“Follow me,” Buffy said quietly, and they crept forward. Giles fell back, making sure Willow continued to walk.
“It was stupid not to wear modern clothes,” he cursed, putting an arm around Willow. She remained silent.
Slowly they crept closer and closer to the fire, pausing often and stepping on pockets of sodden leaves to muffle their approach. Now the shoreline came into view, and Buffy’s eyes filled with Roman legionnaires. Five bonfires blazed, embers floating up into the night sky. Dozens of battle horses paced and whinnied. More than fifty boats bobbed on the water, tied to other boats that had been dragged up onto shore. The men paced, talked, checked weaponry, and gazed across at the island. It was clearly a massive military operation.
“Oh, dear,” Giles gasped.
“Not ‘oh, dear’ again, Giles. Stop it with the ‘oh, dear.’ What is it?”
“It seems we’ve landed at a most inopportune time,” he whispered, drawing up next to her.
“These guys?” she asked, hooking her thumb at the soldiers.
“Yes. These guys. They must be the troops of Suetonius Paulinus.”
“Sweet on us what?” Xander asked.
“Suetonius Paulinus,” Giles corrected. “We’ve arrived on the same day that the Romans launched their largest, most destructive campaign against the Isle of Anglesey. Thousands of Druids were butchered or burned alive with their own torches.”
Buffy stood speechless, gazing at the soldiers, then at the dark shape of the island across the strait.
“It looks like they’re ready to launch the invasion within the hour,” Giles went on. “They’d attack at night, of course.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes at the shadowy island and could now see the faint flicker of firelight among the distant trees there.
“Wait, wait,” Xander whispered. “So you’re saying that we have to get over to that island while the Druids are made into crispy hash browns by the Romans?”
“It’s highly likely,” Giles told him. “We will have to steal a boat and arrive there at the same time as the invasion force. It’s just the kind of chaotic cover we need.”
Xander lifted his hand in protest. “Hold on, hold on. I am not going to steal a boat from a bunch of pumped-up Roman centurions.”
“You don’t have to,” Buffy said. “I will.” She eyed the bank, selecting the most shadowed part at the edge of the fires. Three boats floated away from the rest, tied to wooden posts in the ground.
“From what I remember reading about the invasion, some of the Roman soldiers forded the strait by swimming,” said Giles.
Buffy looked poignantly at Willow, who still said nothing, staring down mutely at the ground. “But we can’t do that, Giles. Willow can’t get any wetter. We need to find her a fire. And those Druid fires across the way are going to have to suffice.”
“We’ll need to make them understand that we’re here to help,” Giles reminded her. “That may prove difficult.”
“I’ll leave that up to you, Mr. Linguist,” Buffy said. “Now I’m boat bound. Wait here.” She turned around a moment later. “Any chance my stealing these boats will mess up the future time line?” she whispered back.
Giles shrugged.
Not the usual Watcher prowess. She looked at Willow and realized that she had little choice. They couldn’t swim, and every moment they spent dawdling here gave the vampires an advantage. With some soldiers swimming the strait, Buffy hoped the loss of one boat wouldn’t alter the future too much.
She slunk off into the shadows, angling to emerge on the shore right next to the three boats. The men talked and laughed with one another, sometimes gesturing toward the island and exclaiming with upraised fists. Buffy couldn’t understand a word of what they said. Giles would know, though. She crept forward slowly, a step or two at a time, pausing frequently to check the men, making sure none of them had turned her way or reacted to any noise she made.
Her shoulders and legs ached as she crouched and moved along. She thought of ditching the cloak, but wondered if she’d need it later. She kept it on just in case. Now she was only fifty or so feet from the boats and had to leave the quiet of the destroyed forest floor. The sandy beach stretched out before her, and she was grateful that the sand would absorb most sound from her movement. With the assistance of the din of Roman chatter and crackling from the bonfires, she stepped out onto the beach undetected, keeping just outside the edge of the firelight. Ahead lay the boats, now only thirty feet away. She moved more quickly now, glancing down the beach for an escape route in case they saw her. She’d lead them away from the others, down the beach, then cut into the forest again and hopefully ditch them.
