by K. M. Ashman
Caratacus drove the flat of his foot forward onto Blennus’s knee, smashing it backwards and tearing the ligaments causing the man to collapse in agony. The King stepped forward, still nursing his side before half collapsing on top of the younger man. He sat astride his chest and stared into the young warrior’s terrified eyes.
‘You have balls, Blennus,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘I’ll give you that.’
Without another word, he grabbed the warrior’s hair and drove the back of his head down onto the rocky ground, over and over again until his shattered skull spewed its contents over the valley floor. The rest of the warriors looked on in silence until the King’s rage abated and he hung his head in exhaustion. Holler ran over and helped him to his feet, examining the wound as he did. Caratacus turned to the chieftains.
‘Does anyone else challenge my authority?’ he asked. When no answer was forthcoming, he continued.
‘Then nothing has changed,’ he said, ‘I am still King and we ride at dusk’.
The group split up and Holler led the King back into the cave to see to the wound.
‘You are lucky, Sire,’ he said, ‘it is but a flesh wound.’
‘Sew me up, Holler,’ he said,’ we have a long ride ahead of us.’
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Chapter 36
After being rescued from the sea, Gwenno, Prydain and Gwydion had been taken to the fisherman’s home. They sat huddled around the fire, exhausted and weakened from the freezing sea, desperate to feel the heat on their skin and scooping spoons of hot stew greedily into their mouths. They were given a heavy blanket each and shown into the attached barn where their horses had been stabled for the past two days. After stripping out of their wet clothes, they wrapped themselves in the warm blankets before laying down on the hayrick to rest, and within minutes, all three fugitives were fast asleep.
Gwydion woke reluctantly from his dreamless sleep, his shoulders shaken by someone in the darkness.
‘Gwydion!’ called a voice gently, ‘wake up, I have some food.’
Gwydion opened his eyes slowly and looked around, momentarily confused as to his whereabouts, but as he became accustomed to the gloom, the memories soon came flooding back.
‘Gwenno,’ he said, ‘you’re awake!’
‘I have been for hours,’ she said. ‘Sit up; Hivel has provided us with food.’
‘Hivel?’
‘The fisherman’s wife, she has been really helpful.’
Gwydion sat up and looked around the stable. Across from him, Prydain sat on a hay bale concentrating on his own plate of food, his blanket draped over his shoulders. A freshly baked loaf of bread lay between them, along with a flask of ale and a couple of simple wooden cups. His mouth watered at the aromas and he took the bowl eagerly from Gwenno. Two pieces of fish lay steaming at the bottom, surrounded by a mixture of tiny beet and turnips. Gwydion was surprised, as despite the family’s meagre means, the meal was a relative feast. Ignoring the supplied knife, he dipped his fingers into the food and ate hungrily.
‘Where’s yours?’ he asked.
‘I have already eaten,’ she said, ‘hours ago.’
‘You’ll need more than just that soup,’ said Gwydion, ‘we have a long way to go before dawn.’
‘I have had two meals since the broth,’ said Gwenno. ‘At breakfast and midday.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Gwydion.
‘The sun has risen and set since we fell asleep,’ she said, ‘you have slept the day through.’
Gwydion stopped eating and stared incredulously.
‘We can’t have,’ he said.
‘She’s right,’ said Prydain, ‘I have checked.’
‘We have to get moving,’ said Gwydion, ‘where’s my clothes?’
‘There,’ said Gwenno, ‘washed and dried. Like I said, Hivel has been great.’
Gwydion put his food aside and got dressed quickly.
‘Why did you let me sleep?’ he asked, untying his horse from the rail. ‘They will be coming after us and we need as much distance between us as we can.’
‘The need is not so urgent,’ said Gwenno. ‘Hivel has been to the village and the talk is that there is a large search going on around the coastline of Mona. I don’t think they believe we have crossed the strait.’
‘Still,’ said Gwydion, reaching for his saddle, ‘we should take advantage of the lull.’
Prydain joined Gwydion at the horses.
