by N. M. Browne
Ursula knew what she had to do. She rose at dawn after a nightmare sleep filled with Veil visions. She would have liked to make herself into Boar Skull. It was a more comforting form than her own. The months of relentless exercise had changed her true body into something she scarcely recognised, something lean but definitely feminine. Her new fitness made her move differently, but the balance of her limbs seemed all wrong somehow. She had learned to fight as Boar Skull. She had had no time to get used to Ursula. But she had an instinctive feeling that she should approach her task without illusion of any kind, mental or physical. She bathed and oiled herself as she had before the warrior’s ceremony. She put on a plain wool tunic and mousy-brown-coloured leggings, male clothes that most closely resembled the things she’d worn at home. She made her hair the length it should have been, an awkward length between short and long. It was in her eyes so she tied it back from her face with a strip of cloth. She took her sword, her cloak and a stoppered drinking horn of water.
She had eaten nothing since the bard had spoken of fasting. She would have liked to say goodbye to Dan or at least leave him a note, in case she didn’t come back, but the Celts didn’t write and there were no writing materials anywhere in the fortress. She hoped he’d understand. She did not take a horse.
The men were on war alert so to leave the castle she had to try the trick she’d used on Bryn and the bard. She was not sure it had worked then, but she had no option but to try it again. She willed herself to be unseen and she was. She did not know if she had made herself invisible, not to be seen was good enough.
Dan had himself woken with the dawn. He had slept fitfully. He was certain that Ursula would waste no time in trying to raise the Veil. He dare not miss her. He asked Bryn to keep watch. Bryn followed her as far as the bath-house. Bryn was much better at silent tracking than Dan. Bryn saw her disappear. He reported back to Dan.
‘She’s done the disappearing trick, but you can see her if you make yourself concentrate. Look for the place where the air ripples like a pool.’
Thanking Bryn, Dan followed her. Luckily Prys was on watch at the main gate. He let Dan through, but Dan knew that Macsen and Kai would be alerted within minutes. It was not something he had the time to worry about. Dan had to protect Ursula.
Dan stayed well back. He moved with all the care he could muster. He did not want to alert her suspicions. Ursula’s senses were sharp. He hoped that she would be focused on what she had to do. He hoped that she would not expect anyone to follow. Bryn was right. If you looked hard enough the air shimmered in places. He assumed Ursula was somewhere in the vicinity of the shimmering air.
There was a place high above the valley, which had haunted Ursula’s dreams. It was close to a tree that had a sort of witch’s face. It was not hard to find. The valley’s sides were not as steep as the rocks on which Craigwen was built but she was breathless by the time she reached the top and her headache had returned.
She drank some of the water and knelt beside the witch tree. Mum had taken her to church sometimes. She would have to pray to the only God she knew. She did not know Rhonwen’s Goddess but if she herself could manage to be male and female she expected no less of her God.
She ran through the bard’s checklist in her mind: fasting, prayer, blood sacrifice, ritual. Dan had told her about the druid Prince, Lovernios. His death would have to stand for the sacrifice. Enough blood would be shed in the next few days to make considering shedding more, now, an obscenity. The ritual was a problem because she knew of none except the oath-taking she had witnessed and participated in. She unsheathed her sword with the spare grace of the warrior she had become and stuck it into the ground.
‘I am Ursula Alavna ab Helen and by name I swore to avenge Alavna. Let this be my revenge.’ Her voice sounded feeble and uncertain. She felt stupid. Surely this could not be the kind of ritual the bard had meant? It occurred to her that perhaps all her preparations for this moment, the bathing, the anointing herself with oil, the selection of her clothes, had themselves a ritual significance. She hoped so. She could think of nothing else to do.
She had done the fasting. She didn’t know if it had freed her spirit. It certainly left her feeling hungry and rather light-headed. Now it was the time for prayer.