But they hadn’t spotted her yet, and now she was only ten feet from the boats. She eyed the stake and rope that lashed them to the shore. Buffy paused, glancing at the soldiers again. They continued to talk, poke at the fire, and check on their horses. They milled around restlessly, obviously awaiting orders to move.
Buffy reached the stake and silently untied the rope that lashed together the three boats. She walked a few feet to her left, pulling on the boats, hoping they floated free in the water and would be easy to tow. But they resisted, and she knew at least one of them was securely pulled up onto the shore. She turned to creep toward them, rope in hand, then stopped and pulled the wooden stake out of the ground and pocketed it. Could come in handy, and the Romans would be more likely to notice an unused stake.
Glancing at the soldiers again, she made sure they still took no notice of her. Then she reached the boats. Only one lay beached. The other two floated freely, bound to the first. She placed her hands on the cold, wet wood of the first and began to push it out into the water. It moved easily, and relief swept over her.
But just as it hit the water, it screeched on a rock and splashed loudly into the strait. Instantly the group of soldiers turned to her location, peering intently into the darkness. Then three of them took off toward her, shouting.
She had only seconds before they reached her. She leaped into the boat, teetered, and almost went overboard. Ducking down abruptly, she felt around in the bottom of the boat for an oar. Her hands closed around wet wood and she brought the paddle up just as the first soldier reached her. As he plunged into the water to stop her, she hit him hard across the face with the oar, knocking him flat onto his back. His friends reached him then, pulling his unconscious form out of the water.
Buffy thrust the paddle into the water and pushed off the bottom. Then she stroked with all her strength as the two other soldiers splashed out into the water in pursuit. One of them grabbed the edge of the boat just as she swung it around, and she stood up and slammed the hard edge of the paddle down onto his hand. He withdrew his fingers sharply, crying out in pain.
She began to paddle again frantically, gaining distance as the third soldier made a grab for one of the two boats she towed. She paddled farther out into the strait, alarmed to see a growing group of soldiers running to the assistance of the first three.
Now the third soldier grabbed solidly onto one of the towed boats. He threw one dripping leg over the side, then the other one, and he was inside the boat. Buffy continued to paddle, more interested in gaining distance between her and the growing mass of soldiers. She rowed hard, throwing her Slayer strength into it. She glanced over her shoulder. The Roman soldier in the other boat was reeling himself into her boat with the tow cable. He was only a few feet away. Buffy turned in her seat, raised the paddle, and sideswiped him over the edge.
He landed with a loud splash, and she returned to rowing. Now she looked back to the firelit shore and saw two soldiers getting into boats to pursue her. If more followed, she didn’t know how she’d fight them all at once. She glanced along the beach in the direction where Giles and the others were and realized she’d lost her place. How far had she rowed? Was she past their location?
She turned and scanned the shore, then the banks of the island, looking for something familiar, something she had se
en earlier and could use as a landmark. But the island was just a dark mass, with no detail at all except for the brief flickers of distant firelight.
She stopped rowing momentarily to check the progress of the pursuing Roman soldiers, a moment she dreaded. But they hadn’t left the shore. They stood riveted to a spot on the beach. A man in gleaming armor stood before them, a red cape slung over one shoulder. He shouted at them angrily, then waved dismissively in Buffy’s direction. The two soldiers climbed out of the boats and returned to the shore obediently.
Buffy turned and rowed a little farther, angling back toward the shore. She untied the other two boats, setting them adrift.
As she neared the shore, she heard Giles’s voice whispering her name.
She rowed up onto the beach and stepped out of the boat to pull it onto the sand. “Over here!” she called, careful to keep her voice low.
Slowly three shapes materialized out of the gloom.
Giles walked with his arm around Willow, who stared at the ground.
“I got us a boat.”
“I see that. Great work.”