‘Finish your food,’ he said.
‘We have to go!’ he answered.
‘Gwydion,’ said Prydain, ‘eat. We don’t know when we will next have the chance, I will saddle the horses. Five more minutes won’t make a difference.’
Gwydion relented and returned to his food.
‘We have to take advantage of the dark,’ he said. ‘If we ride hard, we can be back by dawn.’
‘Back where?’ asked Gwenno.
‘Back to the Blaidd,’ said Gwydion. ‘We need fresh horses and supplies.’
‘Don’t you think the Druids will look there?’ asked Gwenno.
‘Probably,’ said Gwydion, ‘but if we ride hard we may get there before them. I can get horses from my father and Erwyn will give us provisions and coin, I’m sure he will.’
‘Give me a few minutes,’ said Gwenno, ‘I want to say goodbye to Hivel.’ She walked to the nearby hut just as the fisherman’s wife was coming out of the door.
‘We’re leaving now,’ said Gwenno, ‘I just want to say thank you for what you have done for us.’
‘It is nothing,’ said Hivel,’ and after some hesitation held out a small parcel wrapped in Hessian. ‘Take it!’ she said, ‘But don’t open it until you have cleared the mountains.’
‘What is it?’ asked Gwenno.
‘You will see,’ she laughed, ‘my husband doesn’t know, but by the time he realises, you will be days away.’
‘It should be us giving you gifts,’ she said, ‘not the other way around. How can we ever repay you?’
Hivel took a deep breath before replying, tears welling in her eyes.
‘Many years ago, my daughter was also chosen,’ she said, ‘but there was no one to help her. Aiding you has been a great comfort to me. Waste no more time on ritual or ceremony Gwenno, life is for living. Grasp every breath and live every minute as if it is your last. Do this and your debt to me will be repaid.’
‘I have known you but one day, Hivel,’ said Gwenno, ‘yet already I love you as I do my own mother. Take care, and one day I will return to thank you properly.’
‘Live well, Gwenno,’ said Hivel and retreated into her humble hut.
‘Ready?’ asked Gwydion.
Gwenno nodded and joined the two men at the horses. Within minutes, they were riding hard toward the mountain range separating them from the lands of the Deceangli.
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Chapter 37
Plautius sat at his table with his officers. His headquarters had been established and a secure stockade built to house the legion. Vespasian had taken his legion north and he was busy imposing Roman will on the local villages while Geta’s legion had retuned south to meet the Emperor. They had consolidated their victory and extra guards had been posted, not just on the fort walls, but throughout the surrounding countryside to ensure any rogue bands of warriors thought twice about foolhardy attacks on their positions.
Camulodunum was an hour’s march away and though it was still intact, it was poorly defended and ripe for the taking. Plautius had held his army back from the final sacking of the city. Claudius was on his way and the Emperor had given strict instructions that he and he alone, would take the surrender of the capital of Britannia. Messengers had kept Plautius informed about the progress of the Emperor and the last week had been hectic, whilst the preparations were being made. But, despite the honour and the total domination of the enemy by Plautius and his forces, the insistence of the Emperor to place himself in the front line placed the General in a quandary.
He had sent envoys into Camu
lodunum and had received assurances that the collective tribal Kings would surrender to the Emperor in return for continued local governance of their own people. Plautius was happy with this arrangement, as peaceful domination was always preferable to military might. The problem was, it only took one rogue warrior to take the chance to strike a blow against Rome, and the Emperor could be wounded or even killed. Plautius knew that all the security arrangements in the world could be undone by a fanatic intent on glory, and while Claudius was in his protection, his own life depended on his safety. He needed an unbreakable guarantee that the chieftains would behave, and to that end, he had called a meeting with his staff.
‘Claudius is two days away,’ said Plautius. ‘He and his entourage are being escorted by a Cohort of Praetorian Guard, but worry not; I have sent Geta to ensure his safety.’
A ripple of laughter rippled around the gathered officers. Every one of them despised the Praetorian Guard. They seldom left the safety of Rome, served lesser periods than regular troops and were far better paid than the average legionary.
