The complaints, doubts and rumours circulated around the entire area and Narina’s informants kept her apprised of the situation which was looking worse for her husband with every passing day. The one saving grace was the fact autumn was upon them and people would be too busy preparing for the coming harsh weather – gathering crops, butchering animals, salting the meat, gathering firewood and so on – to really do much about challenging Coroticus’s kingship. At least until the spring.
Narina looked up from the table which she’d been staring at as if in a waking dream, noting every pore of its wood and the way a drink spilled earlier still pooled on its surface despite the warm air coming through the open doors. She scorned the musicians – a flautist and a singer with a small drum – wishing Bellicus was there to sing for them, remembering how his powerful voice could fill even the highest of halls, even though he always claimed not to enjoy singing.
Will I ever see you again, Bel? she wondered, eyes becoming moist as that question inevitably led to another: Will you bring my daughter back to me like you promised? Oh Bel, I miss her so much!
The tears streamed down her cheeks but Narina didn’t care who saw her misery in this ludicrous ‘celebration’. How could Coroticus celebrate being alive when their daughter was probably dead?
A lump formed in the queen’s throat at that thought and she coughed, retching, unable to breathe as she finally admitted to herself for the first time that Catia would never come back to her. She dipped her head, absent-mindedly noting the presence of a hungry dog at her feet no doubt mooching for a titbit, and then, picturing Cai and Eolas, gave into her grief.
Her tears went unnoticed in the drunken gathering. The king was too drunk to focus on anything other than the singing, dancing people on the floor in front of him who were determined to make the most of his hospitality, even if they disdained his recent leadership.
Their singing had grown louder as the noblemen and women became more inebriated, but the strong drink also made it less tuneful and Narina felt like her head might burst, trapped as she was in the stifling heat of the noisy hall. Although the doors and windows were open there was precious little breeze and the atmosphere was almost suffocating. Eyeing the doorway longingly, wishing she might leave the gathering for a while to get some fresh air, Narina imagined she saw a giant, hooded shadow on the torchlit wall outside and, terrified, blinked away her tears.
Was she going mad too?
CHAPTER NINE
“Open the gates, man. Do you not recognise us?”
The guard peered down at the small party who had stepped out of the shadows to be revealed by the guttering torches set on the fortress walls. A giant, a child, a Roman centurion in full armour, and a massive dog. It was a bizarre sight and completely unexpected, especially at this time of the evening.
“Hurry up, fool,” Bellicus commanded. “We haven’t been gone that long have we, that the men of Dun Breatann have forgotten us? Let us in, in the name of Lug the Light-Bringer, for we are returned to chase away the darkness!”
“We’ve been given orders not to open the gates to anyone, my lord,” replied the guard fretfully, recognising the druid at last. “Anyone at all, the king said. I’ll send a messenger to him know you’re back and he can—”
“You’ll send no messenger,” Bel said flatly. “I am Bellicus the Druid and I bring Catia, princess of the Damnonii back from her Saxon hell. Open the gates for us now, or I’ll make your cock shrivel up and turn black like a prune. I will tell Coroticus of our return myself.”
The guard hesitated again, straining to make out the strange centurion in the gloom. “Who’s that with you, my lord?”
“A great warrior and friend: Duro of Luguvalium. He helped me rescue the princess. Now open the damn gates man, we’re tired and thirsty!”
More of the soldiers manning the walls hissed their opinions to the leader who appeared unable to make up his mind but, finally, fearing for his manhood more than he did even the king’s wrath, the guard clattered down the wooden steps and, with the help of two others, pulled away the great beams that held the iron-studded gates barred.
As they swung open Bellicus strode inside and grinned at the fearful guards who mumbled apologies, although they smiled when they saw Catia gazing up at the rock and the sounds of carousing that could be heard echoing against the dark waters of the Clota.
Cai, intent on reclaiming his territory, moved about in the shadows sniffing intently and emptying his bladder wherever he found some interloper’s scent.
“What’s the celebration?” Bellicus asked.