She did not know what to say. She had been taught that killing was wrong. There was no way out of this that did not involve killing. Could she ask the power that holds the universe in place to bring men through the Veil to kill and to die? The wall between worlds was very thin here. She could see the legion in her mind’s eye waiting for her. She could smell the sweat of the men, hear the jingling of their mail, the thump and the squelch of their marching feet as they toiled through mud. She knelt in her church’s attitude of prayer.
‘I don’t know if I have the right to ask this. I don’t even know what name to give to you. I know that the ninth legion waits for me. They are there. The Combrogi need them. Perhaps it is not up to me. If it is your will may the Veil come into being.’ Head bowed, Ursula waited for her answer.
Dan could see her clearly now, no more than twenty metres away. There was a pale yellow glow in front of her. Ursula did not notice because her eyes were tightly shut.
The yellow mist seemed to whirl and shift. It was a maelstrom more than a mist. It was coming closer to Ursula whirling round as if about to consume her.
‘Urs …’ he began but a man’s strong hand was over his mouth.
‘So you would run away, would you? You treacherous runt! I knew we should not trust you, outlander. Are you going to run to the Ravens? You can throw yourself on their mercy because I’ll show you none.’
It was Gwyn. There was no time to explain. Dan had to get to Ursula.
He tried to pull himself free of the warrior’s clamp-like grip.
‘You’ll have to fight me, alone, without your little witch friend.’ For a moment Dan had no idea what he meant. Then he remembered Gwyn’s wounded pride at being bested in training what seemed like years ago. Dan groaned inwardly. He did not need this now.
Gwyn released him but only so that Gwyn could pull out his sword. Bright Killer seemed to leap of its own volition into Dan’s hand. Gwyn attacked furiously with a viciousness Dan could not match. He was too worried about Ursula to give himself up to madness. He dare not enter his quiet place of certainty. He didn’t dare surrender to it. Instead he held on to his limb-slowing sanity and did the best that he could. Gwyn was pressing his advantage. Dan kept moving out of his way but Gwyn was Macsen’s champion and Dan knew he could not beat him, sane. Gwyn raised his arm for what Dan knew would be a fatal blow and Ursula screamed. Gwyn hesitated. Dan recovered. With all his strength he swung Bright Killer so that it clashed with Gwyn’s own sword. With a vibrating ring, Gwyn’s sword was thrust out of his hand.
‘Ursula!’ Dan panted and ran to save her.
She was standing now. She had her back to him. Why had she screamed? The yellow mist swirled in front of her like the maw of Rhonwen’s dragon. It was ten metres high and growing. Ursula raised her arms as if in blessing. Suddenly a tall figure ran towards her screeching something Dan could not hear. It was Rhonwen. She pushed Ursula aside and raised her own arms and the mist advanced. With a cry that could be ecstasy or anguish, Dan couldn’t tell, the mist enveloped Rhonwen, curling around her like a coiled snake made of yellow cloud and she disappeared.
‘Ursula! No!’ It looked like Ursula was about to follow but the mist unaccountably stabilised. It seemed less like a living creature, more like a meteorological feature. Something about it had definitely changed because Ursula staggered backwards as if suddenly released from the grip of some powerful physical force. Dan’s relief at her apparent safety was short-lived. The mist was parted by a gladius and the bulky form of a soldier emerged from the yellow tainted gloom. The soldier would not have been able to see much. Dan guessed that he must have been operating on instinct for his short sword was held ready to strike. He was moving inexorably towards a dazed-look
ing Ursula. She was unarmed and seemed unaware of her danger. She was seconds away from a soldier’s blade. Dan ran towards her but Gwyn got there first. He could not guess what Gwyn must have thought. Perhaps Gwyn believed that Dan and Ursula were both in league with the Ravens. This soldier wore Raven clothing and must therefore be an enemy, consequently, Gwyn prepared for the attack. With a war cry as blood-curdlingly terrifying as Dan had ever heard, Gwyn charged forward to tear out the enemy’s heart. By the time he got there the first soldier was flanked by ten more. Gwyn learned Hane’s lesson the hard way. Hand to hand against an enemy fighting in close formation he stood no chance. Dan saw Gwyn Alavna ab Mog die but he died a warrior’s death.
