“God works in mysterious ways,” muttered Loarn, parroting a phrase Dotha used continually to explain away some misfortune or injustice. He waved to a commoner who was sitting at one of the tables nursing a mug of ale and the man, a trader, hurried across to stand before king and bishop.
Dotha gave the sealed letter to the trader, who took it and tucked it inside his thick cloak. Loarn had not commanded him to travel to the Saxon Shore, the trader had gladly volunteered his services, hoping to sell his goods to Hengist’s followers while earning a reward for this service.
“Do not lose that scroll,” Loarn mac Eirc said, his tone leaving no doubt what kind of fate would befall the messenger should he not complete his task successfully. “I expect you back here as quickly as the weather allows. You’ll be very well rewarded for your service.”
The man nodded and left, leaving another billowing drift of snow in the doorway as he went.
“Coroticus wants to destroy me,” Loarn said to Dotha as they relaxed on their chairs and tucked into a trencher of meats and fresh bread. “That will be difficult, when he finds himself trapped between my hammer and the Saxons’ anvil.”
* * *
Bellicus could see the faces in the audience around them changing from excited interest to surprise, and then to unease as they began playing. The people expected something uplifting like ‘Rhydderch The Red’ which, although in a minor key, was essentially a song of hope which everyone could sing along with. This, ‘Song of the Centurion’ as he’d dubbed it, was something else entirely.
The opening notes were harsh and dissonant, and picked out with a simmering anger born of Duro’s grief and rage at his beloved wife’s fate. And then, when that gave way to a softer section, it too was strange and unsettling instead of happy. It wasn’t quite the bawdy drinking song the gathered audience expected.
However, there was something compelling about the melody and, when it did finally give way to a more pleasing series of arpeggiated notes, and the burly centurion began to sing over the top of it in a nervous, but sincere voice that was filled with emotion, every ear strained to catch every note.
“A flock of geese fly overhead,
And I see you.
The sun sets on the water,
And I feel you near.
The smell of roses fills the air,
And you’re with me again,
My wife, please don’t leave me.”
Duro’s voice almost cracked on the last line, and his eyes were heavy with tears, but, again, the song returned to the earlier angry, dissonant flurry of notes and the people looked on, rapt. Bellicus was concentrating hard on playing his lute perfectly, but he could feel the magic his friend was creating within the smoky hall. This performance would go down in legend he knew, if they could just make it to the end without hitting any wrong notes.
Returning one final time to the happier verse section, Duro sang once again, and the two musicians slowed as the words went along, as if they had reached the end.
“Don’t go away,
Don’t leave me alone,
Hold my hand,
Never let it go,
Please don’t leave me,
Please, don’t leave me…
Alone.”
There was a hush in the hall, as the audience prepared to applaud what had been a stunning, if somewhat unsettling performance, but Bellicus and Duro weren’t finished yet. They began another section, with Duro tapping out a beat on the floor with his foot, the tempo much faster than any before it, and, at a nod from the druid, one of the other musicians joined in on his drum. There was something visceral and triumphant in the music now. It was no longer a sad lament for a lost love – it was a battle hymn, a promise to avenge wrongs done to good people. Again, there were no words in this final part, but, in truth, none were needed for the music said it all.
At last, the song did come to an end, with a chord ringing out in the air like a challenge, and this time the gathering did erupt in cheers and whistles and loud applause. Duro, who had been in tears of grief while singing now grinned with relief and stood up, grabbing Bellicus in a bear hug.
“That was incredible, Bel,” he said, “I’ve not felt such a release of pent-up emotion since my days in the legions!”
Bel replied, grinning madly himself, “Aye, that was pretty good. You did well. The people will be talking about that performance for years to come.”
Duro handed back the flute he’d borrowed and they walked back to the king’s table where their mugs had been refilled. Bellicus propped his lute safely against the wall again, and Coroticus looked pleased as they sat down.
“I enjoyed that, centurion. We don’t hear many songs like it here in Dun Breatann. In fact, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anything quite like it, eh, Narina? What d’you think?”
The queen looked along the table at Duro and nodded, her green eyes sparkling from wine and the flickering torches lighting the hall. “It was a very strange song, but I think everyone appreciated it. It’s good to hear something a little different occasionally, and you sang it very powerfully. You must have loved your wife a great deal.”
Duro looked embarrassed and muttered in agreement but the queen never heard, as the musicians had just launched into a dancing tune, a well-known old favourite. The people, although they’d liked the song of the centurion, were ready for something lighter, and they filled the floor, jigging this way and that, laughing and hooting with the wild abandon only inebriation brings.
“I’m away for a piss,” Coroticus announced, pushing his tall chair back from the table and getting up somewhat unsteadily. He made it out the door safely enough though and, as he went, Narina’s earlier dancing partner, the elderly old gentleman, waved to her to join him on the floor again. Bellicus frowned at the man’s familiarity, but the queen laughed and went to join in with the spinning bodies.
The dance had finished and another started, and still the queen remained on the floor, moving around from partner to partner, as did all the women. Still the king hadn’t returned.
