by C. R. May
‘Keep an eye on them, Telys,’ he called as the ship headed for the shallows. ‘I will run her aground and hide ashore if it comes to it.’
Catumanda could sense the tension on the ship and she was as relieved as any when the lookout filled his lungs and called aft again. ‘It looks as if we are safe; they are ignoring us and heading for deeper water.’
The senior crewman, Peiros, ambled back from his place amidships and cocked a brow. ‘Who would risk a fleet at this time of year?’ He threw Catumanda a questioning look, and she shook her head as she replied.
‘It is not my people. We have ships, but few that ply the waters of the Southern Sea and none that look like that.’
Peiros glanced back. ‘It’s true,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘They do look like Greek hulls, but they can only have come from Ostia.’ He shrugged again as he exchanged a look with Anaxos. ‘We will find out soon enough – we will reach the harbour within the hour.’
The danger past, the warmth of the sun on her back and the rhythmic action of the ship’s motion lulled her mind as the crew of the Kalypso relaxed and went back to their duties. As she watched the cloud of sail off the bow wear and turn their heads to the south, the nearness of the end of her journey caused her to reflect on the previous few days. Regaining the table with her new-found friend Demokritos, the druid had no longer been surprised to find that the subject of the conversation among Philippos and his family had been the tumultuous events that had overtaken a city they called Rome, a hundred and fifty miles to the north. A people who called themselves Senones – wild Keltoi barbarians from Hyperborea, the lands beyond the north winds – had crushed the city’s army and chased its population away. She had shared a knowing look with the ancient philosopher as the conversation flowed around them and had begun to plan her journey in her mind even before the meal was concluded.
As she had suspected it was to be the old man’s last meal within the loving embrace of his family, and she had watched as he stealthily set his affairs in order that evening and prepared to embark on his final journey. As the head of the family his wishes were paramount, and he had insisted that Philippos remain at home for the remainder of his education. He was to be groomed to succeed him as a philosopher and mathematician, and Catumanda had shared the boy’s joy that all of his dreams were to be realised. She had remained for the full three days of the ritual that the Greeks called prothesis, as the female mourners washed and anointed Demokritos’ body and stood sentinel over his earthly remains in the traditional dark robes of mourning. Following the laying to rest she had hurried to the harbour and headed north.
Peiros’ estimate had been good, and before the sun reached its zenith the little trader was edging into the bay that contained the port. Soon they were drawing inshore and the Kalypso wallowed in the swell as the crew began to release the ropes securing the small boat to the stern. ‘This is as near as I dare take you,’ Anaxos offered with an apologetic shrug of his big shoulders. ‘You will have to row in from here.’
Catumanda nodded her thanks and swung her legs over the side rail, thankful that she was back in the practical garb of a druid. With a last look up at the nervous faces lining the side rail she lowered herself gingerly into the unstable craft and half threw herself onto the bench. The awkward part done, she took up the oars and struck out for the quayside and the war band that had gathered there. It was only after the first few strokes had waved around uselessly in the air that Catumanda realised that rowing was not as easy as it had always appeared, but the advice thrown her way from both ship and shore soon had her crabbing forward in at least a semblance of the right direction. Her pathetic efforts had at least had the effect of lightening the mood among the watching men of both nations, and she allowed herself a snort of amusement as the blush began to drain from her features and she sensed the tensions easing.
A final wave and a cry for good fortune and the Neapolitan ship was stern on to the shore as Anaxos worked the pedalia, swinging her head south for home. A short time later the little craft had passed into shadow and the druid realised that she had reached her destination. A rope thumped into the well of the boat making her jump, and she looked up to see a row of grinning faces. The rope thrower cried out with mock concern as the men chuckled at the sight before them. ‘Sorry druid, I didn’t mean to startle you!’
Another warrior added his voice as she joined in the laughter, and a wave of happiness threatened to overwhelm her as she heard again the rough-and-ready joviality of her people. ‘You’ll be sorry when you spend the rest of your life squatting to piss!’
Catumanda ran her eyes along the cheery group as she began to realise just how much she had missed the sight of men in chequered trews and the sound of the Celtic tongue in the year that had passed since she had stepped aboard the Alexa at Isarno, back in Albion. Another peal of laughter rolled along the quay as a tall blond warrior, his face and arms bronzed by the southern sun, bent forward with a gleam in his eye. ‘Careful now druid, I am going to unroll this and there might be a splash.’
The corners of Catumanda’s mouth curled into a sweet smile as she hooked a little finger at the man. He winced and instinctively felt his groin as another voice called above the uproar. ‘It must be your lucky day, Searix. She is going to make it bigger for you!’
Catumanda pulled herself across by the rope, and soon she had managed to ascend the crazily swinging ladder despite its best efforts at dumping her back into the sea. Willing hands were waiting for her at the top, and she reached out thankfully and let the men pull her onto the quayside. Dwarfed by the stand of Celtic warriors, she had not noticed that their chieftain had joined them as she scaled the wall, and the warriors moved aside as he smiled a greeting. ‘Welcome to Latium, druid. My name is Caturix.’ He leaned forward as the men crowded back. ‘May I ask? What on earth are you doing here?’