Dan threw himself in front of Ursula who was trembling uncontrollably.
‘It’s OK, Ursula, I’ll protect you!’
‘Against a legion!’
As more men marched through the Veil, he could see that she was right. She had raised the Veil and the ninth legion was marching through it. He gripped Bright Killer firmly. What did they do now?
Chapter Twenty-six
Ursula seemed calm. Dan thought that she might have been in shock. Her eyes looked strange.
‘Strength or weakness?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Will they respect strength or weakness?’
Dan looked at the blood-spattered corpse of Macsen’s champion.
‘They just killed strength.’
Ursula nodded, her eyes never leaving the face of the man she had picked out as leader.
‘When I move forward, I want you to run and get Macsen and Kai and the bard. Hurry, I can’t hold the Veil stable for long.’
Ursula spoke through gritted teeth. He glanced at her. She was very pale and although it was too early for the sun to have warmed the cold hilltop, beads of sweat glistened on her face. Dan wanted to argue. He couldn’t leave Ursula to face an army alone, but if the situation turned nasty he couldn’t kill a legion on his own. Reluctantly he nodded. He didn’t expect they’d let him get away anyway.
The first row of the column had not advanced so that Dan could see only about thirty soldiers plus the odd arm and leg of others still in the mist. He had no doubt that the rest of the legion would march through if the Legate ordered it.
Ursula moved forward and very deliberately knelt at the Legate’s feet. True to his word, Dan ran. Ursula must have done her ‘not-there-thing’ again because no one seemed to notice that he’d left. How could he persuade Macsen that the arrival of a second Roman legion outside his fortress was a good thing? From the high ground, Dan could see in the far distance a cloud of dust to indicate the progress of the vanguard of the second legion. His guts churned with fear and he ran for the fortress. There was so little time.
Ursula bowed her head for a moment in a gesture of prayer. The Romans watched her coldly but at least they made no move to kill her.
‘Thank God, you have come. You are an answer to my prayers. Welcome Legate of the Ninth! Never was a sight more welcome.’
Instinct told her that this man had to be the Legate. She had called him through the Veil first in her mind. She was trembling as much from uncontrollable nerves as from the strain of maintaining the Veil. She looked at him and did not have to fake the appeal in her eyes. God! May this work!
The man was clearly a veteran soldier, short but broad shouldered and powerful looking. His eyes were a very piercing blue and his dark hair was touched with grey. He did not look Roman, if anything he looked like an older version of Caradoc. Was it possible that he too was of the Silurian tribe? Ursula tried to remember everything she knew about the Roman military. It was not a great deal. She did recall that conquered nations served in the Roman army but could a non-Roman reach such high rank? Did it matter? The man was probably going to kill her. She found that she did not care over much whether her executioner was of Celtic stock or not. She hardly dared breathe. He stared at her in a very deliberate and appraising way. He stretched the silence between them until her wracked nerves all but snapped. She kept herself very still. When the Legate finally spoke he seemed remarkably calm for one who had walked through the Veil and killed a man. Ursula would not look at Gwyn’s butchered body.
‘Woman, this is a strange welcome, first we are attacked and now you offer prayers of thanksgiving. What is this place?’
‘This is Craigwen, sir. We are just beyond the gates of the fortress doomed to be besieged by a rogue legion. The warrior you fought thought you our enemy. It is my earnest prayer that you are not.’
There was a pause.
‘I know nothing of a rogue legion. I know of no Craigwen. What is going on here? Tell me truthfully, woman, I am not an over-patient man.’
Ursula did not, truthfully, know where to start.