‘Claudius will take the surrender of the city three days from now,’ he continued. ‘Most of the lesser chieftains are already here, but we lack the main man. Any news on Caratacus?’
‘There was rumour of him gathering an army, Sire,’ said a Tribune, ‘but it has come to naught. He has fled westward with less than five hundred men. Do you want to send a Cohort in pursuit?’
‘No,’ said Plautius. ‘We can deal with him later, though his head would have been a great prize for Claudius. What of the rest of the prisoners?’
‘We have over a thousand, Sire,’ answered the Tribune, ‘but most are women and children. Camulodunum have sent envoys asking for their release.’
‘What is their worth?’ asked Plautius, an idea beginning to form.
‘Slavery mostly, but a few men for the mines. Most decided to fight to the death and those who are left are not worth wasting rations on.’
Plautius thought a while before answering.
‘Isolate the women from the children,’ he said. ‘Send the fit men to the mines, kill any too weak to travel. Now, let’s get down to the business I called you here for. I have to ensure the Emperor’s safety,’ he explained, ‘and I do not trust these Britannic animals further than I can hurl them, so this is what I want you to do.’ He outlined his idea and within the hour had formed a plan to ensure the safety of the Emperor.
----
Two days later, a troop of cavalry escorted a representation from the city across the fields of corn to an open plain, and ushered them forward to see what lay beyond the mounds of excavated soil in the centre. The leader of the group scrambled over the spoil and looked down into long trench that had been dug over the previous two days. His face dropped as he looked into the gaze of several hundred pairs of children’s eyes, each looking up at him pleadingly, as they realised their fate lay in this man’s hands.
‘What is this?’ he asked over his shoulder. ‘Why are they down there? Release them immediately.’
A Tribune stepped forward.
‘You forget yourself, barbarian,’ he said, ‘you are in no position to make demands. Your city still stands, only because Plautius wills it so. These children only live because I will it so. Both decisions are easily reversed.’
‘What is it that you want?’ asked the envoy.
‘Simple, really,’ said the Tribune, ‘tomorrow Claudius will take the surrender of Camulodunum. If the ceremony goes well, he will lose no time in returning to Rome and our lives, both yours and mine, will become a lot less stressful. These children will be released and your city will be spared to trade with us.’
‘However,’ he continued, ‘should anyone be foolish enough to make an attempt on the Emperor’s safety, then things will be quite different.’ He nodded to a group of slaves who immediately started shovelling earth down onto the upturned faces of the unsuspecting children below. Many started screaming as they realised what was happening, and tried to scramble up the steep muddy sides.
‘Stop!’ shouted the envoy. ‘What are you doing?’
The Tribune held up his hand and the shovelling stopped.
‘I have two hundred men waiting to fill in this hole,’ said the Tribune. ‘It will take less than ten minutes burying everyone alive. Give Plautius cause for concern tomorrow and there will be corn planted over these children before they have struggled for their last breath. You will be able to contemplate their suffering as we slaughter every living thing in your city before burning it to the ground. There will be no trace of Camulodunum or its people. We will wipe you off the face of the Earth.’
‘They are but children,’ shouted the envoy, ‘what have they done to you?’
‘Children today become warriors tomorrow,’ came the answer. ‘It would be a sensible military strategy.’
‘Not even you are that heartless,’ spat the envoy. ‘Children are children the world over and are innocent in the eyes of the Gods.’
‘And we will do nothing to them,’ said the Tribune, ‘as long as you control your warriors. Take our message back to your chieftains. The choice is clear. Accept your fate graciously, or get wiped from the pages of history.’
As the entourage was led back to the city to relay the message, the Tribune returned to the legion’s fort and rode through the stockade to Plautius’s tent. The General was outside and stripped to the waist as he washed from a leather bucket. He spied the approaching Tribune and dismissed the servant before towelling the remaining soap from his chin.
‘Well,’ he asked, ‘how did they react?’
‘I think we can safely say there will be no trouble tomorrow,’ answered the Tribune.