One of the guards, hidden in the shadows, snorted derisively but the leader glared at him in warning.
“The king was badly injured in a battle against the Dalriadans, but Gavo managed to get him back on board their ship and return him home safely. He’s well now, so he decided to throw a feast to thank the gods for his good luck.”
“The dozen or so men slaughtered by the Dalriadans weren’t so bloody lucky,” growled the hidden guardsman, his leader once again ordering him to shut his mouth if he knew what was good for him.
Bellicus nodded for he already knew of Coroticus’s defeat to Loarn mac Eirc. The people they’d met on their journey back through Alt Clota had heard all about it and were eager to pass on the news, questioning the king’s state of mind in low tones, much like these men manning the walls.
It was only a few years ago that Coroticus had led a successful, and now legendary, raid across the water to Hibernia and taken Dalriadan Christians as slaves. Afterwards, their loudmouthed bishop, Patricius, had sent a letter to the king, upbraiding him for his terrible behaviour. He and Bellicus had laughed together as they read it.
“The king has been under huge stress recently,” the druid said. “Hopefully, now that the princess is home safely, things can get back to normal.” He stared into the gloom and the man with the loose tongue wisely held his peace this time. “You haven’t sent word of our arrival, as I asked?”
“No, lord,” the guard replied. “I just hope the king doesn’t have our heads for it.” He lifted a torch from its bracket inside the gatehouse and gestured at the many new skulls, in various stages of decomposition, that had been nailed onto the very rock of the fortress.
Catia shuddered at the grotesque sight and Bel placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, reassuring the guards that he’d make sure the king didn’t trouble them over his secretive entrance.
The guards’ leader came with them to the next, inner gateway, and ordered the soldiers there to let them in, then he returned to his post as the druid led Catia, Duro and Cai up the stairs towards Coroticus’s great hall. The pleasant, distant drone of merry making resolved less pleasingly into single, off-key voices and musical instruments as they neared their destination.
“Why the need for secrecy?” the centurion asked, gazing all around him, almost tripping over his own feet on the steep stairs as he looked back at the impressive sight of the river far below, lit now by a gibbous moon. “Why didn’t you want them to send a messenger informing the king of our arrival?”
Bel looked at Catia, mock disbelief on his face, as if Duro was an idiot.
“I’m a druid, my friend, and I have a reputation to uphold and even enhance,” came the reply, accompanied by a wink. “It’s my business to make impressive sights and deeds which folk will turn into stories that grow with every re-telling. Where would be the spectacle in a messenger going on ahead to warn people of our coming, then us trudging breathlessly up these stairs to stand, gasping for air, before a drunken rabble? Where’s the tale in that?”
Duro admired Bel’s forethought for, although he was rather fitter than he’d been only a few weeks before, there were an awful lot of steps to climb and it wouldn’t make much of a first impression to meet the king and queen panting for breath like a dog on a sunny day.
They reached the midway point, between the two peaks, and Bel raised a hand so they could stop to rest and prepare thems
elves. The gentle burbling sound of the ancient spring just a little way above them could be heard even over the sounds of revelry and Bel surmised, idly, that it must have been rainy in Alt Clota recently.
“Are you ready to see your parents again?” the druid asked once they were suitably rested, leaning down so he was at eye-level with Catia. “I would counsel you to behave in a way befitting a princess of the Damnonii but…” He smiled at her and rose once more. “This will be a great moment for you, and for them. Behave however you like, lass.” He turned his attention to Duro. “When we reach the great hall, I’ll go in first and get their attention. You bring Catia when I give the signal, all right?”
The centurion smiled, his own excitement seeming to match Bel’s. In fact, the druid mused, looking at the princess, she seemed the least pleased of any of them, as if she were more nervous than happy. Instinctively, he placed an arm around her small shoulders and squeezed. It brought a smile to her lips and he wondered, for the hundredth time that day, how their relationship would develop in the future.
