so well. But his brother wasn’t as he had expected him to be. He looked older, thinner.

  He’d been prepared for Dye to make a run for it as soon as he saw him. So he had the words ready. ‘Calista betrayed you, Dye.’ His words rang out in the still night. ‘She killed our father. We have proof.’

  Dye turned back. As Max waded over the stream towards him there was no expression on Dye’s face. Shoulders hunched, he stared at him. Max gestured to Salvius to bring Themistocles forward. The old doctor unfurled his palm, showing Calista’s ring. ‘Tell him,’ Max ordered. In short phrases, the old drunk related Calista’s betrayal. Max watched Dye’s scarred face closely. He expected guilty defiance if Dye had known about the plot, or shock if he had not. But there was no sign of either on Dye’s face as the story was told. Even when Themistocles had finished, Dye showed no reaction.

  Perhaps if they were alone together? Max waved Salvius away. At first Salvius refused, but seeing Max’s expression retreated with Themistocles. Nodding, Dye waved away his bodyguard too. Now, looking into his brother’s face, Max could see the look of utter despair and defeat. Close to his eyes were blood shot and he smelled of yesterday’s wine.

  Only one thing counted. ‘Did you know what she was planning?’

  Dye’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘No, but then I’ve recently discovered Calista is prepared to do anything to gain power.’ His shoulders slumped further. ‘Perhaps I’ll be next.’

  Max had never expected to feel sorry for his brother ever again, but he did. If they both stayed proud now, they would lose this chance at …what…reconciliation? Perhaps that would never be possible, but at least they could put an end to the division between them. He put his arm around Dye’s shoulder. Dye allowed it.

  ‘It’s not too late,’ Max whispered urgently. ‘Tell the nobles exiled with you that she murdered our father. She caused this split in our people. You and I can heal it. Bring your men home.’

  Dye looked at him, despair in his eyes. ‘And pay for what I’ve done with execution or a life in your cells?’

  Max was thinking quickly. There was no precedence for such treachery. ‘Perhaps we could find a remote farm somewhere…’

  ‘It is too late, brother, too late for all of us. Guidolin will crush you tomorrow. His forces outnumber you at least ten to one. And eventually he and Calista will crush me.’ Max heard the sadness in his voice. ‘I used to fear death. I don’t fear it any more. Part of me even welcomes it.’

  Max felt all hope draining hope out of him, but he rallied. ‘Brother, please. If not for me, then for Catuvellaunia. If Guidolin crushes us tomorrow, he will slaughter, burn and rape his way across our land. Your few exiles will not stop him. But if we Catuvellauni were united against him…’ He broke off, seeing that Dye was unable in his despair to share his vision of hope. ‘Please Dye…’ he begged.

  Dye was staring at the bear amulet he wore still on his arm. Raising his head, his brother seemed to drink him in for long moments, then turned away. ‘You’re different, Max. Stronger. It’s as though you’ve shed some… pain. I wish I had been able to do that. But it’s no use, Maximus.’ He raised his hand. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, on the field of battle.’

  *****

  Back at the farmhouse where they were billeted for the night, Sabrina was waiting up for him. She rose as soon as he entered to take him in her arms. ‘Did he believe you?’ she asked.

  Max slumped in a chair. ‘Aye, but he’s gone too far down the path he’s chosen. Is there any news from Paulinus, or the Guild?’

  ‘No, no word. But there is someone else here to see you.’ Two bodyguards escorted a man in. As he advanced into the lamplight the sight of him brought an involuntary smile to Max’s face.

  Eppilus the Atrebatian grinned back at him. ‘Made a full recovery from that kicking we gave you?’

  ‘Yes, by God. And by some miracle you made it back too!’ Max hugged him tightly, rejoicing.

