by Griff Hosker
The Fist also smiled grimly. The druids had not prevented the Roman legionaries from sacking and desecrating the holy groves of Mona and they had failed again here. For himself little had changed. He still had his plunder and he might be in an even better position as the locals had suddenly become poorer. He could not see them being able to afford more weapons but perhaps the Witch Queen had secret funds.
On The Swan, Julius came over to Marcus to ask the question no-one else dared ask. “Where is Macro?”
“We were separated in the citadel and cut of by the fire. I didn’t see him but he will have escaped. You know Macro, there is no man on earth who can hurt him. It was dark and there was confusion. I believe he will have escaped.”
“If he wanted to.”
Marcus looked in anguish at the Legate who had voiced his own fears. “No, he wanted to live, if only to kill him.” Marcus pointed at the leaders who had kept well out of bolt range. “If he were still on the island then we would see him for he would be trying to kill Faolan. He will come to us.”
Hercules, who was standing nearby with an arm around a tearful Furax, looked up at the sails. “We can potter around here for an hour or so.” He pointed at the shore. “They can’t hurt us and the gentle wind will just keep us steady. When the tide turns then so will the wind and we will have to leave. I can give your brother an hour or two.”
Marcus’ face filled with gratitude. “Thank you Hercules.”
Julius shrugged in surrender. “I had better go and tell our companions that we are going to potter around here for a while.” He shook his head in wonder. “I cannot believe that potter is a nautical term.”
Sniffing Hercules said, “Does the job doesn’t it?”
The three ships sailed across the bay from east to west and back again. The barbarians who lined the shore wondered why? Did it presage a new and larger invasion? Were the ships coming back? On board the three ships there was an unbearable atmosphere as the tension could almost be seen and touched. All wanted Macro to return to the ala but none could, realistically, see him being able to do so. The only ones who really thought that he might return were Furax and Marcus. The others who knew him well, Julius, Cassius and Rufius thought that he had had the death wish and was now with the Allfather.
“Captain, can I go up the mast? I’ll be able to see further.”
As Hercules nodded Marcus whispered his silent gratitude. The slippery climber quickly made the top and, with his legs wrapped around the cross braces, peered earnestly to the shore. He had not been there long when he shouted, “I can see him! Marcus he is there! He is heading for a boat and there are men chasing him!”
Without needing a word Hercules threw the helm over and then looked up to see if Furax had held on. Rufius and Marcus grabbed their bows as did the others. The two biremes saw them head inshore and by backing one bank and rowing with the other, turned in their own length and headed back in to give the unarmed trader much needed support. The first bolt flew over the surprised head of the first warrior but the second scored a hit. It was now a race to see who had the nerve and the will to get to Macro first.
******
“So my son. I might have known that you would have had a hand in this. As always you and your father both have an unhappy knack of spoiling my plans but this time the Mother has led you to me, here where I rule, not Rome and here you shall die.”
Holding his sword before him he advanced towards his mother. She was framed by the fire and her whole body seemed to glow with the blue and red flames dancing around her silhouetted body. Perhaps she had put something in the fire to burn that way but the effect was eerie. He kept his dagger in his left hand as he approached her for he knew that she was like a snake and could strike in many ways. He did not fear her magic but he feared the animal cunning of the woman who had borne him. He had faced many men in combat but his mother had a calmness about her which was disconcerting. She did not seem afraid and yet Macro knew that, even if she moved to escape he could throw his knife and kill her instantly for they were barely five paces apart. Every part of him was tense as he edged forward.
“Your men killed Gaius, my father, and you will die here in your sanctuary and then I will kill the leader of those men, Faolan, and finally I will rid the world of others such as you, wicked evil women who do not deserve to live.”
“What a confident little cockerel you are and what a pity that you will not see the face of the one who slays you.”
Macro caught a tiny movement in Morwenna’s eye and knew that there was someone behind him. He reversed his dagger and stabbed it upwards feeling the crunch as it slid through bones to strike a vulnerable part of someone’s body.
“Brynna!”
Just then he felt a sharp prick in his back and he half turned to see Morwenna’s daughter sliding dead to the floor and the dagger sticking in his thigh. He sensed movement and turned as Morwenna, eyes wide and snarling like a wild beast launched herself at him, her long nails like talons seeking his eyes. The pain in his thigh was bearable and, as he swivelled to the side he plunged his sword upwards ripping open his mother’s stomach. She gave an ethereal scream which echoed throughout the settlement and fell backwards, her hands desperately trying to put her entrails back inside. She was in a pain such as she had never borne and she could not believe that the beast she had spawned had killed her. Her eyes lit up as she saw him standing over her and she gave a smile. “You are your mother’s son and you have killed not only your mother but your half sister, will the Allfather welcome you now?”
Taking the knife from his wound and sticking it into his belt with his own, Macro went a little closer. “I am not ready to meet the Allfather yet for I have other monsters to kill.”
The smile was now even more cruel than it had been, “But you are dying. Come kiss your mother and we will die together.”
