“The king could do anything – command the guards to do anything – in the condition he’s in.” Duro muttered, sitting up and pulling his sword out from the side of his pallet, eyeing it critically in the near-dark and finding it satisfactory. “Perhaps we should get out of here, now, before it’s too late.”
“I fear that would seem to Coroticus like an admission of my guilt.” Bellicus shook his head. “We – I – need to see this out. I have faith in Gavo, he’ll calm the king down and make sure we’re left in peace for the night. By morning, everyone will be sober, and things will seem different.”
“We just lie here then?” Duro persisted. “Praying to Mithras that the door isn’t kicked in and we’re not hacked to pieces by the soldiers? What about that little prick Senecio? What if he tells the King’s Guard to attack us when we’re resting? Maybe we should take turns on watch.”
Again, Bel shook his head. “You’re allowing your imagination to run wild, Duro, calm down. I’m a druid, that still counts for something with everyone in this fortress, no matter what the king believes I’ve been up to. We won’t be murdered in our sleep, I promise you.” He sighed, sensing the centurion’s cynicism, and stood up, searching inside the pockets sewn into his dark cloak for some herbs.
He went outside but left the door open so Duro could see him, or his silhouette at least, and walked back and forward over the threshold, sprinkling the herbs on the ground while muttering some incantation. And then he came back inside and bolted the door before lying down again.
“There. We’re safe. No one will come through there without my leave.”
Duro blew out a relieved sigh, accepting the potency of his friend’s magic. But, as he breathed in again, his face screwed up and he looked across at his giant companion suspiciously.
“Enchanted herbs eh? Smells like dried coriander to me.”
Bellicus turned away to hide his smile. Caught! He should have chosen something less fragrant for his protective ‘spell’.
“Doesn’t matter what it is,” he growled. “Could be dried pig shit. All that matters is the power that’s put into it. Now go to sleep – Cai is here, and my magical coriander barrier will keep all foes at bay.”
And so it did.
* * *
Coroticus woke up and felt good…for a few seconds, and then he remembered – some of – the previous night’s events, and a cold chill ran through him. He realised his head ached, and his mouth was sore, and who was that next to him?
The servant girl, Enica, lay sleeping in the bed at his side, and a small snore issued from her open mouth which, for some reason, made the king feel queasy.
What had he done last night at the feast? He knew bad things had happened, but he’d been so drunk he couldn’t for the life of him remember what they all were. Slowly, things came back to him.
He knew he’d tried to attack Bellicus, although what exactly had transpired was shrouded in a black fog. Then he remembered why he’d gone for the druid: the giant had been dancing with Narina and it enraged him because...well, he couldn’t admit to himself, not in this fragile state, why that had made him so upset.
He knew though. Deep down, he knew well enough.
What else had happened? Everything else was a blur and he felt another icy chill pass through him as he wondered if he’d ordered Bellicus to be jailed or…worse.
He got up from the bed and saw a mug of ale on the old wooden chest against the wall. It was still half full and, without hesitation, he downed it, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing the drink to work its magic quickly.
“Guard!”
The door opened and a tall young man poked his head inside, eyes flickering to the sleeping, naked girl in the bed before returning to the king. “My lord?”
“Get me a jug of ale, quickly.”
Mumbling something Coroticus couldn’t hear the guard disappeared and returned just moments later with a brimming jug. Clearly it had been kept nearby – the guards knew his vices well by now.
“Here you are, lord.”
Coroticus took it and walked back to the chest, refilling the mug with shaking hands, spilling more than a few drops, as the door closed behind him again, leaving him alone with Enica. He looked at her and drank down the entire mug of ale in just a few heartbeats, retching as he swallowed it so fast, almost desperately, as if his life depended on it.
And it did now, he knew that. Like so many weak fools he’d known over the years, he’d allowed the ale to become his master. Self-pity threatened to overcome him then – it was no wonder he’d needed something to help him get through the past few months – desperate with fear, wondering where Catia was and what was happening to her. It had consumed him and, with Narina facing the same fears, he had felt so alone that the numbing release ale brought him was welcome. Too welcome.
Now that Catia was home and that crushing, terrible fear was gone, he should go back to his old ways, his old happy self.
He refilled the mug and sat down on the bed, sipping it slower now, feeling the effects of the drink coming over him again like a warm, comforting blanket.
All would be well. He hadn’t done anything to Bellicus, who was a good friend to him, loyal and true.
