by Henry Treece
The cave mouth was a narrow one, so low, in fact, that at first the horses were afraid to enter by it; though once they were inside, they seemed contented, and were soon grazing at the armful of grass which Gwydion brought in from the hillside lower down.
In a short while, the party were drying their wet clothes before the blaze and had regained something of their old spirits.
“If there were only anything to eat,” Gaius said, “this would be almost an enjoyable experience.”
His father regarded him solemnly. “When you grow up to become a legionary, you will have many nights such as these. I know, for I have endured them in Germany and Spain and even in Egypt. When you have a roof to your head, there is no food; and when there is food, you have to sleep out in a raging wind. A soldier never gets everything at one time— only bits and pieces, here and there, like scraps of meat flung to a dog!”
“Yet you love the soldier’s trade, sir,” said Gwydion’s mother, smiling.
“It is the only trade I know, madam,” said the centurion, becoming playfully formal, to echo the woman’s tone. “I have no doubt there are other trades almost as good, though I cannot conceive any profession being quite as worthwhile as that of a legionary in the Emperor’s Legions.”
Then he fell silent, for far down below he heard the sound of horses’ hooves and the shouting of a party of riders. He hung his cloak over the cave mouth, so that no shaft of light might strike across the rocks, to give warning of their presence. At last the sound of hooves fell away, and the party sat down again, about the fire, breathing more easily.
Later the boys went out and foraged for fuel. They brought back fir-cones and rushes, dry grass and dead wood—enough to last the night through. Then they all settled down to sleep, for, as the centurion said, since they were for the most part unarmed, there was little point in setting a watch. If they were found, it would be impossible to put up any lasting defence against such a superior number of pursuers. The logical thing was for them all to get a good night’s sleep if the gods would allow it, so that they might be fresh to ride again when dawn broke.
But for Gwydion, whose head was confused by the many impressions of that strange day, there was little sleep. He lay near the mouth of the cave, staring out at the stars now, and wondering what the morrow might have in store for them all. Occasionally he rose and fed the fire, so that the cave would not become chilly. Once or twice he went to talk to one of the horses, which was restless and kept beating with one of its hooves on the floor of the cave. At length, Gwydion saw the dawn rise, its pale saffron fingers slowly feeling across the wooded hills to the east, lighting up the sleeping world with ghostly rays, at once hopeful and yet melancholy.
Gwydion stood outside the cave and looked across that great forest which covered the land, almost to the plains on the eastern sea-board. It was a great, dark island, he thought, full of magic and of cruelty. Only here and there, along the hill ridges, did men till the land and build their comfortable houses. So much of Britain was a wilderness, where wild beasts roamed, and where men almost as wild as the beasts held their festivals of blood and suffering. Britain was a land of many peoples, not one, he thought; many peoples who had come to the island at different times since the rising of the first sun, each conquering those who had got there before, each treating the others as slaves, as sacrifices, as less than men.
As the boy speculated on the land of his birth, he began to wonder why the Romans had even bothered to come to Britain. What he had seen of Roman Gaul was good; it was a well-regulated land, with good roads, inns, and houses; a land where men paid their taxes in money, not in blood—and where, in return for those taxes, they were given something of value, the protection of the greatest army the world had ever known. Gwydion was at heart a serious boy who had thought a great deal about these things since he had first seen the Roman army in action. Had his father lived, it is probable that he would never have had the opportunity of comparing the life of the tribes with that lived by the citizens of Rome; but now that he had travelled, there was a doubt in his mind— the doubt that, after all, the Belgic way might not be the true way of life.
He was about to rouse the centurion, who had asked to be wakened at dawn, to tell him about these thoughts, when something happening in the valley below drove these ideas from his mind. He did indeed waken the centurion, but placed his hand over the man’s mouth before he did so, and then he led him outside without saying a word. Together the two looked down in consternation.