Sickened by her twisted words and fearing her poison both literal and metaphorical he took his sword and crying, “Rot in Hades you evil witch.” With a mighty two handed blow from his sword he chopped off her head and ran from the hut. When he emerged he saw that the cries had been heard by others and men were running from the knoll and the jetty towards him. Despite the sharp pain in his leg he was able to run faster than they and he sprinted towards the beach and the boat. His heart soared as he saw The Swan and the biremes. He had not been abandoned. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that they were closing. His legs did not seem to want to run, neither of them. He could feel himself sweating and he suddenly felt sick. He tightened his grip on his sword and ran as hard as he could. The boat was but ten paces away. He was aware of bolts and arrows flying above him and he felt, in a detached sort of way, that he had trained all those men to be such accurate shots. He threw himself and his mother’s decapitated head into the boat, his weight and the momentum carrying it into the surf. He found that he couldn’t move very well and he put his arms over the prow to paddle. As darkness descended upon him he heard a voice, seemingly far away, shouting, “ Macro!”
Chapter 17
When Macro opened his eyes he found himself staring up at his brother, Furax and Rufius. “You gave us a scare, are you wounded?”
“Aye, the daughter of the bitch Morwenna stabbed me in the leg with a knife. It is just a scratch but I must be more tired than I thought for it is hard to lift my arms and my eyes feel heavy.”
Marcus looked in terror at Rufius who turned and shouted, “Sextus!” The capsarius came with his bag of tools and herbs. “Stabbed in the leg but he feels sleepy and finds it hard to move.”
“Roll him over.” Sextus could see where the blade had entered and he took his knife and cut the cloth completely open to reveal the bare leg. “It looks like a shallow wound.” He put a handful of spider’s webs on it and doused it with vinegar. “This will stop the bleeding and stop it becoming dirty.” Macro barely murmured. Sextus turned him over. “Who did this to you?”
Macro was about to ask why the stupid question when R
ufius restrained him. “The witch’s daughter with ….” He feebly tried to take the sharp blade from his belt but could not.
It was easily recognisable as being alien to Macro and Sextus pulled it carefully from the belt. He sniffed it and then recoiled. Putting it on the deck he said, “No-one is to touch it. Furax fetch some water.” The water appeared as though by magic. Pouring a small amount in his beaker the capsarius added some charcoal and mixed it well. He lifted Macro’s head and said, “Drink.” Macro opened his eyes and looked confused. Sextus said, sadly and slowly, “You have been poisoned. The blade was covered in it.” Macro drank. He coughed and he spluttered but he kept most of it down. As Sextus rose he caught the eye of Marcus and shook his head. Knowing the capsarius to be the best in the ala Marcus did not doubt his judgement but, as he fought back the tears he hoped that he was wrong. The charcoal would not be an antidote but would slow down the effects, the brothers would have time for a goodbye, that was all.
Macro opened his eyes. “I always said that there was no man who could ever defeat me. Perhaps I should have avoided women.” He attempted a laugh but it came out as a mirthless grin.
“Sextus might be wrong brother. The charcoal might work. It did when Marcus was poisoned by the witch.”
“No, I can feel the life force leaving me. Tell our brother that I am sorry I was not able to see our nephew grow into a warrior and tell Ailis… tell Mother that I love her and I am sorry that I was not able to avenge our father.”
The two brothers hugged and Rufius looked away. Furax, tears streaming down his face, hugged Hercules as tightly as he could.
“You will be with him soon and the Allfather. Here is your sword.”
Macro shook his head. “No brother, I have killed my mother and my half sister. I will not be welcome in the hall of the Allfather until I have atoned. I will become a death shadow and watch over you brother until I can save your life, until then I will wander the wind.”
“No Macro! Take your sword. You have done many fine deeds and the Allfather will welcome you.”
They could all see the life force leaving the brave trooper but he forced his eyes open and whispered, “But I am not ready yet to meet the Allfather and my fathers. I will be the spirit of the sword and when you fight I will be there with you. Take out the blade.”
Almost mesmerised by the words Marcus slid out the Sword of Cartimandua. Macro grabbed hold of the razor sharp blade so tightly that he sliced through his fingers and blood gushed down the blade of the mystical sword then with a sigh and a smile he lay back on the bloodstained deck and died.
The only sounds which could be heard for a while were the crack of canvas, the surge of water at the bow and the almost silent sobs of Furax. Almost everyone jumped when the hawk, miles away from its home gave a cry as it plunged down on to the petrel. Everyone but Marcus and Julius gave the sign against evil, but the brother and the mentor were in no doubt that Macro’s spirit was but a little way above their heads. They had all witnessed the most damning and tying of blood oaths, the oath of the death shadow.
******
The headless corpse of the Witch Queen and her daughter terrified both the druids and the warriors. It was unheard of for two of the high priestesses to be slaughtered in such a way and ,for the head to be taken, was an outrage which demanded revenge. Morwenna could not join the Mother until her body was whole. Someone would have to fetch it back. They all knew that it had been taken aboard the Roman ship for the hunters had watched as it was taken with the body of the killer. The ship was identified and would help them to find those responsible for this outrage.
