Origin of Druid

by Mark Philipson

  “Is everything arranged?” Kermode asked as he sat at the table.

  “There is a shipment of ballista and bolts that will be on the road tomorrow night,” Osker said. He tapped the table top with his finger.

  “What about the driver?”

  “The driver is a man that wants to throw in against the Romans. He will be taking the place of the driver scheduled to make the run.”

  “What will happen to the scheduled driver?”

  Osker inhaled then ran his finger across his throat.

  “Understood,” Kermode nodded. “What about the other thing?”

  “That ...” Osker raised his eyebrows. “You know if the Roman dogs get wind of this I could be killed.”

  “I understand, Osker,” Kermode said. “That is why I’m telling you this: this will probably be the last time I’ll be asking for your help. Who knows what chaos will fall on Briton in the near future.”

  “Very well,” Osker nodded. “Will I see you again?”

  “I don’t know what is going to happen,” Kermode shrugged. “There is a storm brewing.”

  “You’ll probably need this,” Osker said. He pulled a scroll from a lower shelf and pushed it across the table. “That’s the gold and silver shipment. That’s the route it will be taking and how many soldiers will be assigned to guard it.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Osker.”

  “Just try not to get yourself killed, Kermode.”

  On the way back to Bradon’s camp Kermode chose to return to what remained of the village of Turodon. On the way up the slope Kermode felt a sensation in the pit of his stomach: like a fist holding onto his belly and twisting.

  The feeling grew stronger as Kermode approached the huge old oak tree that had been used as the base of his roundhouse. Kermode grew dizzy as he drew nearer. He reached out to prop himself up against the shuttered front door. Kermode’s head reeled. He pressed his face against the shutter and fought waves of nausea and vertigo sweeping over him like a dark cloud.

  Kermode heard a humming noise coming from behind the shutter. Kermode stepped away from the front door and the dizziness faded. He walked around the thick sprawling roots of the old oak. Kermode walked across the grass. Where the tunnel leading out of the house came nearest to the surface Kermode set his ear to the ground. He heard the humming and felt the dizziness hitting hard.

  That must be the amulet, Kermode thought as he struggled to get back on his feet. Perhaps something has caused the power of the stone to return? Kermode vowed to himself to return one day.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  As Kermode entered the outskirts of Bradon’s camp one of the chief’s personal guard approached. “I’ve been waiting for you, druid.” he said.

  “I’ve returned,” Kermode shrugged.

  The guard walked next to Kermode as they made their way through the camp.

  “Well,” Bradon said when he saw Kermode enter. “Where is my gold?”

  “I don’t have it yet.” Kermode lifted his palms.

  “And when will you have it?” Bradon pressed for an answer.

  “It’s not that simple. Gold is hard to come by. I have a plan.”

  “A plan is it. Well, see to it then.”

  Later Kermode spoke to Kane: “There is a wagon that will be on the road tomorrow night. I want you to take a few trusted men with you. The driver will be waiting for three men to approach the wagon. Remove the contents of the wagon. The driver will return with you.”

  Kermode went over the plan two more times until Kane understood.

  Kermode stood by the edge of the camp. In the morning light he saw four men approaching carrying a wooden crate. “Is this what you wanted?” Kane asked as he pried the crate open.

  “This is it,” Kermode answered. He lifted a piece of polished wood out of the crate. On one end of the thick shaft sat a type of bow mounted horizontally. Kermode studied the strange bow. He pulled a curved lever mounted on the side of the end of the shaft back until it stopped. Kermode twisted a circular wheel on the opposite side of the lever. As he did this a wide pin moved back, drawing the bow at the same time. Kermode pressed the curved lever forward. The pin dropped and the bow released. He said, “The Romans call it a ballista and the arrow is it throws is known as volantem proiecto.”

  Once the ballista was armed again Kermode placed a volantem proiecto—a thick diameter arrow with a short shaft—on a groove cut into the stock of the ballista.

  Kermode handed the ballista to Kane. “Aim it.”

  Kane took the weapon, “How do I do that and what do I aim at?” he asked.

  “Take a leather flask and walk into the forest,” Kermode said to a nearby villager. The man walked toward the dense line of trees.

  “Stop there,” Kermode said. “Now hang the strap so it falls near the center of the trunk.”

  When the villager set the flask in place and returned Kermode had Kane lift the ballista and cradle the stock under his shoulder. “Look down the shaft of the arrow. Line up the ring on the far end with the ring closest to your eye. Then set both rings on the target. Release the lever when the target is lined up.”

  Kane tilted the ballista slightly. He held his breath then released the lever. The arrow flew then pierced the leather flask dead center.

  “Choose some men from the village. As many as there are ballistas. Show each man how to load and aim the weapon. Make sure each man can hit the target every time.”

  “Very well,” Kane said. “I’ll get to it.”

  Kane put member’s of Bradon’s tribe through the test with the ballista. He showed them how to load and aim the ballista. Any member of the tribe who couldn’t fathom the loading mechanism was rejected immediately. What would be the point of an archer using a weapon they couldn’t load a projectile onto? From the number of the tribe he chose he culled six men and four women.