Or was he? Those rumours about the druid being Catia’s real father had reached his ears and, although he knew they were no more than harmful gossip, put about by the Pict, Drest, and his bastard followers no doubt, it still played on his mind. As did the way he saw Narina and Bel looking at one another. Was he imagining it? Or was there really a barely-concealed attraction for one another in those surreptitious glances? He would always have thought both were true to him but, recently, his mind had been all over the place, with the lingering stress of Catia’s abduction and the ale he relied upon doing his state of mind no favours.
Today was another low point, for he’d never before needed a couple of mugs of ale to help him get dressed and face up to the previous night’s events.
He felt much better now though – the shaking in his hands had stopped, the pounding headache had become a gentle, even, warmth throughout his skull that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and no-one was dead. As far as he could recall anyway.
He would go out now and see what must be done.
He headed for the door, and then the memory of Bellicus’s punch hit him, almost as if had happened again. He touched his mouth gingerly, surprised to find all his teeth still intact.
Coroticus knew he’d started the fight, if it could even be called that, but he also understood what the rumours would do to his reputation if he didn’t do anything to address the fact that he’d been knocked out cold by the druid.
Theoretically, he was Bellicus’s superior, but, in reality, the people of Alt Clota, and many other Britons, revered the druids, seeing them as the gods’ representatives, and above all other mortal men.
But, even with that understanding, the simple fact was, someone in his court had punched Coroticus and laid him out flat in his own hall. If he let it go without any kind of reply, he would be the laughing stock of the entire country, and that would not do.
He would have to do something to punish Bellicus and regain some modicum of respect, there was nothing else for it.
He turned back to the bed as the girl in it started to awaken, turning over on her side, bare breasts making his loins tingle, and he wondered if he should linger there a little while longer. Before he could return to her though, the door opened, and his ardour vanished when he saw Narina standing there.
She glanced past him and her face flushed at the sight of the naked servant—her own maid! There was no anger in the queen’s eyes though, merely resignation, as she sighed softly.
“We need to talk, Coroticus.”
If she’d come in a little while earlier, before he’d downed the two mugs of ale, their conversation would have gone quite differently. As it was, he had a warm glow in him that gave him confidence—he wasn’t drunk though, and he knew the previous night’s event
s must be put to rights somehow. Narina would be vital for that.
He met her gaze and nodded. He still loved her, by Taranis! If she’d just show him some warmth when they were in bed together, he’d not have to lie with slaves. The look on her face suggested she would be more inclined to lie with him if he was not taking mistresses to this chamber every other night. Their relationship was caught in a vicious circle, just like he was with his reliance on ale, and now he was at odds with his old friend Bellicus too.
He would need the queen’s help to set things back on an even keel in Alt Clota for she had proven herself to be much stronger than he was over the past few months.
“All right,” Coroticus agreed and turned to the servant girl who had covered herself with a blanket by now but seemed unsure what to do next. “Get out, Enica. Dress and be about your duties, quickly.”
“Aye, lord king.” Throwing her tunic over her head, the girl took up her worn old shoes in her hand and hurried out of the room, keeping her eyes on the ground at all times, as if she could feel the queen’s hard stare boring into her.
“Tell the guard to send in more ale as you go,” Coroticus commanded her, but Narina broke in.
“Don’t bother, girl,” she said, even though, at twenty-eight, she was only a year older than Enica. “The king will need his wits about him if we’re to have a worthwhile discussion.”
The servant bit her lip and looked from one to the other, nervous and uncertain. “My lord?” she mumbled apologetically. Relief washed over face as he waved her away, giving in to the queen’s wishes.
“You shouldn’t countermand my orders,” the king grumbled once the door was firmly shut and they were alone. “The servants will lose respect for me.”
“You shouldn’t spend your nights rutting with them,” Narina returned, eyes flashing now with anger. “I will lose respect for you.”
“Oh, you’ve made your lack of respect for me quite clear enough already,” he said, but neither of them were in the mood for an argument and he pulled the blankets up neatly, making a clear space for them to sit down and talk properly. “Was it Enica you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Coroticus, I’ve suspected that was going on for weeks, ever since she started talking about politics. No, we have more pressing matters to discuss. You must remember what happened in the hall last night.”
“Aye. You and the druid were gazing into one another’s eyes like lovestruck youngsters, and I snapped.” He shrugged. “Perhaps I acted rashly, attacking him in front of so many of our people but…Bel knocked me out. He must be punished for it.”
“Punished for defending himself against an unknown assailant?” Narina demanded. “You came at him from behind, he simply lashed out instinctively. You must know yourself how rash your actions were. Bel…”
The king’s jaw clenched. “‘Bel is the greatest warrior in Dun Breatann. No-one can best him.’ Is that what you were about to say before you stopped yourself? Perhaps he is, but the fact remains, everyone in my hall saw him knock me to the ground. We will be the talk of the whole land this morning! You mentioned the slaves losing respect for me – how do you think the gossips will receive this tasty morsel of information? How will Drest, or Loarn mac Eirc, spin it when it reaches their ears? Do you suggest I do nothing about this, simply because Bellicus is your favourite?”