‘Good,’ said Plautius. ‘The quicker Claudius returns to Rome, the quicker we can get on with business.’
The Tribune agreed and joined Plautius as he entered the tent to make the final arrangements.
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Chapter 38
Gwenno had wanted to ride straight into the village, but had heeded Gwydion’s words of caution. They left the horses with Prydain in the forest and approached via the hidden paths of their youth, peering carefully down at their home. Life seemed to be going on as normal and teenage boys guarded the herds in the valley, whilst younger children of both sexes looked after the flocks of geese that wandered through the outskirts of the woods. Gwydion could see the occasional mounted warrior guarding the village.
‘Are they looking for us?’ whispered Gwenno.
‘I don’t think so,’ answered Gwydion. ‘They fear fellow Khymric raiders, though it’s not the plaid of Ordovices they should be worried about, but the scarlet of the Romans.’
‘Surely they will not come here,’ said Gwenno. ‘It is too far away and besides, if Camulodunum falls, they may just take the Catuvellauni gold and return to Rome?’
‘You have not seen them, Gwenno,’ said Gwydion. ‘Their army is one of invasion. Nowhere in Britannia is safe and it is simply a matter of time before these mountains echo to the sound of their marching feet.’
‘Then we must warn our people,’ said Gwenno. ‘Come on, why are we waiting?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Gwydion, ‘something’s not right.’
Gwenno grabbed Gwydion’s arm and pointed at the village.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s Hammer.’
Gwydion’s heart leapt at the sight of his father exiting the gate pulling a hand drawn cart.
‘Going to get wood for the furnace,’ smiled Gwydion. ‘Some things never change, come on, this is one man I trust with my life, keep low.’
They crouched down and made their way down the slope using the thorny hedge as cover until they reached the edge of the path. Finally, as the cart drew alongside, Gwydion called out as loud as he dared.
‘Hammer,’ he said in a loud whisper.
The blacksmith stopped and looked around.
‘Who’s there?’ he asked, somewhat startled.
‘Hammer,
it’s me, Gwydion.’
The blacksmith stared at the source of the voice through the thicket.
‘I know no Gwydion,’ he said. ‘Be on your way before I call the guards.’
‘Hammer,’ said Gwydion, ‘it is me your son, truly it is.’ He took a chance and stood up for his father to see him.
The old man’s face fell.
‘Get down!’ he hissed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We need help,’ said Gwydion, shocked at Hammer’s reaction.
‘We?’ asked Hammer. ‘Who else is here?’
‘I am here also,’ said Gwenno. ‘Why are you so angry, Hammer? Where is the welcome?’
Hammer walked around the cart and fussed with the wheel, a pretence to pacify any prying eyes.
‘You will find no welcome here, Gwenno,’ he said. ‘Nor you, Gwydion. The news that you have betrayed the Gods has preceded you and you are hunted by the Druids.’
‘I feared this,’ said Gwydion, ‘but we seek only food and some fresh horses. A night’s stay is all we ask. Surely Erwyn would grant his only daughter this.’
‘Erwyn is no longer chief here,’ said Hammer, ‘Robbus overthrew him many months ago.’
Gwenno gasped in shock.
‘Is he alright?’ she asked eventually.
‘He was killed,’ said Hammer somewhat abruptly, ‘as were most of his men. Those that survived were banished along with their families. The Blaidd is a different place now. Robbus rules with a fist of iron and all fear his wrath.’
‘What about my mother?’ asked Gwenno. ‘Does she still live?’
‘Oh yes!’ spat Hammer, ‘she still lives. The whore warms Robbus’s bed at night. It is her hand that drugged the wine that dulled your father’s senses. Only thus, could Robbus better him.’
Gwenno cried out before Gwydion grabbed her and buried her face into his chest.
‘Is there no one to help us, Hammer?’ he asked.
‘They are all Robbus’s men here,’ said Hammer, ‘I only stay to look after your mother.’
‘Is she ill?’ asked Gwydion.