‘The yellow mist that surrounds your men,’ she began, hesitantly, ‘it marks a quicker road. It has brought you far from where you started. I pray that it has brought you to help us.’ Ursula took a deep breath. She was not dead yet. She continued more confidently. ‘I am of the tribes, but the Romans here, we call them Ravens, are massacring our people. Even our women and children are being slaughtered in the name of their dark emperor.’ She had never actually heard anyone talk much of the emperor dark or otherwise. Macsen had no leisure for the wider politics of the Empire. But the Ravens fought on someone’s orders. Anyone who ordered the likes of the Alavna massacre could not be good. She was improvising furiously. She had worried so much about raising the Veil and bringing the legion through, she had not thought about what she would say to them. ‘I have some power over the yellow mist and this quicker road. I raised it to bring you. I have dreamed of you and your legion. I saw that you were not a man to kill innocents. I prayed that a noble and a honest man might lead his army to our aid against the Ravens who wish to annihilate the only British tribes left.’
‘Are you of the druids?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘I have never heard of this mist. And who is this dark emperor?’ The Legate’s tone remained hard. He did not believe a word of it.
‘Sir, I do not know his name, but his men march under his banner, the sign of the raven and a man named Suetonius does his work.’
The man scowled. ‘The only Suetonius I know is dead, but he was a fine soldier, though hard enough on the tribes.’ The suspicion in his eyes had not softened. Ursula felt her heart sink. She could not have achieved so much to throw it away at the last. She wished for Dan’s gift of inspiring trust.
‘I cannot tell you more except that I have seen with my own eyes what has been done to us by men wearing the dress of Rome. You are here in answer to my prayers – how can you not help us!’
Ursula was getting desperate. She felt hope and her control of the Veil slipping from her.
‘Why do you sweat? Are you afraid? Is this some trap you have lured us to?’
Ursula shook her head. ‘The road I made through the yellow mist is hard to sustain. I am afraid that if it falters some of your men will die and you and they will be separated.’
‘You threaten me?’
She shook her head. ‘Look back, you can see some still stuck in the mist.’ A quick glance confirmed the truth of this.
‘Advance forward ten paces!’ the Legate commanded.
Ursula backed out of their way and more of the column emerged through the mist to blink confusedly in the watery daylight. The ones who had been stuck in the mist looked predictably spooked. Behind them, she was sure, many others remained.
‘What is happening here?’
The Legate’s gladius was centimetres from her throat. With an effort of will Ursula kept her voice steady.
‘I don’t know how deep the mist is. I cannot change its nature. Unless you all march through it some of your men will be stuck in it.’ She fought down her panic. What else could she say? This was all going horribly wrong. She could feel tears of frustration prickling behind her eyes. There had to be a way to convince them to help. For the firs
t time she realised what she had done. She had conjured a Roman legion and intended to ask them to fight on the side of their enemies against their own people. Why had she not thought this through? What if the legion would not fight for them? What would Macsen think if she brought a whole army of potential enemies through the mist? Surely they had enough enemies already.
‘I don’t think you should all march through until you have spoken to King Macsen,’ she said quickly. Her voice trembled. She was angry with herself for showing such weakness. She was bathed in sweat as she struggled to maintain the Veil.
‘And who is King Macsen? I hope he makes more sense than you woman, I grow impatient.’ The Legate sheathed his gladius.
Ursula felt little sense of relief. There was another very long silence, in which she faced some sixty, armed Roman legionaries alone and with not a clue what to do next. She knelt down and closed her eyes, partly so that she didn’t have to look at the ranks of shiny armour, plumed helmets and cold eyes, partly so she could focus on maintaining the Veil. She prayed too, in a way; a panic-stricken repetition of ‘Oh God, what have I done?’
After what seemed like a very long time Dan arrived with Macsen, Kai and Caradoc. They looked angry and wary. Dan was pale and he had a cut under one eye. It looked like someone had punched him. He was not mad. Ursula was so confused she did not know if that was a good thing or not. Ursula thought Kai and Caradoc looked magnificent in full battle dress. There was a kind of purposeful shuffling among the legionaries as if they too recognised power when they saw it and respected it. Would she have done better to meet them as Boar Skull?