“Who was that guy on the beach in the cloak?” she asked.
“I believe it was Suetonius Paulinus himself, though I don’t really know what he looked like.”
“What did he say to them?”
“He told them not to waste their energy avenging a petty theft. They had to concentrate on the invasion.”
“So this is the night,” Xander said nervously. “And here I was hoping to make it to eighteen.”
“You will,” Buffy assured him. She studied Willow. “Willow?”
No response.
“We tried already. She’s going into hypothermic shock,” Giles told her.
“Then we need to leave now and get to a fire,” Buffy said, taking Willow by the hand.
Together they moved toward the lapping water, steeling themselves for the boat trip. They were about to enter the stronghold of Druidism on the brink of invasion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The boat glided silently toward the island, with Buffy’s paddle making the only noise as it dipped into the water with each stroke. Xander found another paddle in the bottom of the boat and helped her make progress across the strait. She fought back the feeling of desperation struggling to rise inside her. Even now, the vampires could be killing the Druidic Slayer. They had to get across to the island fast.
The tide was moving out, making their progress easier, bringing them closer and closer to Anglesey. No doubt the Romans had the same plan. Buffy didn’t know how long they had before Suetonius Paulinus attacked.
“Druids,” Xander said thoughtfully. “Druids.” He looked up at Giles as he rowed. “They’re the ones who like trees.”
“Yes, Xander, they like trees,” Giles answered.
“And they built Stonehenge?”
“Well, actually, no, though they likely used it as a place of worship.”
Xander’s eyes widened. “Worship, yeah! Aren’t they also the ones who commit ritual human sacrifice? I knew they were on my list of people I never wanted to meet.”
Giles shook his head slightly. “Many ancient cultures practiced human sacrifice. The Maya, the Aztec—it was considered of vital importance. Besides, archaeological finds have produced many animal bones, but evidence for human sacrifice is far more scant on Anglesey.”
“Scant? What about that guy they found a few years back? The one in the bog?” He dipped his oar in the water, propelling them forward.
“Lindow Man?” Giles offered.
Xander pointed his finger at him adamantly. “Yes. Lindow Man. Those bogs are bristling with bodies like that. Wasn’t that guy ritually murdered in more than one way?”
“Three, to be exact. Bludgeoned, strangled, and throat cut. Plus, he was thrown into the bog, so that could count as four. Though he was likely already dead at that point, so you might not want to count drowning. Three was a sacred number to the Celtic peoples.”
“Four different ways! Four! And he was one of their own, wasn’t he? A priest? I’d hate to see how they treat people they don’t like.” He realized he’d stopped rowing and resumed.
“Many religious groups throughout antiquity believed self-sacrifice to be quite noble,” Giles explained.
“Maybe, but I seriously doubt the guy killed himself four different ways. That would be a bit challenging.” Xander’s voice rose. “What if they don’t take kindly to us just barging in?”
“Lindow Man was found in England,” Giles told him. “This is Wales.”
“Oh, and you think they’re kinder, gentler human sacrificers over here? You don’t think Mr. English Druid and Mr. Welsh Druid get together for tea and chat about the latest guy they killed four times?”
“Well, I hardly think—,” Giles started, but he was cut off.
“When was this guy killed?” Xander pressed.
Giles hedged a bit. Took off his glasses. “Well, archaeologists estimate that he was killed around 60 C.E.”
“60 C.E.! That year sounds familiar.”
“Well, yes. But as I said before, Lindow Man was killed in England.”
Xander paused, getting more and more worked up. “What if I’m Lindow Man?” he said at last.
“What on earth?” Giles asked, exasperated.
“What if the guy who was supposed to be Lindow Man changed places with me, and I am the one destined to be sacrificed. They could drag me over to England and bang.”
“Bang?” Giles repeated. “Yes, I see. Well, that’s hardly the case, because you’re here now, aren’t you?”
“Well …,” Xander assented, “I guess so. But time travel is wrought with paradox, my friend. Wrought.” He watched a dark vortex whirl in the wake of his paddle.
