Song of the Centurion

by Steven A McKay

  They soon reached the top of the hill and made their way into the woods, heading towards the burn which ran down, all the way through Nectovelius’s village where Catia had been kidnapped all those months ago. That settlement, over a mile away, couldn’t be seen from their position however, and Bel doubted the girl knew her geography well enough to understand exactly where they were.

  There was a well-maintained wooden hut amongst a birch grove, which the local hunters and herdsmen used for shelter, and Coroticus led them directly to it. They stowed their packs of provisions, bedrolls and tents inside, knowing it would all be safe while they went about the day’s hunt. Those buildings were inviolate, gods-protected sanctuaries only the most desperate of fugitives would dare interfere with on pain of death. The hunters would also spend the night there.

  No wonder Catia was so excited, Bel thought, smiling as he recalled similar adventures from his own childhood. The time when, on Iova, he had gone with the island’s guards, to hunt seabirds and, ostensibly, boar, although there were very few of them around at that time. The men had caught little, but they spent a wonderful night under the stars beside the sea, drinking by the campfire, singing and telling tales. It was a memory the druid treasured, and he wondered if Catia would remember this trip with similar fondness in years to come.

  “We’ll lay the snares first,” Coroticus said, lifting one of the simple but cleverly designed traps from his pack as the others followed his lead, Catia included. These would hopefully catch hares, squirrels or wood pigeons while the men went off in search of bigger game.

  “Let’s go,” he commanded. “Uven will stay here with the horses. If anyone gets separated or lost, make your way back here. Got that?” He eyed Catia who nodded as he led her outside and gestured about them at the trees. “See anything you can use as a marker if you need to find your way back?”

  She looked around, intent on her task, then smiled, pointing at a single Scots pine. At this time of the year the birch trees which surrounded their cabin had lost many of their leaves, with the remainder being various shades of gold, orange or brown. The Scots pine, in stark contrast, was a different shape and retained its green leaves.

  It stood like a beacon just a few feet away from the cabin.

  “Well done,” the king nodded, patting the princess’s shoulder. “The original builders of the cabin chose this spot because of that tree. If anyone is lost, in a blizzard say, that tree will lead them here to safety. Mark it well, my girl.”

  Catia nodded, lips pursed in concentration as she took in the king’s words, and Bellicus knew she was taking this all quite seriously. She had managed to escape from her Saxon captors before he rescued her, but, without any idea of where she was, or any real landmark to aim for, she’d become lost and soon recaptured by Horsa. Her expression told the druid she meant to be better prepared should, gods forbid, anything similar ever happen to her again.

  “You know how to set a trap like this, don’t you? No? In the name of Cernunnos, Gavo, what have you been teaching my daughter?”

  The words were spoken lightly, and the guard captain spread his hands apologetically, winking at Catia, who smiled in return as the king wandered deeper into the trees, waving her to follow. He bent down the branch of a willow tree then knelt and showed her how to set up a twitch-up snare with the pre-cut sticks in his hand, letting her do it mostly by herself, finally baiting it with a piece of mouldy cheese. If a small animal wandered into the noose they’d left on the grass the wire would twitch and the branch would spring back, hanging the animal in the air and keeping its body there to be collected later. Bellicus watched fondly, hoping the trap would catch something, knowing it would bring Catia a great sense of achievement.

  Perhaps this was a good idea, he thought. The usual way of things was to teach the boys to hunt and fight and other ways of war, while girls learned etiquette and how to receive guests and run the household and so on. Catia had a spirit in her though, that would allow her to excel at the traditional ‘manly’ pursuits if nurtured properly.

  They left Uven, the friendly stablemaster with a pronounced limp whom Bellicus had always liked, tending to the horses while the rest of the party slipped quietly into the trees to lay the rest of their traps, eyes scanning all around for signs of prey to shoot with their bows.

  It was a pleasant day, dry and bright if a little chilly, as the sun was obscured by a blanket of light grey clouds and a breeze blew from the east. That would help the dogs locate game but also warn any beasts downwind of their proximity. Still, at least it wasn’t raining.