Perhaps half a mile below them, a line of men were beating the bracken with their spear-shafts, fanned out round the hill, and approaching the summit with gradual steps.
The centurion pulled Gwydion down behind a boulder, lest one of the men, looking up from his task, should sight them. “They must have been following our tracks in the soft road,” he said, “and have come back here when the tracks finished. I had not thought of that, in the darkness.”
Gwydion said, “These men are Silures, born hunters. They go as much on tracks as a dog does on the nose. No doubt they have circled the hill, and are working up it from the road side too.”
The centurion said, “If they are, they will soon be here, for there is little cover on that side for them to search. There is no time to lose now. Waken your mother and Gaius, and I will follow and lead out the horses.”
Gwydion did as he was bid, and then, with no thought of food or drink, no thought indeed of anything but escape, they mounted in the shelter of the boulders and began to ride down the hillside, towards the road, Gwydion and Gaius once more sharing a horse.
As their horses’ hooves clattered on the stones, the beaters near the road looked up and saw them. Some ran for their horses, which were tethered a few hundred yards away, in a coppice, while the others stood their ground, on foot, raising their javelins threateningly.
The centurion set his horses’ head at the point where the line was thinnest, and clapped his heels to the beast’s sides. Then the party rode down, through the thin bracken, shouting, and so hoping to intimidate their enemies.
The boys saw the dark, painted faces coming towards them, grinning horribly, and then a javelin flashed towards them, twisting in the first sunlight as it whistled through the air. They lowered their heads, and turned away from the weapon. The gods must have been on their side, for it swerved in the air, caught by the breeze that rushed down the hillside with the dawn, and missed them narrowly, burying itself deep in the flinty soil behind them.
Gwydion looked back to see a feathered warrior run at his mother and take her bridle strongly in both hands, dragging down on the struggling horse to bring her to a stop. Then the centurion was on him, reining back his big horse so that it towered above the dark head of the tribesman. Gwydion turned away as the heavy hooves came down and the man shrieked and tumbled in the bracken, writhing.
Then they were through the line and out on to the road again. Yet behind them came the sound of pursuing hooves once more, and now the boys knew that their enemies would have no mercy.
Now all but Gwydion had slept well that night, and they were fresh, as their horses were; while their attackers had spent much of the night seeking them, and already flagged a little.
Then Gwydion saw his mother do a strange thing; she suddenly stood in her stirrups, for she rode in the manner of Belgic women, and tore off her cloak, flinging it behind her into the road. Then she flung away her heavy sheepskin jacket, so as to ride lightly.
Gwydion smiled at this, even though death rode at their heels, for it meant that his mother was casting off the caution of her long domestic years, and remembering that once she, too, had ridden to the hunt, like all Celtic girls, and had even taken on the boys in mock jousts with ash staves. He called back, “Hail, Mother of Warriors!” but his mother only made a wry face at him, and then galloped on.
2. “CONSIDER YOURSELVES UNDER ARREST”
By the time the sun was rising in the heavens, they had shaken off the greater number
of their pursuers; though three Silures rode well ahead of their fellows, each one being anxious, it seemed, to take the first prisoner. The centurion shouted back to them once that he would give battle to any two of them if they would let his friends go free, but they only laughed at him, and one of them swung a sling in the air, from the saddle, his missile narrowly missing the Roman. Then the centurion rode alongside the boys and shouted that he had a mind to stay back and grapple with two of them, and hope to throw them to the ground, so impeding the attack for a while. But Gaius swore that if his father did this, he too would stay behind, for it was his turn to try what combat felt like. His father told him that he was an obstinate Roman wolf-cub, blood-brother to Romulus and Remus, and that when he got him home he would thrash him for disobeying his father. Then, with a grim smile, the centurion fell back to protect the rear of the party and the chase continued.