  “Do the women know what will be asked of them?” Kermode asked when Kane called out the list of names.

  “They understand,” Kane answered. “They are better at the ballista than the men. I would’ve chosen all women but their tender age makes them too young for slaughter.”

  While Kane rounded up the archers Kermode made a sketch showing the targeted wagon from different angles: a top down schematic displaying the position of the wagon and the surrounding forest, and the angles the wagon would appear from hiding places the archers would be stationed at.

  Kermode circled two clusters of trees on the top down sketch. He said to Kane: “Place the archers in the hedges on either side of the road. You will command one side. I will command the other side. From your vantage point here …” Kermode drew a heavy circle behind a hedgerow, “…you will give the order to loose when the wagon appears like this.” Kermode cut off part of the scroll and handed it to Kane.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  The archers painted their faces and bodies dark green and dressed in animal skins died black with woad. The party followed Kermode and Kane down the mountainside for most of the day. They reached the lowlands just as the sun was setting.

  Through the forest under the cover of darkness they moved. By morning they stood on the stones of the Roman road.

  “This is it,” Kermode said. The archers took up positions in the hedges. From vantage points above the archers Kermode and Kane glanced from the drawings to the road.

  In the time it took for the sun to travel the distance between two outstretched fingers one of the archers with her head to the ground heard the rumbling of horses hooves.

  “Are you sure?” Kermode asked.

  “See for yourself,” the woman answered.

  Kermode set his ear to the ground. Horses were approaching from the direction Kermode was expecting the wagon. He didn’t expect the shipment to be traveling this fast. He climbed high in a nearby tree. In the distance on the straight road he saw the wagon and the detachment of guards approaching at full gallop.

  “Aim for the horses,” Kermode told one of
the archers. The word was spread to the archers on the other side. He said, “Get in position and be ready,” when the messenger returned.

  Kermode studied the drawing. In his mind he figured how fast the horses ran. From this knowledge Kermode decided to give the command to loose moments before the wagon reached its location on the drawing.

  The archers waited with armed ballista. From his hiding place Kermode could clearly see Kane waiting for the command to fire.

  Kermode raised his hand. He glanced at the drawing then glanced at the approaching wagon and horsemen. He lowered his hand.

  Horses screamed as projectiles pierced flanks. The animals in the lead stumbled then fell. The riders behind the horses first struck smashed into the fallen horses. Riders tumbled over their mounts to be crushed under the weight of the falling horses.

  Projectiles flew from both sides of the road as the soldiers in the company slowed down. A steady stream of short arrows picked off the soldiers still able to control their mounts as the wagon careened off the side of the road.

  The archers stepped out from the cover of the hedges. While they slit the throats of any soldier still living Kermode and Kane hauled a wooden chest from the back of the wagon.

  “Leave the armor,” Kermode told the archers already stripping the breast plates and helmets from the dead Romans. “Take only the short swords. The armor will only weigh you down.”

  The raiding party, led by Kermode and Kane, carried the chest out of the lowlands and into the hills and back up the mountain. It was close to evening when they arrived at Bradon’s camp.

  “Is this enough to fill your your cousin’s needs,” Kermode said as he opened the padlocks with the key he took from the dead driver of the wagon.

  “This will make Morvyn a happy man,” Bradon grinned. He ran his hands through piles of shimmering gold and silver coins. “I’ll see that Morvyn gets this right away.”

  “Wait,” Kermode said. “I want to be there when Morvyn is given the gold. And until then the gold doesn’t leave my sight.”

  Bradon remained silent for a few moments. He looked to his guards and he looked at the raiding party all armed with the Roman short sword.

  “Very well,” Bradon said. Kermode was relieved Bradon had chosen to agree to his terms. Under the circumstances Bradon’s personal guard, outnumbered and armed with stag horn staffs, may lose against metal swords. Bradon was smart enough to know this.

  “We will bring the gold to my cousin tomorrow,” Bradon said. “Does that suit you, Druid?”

  “I’d feel safer if your cousin came here to get the gold,” Kermode said. “Here, in the highlands, we are far from the long arm of Roman law. In the lowlands, we are always within its reach.”

  Bradon grinned. Kermode didn’t know what to make of this. Had he played into the cunning bandit leader’s hands? Would Morvyn arrive at the camp with enough men to take the gold by force? These questions would have to be answered. The bones of the future had been thrown. How they landed only time would tell.

  It took a day to get word to Morvyn and a day for Morvyn to send a party of warriors to Bradon’s camp. Kermode stood outside Bradon’s roundhouse and watched the men wearing chain mail tunics and long swords and conical helmets approaching through the clearing.

  Twenty-two

  Goodbye to Rome

  IN HIS PRIVATE chambers in the imperial senate, Emperor Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus sat behind a marble desk. His secretary placed a document on a mounting pile of paperwork. “And this is?” Claudius asked when he noticed the secretary place the document on the top of the stack.

  “An official request from a group of senators,” the secretary answered.

  “I’ll trade you this one for that one.” Claudius finished signing the document on the desk. “It’s official. This proclamation bans all Jews from the city of Rome.”