  Bellicus turned to Duro who had by now lost all of the flab he’d carried when they first met in Luguvalium, pleased to see the middle-aged centurion with a bright, eager gleam in his eyes. The man seemed to have accepted his wife’s death and moved on, even if he was prone to occasional bouts of melancholy.

  “You any good with that?” the druid muttered, nodding at the short bow Duro carried.

  “I’m better with a javelin, that’s what we trained with in the legions, not these,” he shrugged. “But I can use one well enough, although you never had a chance to see it when we rescued the princess from the Saxons.”

  They grinned at one another, remembering how Duro had carried a hunting bow that dark, horror-filled night, ready to shoot down any of the enemy soldiers who came after them. Bellicus and Catia had managed to mount Darac and make good their escape before the Saxons realised what was happening and, laughing in delight, the centurion had thrown the bow aside and climbed atop his own horse to join them, riding like the wind for the hidden sacred grove where they found safety.

  “Hopefully we come across a stag and I’ll show you how good my aim is,” Duro finished, eyes searching the undergrowth and densely packed trees ahead.

  Bellicus didn’t answer but he could well imagine the folk of Dun Breatann’s delighted chatter should his friend return to the fortress with meat to feed a host of warriors, and a fine set of antlers to be mounted proudly in the great hall. It seemed more likely that they would go back home with only a few hares and a fox or two, Bel thought, but perhaps the gods would look favourably on them that day.

  As they went, the men laid their snares, some of them allowing Catia to do it with them so she could practice, but they saw little in the way of game. No-one seemed to mind – the girl’s presence, her eagerness to learn, appeared to have enchanted the entire party. Whatever they caught that day would be gratefully received, but even if their snares remained empty the druid didn’t think the hunters would be overly disappointed.

  There was a snap from ahead, as one of the men let fly an arrow and Bel caught a glimpse of orange as a fox darted away into the undergrowth. The missile missed its target and clattered uselessly into a tree as the bowman cursed his poor aim. He went to retrieve it as the other warriors jeered at him good-naturedly, and made a rude gesture over his shoulder in return.

  “Perhaps we should split up into smaller groups,” Coroticus said, bringing them to a halt. “I’ll take Catia to the left, with Gavo. The rest of you pair off and Esico will follow a little way behind with the hounds, just in case we come across anything big. Make sure at least one of each pair has a horn to sound in case of danger. We can meet up at the little waterfall near the marsh, to the north-east – there – at midday, and have something to eat.” He pointed and there were nods of agreement as the waterfall was a landmark as well known as the Scots pine back at the hunter’s cabin.

  “I want Bel and Duro to come with us too,” the princess said, looking up at the king, who shook his head.

  “We’ll have more success if we hunt in smaller parties,” he said, somewhat irritably. “I’m sure me and Gavo can keep you entertained until midday.”

  The girl appeared put out by his hard tone and glanced back at the druid who nodded surreptitiously, not wanting to aggravate Coroticus any further.

  They split into the groups suggested and moved off, the others soon becoming lost to Bel’s sight
within the thick trees which cast shadows on the ground and made it hard to see very far ahead. Soon, even the sounds of the rest of their party were lost and Bellicus and Duro were essentially on their own with Cai, whose passage made even less noise than his two human companions.

  A tall chestnut tree loomed up at them, much higher than the birch and elms surrounding it, and Bel knelt to lay his snare, Duro having already set his not far from the cabin. The centurion sat on a mossy rock and pulled out his ale skin, taking a short draught before replacing the stopper and ruffling Cai’s ears. The dog didn’t look up, brown eyes fixed on something only he could see, and Duro hissed the druid’s name.

  Bellicus, snare set, straightened, noting Cai’s fixed gaze, then, as hackles began to rise on the dog’s back, the druid drew his sword and Duro fitted an arrow to his bowstring, tapping the horn that hung on a long leather strap around his neck.

  Whatever Cai had sensed, it was no hare.