Soon they came to a stretch of the road where the woodland encroached on the man-made highway, as though Nature were taking her revenge on man’s impertinence. As they broke through the screen of trees and bushes, they saw before them, to the right, a dried-up stream-bed, which seemed to lead between the hills, and to become a gully. Almost without thought, Gwydion reined his horse into the cleft, to be followed immediately by his mother and the
centurion. The Roman was shouting, “That was a mistake, my friend, but we must keep together now!”
And indeed, as they went further, Gwydion saw how right the older man had been, for now on either side the walls of the gully closed them in. If an enemy could keep abreast of them, on the higher level, he would find it relatively easy to pick them off with arrows since their opportunities for evasive action below were so restricted.
Ahead of them, and to the left again, stretched the hillside, covered with woodland. If they could reach that spot, then they might yet find a more suitable bolt-hole; but as yet it was the best part of a mile away, and already they heard their enemies approaching behind them.
Then a shout from above them caused them to look up, and they saw what they had feared; the Silurians, spaced out now as they outdid each other in the chase, silhouetted against the morning sky, already drawing their bows as they rode, their reins flying loose.
The first flight of arrows rattled on the cliff wall beside them; but of the next swarm, one shaft struck Gaius in the shoulder, so that he reeled behind Gwydion and had to grip tight round his friend’s waist to keep himself from falling, with the shock of pain. The centurion, seeing what had happened, rode alongside and broke off the shaft, which
projected on. both sides of the lad’s shoulder. So he drew out the barb, and then rode beside Gwydion, supporting the swaying body of his son.
As he did this, there was a shout from the pursuers above, for they were warriors themselves and respected courage in others. They did not use their bows again, but contented themselves with sending stones from their slings from time to time, in an attempt to wound not the riders, but their horses.
Now, it seemed, their enemies were confident. Glancing back, Gwydion saw that the other half of the attacking force was riding behind them up the dry gully, so cutting off their chance of doubling on their tracks and making their way out to the road again. It seemed that this was the end of the journey, when suddenly the centurion said, ‘Took ahead, there is a tongue of rock that enters the gully. If we can swerve on to it, we can remount the hillside on the opposite side from them, keeping the river-bed between us. Then we might gain the woods!”
He called back this plan to Gwydion’s mother, whose face was now drawn and tired, and who rode her mount as though she might fall at any moment from sheer exhaustion.
At last the narrow step of rock came towards them, and, almost without reining in, Gwydion turned on to it. His horse stumbled for a moment, under its heavy load, and then regained its footing and was breasting the rocky slope. The centurion stayed to the last, and then, amid a hail of angry sling-shots from the disappointed Silures, he joined them in the struggle up the slope.
But the tired, wounded party never entered that inviting wood; nor did they wish to when they had reached higher levels of the hill, for they found that a narrow road ran along its summit, and as they gasped for their breath and almost came near to moaning from the cruel exertion of their ride, a party of men appeared on that road, marching out from beyond the shadow of the trees in perfect order, singing a rough soldiers’ lilt as they went, their pikes set jauntily across their armoured shoulders, their round Roman helmets dangling from the shafts of their pikes, their water-bottles rattling on their long shields, which were slung from their backs. Gracchus looked at them with a strange expression of ecstasy, then leaping from his weary horse, he began to run towards them, singing and shouting all in one breath, calling them brothers and giving his official titles and rank.
The singing of the company of legionaries stopped abruptly. A grey-haired officer who rode at the rear of the men trotted up on his lithe Barbary horse, shouting an order. A dozen pikemen rushed forward, unslinging helmet and javelin as they went. Gwydion, looking down the hill, saw the Silurians halt and draw back, then he felt Gaius’ hands relax, and turned in time to prevent the boy from falling in a faint to the rocks. At the same moment, their pony, who had borne them both bravely over many cruel miles, gave a deep sigh and sank to his knees beneath them. The two boys rolled slowly among the stones, Gwydion doing his best to keep his friend’s wounded shoulder from striking on the sharp flints.