  Eppilus stopped slapping his back long enough to tell his story. ‘By the time I returned to my men the fighting was over. I’ve no idea what happened to Sigwulf and his Saxons. Dead or imprisoned, I suppose. It seemed best to make our exit before Constantine switched his attention to us. Plenty of other Britons came with us. They remembered Constantine’s wrath after the Corieltauvi desertions…’ Eppilus sighed. ‘We came straight back home, only to be compelled to join this madness.’

  The two men faced each other, both knowing what the following day would bring.

  Max was curious. ‘What brings you here, Eppilus?’

  ‘People who have faced death together are loyal to each other in a way outsiders cannot understand. Respect usually goes up the chain of command, Maximus. But in Arelate that was impossible; Constantine could not be trusted. You began to replace him in the men’s affections. You broke down the walls between the units. If you had stayed, with your encouragement, Constantine’s force would have become a band of equals, ready to defend each other to the death. I see that now.’

  Max acknowledged the truth of what Eppilus said. He had sensed loyalty forming between the units.

  ‘It happened,’ Eppilus went on, ‘because the men trusted you.’

  Max smiled tightly. Like all his efforts of the last few weeks, this seemed to be a case of too little, too late. But despite his despair Max could not stop trying, could not be other than who he was. ‘That’s still what I want, Eppilus. The tribes working together, knowing that together we have more power than any one tribe alone.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. To tell you that whatever happens tomorrow my men and I will not be fighting against you. I don’t care what that bastard Guidolin says,’ he spat. ‘We’re not the only ones in Guidolin’s army who think that way either. There are many who would hesitate to take up arms against the Torc. Against the Rex Britannorum.’ Eppilus got up. ‘I must go, before Guidolin starts asking awkward questions about my absence. We’re on the left flank tomorrow. Try to spare us and we will do the same.’

  Max saw him out. ‘Thank you, Eppilus. That means more than you can imagine. Good luck, tomorrow, my friend.’

  ‘And good luck to you, my Lord.’ With that Eppilus disappeared into the night.

  Sabrina watched him go. ‘A good man,’ she said simply, wrapping her shawl more tightly around herself. ‘His efforts will help balance our numbers tomorrow. What news from our scouts?’

  Max pulled her close, burrowing his face in her shoulder she that she could not see the despair in his eyes. ‘Guidolin’s army has advanced to within a few miles of here on our western front. He’s assembled large contingents of Atrebates, Canti, Corieltauvi and Iceni, all ready to fight. Our enemy has us substantially outnumbered.’ He did not tell her the true figures. He did not tell her that they were outnumbered ten to one.

  It was as if she was trying to remember the smell of him. ‘Will you give battle or retreat and try to buy time?’

  Rubbing his chin on the top of her head Max considered her words wearily. ‘Buy time for what? My offers of peace talks
with the tribes have all been rejected. If we delay, we give the other tribes more time to invade on our other fronts as well. If we delay on this front Guidolin will advance, taking Catuvellaunian territory. It’s even possible our people on the borders might start rallying to Dye and Calista.’

  ‘They would never do that,’ Sabrina said firmly.

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough. We fight tomorrow.’

  Tilting up her chin he kissed her soundly. ‘I want you to listen to me now. If things go badly,’ he urged, ‘make sure you get away before the end. You must not fall into Guidolin’s hands.’ He sighed, ‘I am the holder of the Torc. If its curse dooms me tomorrow, let it not doom you.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sensing Max needed to be alone Paulinus had spent an hour praying for his protégé. When he returned he found Max as tormented as he had been before he left him.

  ‘What is it that troubles you so, Maximus? Is it that you fear dying?’

  Max shook his head, barely able to lift it to acknowledge his old tutor. ‘No. I fear not dying myself, though I am sad that I will not live to grow old with Sabrina and see my children grow and their children.’ He paused. ‘I fear commanding men to die, Paulinus. They follow me; they do my will, even unto death. But unless there is a miracle Guidolin will crush us tomorrow.’ He shook his head in despair and exasperation. ‘Maybe I should be telling them to get away from here, to save their own lives, save their families’ lives.’