  They moved slowly ahead, alert for danger, stepping nimbly, instinctively, across dried out twigs which would break with a loud crack if stood upon, giving away their position to the unseen prey.

  As they walked, a grouse wandered onto the path not far in front of them, stopping in surprise when it saw them approaching, but not one of the three hunters bothered with it and it ran clumsily back into the foliage. Bellicus hoped they could find it again later for he greatly enjoyed roast grouse, but for now, they had to concentrate on the animal that had made Cai’s hackles rise.

  It wasn’t often the big dog would become roused to nervousness or fear and the druid felt his palms become sweaty, and the battle fever begin to course through his blood as he contemplated what they were about to encounter. A boar? A wolf? Should they sound the horn and wait for Esico’s hounds to join them, along with the other warriors? Bellicus discarded the idea, knowing the noise and bustle would chase their prey off and likely ruin any chance they had of bringing it down. Besides, it was unlikely to be anything very big, or dangerous, as these woods were hunted so often that the bigger game was mostly all gone.

  Another thought struck him as they moved in near-silence towards a clearing, where the land sloped down into a small valley: perhaps it wasn’t an animal they were tracking at all, perhaps it was men.

  Raiders.

  He paused, looking across at Duro but, before he could alert the centurion to his fears a shout broke the silence.

  “Father! Father, help!”

  It was Catia, and, spell broken, Bellicus began to run.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  At the bottom of the slope, a small figure lay on the grass, staring up at something that must have appeared from the trees fringing the clearing there. Bellicus swore, wishing it was raiders after all, for what faced them down there was even more deadly.

  Towering over the scene, so huge it would even dwarf the druid, stood a brown bear. Coroticus was face-down and unmoving on the grass a dozen feet away from the princess. Gavo had drawn his sword and was attempting to keep the giant beast away from Catia who seemed frozen with terror.

  Cai streaked ahead and Duro blasted the hunting horn as Bellicus roared the forest god’s name, “Cernunnos!” like a battle cry, hoping to distract the bear before its massive paws killed Gavo and the princess.

  From behind him the sounds of barking could be heard, and Cai, far in front of Bellicus, cannoned into the bear, his powerful jaws locking onto the bigger animal’s leg. There was a deafening roar as the bear moved to strike the dog away but Gavo jumped forward and managed to stab the point of his sword into the beast’s belly.

  Cai somehow managed to avoid the giant paws, letting go and backing away, snarling and barking furiously while the bear, confused and wounded – if only slightly – stood still, unsure which enemy to face first. Before it could decide, Duro’s arrow slammed into its torso, prompting another angry roar.

  Cai came forward again, drawing the bear’s attention, and another of the centurion’s missiles hammered home in the thick, dark fur.

  “This bow doesn’t have the power to kill a beast of that size,” Duro shouted desperately, but Bellicus already knew that and he raced towards Catia, who remained on the ground, still shouting for her father to help. Her cries once again brought the bear’s attention onto her and it roared in fury, stepping forward and leaning down to silence the girl forever.

  The druid, without thinking about what he was doing, charged down the hill, building momentum on its slope, and ran directly into the giant animal, rocking it back, but only slightly. The attack caught it by surprise, however and, as Bellicus bounced off it and fell to the ground, Cai locked his teeth on the bear’s rump and yet another arrow lodged in its front.

  “Get up!” the druid shouted, stumbling to his feet and, half-running, half-crawling, lifted Catia in his left arm and tried to move away from the enraged bear which had now decided Gavo was the best target. One huge paw, bigger than a man’s torso, swung out, catching the guard captain in mid-sword-swing, lifting him into the air and sending him flying onto the grass, where he lay still, arm bent at a weird angle.

  A fourth arrow sprouted from the bear’s body now, stopping it as it began moving forward to finish Gavo off properly, and then Esico’s dogs, barking in fear and excitement, sprinted down from the trees behind and set about the hapless bear. The sound of Duro’s horn had also alerted the other two hunters who, shouting to confuse the massive, angry beast even further, ran into the fray. One of them carried a spear and he was able to get behind the target and plunge it with quite some force into its back.