Faolan felt at a total loss. He had, selfishly, counted on the money from Morwenna to finance his coup. Although never stated openly he had felt there was an agreement. He might just as well have stayed at home and had Corentine murdered. He had lost most of his oathsworn and was left with mercenaries and fortune hunters. As they all stood around the body wondering who would take charge the door of the hut was thrown open and there, in the light of the sunset, framed in red stood a red headed younger version of Morwenna.
The druids almost fell to their knees in relief. “Caronwyn!”
Her eyes narrowed as she fixed a glare of unbelievable hate upon all those in the room. Each one quailed before it. The Fist was the one who held her look the longest before he too looked away. “My Mother came here for protection and yet you, her warriors, her priests and her protectors could not save her from one warrior.” She looked down at her sister’s body and felt a shiver of anger run through her body. “Do you, at least, have the killer?”
They all looked at the floor in silence. The only one with the courage of words was The Fist. “It was her son, Macro but I think your sister hurt him.”
Suddenly animated she rounded on the deserter. “What makes you say that?”
“When we pursued him he was not running well and he was unable to raise his head in the boat. He had to be carried aboard the ship.”
“Where is my sister’s knife?”
They all looked for it, grateful to be able to do something and avoid the recriminations of the new Witch Queen. When they could not find it they feared another outburst but were shocked to see her smile. “Then her killer is dead for my sister, as we all did, carried a blade tipped with a deadly poison to which there is no antidote. He will have died a slow and painful death and for that I am glad.” As she moved her eyes across the hut she seemed to see, as though for the first time, that her mother was without a head. Her eyes wide and angry she launched herself at the chief druid, grabbing him unceremoniously by the shoulders and shaking him, “Where is my mother’s head?”
“They took it on the Roman ship.”
“Then sail after them and return it!”
“We cannot, the Romans burned all our boats.”
“Then send a rider to bring one.” She seized Faolan by the arm. “You, Hibernian, your captives are gone and you are without gold. If you fetch me my mother’s head I will give you the money you need for your army!”
Faolan’s face lit up. Perhaps there was something to this religion, he had had no hope and now he had his crown within his grasp again. “As soon as we have a ship I will follow them and return with that which you seek.”
Coldly, and hissing like a venomous snake, the girl who had, in a heartbeat become a grown woman said, “If you fail to do so then do not return here or I will kill you, slowly.”
******
Metellus had organised Itunocelum well. The captives had all been housed under the watchful eye of Nanna. Metellus had thought that she would make a perfect quartermaster; such was her organisational and logistic skills. They had created a hospital under canvas close to the beach. The capsarii had said that the sea air would clear away the risk of disease and so it had proved for they had not lost a man since the fleet had departed. Metellus and two other troopers had undertaken a patrol to ensure that there were no other barbarian survivors to be added to the line of crosses. There were still one or two of the stronger barbarians left alive and Metellus had to admire their spirit. The lack of water had meant that they had no voice but the glares and stares as the Romans passed by left them under no illusion about the feelings of the barbarians.
“Sir, the ships they are back.”
Metellus breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in days. To beard a lion in his den was a dangerous feat and Metellus had wondered if he would every see his friends again. He shielded his eyes from the sun. They had seen the fishing ships arriving back over the last couple of days and Metellus was confident in the time it took them to dock. He estimated that he would have at least an hour and decided to check on the horses. They had recovered well from their ordeal but now would have to travel back across country, almost a hundred miles and autumn was rapidly approaching.
As he passed Nanna she came over to him. “Have you eaten today?” The question had an accusing tone to it for Nanna was convinced that Metellus was wasting away.
She humphed, “Home? I have a home no longer. My husband and sons are dead. There is nothing in Stanwyck left for me but memories.”
Metellus was surprised. He had thought that she would be delighted to get back to the familiar. “But these people they look to you…”
“They look to me because I can make decisions and they were the ones whose husbands told them what to do. They were unable to think. Once they get home do you think I want to look after them again? No it was my duty as the wife of a headman to help them but when we return? No thank you.”
They had reached the horses and Metellus went along the tethered line checking legs and heads. “But what will you do?” There was a silence and Metellus knew that she was looking at him. “Have you no relatives? Somewhere you could stay?”
“You live among us and you fight for us Roman but you do not know us.”
“I am not Roman, I am from Britannia although not a Brigante.”
“I did not know that. It explains then why you are taller than the other Romans. In our tribe we live as a family with close family around us. My husband and his father had been the headmen of Stanwyck. Now that they are dead, as all the men are dead then other people will come to Stanwyck for it is a good settlement and those women,” she pointed dismissively, “will take new husbands and go back to their way of life. That I cannot do. She slowly stroked the horse. When I was younger I loved horses and when my husband chose me I was glad for he was a smith and I got to work with horses. I think I will go and raise horses for they are kinder than people.”
Metellus stood and looked at her, seeing the sadness in her face and finally, understanding the true effect of these raids. It not only killed the innocent, it robbed the survivors of their lives. “What would you like to do?” He emphasised the word you. Looking after horses alone was an unrealistic dream and he thought that she knew it. He could also see the tears close to the eyes telling him that she had more to say, if he let her. He gave her a shrewd look for he thought he understood her words.