“That’s a long piss Coroticus is doing,” Duro said, eyeing Bellicus curiously, as if he wasn’t sure if they should check on the king’s safety or not.
The druid grunted, watching the dancers as he sipped on his ale. “He’ll have gone to bed probably, he seemed pretty drunk.” He turned then, as if he’d just realised his friend’s words held an unspoken question. “Don’t worry. I know the Saxons attacked us not far from here, in a hall similar to this one, but that was in an undefended settlement with no wall. No enemy will come in here without alarms being raised and their entire force being slaughtered.” He raised an eyebrow and set down his mug. “I’d be more worried about Coroticus falling down the slope and injuring himself in the dark, but he’s got his guards with him. They can take care of him.”
Although the king wasn’t as popular with the folk of Alt Clota as he’d been just a year ago, he was liked well enough by the people at the feast. Even so, as with any social gathering when an authority figure leaves, everyone becomes even more relaxed and uninhibited, and that’s what happened now. The music grew louder, the dances more boisterous, people fell over, and some of the slave-women serving the meat and drink found themselves the focus of much unwanted attention from the men.
“Would you like to dance?”
A pretty young woman who Bellicus had seen before – in a relatively small place like Alt Clota that was often the case – looked shyly up at the high table and Duro grinned, nudging his friend in the ribs.
“Now that is an offer you cannot refuse, Bel. She’s a beauty!”
The centurion made no effort to lower his voice and the girl blushed, although Bellicus could see she wasn’t nearly as coy, or shy, as her lowered eyes and clasped hands suggested.
The giant druid wasn’t much interested in dancing right then but, as Duro had noted, the girl was very pretty, and he could think of worse ways to spend his time.
“
Of course,” he smiled, coming around the table to take her hands, which were completely dwarfed by his. She was really quite a small thing, especially next to his towering bulk.
He looked back at Duro as she drew him into the dance and the centurion winked and made an obscene, suggestive face, as if they were young lads just coming of age and mingling with girls for the first time. It was quite ridiculous and highly amusing to Bellicus – it was good to see his friend in such a silly mood, as their crafting of the song over the past few days had opened wounds in Duro that were still very raw.
“Who are you here with?”
The girl shouted a reply, but he couldn’t quite make it out over the music, so he simply nodded, smiling, spinning her from one hand to the other in time with the music. The tune changed soon enough though, to another one they all knew, but this dance entailed switching partners every few bars of the song.
“Change!” shouted the drummer, and the women all moved one place to the side, joining arms with the next man along the line who then swept them around and back and forward. It was one of the first dances everyone in Alt Clota learned which meant, despite the speed of the music and the relatively complexity of the moves, there were no mishaps in this first switch of partners, or the next.
The third time the drummer shouted “change!” Bellicus realised with a start that it was Queen Narina who took his hands. He had been lost in the dance and hadn’t even noticed she was still on the floor but, as they looked at one another, the druid felt a thrill run through him. It felt like he was a child doing something naughty that, if found out, he would be scolded for.
It was ridiculous, and he pushed the sensation aside, smiling back at Narina who was flushing and obviously having a fine time.
The music was faster now than it had been at the start, building to a climax which was still some way off, so there was no time to have a shouted conversation as the dancers had to concentrate on where they put their feet or come to an embarrassing end in a heap on the floor.
And that is exactly what happened to Narina. She opened her mouth to ask Bellicus something, missed a step, got her foot tangled in his, and fell over.
Shrieking with laughter, she quickly got back up, using the druid’s strong arm as leverage and, trying to catch up with the other dancers, she fell in against his chest, looking up into his eyes.
Bellicus felt a stirring within him as he met her gaze, taking in the sight of her slightly parted mouth, sparkling green eyes, and the chest that pressed against his torso, and time seemed to halt for just a moment.
The spell was broken when Narina, eyes flaring, drew back, away from him, and then something hit him, hard, in the side of the face.
Instinct took over and, even as his head rocked to the side, he threw out an elbow, feeling it glance off something, but his momentum brought him around and he unleashed a left hook that hammered into his attackers open mouth.
Bellicus felt the skin split on his fingers as they hit bared teeth, but the stinging pain from that was nothing compared to the feeling, as if ice-water had been thrown over him, when he recognised whom he’d just punched unconscious.
King Coroticus.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Confused shouts went up from the revellers who had no real idea of what was going on – all they knew was Coroticus lay, unmoving on the floor of the hall after a brief, but rather violent, altercation.
“Guards!”
“The king has been attacked!”
“By the gods, what happened?”
“Did Bel just punch the king?”
Gavo pushed through the crowd, roaring for silence at the top of his considerable lungs, but it wasn’t enough to stop the king’s personal guard, stationed outside the hall, from charging inside at the commotion, swords drawn. Like their captain, the garrison of Dun Breatann wanted no repeat of the terrible Saxon raid on Dun Buic just a few months earlier.