  The bear spun, tearing the polearm from the warrior’s grasp, and now the bear was like a pin-cushion, with arrows and a spear stuck in its flesh, while Cai and the other dogs continued to harry it and the final huntsman tried to land a blow with his sword while keeping safely away from the deadly paws.

  Bellicus placed Catia on the ground although she didn’t want to let him go, fastening her arms around his neck, crying, “Father,” repeatedly.

  “Hush, girl,” he said, prying her loose and staring into her red, teary eyes. “Your father is lying on the ground. I need to go and help the others defeat the beast.”

  When he finally turned back and ran towards the battle one of the warriors and three of the hunting dogs were dead – sprawled broken and bloody on the grass around the bear. The spearman had managed to retrieve his weapon and prodded it at the animal’s back, creating numerous wounds, while Esico, Duro and the other swordsman shouted and aimed their blades in slashing strokes which occasionally drew blood.

  Before the druid could join the fight, the bear decided it wanted no more and fell onto its four paws, lumbering off towards the trees. Cai stood, panting, exhausted but apparently uninjured, and Bellicus whistled, calling him back now that the fight was done.

  As the dog trotted towards him the scene seemed to trigger something within the druid’s memory—it was as if he’d seen this before. In a dream perhaps? Time slowed, and all became silent as, unbidden, a fog settled upon the druid’s mind.

  Merlin’s face appeared in his head and he remembered what the older druid had called Arthur, the warlord who was sworn to halt the Saxon invasion: Bear of Britain.

  The trance passed and, blinking, Bellicus returned to himself. He had no idea what it meant, but he knew it would bring bad luck if they killed the bear.

  “Leave it,” he cried, powerful voice filling the clearing. “Let it live!” He had to repeat his words more than once before, at last, the men got the message and allowed the retreating bear to go unmolested, until it was lost within the trees, leaving only dead, prone, or panting warriors and hounds in its wake.

  Bel glanced back once more to make sure Catia remained safely where he’d left her, then he ran to the king who still wasn’t moving. The druid knelt and felt Coroticus’s neck, trying to find a pulse.

  “He’s alive,” he murmured in relief, examining a bruise on the king’s temple which had already begun to turn a sickly yellow-
brown colour. He could see no other visible injuries and suspected the bear had knocked the king flying just as it had done to Gavo.

  “Catia,” he called. “Fetch water from your pack and pour a little – just a little, mind – onto the king’s lips. If you have a blanket, or there’s one in Coroticus’s pack, spread it over him. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. We just need to make him comfortable.”

  He stood and hurried across to the guard captain, pleased to see Gavo was conscious but disoriented. The man’s arm was broken in half, with the bone sticking out through the skin. It was a horrific wound, but not one that should be fatal if cleaned and looked after properly.

  “We’ll need to set that, my friend,” Bel said, lowering himself onto his haunches by the captain and nodding at his arm. “It won’t be pleasant.”

  Gavo didn’t look down, undoubtedly knowing, from the way the limb flopped sickeningly of its own accord, what had happened. Yet he appeared surprisingly unconcerned and the druid suspected the guard captain had gone into shock, trauma masking the pain one would expect to be associated with such a horrific injury.

  “Esico, I have a skin with unwatered wine in my pack, fetch it for me. Hurry! Bring the strips of cloth in there as well. Duro, go and remove the fletchings and heads from a couple of arrows, I’ll need them for a splint.”

  When they were alone, Gavo looked at the druid with a strange expression, opening his mouth more than once as if about to ask a question, but lacking the courage to do so.

  “What is it, man,” Bel finally demanded, watching as Gavo tried to pry the heads from his unused arrows. “Out with it.”

  The injured guard captain gritted his teeth, as if the shock of their battle was finally leaving him and pain was beginning to register, but this time he forced himself to speak.

  “The princess was shouting for her father to help her,” he said.

  “What of it?” Bel replied, turning back and gazing at him, puzzled.