“Boys,” Buffy hissed through clenched teeth, “being quiet is an important part of sneaking.”
“Oh, sorry,” Xander said, reducing his voice to a whisper.
“Besides, ritual sacrifice is a religious rite,” Giles went on quietly. “They wouldn’t sacrifice just anyone at random. It’s far more likely they’d suspect you of being a Roman spy scouting for the invasion and just outright kill you.”
“Oh, great! Great! Way to be encouraging, Giles. And I suppose you’ll just watch that happen, in your Watchery way.”
“Shhhh!” Buffy told them again. “We’re getting closer.”
Scanning along the shore, she saw one section that lay relatively dark. No fires flickered between the branches. She pointed silently toward the area, nodding at Xander. He nodded back and helped her steer the boat in that direction. As they glided through the dark waters, the smell of salty sea air filling her nose, Buffy felt the blood thrumming in her ears. She didn’t know what to expect once she was over there.
She hoped they’d be friendly, and that the few phrases Giles had learned would get their point across.
In the center of the boat, Giles sat with Willow, vigorously rubbing her arms in an effort to warm her up. Buffy put more strength into paddling, eager to get to a fire and to reach the Druidic Slayer before the vampires did—if she wasn’t too late already. Images of the Slayer lying bleeding on the shore came unbidden into her head. She pushed the negative thoughts away.
As the shore came into view, Buffy saw a thick, dark grouping of trees—an excellent place to land in stealth. They were almost to the beach when Willow suddenly stood up, rocking the boat violently. For a second Buffy thought they were all going over, and she dug her paddle down, hoping to touch bottom. She did, and stilled the boat’s motion.
“Will?” Buffy asked, turning in her seat to look at her friend.
Willow stared down at her with absolute hatred. “Shut up!” she yelled. “I don’t want to hear a word from you!” Her voice thundered in the quiet of the night. Buffy didn’t know her friend could yell so loudly, or sound so full of venom. Willow shrugged off her cloak as Giles tugged gently on it, urging her to sit back down. She reeled on him. “And you!” she shout
ed. “You thought I wouldn’t figure out what you’ve been planning? You lured me out here to kill me!”
Xander leaned forward, pulling his oar up out of the water. “Will,” he urged. “Please keep your voice down.” He peered nervously at the shore.
“I will not!” she shouted. “You’re all trying to kill me! Well, I won’t let you!”
Before Buffy could lunge forward, Willow leaped overboard, landing with a splash in the dark water. Though it was shallow, she tumbled forward and was completely submerged. She struggled, emerged, then managed to stand up. Without a glance back at the boat, she started splashing toward the shore.
“Giles?” Buffy asked, bewildered and scared that the Druids would suddenly learn of their presence.
“Hypothermia. It’s one of the stages—delirium.”
Buffy instantly began to row again, closing the last few feet to shore. Xander got into a crouching position, then jumped out and pulled the boat up on the beach.
As Buffy climbed out, she caught the briefest glimpse of Willow disappearing into the trees. Buffy moved forward silently, trying to follow, but a tree branch snagged on her cloak. She disentangled herself and moved forward again. She tripped on a root and went down hard on her hands, plunging into the cold mud and scratching her palm on a sharp rock.
She stood up, searching for a hint of Willow in the trees, but saw nothing but darkness up ahead. She crept forward again, this time checking her footing as she went. Behind her Giles and Xander cursed and crashed through the underbrush, making too much noise.
She turned to shush them but discovered they weren’t there. Alarmed, she scanned the trees nervously. Where had they gone? And what had been making the crashing noise, then? Behind her lay only forest. She couldn’t even see the shore, though she was sure she’d only progressed twenty or so feet.
“Giles!” she whispered.
No response.
“Xander, where are you guys?”
The wind sighed in the branches above.
She turned and pushed forward again, determined to find Willow and then plead with the Druids for a fire, even if she had to use English or draw stick figures in the mud of a shivering person and a warming fire.
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