The smell of roasting meat filled the tiny valley and Bellicus felt his mouth watering. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed a real feast.
“Right, let’s go.”
With that, he strode forward with Cai, towards the great hall, Catia behind and Duro bringing up the rear.
The king’s hall was a rectangular structure near the top of the eastern summit, with windows that offered fine views of both the river, with its busy port, and the village of Dun Buic, where this whole adventure had first begun months ago.
Two more guards were positioned at the doorway, which was open, allowing light and that delicious smell to filter out into the warm evening. They stood sharply to attention when they spotted Bellicus and his companions, but these men were well known to the druid, and they grinned when they realised who approached. One even knelt down to greet Cai, who responded by licking the laughing man’s face.
“Shh,” Bel hissed, placing a finger to his lips before locking forearms with each smiling warrior in turn. “Are the king and queen still inside?”
“Aye, but you’ll need to relinquish your sword before you enter. You know the law, Bel. You too, my, er…” The guard trailed off as he struggled to come up with a suitable epithet for Duro who, to the man’s relief, handed over his spatha as the druid gave his own blade, and his staff of office, to the second guard.
The druid winked to the soldiers and pulled his hood up, entirely concealing his face in shadow, then, ordering Cai to stay, he made his way up the few more steps to the open doorway and walked inside.
The hall was a welcome sight – a place where he’d enjoyed many feasts and happy times over the years. Its walls were hung with colourfully painted shields, decorative old swords, and tapestries weaved with golden thread that caught the light from the tallow candles and hearth-fire, while music and the smell of cooking filled the air.
Bellicus strode past a handful of men and women who were dancing in the centre of the room, his massive black form passing between them like smoke until, at last, he stood, head bowed, before the high table.
His eyes had taken in everything as he walked, seeing the king, clearly well in his cups, talking loudly to Gavo and the queen, the sight of whom shocked him the most. Her eyes were red from weeping and she looked pale and gaunt. His appearance seemed to terrify her as she shrank back into her chair, apparently seeing him as some spectre of doom.
The singing and dancing didn’t stop instantly, but it was only a few heartbeats before a hush fell on the gathering, all eyes fixed on him in wonder. Or fear. Some of the men, Gavo included, grasped their daggers, eyes betraying their wish for more substantial weapons.
Bellicus spread his arms wide, head still bowed and hidden in the shadows of his cowl, appearing even bigger than normal since he’d chosen to stand next to two of the smaller nobles in the room.
“Is this the way the Damnonii welcome home one of their kin?”
Narina’s eyes flared at his voice but still she, like the king, remained seated, perhaps not believing what they were seeing.
Bel pointed back to the door and crooked a finger. A moment later the sight of a Roman centurion’s helmet could be seen ascending the stairs and Duro, a fine sight in his well-maintained armour, came into the hall, holding the hand of the princess.
The sight of Catia finally broke the spell over the queen who, regardless of her position, climbed right over the table, spilling food and drink all about the floor in a clatter. She flew to her daughter, tears again streaming down her face but now they were tears of the purest joy as she cried out Catia’s name and fell to her knees, embracing the laughing girl as if she would never again let go.
Coroticus, drink-addled brain working slower than his wife’s, and his unsteady legs also not allowing him to mirror her nimble manoeuvre, ran past the grinning Gavo and threw his arms around both the princess and Narina, eyes closed, savouring the moment.
At the druid’s side once again, Cai barked and howled, apparently as excited by the reunion as anyone.
“You did it,” the king whispered at last in disbelief, gazing up at the now unhooded, smiling form of Bellicus. “Lug be praised, you brought my daughter back home to me.”
Despite his own joy at the long-awaited homecoming, the druid couldn’t deny the pang he felt on hearing Coroticus call Catia that.
* * *
The king ordered three days of feasting to celebrate the miraculous return of the princess and the druid, overseeing the erection of the great tents which were stored within one of the nearby port’s warehouses for occasions like this. Invites were sent out to all the noble families in the settlements of Alt Clota and food, drink and entertainment in the form of musicians, fools and story-tellers were gathered.