  Paulinus smiled gently at him ‘Max, we spoke once of might or right. What you are doing is right,’ he said softly. ‘You know what Guidolin will do if he takes hold of Catuvellaunia. You know the killing and destruction that would follow. You have fought for peace and now, when that peace has been refused you are fighting in defence of your people. God understands that. We may not always understand His plans, but when we do what is right He works on our behalf. Fight well tomorrow, and leave the rest to Him.’

  Max smiled up wearily at him. Paulinus looked at the face he knew so well and said, ‘Is there more?’ He looked at him intently. ‘You fear you are not worthy?’

  Max nodded fiercely, tears glistening in his eyes. ‘Heru’s people were eradicated. The Sol Invictus sect was wiped out because of it. Madoc died trying to seize it. Yet I, Maximus of the Vellauni, with all my faults…am expected to turn its curse into a blessing? I’m afraid, Paulinus. What if I am not the man destined to wear it? What if I lead those men into battle tomorrow under the Torc and we are defeated?’ He shook his head and breathed deeply. ‘Yet without their sacrifice we cannot have the unity we need. All I can do now is ask God to protect us all, and to lead us. Our cause is right, Paulinus.’

  The old monk nodded, silently acknowledging that Maximus had now met the first part of the Guild’s final challenge, faith in God. All that remained now was the second part – faith in self. Perhaps he could help. Excusing himself, Paulinus left him, to return moments later. The old monk stepped towards Max once more, opening the bundle he was carrying. Out tumbled a shining bear pelt, its sheen lustrous, the fur soft and shining in the moonlight.

  Max stared at it in wonder. ‘I don’t understand. Where did this come from?’

  Paulinus knelt down beside him. His voice cracked as he spoke. ‘It was mine. I wore it as signifier in the Roman army long, long ago.’ The old monk closed his eyes, reliving some pain. ‘I have difficult memories of it, yet somehow I could never manage to part myself from it. It reminded me of who I was, and who I could become again. I give it to you now, Maximus, as a blessing, that it restore you and that, through it, your courage be restored. Let good come from it now, Arcturus. Let it remind you who you are, the bear protector of your people. Wear it to victory.’

  Still Max said nothing.

  ‘You have been challenged twice before to lead, Maximus. Once by your father, to lead a war party against the Dobunni. Again, to lead your delegation to Gaul. I challenge you a third time –lead your men to free us from a life under the Dobunni yoke.’ Drawing the pelt across Max’s shoulders, Paulinus stooped to kiss his brow, then left, silently.

  All through the night, Max huddled under its warmth, felt its strength. For long hours in his mind’s eye he looked back over everything that had happened – the anger that had separated him from Severus, the fear that had kept Dye at a distance, the pride that had kept him from showing Sabrina how much he loved her. All his shortcomings passed revue, all the moments he was ashamed of, all the weaknesses he’d shown. His shabby treatment of Salvius, the blindness that had allowed Madoc to dupe him, his foolish trust of Constantine. With each thought surfaced painful emotions, so dark he was tempted to turn from them. One by one the memories rose to challenge him. He had never felt so alone. All through the night he was haunted by guilt and shame. One by one he let go of them all, felt his resistance to the truth about them leave him, promising God he would never make those mistakes again. As the night wore on, the self-reproach ceased, to be replaced by acceptance. Pelt around his shoulders, he fell asleep, to dream it had become a part of him, that the bearskin giving up of itself, its essence, healing those parts of himself he was afraid of.

  Awakening he sensed the power of bear, and knew it to be the power of the God who had created the power and beauty of that bear, now awakening the same power in him. The power of the bear which had inhabited the pelt now lived in him, as a blessing from the Power from which all life comes.

  Rising, the bear pelt around his shoulders, trusting the strength of its promise.

  He thought of Paulinus’s words. He would trust himself now, do his best and leave the rest to God.