“What’s happening, lord?” the first of the soldiers to reach the centre of the room demanded and Gavo, who had seen the whole thing unfolding before him, waved the question away. The man knelt by the king though, outrage on his face. He wasn’t to be put off so easily. “Who’s done this? I’ll throw them over the wall myself!” He looked around at the encircled, wide-eyed guests, not suspecting it was the giant druid who had assaulted the king.
“Get back to your post, Beda,” Gavo commanded in a tone that warned the guard not to argue. “All of you. Go. I’ll deal with this myself.”
“Am I invisible?” Queen Narina suddenly interjected herself into the conversation. “A mere woman, to be ignored while the men put things to rights? You—” Her eyes fastened on the guard, Beda, who shrank under her gaze, “—get back to your post outside, there’s nothing for you to do here.” The man looked down at the king who was, mercifully, coming-to at last, and gave a nod of salute before leading his companions from the hall. “Gavo, help the king to his seat and get him a drink, no, not more beer damn it. Water. The rest of you,” she addressed the silent revellers, smiling and spreading her arms wide. “Stop standing there, open-mouthed, like fish! This feast isn’t over yet. Eat! Drink! Servers – fill those mugs, quickly now. And you musicians – play for us again, something we can sing along with!”
Bellicus could see the strain on her face, the fear in her eyes, but her words and forced jocularity were enough to divert the people’s attention back to their merry-making. None of them wanted to leave now, not until they found out how this would all end.
The king was notoriously short-tempered and bloodthirsty these days – would he order his druid to be executed? Attacking a king was, surely, punishable by death? But Bellicus wasn’t just some ordinary man. He was a druid, and to be judged by different standards, was he not?
All this chatter, and more, could be heard circulating around the hall as the drunken guests moved back to their tables, pretending not to be interested in what was about to transpire at the king’s high table.
In truth, Bellicus himself had no idea what would happen. Why had Coroticus attacked him? And what would he do if the king ordered his arrest, or even execution? The king was so drunk, and behaved so erratically these days, that it was impossible to foresee his actions and plan ahead for them.
The druid turned to the side and a look passed between himself and Duro – at least the faithful centurion was on his side, no matter what, although even they couldn’t hope to win a fight against the fortress’s entire garrison.
“What in the name of Taranis was that?” Gavo hissed, returning from Coroticus’s side and grasping Bellicus’s arm roughly. “How are we going to mollify the king now? What are we going to do, oh druid – ‘wise one’?”
Bellicus didn’t reply for there was nothing else to do other than approach the high table where their lord watched them with a somewhat shocked look on his face, which still had blood trickling down it. His faculties soon returned though and his eyes narrowed as he gazed at the druid. The feasting locals tried to hide their interest, but the forced laughs and hushed conversations simply made the atmosphere more tense.
“Lord King,” Gavo began, but he was silenced with a gesture and Coroticus continued to glare blearily at Bellicus who, knowing he couldn’t appear frightened or unsure of himself, gazed stonily back.
In such a contest there could only be one winner – only the druid had spent hours perfecting his unblinking, piercing stare, and soon enough the king closed his eyes and turned away.
“Leave me.”
Gavo opened his mouth, as the command wasn’t clear. Who was to leave?
Coroticus spoke again though. “Leave me, druid. And take your Roman with you. I’ll have nothing more to do with you. In the morning, you will leave Dun Breatann and never return.”
There were shocked gasps all around the hall, the loudest being from the king’s left where Narina sat.
“He is our druid, Coroticus,” she muttered, stunned by his pronouncement. “We need him. We need his connection wit
h the gods—”
“Be silent, woman!” the king thundered, then appeared to regret it as a spasm of nausea passed over his pale face and he closed his eyes until the sensation passed and he could speak to his wife once more. “I know what you need the druid for. I am not blind.”
Hardly a sound could be heard in the hall after that obvious accusation. If Coroticus’s words weren’t plain enough, the expression of disgust on his face made everything clear. Bellicus knew the tale would be all over Alt Clota, and beyond, by this time tomorrow.
“Have you heard?” the gossips would say. “The druid is bedding the queen, right under the king’s nose!”
And, although it wasn’t true, Bellicus, glancing at Narina now – even now, at this tense, danger-filled moment – realised he would like to bed her again.
Exile would be the best thing for him, he thought, before there was more upset, more violence.
He said, “As you command, my lord,” bowed at the waist, and, with a slight nod to Duro, turned and walked through the staring, stunned, crowd, out into the chill air. As they went, Coroticus could be heard calling for more ale, before the heavy door closed at their backs and the night fell about them like a cloak.
Bellicus placed a finger to his lips, warning Duro to remain silent as listening guards were stationed in the shadows beside the hall’s entrance, then he led the way down the path to his own dwelling. Only when they were inside, a tallow candle lit, shutters bolted and door on the latch, did the tension ease a little and both collapsed onto their sleeping pallets, exhausted, and not from the short walk.
“What should we do?”
Bellicus lay in the gloom, trying desperately to marshal his thoughts. Even the many years of training he’d been given by his druid tutors couldn’t quite prepare him for a scenario like this.
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