She patted a sealed cylinder which hung suspended at her side. ‘I need to deliver this to one of my brothers. How far is the city called Rome?’
Caturix jerked his head to the east. ‘Seven or eight miles inland; the road is good, straight and fast, but you may already be too late.’
She looked at him aghast. The delay for Demokritos’ funeral could have caused her to fail in her quest at the very last. Caturix saw the look that crossed her face and whistled across to blondie. ‘Searix! Mount up, we have finally found a use for you!’
Catumanda interrupted as the men stirred into action. ‘I must get this to a druid. If Rome is only a short distance as you say I could be there within the hour, even travelling by cart.’
Caturix looked back with a frown. ‘You don’t understand druid, we are already leaving the city. They have paid us to go, and we are more than happy to oblige. There were reports of a Roman-led relief army coming from the south, and we were left here to check that none were arriving by sea. Unless you are it,’ he added with a smile, ‘it would seem that we have nothing to fear.’
He raised his chin and indicated to seaward with a jerk of his chin. ‘The chieftain of the clans, Brennus, has just sailed south with part of the army in that fleet. They are carrying Senone blades to war there.’ Caturix’s lips curled into a smile, and Catumanda saw the pride reflected in his gaze as he continued. ‘The tale of our great victories here in the south has travelled far and wide. Senone warriors are in great demand.’ The Crow clan chieftain recognised her disappointment and smiled gently. ‘We will escort you to the men who are returning to guard the homeland while Brennus is away – most of the druids will be with them.’
She nodded in agreement despite the nagging feeling that her destiny was somehow linked to the city itself. As Caturix organised a party to scour the deserted dockside for a suitable cart and sent Searix racing off to find out if any Gauls remained in the city, Catumanda remembered her blood brothers. ‘Do you know a warrior called Solemis?’
Caturix turned with a look of surprise. ‘What, the Solemis? The chieftain of the Horsetail clan?’
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nbsp; Catumanda gave a gentle chuckle and shook her head. So her friend was a chieftain already – she was hardly surprised. ‘Yes, I would think that would be him. He may still have a big friend with him called Acco.’
Caturix beamed with pride, and Catumanda found that she was absent-mindedly rubbing the welt of a scar that cut across her palm as she waited for his reply. The big chieftain checked that there was nobody within earshot, leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Solemis is my brother-in-law. My sister, Aia, carries his child.’ He winked at her. ‘Solemis doesn’t know that I know, but Aia told me so before we rode to war. Solemis has been chosen by Brennus to lead the clans until the rest of the army returns from the south, three years hence.’
As Catumanda’s face broke into a smile, Caturix straightened up and shrugged. ‘I am a great friend of Solemis and proud to be so, but his best friend is his champion, Albiomaros. He usually calls him genos.’
* * *
Caturix rode alongside her, chirruping away about the great deeds done by her friends during the migration and the great battles that they had fought here in the new land. None of the bloodcurdling tales surprised her in the least, and she found that her mind was wandering to her last conversation with Philippos’ grandfather, the Greek philosopher Demokritos. His parting revelation concerning the gods was a sound hypothesis, and she smiled to herself as she realised that, even following the short time she had spent in the house of the great teacher, she had picked up a new word or two. Different people did not have different gods – they were the same gods called by a different name. The Greek Poseidon was the Celtic god Manannan, or the Egyptian god Yam. Ares was Camulos or Anhur. Zeus: Toranos or Baal. The gods used people such as herself to spread learning among them all, but what the gods gave with one hand they exacted a price with the other and she knew deep down that she would soon be taking her place at the sacred hearth of her ancestors.
Drawing closer to Rome they joined the road that led through the hills to the city of Caere. It was here, Caturix explained, that the majority of Rome’s citizens had fled at the beginning of the summer and the evidence of their panicked flight was all around. Abandoned belongings littered the roadside: carts with broken wheels; discarded toys; corn dolls; and wooden swords. It was the human side of the disaster that had overtaken the population, and the druid could not help but contrast it with the glory and pomp of war still proudly displayed by the men who rode at her side.
As the city hove into view Searix returned in a rush with another warrior, their cloaks streaming, cloud-like, in their wake. Caturix urged his horse forward as his clansmen exchanged looks of concern. The pair came to a halt in a cloud of dust and scattering stones, and Catumanda listened in as the excited warrior reported to his chieftain.
‘The last of the army have left the city, Caturix. There is a large army approaching from the south and the men from the citadel are beginning to dismantle the barriers. Epacos here was sent by the commander of the rearguard to tell us to keep away from the city and rejoin them via the bridge at Fidenae.’
Catumanda stood on the footrest of the cart so that the warrior could recognise her clearly as a druid and called across. ‘Epacos, are the Horsetail clan with the army?’
The Celt blinked as he noticed her for the first time and threw Caturix a look of surprise. The chieftain, his clansmen now in danger of being cut off by either the arrival of the Roman relief army or a sally by the garrison from the Capitoline, snapped an order as the man looked from one to the other. ‘Well, answer her man! Druids aren’t allowed to ride horses – we will need to find a route suitable for a cart.’