  “I’ll have this drafted and scribed into tablets.”

  “Very well,” Claudius shook his head. “It’s no secret that I stand against this declaration. I’m against passing any law without studying the far reaching consequences.”

  “The senators only speak for the populace and public opinion weighs heavily against the Jews at this moment.”

  “T-t-truth,” Claudius stammered. He got the word out before the saliva ran down his chin this time. Words beginning with the letter t and s had always brought his stuttering to the forefront.

  Claudius scanned the next document and read aloud the topic sentence, “‘It is in the interest of the general public to breathe new life into the gladiatorial contests by making the games more death oriented.’ So the people want to see more death, eh,” Claudius said. He continued reading. “The senator who drafted this request suggested a reform of the gladiator schools and an increase in public executions.”

  “I understand Emperor Claudius,” the secretary said.

  “And where are we t-t-to come by all these condemned criminals?”

  “If you read on you’ll see Flavius’ suggestion on the matter.”

  Claudius read to the section of the document suggesting that the public executions could be increased under a law legalizing the persecution of Christians.

  Claudius dismissed the secretary. He stamped the document with the official imperial seal and set it in a tray on the desktop. Claudius didn’t agree with the proposal but he wanted to show that he took the request seriously. His core beliefs were Republican and he would like to see Rome return to those days. He had to walk a fine line between the political influences tugging at him from all sides. Claudius knew that there was a possibility he could end up dead like is predecessor, his mad nephew, Caligula.

  Emperor Claudius drafted a proposal promising an investigation into the games, stamped it, then placed it with the original request.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  Confectarious sat with the other owners of the four combat schools. The Emperor’s secretary stood and unrolled a scroll. “From this day forward, all gladiator schools will be under the watchful eye of a reformation committee appointed by the emperor. This committee will investigate the practices of all fighting schools.”

  Confectarious and the other owners left the secretary’s office and returned to their schools. Confectarious relayed the message to his schoolmaster. The schoolmaster relayed the message to the group leaders.

  “What does this mean?” Durst asked the schoolmaster.

  “I’m not sure yet. I only know that all gladiator schools will fall under close scrutiny by the emperor.”

  “How will this investigation affect the training?” Durst pressed for an answer.

  “A good question,” the schoolmaster shook his head. “In all honesty all I can say is I don’t know.”

  Durst dropped the subject. Celer stepped forward. “It looks like the games will no longer be a well-practiced martial art and evolve into a slaughterhouse.”

  “Is that how you feel about all this, Celer?” Durst asked.

  “Those are my feelings.” Celer answered then turned and walked away.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  By decree of the emperor the weekly games were shut down during the investigation. Two months passed and the first games held since the investigation began were to take place. The stadium was packed with spectators.

  The first game pitted condemned criminals against starving lions shipped in from Africa. Armed only with a spear, each prisoner faced one animal. Some prisoners turned and ran only to be run down and mauled and eaten by the opposing lion. Some prisoners stood their ground and a few managed to set the tip of the spear into the lion before the beasts were able to tear them apart with their claws.

  The chariot races came next. Armed gladiators accompanied the drivers. As the chariots raced the drivers maneuvered into a position where the gladiators could hurl spears. The crowd cheered when a spear thrown impaled the driver of a chariot. The gladiator on the chariot jumped from the platform of the careening chariot drawing his short sword at t
he same time. He drove the tip of the sword up into the other gladiator’s crotch and twisted the blade.

  Trident fighters followed. The sand ran red with blood as one man died in every match.

  The Thracian knife fighters came last. The crowd cheered as the naked gladiators faced off. The cheers became a thundering roar as blood fountained from hacked off limbs.

  It didn’t take long for the deadly games to cull the best trained gladiators from the schools. “There will be death in the arena,” Celer said to Durst one day. “What was artistry will become butchery.”

  “What will you do?” Durst asked.

  “My time is coming. Gladiatorial combat will be replaced by murder on a large scale. And I don’t want to be a part of it.”

  “The question still stands?” Durst asked again.

  “I’m going to quit before I’m told to leave. I’ll probably go into private practice.”

  That was the last time Durst ever saw Celer.

  The exciting death matches only served to fuel the crowd’s desire for more gore and death. Gladiatorial combat had changed for good. Durst had gone from a healer to a messenger of death. It was his job to inform the gladiators in his group who would die and in what match.

  One day it fell upon Durst to inform a Celtic prisoner from Britannia that he would face death in the arena. Durst entered the cell of the prisoner. He was a young man. He looked up when Durst spoke to him in the tongue of the Britons.

  “Sativola of Brendon …” Durst scanned the ledger. “What crimes have you committed?” Durst asked the young man.

  “Do you mean what crimes have I been accused of?”

  “We can put it that way.”

  “I stand accused of being part of a rebellion against the Empire.” Sativola spit on the floor.

  “Do you know of Kermode the Druid and his wife Idellsa?” Durst blurted it out.

  “What is it to you?”

  “Curiosity … I suppose.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, Roman.” Sativola stood up from the bench. He was a full head taller than Durst.