  *****

  It was still dark as his men were readying themselves. In Gaul Max had discovered having other things to think about meant he could cope with the fear, so he kept his men busy. Already news was being brought to him of first clashes between Guidolin’s forward scouting parties and his own forward most units, based near the Dobunni border. Somewhere in the depths of him he had still been hoping that the invasion would not come. He’d prayed that something, the Guild’s influence or perhaps even the power of the Torc itself would stop them. But it had not. His enemies were already on Catuvellaunian soil. Now he had word that Guidolin was advancing up the road to Verulamium - unless they could be stopped.

  Straightening his shoulders under the bear pelt Max surveyed his assembling forces. Every man served the whole. Every soldier, every unit was important in the vast scheme of this battle. Less than three thousand men in all.

  He’d chosen the strongest defensive position he could find to block the road. His men were lined up on a low hill, with difficult-to-pass thickets, woodland and undergrowth. On the right, where the ground fell away, there was marshy ground. He had put a veteran commander in command of the right flank, ordering him to watch out for Eppilus’ troops and not to attack them unless they attacked. Victor headed a large troop of Bagaudae. He had positioned them on the left flank whilst he himself took the centre.

  It was raining as the men lined up. At the front stood his spearmen. Young, enthusiastic lads who had never seen action. They wore what body armour they could find and carried sword and javelin. Their shields were decorated with the twin-headed beast of the Catuvellauni. His second force lined up behind them. For this second wave Max had picked men of experience and maturity, better equipped than the spearmen. Behind those stood his veterans, looking and functioning like the heavily armed warriors they had been in Gaul. His least dependable fighters he’d placed at the rear. If Guidolin got past his veterans all hope was lost anyway.

  A motley crew. But as Paulinus had said, did that not reflect the people who had flocked to his banner?

  His spearmen would engage the enemy first. With the inexperienced men in the front lines he couldn’t risk any complex tactics. He’d ordered his unit leaders to ensure they threw any javelins or other missiles they had only when they were ordered to. Then all they could do was try to hold their shield wall. Hopefully they’d resist long
enough to exhaust some of the enemy. If the onslaught was too great they’d fall back through the lines of the second force and re-emerge for counter attacks. Behind them the real veterans would wait. If the infantry was pushed back, the veterans would charge forward with their spears, shocking Guidolin’s men with suddenly emerging new troops, giving the others a chance to reform. Ultimately his veterans would be his last defence. If the battle went against them, they would pull out behind their closed ranks.

  As he took his place in front of his own men, he could hear Salvius and Victor shouting at their troops. Salvius rode up to his side now and lifted the Torc aloft, a rallying point for the men who turned to face it and to face their leader, waiting for words of inspiration and hope. Max kept his address simple. ‘We have a hard day ahead of us, men, you all know that. But we’re in a good, strong position here. One that’s going to cause the enemy a lot of problems. Remember that we Catuvellauni are fighting for our homeland, for our families. Not for loot and lies like the rabble headed for us. We have right on our side, we have might and we have the Torc!’ Salvius raised the Great Torc higher and the men cheered all down the line. Max looked up at the Torc. Could it be true? Did it carry the invincibility of the spear of Lug? Or the blessing of the Spear of Longinus, made sacred by Christ’s blood? What really mattered was that these troops believed in its strength, believed they possessed that same strength. He surveyed his men proudly. ‘Fight hard, Spears of Britannia! Press on through. The quicker we do that, the quicker we can go home. Look after your mates,’ he continued, ‘and we’ll soon have that lot crying all the way back to Corinium!’

  The men cheered again as he took up position with his mounted bodyguard and the small force he was keeping in reserve to deal with emergency situations during the battle. Surveying the battlefield he felt a tug at his cloak. Looking down he saw Sabrina, her dark hair plastered to her face by the driving rain. ‘I forbade you to come,’ he said sternly.