The events were surprisingly poorly attended, however. Bellicus had never known the offer of free meat, drink and merriment in royal company to be ignored the way this celebration was. The invites were returned with the messengers reporting illness or some other excuse for the chieftains’ inability to visit Dun Breatann for the festivities.
Narina didn’t appear offended but Coroticus was angered by the poor attendance, with much of the food going to waste, uneaten, while the musicians played to less than half-empty tents each evening while still expecting full payment for their talents.
“Why have the ungrateful bastards not come?” the king demanded of Gavo on the second night. “What could be more important than free food and ale? It seems to me my own subjects are thumbing their damn noses at me for some reason.”
Bellicus sat by Coroticus’s right hand, relegating Senecio—who sometimes took that position nowadays—to a different table, while the guard captain was on the left. Narina and Catia had retired to their chambers in the fortress by this time and the king was, again, quite drunk, his voice seeming much louder than normal without the sounds of a tent-full of revellers to mask it.
One of the cooks had let a joint of beef roast too long and the not-unpleasant smell of it burning wafted through the air, making the druid’s mouth water as he watched the guard captain trying to frame a reply to Coroticus’s question.
Gavo held his palms up and glanced towards the king, lips pursed, eyebrows raised. “Having spoken to the messengers we sent out, it seems there’s some illness sweeping the land,” he said. “Who knows, perhaps Drest’s druid cast some dark spell on our folk before they returned north?”
The king spat in disgust, clearly not quite believing the excuse but genuinely baffled by the whole affair.
“So, are all my chiefs dying then? They’d bloody well better be, I wasted a fortune on meat for them and it’s all going to the dogs. Not to mention those tuneless fools. Look, I gave that one a silver arm-ring yesterday!” He pointed at the three musicians who were, Bellicus thought, quite skilled in their craft, singing a melancholy tune about two lovers separated by an evil witch. “Play something faster you three,” Coroticus roared, halting t
he music instantly as the bards stared at the red-faced monarch fearfully. “Something people can dance to,” he went on, finishing in a growl. “If anyone cares to.”
“Perhaps there will be more here tomorrow,” Bellicus said, smiling reassuringly and sipping his ale, feeling it warm him to his toes. He’d spent a fair amount of time talking to Gavo since his return home, the guard captain filling him in on what had been happening and the mood of the Damnonii, so he wasn’t surprised by the low turnout for this feast. It didn’t particularly bother Bel though, he was so pleased to have completed his mission successfully, and to have found a new friend in the process, that he was quite happy sitting there enjoying the evening. Duro, to his right, also seemed quite content with a plate full of meat and as much ale as he could drink brought to him whenever he waved by the slave-girls.
Most of the army, gathered to defend the fortress from Drest’s forces, had been sent home to bring in the crops and prepare for the coming winter. The weather had already begun to turn, the long, warm nights of August growing colder and darker. Indeed, a persistent rain pattered on the leather roof of their tent even now, dripping through in places where the material needed repaired. The lower status warriors and their wives would normally be beneath those holes getting dripped upon, but, with so few there, everyone was able to find a dry place to enjoy Coroticus’s hospitality.
“The people are probably still wary of travelling with the Pictish invasion so fresh in their memories,” Bellicus said, turning back to the king. “Don’t judge them too harshly for wanting to remain in their homes. It’s been a time of great fear for everyone in our lands.”
“That’s why they should all appreciate their good fortune now that I’ve seen off Drest and his lackeys,” Coroticus retorted, gesturing for a refill irritably. “The gods have favoured us Bel, you know that.” He sipped the fresh ale, serving girl hurrying off, eyes downcast, as another man in the corner of the big tent waved her over. “They brought you and Catia – and the centurion there – home, and saw the Pictish turds off without us having to engage them in open battle. They didn’t even burn our crops, although Gavo seems to think that’s a bad sign for some reason.” He raised an eyebrow and shook his head as if the guard captain worried too much.
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