Epacos shook his head as he recovered from the shock of meeting a beautiful young druid on the road to Ostia. ‘The Horsetails left earlier, druid. Solemis led them to the east.’
Catumanda chewed her lip in disappointment as she thought; the death of Demokritos had delayed her long enough to make her miss both her brother druids and the reunion with her genos. The old Greek had clearly been an instrument of the gods like herself – his dreams had proven it to be so, that it must be their will. Her gaze drifted skywards and she smiled as a heron, its curious bent-necked flight unmistakable even in silhouette, crossed her path. The bird of the underworld, the heron was a clear indication that the gods were seeking to guide her in her moment of indecision, and she watched as it dipped one of its great wings and flew off towards the nearby river. As her eyes wandered across the city on the hills, the flash of sunlight on arms drew her gaze towards the highest point as the men there prepared to leave the strongpoint, and she caught her breath at the sight that greeted her.
Reassured, Catumanda whipped the mule forward and raised her voice as she attempted to make her wishes known to Caturix. The Crow chieftain was busy discussing possible routes to the north that would enable them to escort the cart-bound druid while still keeping clear of avenging Roman equites. Reaching a fork in the road, she drew rein and brought the heel of her staff down on the footboard with a crash.
As the men quietened and turned their faces to her Catumanda slipped the cylinder containing the precious kalendae over her head and passed it across. ‘Caturix: see that this is given directly to the senior druid among the Senones, by you personally.’ She fixed him with an earnest stare and repeated the instruction. ‘By you personally. Trust no other.’ The chieftain made to protest, but she cut him dead with an impatient chop of her hand. ‘Tell him that the druid Catumanda says that the contents have great power and they must be sent directly to a druid named Vernogenos on the Spirit Isle in Albion.’
Caturix attempted a last appeal to reason but Catumanda was certain now what must be done. ‘Caturix, you have a responsibility to one not yet born.’ She locked eyes with him as the warriors shifted uneasily around them. Their chieftain was beginning to argue with a druid, and the druid was making it plain to them all that she would brook no disagreement – it was time to go. Catumanda let her words sink in and then spoke slowly and clearly as she held his gaze so that there would be no misunderstanding. ‘Solemis’ son will need a kinsman to tell him what happens here and teach him the ways of our people. When he reaches manhood, he will know then what must be done.’
Before the man could question her further, Catumanda drove her mule forward, scattering the Crow and their mounts before her. The cart bounced along the stony roadway, and as she rounded a hill the city of Rome came into full view for the first time, causing her to pause and catch her breath in wonder. The sheer size would have been almost unimaginable to the girl from Eyam before she had begun her quest in the south, and she felt an all-encompassing sense of pride that Solemis and Acco had defeated such a foe and chased them from their fabulous city. Closer now, she was sure that the temple she had seen from the road was the grey forest of her dreams, and she urged the mule forward towards the bridge which led to the city gate. Serene atop the highest point in the city, the building sparkled as the weapons of its defenders shone in the sunlight. High above a terraced bank of clouds raced away to the east, the undersides painted red by the westering sun.
Catumanda dropped from the cart and unhitched the mule. The sound of thundering hooves drew her gaze back to the west and she raised a hand in farewell to the riders as Caturix led them north. Pressing her face close to the animal’s neck she breathed in the muskiness as she fondled its ears before sending the mule ambling away with a gentle slap of its rump.
The distant howl of a war horn carried to her from the south, and the answering roar of men from the hill inside the city told her that the army of Rome had finally found the courage to return to their city. She pulled a wry smile. Yes, it is safe to return now Romans. The big, pale-skinned men have gone!
Adjusting her crane-skin bag Catumanda raised her head proudly, closed her eyes and savoured what she was now certain was to be one of her last breaths taken in freedom. Calm, composed and ready to meet her fate in mind and spirit, the druid walked forward and stepped onto the bridge.
Twenty-T
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Caturix shared a look of concern with his clan champion as the others bunched in their wake. Doros was the first to speak. ‘Well, if they are preparing the cooking fires early it looks like it is going to be some feast.’
The Crow chieftain snorted. ‘Gallop ahead to the next rise and see what is going on.’
A dark column of smoke was climbing into the Etruscan air, spear straight until the higher winds snatched it up and whipped it away to the east. Doros whistled to Searix. ‘Come on blondie,’ he said. ‘Let us see if it is the type of spree we should be invited to.’
The pair thundered away as Caturix turned back with a frown. The big clan chieftain had always prided himself on his awareness of danger, and his gaze wandered across the surrounding area as he recognised that all the signs were coming together. His hand moved down to the lead container slung at his side; if the contents were intended for the eyes of the senior druid on the Spirit Isle, itself a semi-legendary place on the mysterious island of Albion, they must be of the utmost importance. The weight of responsibility began to weigh heavily on the Crow as he called Ferox to his side with a flick of his head. The young warrior urged his mount forward and cocked an ear as he awaited his instructions. ‘Epacos must know the lie of the land to be chosen by his chieftain to warn us away from the city. Take our new friend back towards Rome; make sure that this relief army is content to celebrate regaining their lands with the people in the citadel and not coming against us with full force.’