When he rose, the Silurians were in flight, bending round as they galloped, to shoot their last defiant but futile arrows towards the Romans on the hill. Gracchus was talking to the commander, who was shaking his head gravely, as though in some doubt. Gwydion’s mother had dismounted from her horse and was bending stiffly over Gaius, to whose cheeks a little colour was at last returning.
The centurion said to the officer, “But I assure you, sir, that is the situation. It will be confirmed from my record, which has always been a good one. I beg you to believe me. I speak on the honour of a centurion, a true Roman, who has never once even thought of betraying his country.”
The officer nodded, dispassionately. “That will be decided,” he said, “when we reach headquarters. In the meantime, you are all to consider yourselves under arrest.”
Gwydion said to a legionary who was hanging his helmet back on his javelin, “Where is headquarters, Roman?”
The man scratched his cropped black head. “Up there,” he said, jerking back his calloused thumb. “I can’t rightly recall the name. It’s one of those barbarian names, you know. But one place is the same as any other place to a soldier, lad! You’ll be all right there, have no fear; the commandant has been in Britain so long, why, he looks like a Briton!”
Then with soldiers on either side of them, Gracchus and Gwydion began to march back towards Vricon. His mother and Gaius were allowed a place in the baggage-wagon, where the wounded boy fell into a troubled sleep, for by now his wound was becoming inflamed, though the company surgeon, who also rode in the wagon, assured them that it was not a poisoned wound.
“And that is something to thank the gods for,” he said. “It is not often that a Silurian shoots an arrow unless he has made sure first! They are not pleasant fighters. They use too much of that foxglove juice on their edged weapons for my liking. I’d rather deal with a straight slash any day than a mere prick that has been doctored by those black-faced cannibals!”
In the end, Gwydion’s mother told the doctor to be quiet as he was rattling on too much and disturbing the boy. The doctor was very hurt for a time, but at last swallowed his pride and said that if he had such a woman as a nurse at his headquarters hospital, he would get promotion to Major before the year was out.
“Perhaps said Gwydion’s mother, “You’d also get used to working with a gag in your mouth, my man!”
After which the surgeon hardly spoke a word until they came in sight of the camp fires, late that evening.
3. ROMAN JUS
TICE
That night Gwydion and his mother sat on a hard wooden bench, aching in every limb from their journey, in the anteroom of the Roman commandant. Gaius was sleeping peacefully now in their own tent, tended by a young doctor who bad been taken by the boy’s bravery when the wound was burned to drive out the fever in it. “He will heal perfectly,” he said. “Within a week, why, this game young hawk will hardly know that he was ever nicked by a tribesman’s arrow. Rest assured, madam, this one will live to fight for Rome; have no fear.”
So she and Gwydion were taken under escort to wait in the bare anteroom, until the commandant called them in for questioning. Gracchus had been marched in under strong guard, and they had even taken the precaution of manacling his wrists, since he was apparently a strongman, and one who might break out and do the commandant an injury under questioning.
Now they waited, wondering what was about to happen; wondering whether life had indeed been as kind as they had thought, when it allowed them to stumble into that squad of legionaries on the top of the, rocky hill.
Gwydion said to his mother, “What will happen to us, mother?”
She shrugged her shoulders and said, “If they think we are spies they may execute us. If they think we are merely stray followers of Caratacus, they will make us slaves. If they believe us and come to accept our word that we are true Belgae, well, who knows, they may even set us free—to wander back to our own territory and starve there!”
Gwydion looked up at his mother to see whether she was joking, but her face was set, and he knew then that she meant every word she had said.
He was silent for a while; then he began to question her again, but she cut him short. “Gwydion, son,” she said, “What happens to us is hardly important. We are a defeated race, and we must understand that. But what happens to good Gracchus is another matter. He is a faithful soldier of the Empire, and should they accuse him of being a deserter, as it seems they intend to do, then they would be killing an innocent man.”