“Oh, grow up, Coroticus,” Narina said irritably. “Your jealousy is unfounded – there’s nothing between me and the druid. Before you started acting so irrationally our marriage was perfectly happy. You are allowing your emotions to be twisted, and losing yourself in an ale mug all the time isn’t helping us any.”
They sat in silence for a long time, both lost in their thoughts, trying to make sense of all that had happened to them over the past year.
“Bellicus is your friend, and our druid. He also travelled to the farthest reaches of the land to rescue your daughter and bring her home. You owe him more than the jewels and trinkets you rewarded him with for that. You owe him your gratitude, Coroticus, not punishment.”
The king stared at the floor and then, as if it took him a great effort, muttered, “I don’t know what the point is any more, Narina. Why are we here? Any of us, I mean?” He looked at her and his expression was that of a bemused child. “When I started to believe Catia was dead, it made me ask questions I’d never asked before and…I just don’t know if there’s any reason for this.” He shook his head. “For living.”
This was the first time Coroticus had really opened up to the queen and at least provided her with a motive for his drinking and recent behaviour but, before she could say anything the door was thrown open again and the moment passed. They saw the princess Catia striding into the room, a concerned look on her face.
“Are you all right, Father? The servants are saying you were attacked. Oh! Your mouth!” She spoke too fast for Coroticus to get a word in and, before he knew it, she was standing right before him, peering intently at his injured face. “Is it true Bel did it? Why? Why would Bel hit you?”
“Sometimes men have disagreements, Catia,” the queen said in a tone of voice that suggested no more questions should be asked. The princess was too curious to stop now though.
“What about? Where is Bel anyway? Did you have him thrown in the prison?”
“No, girl!” the king shouted, halting the torrent of questions at last. “I have no idea where he is. We had a minor disagreement, aye, that’s true. But he could have killed me, he hit me so hard. I must punish him – that’s just how things work. I’m a king, not some slave to be beaten on a whim.”
Catia’s eyes narrowed before she looked to Narina, then back to Coroticus.
“You can’t punish Bel. He—”
“I know, I know!” The king threw his hands up in the air and got to his feet to pace up and down the room in exasperation as Catia took his place beside the queen on the bed. “Bel is wonderful. Bel is so tall and strong. Everyone loves Bel.” He stopped walking in front of a window and pushed open the wooden shutters to reveal a grey, yet beautiful, view of the River Clota. His eye followed a small fishing coracle as it drifted past on the shimmering grey waters, the peaceful scene calming his temper but doing little to provide him with answers on how to solve this dilemma.
As the boat sailed out of view an idea did come to him though, as if the gods had seen his turmoil and offered their counsel.
“Exile.”
“What?” Narina’s voice was sharp, disbelieving, as her husband came back across to stand over them.
“I could order him executed but, obviously, none of us want that. Exile seems the best way to punish him, and show the people I have acted against my attacker.”
Catia stared at her father for a heartbeat and then her face screwed up and she jumped down from the bed and out of the room, sandaled feet slapping on the hard stone floor, tears filling her eyes as she cried, “I hate you. I hate you!”
Coroticus watched her go, more than a little irritated by her loyalty to the druid who had, after all, punched him in the face and knocked him out cold mere hours before.
“You can’t do this,” Narina said softly, shaking her head in the silence left by their daughter’s hurried escape. “Bellicus does not deserve it. Dun Breatann is his home, as much as it is ours, and he’s only just returned from the Saxon Shore.”
But Coroticus was like a dog with a bone now and he sat on the bed, taking his wife’s hand in his. He was smiling grimly, staring at – through – the wall, as he pondered the possibilities of this perfect solution he’d just devised for their problem. The chill, fresh air from the open window seemed to give him strength and he knew everything would be all right.
“Listen to me, Narina. This is my plan – it’s a good one, and it will be carried out as I command, whatever Catia thinks. I am king – I rule here – and my word will be obeyed. Aye, even by a druid.”
When he’d spoken to his daughter just now, Coroticus had realised tha
t she really did look rather like Bellicus. The eyes, the shape of the face, those long, nimble fingers…He could quite understand why rumours had sprung up about who the girl’s father really was. Besides, how many women like Enica had he slept with in his life? Quite a few, yet none, as far as he knew, had ever fallen pregnant with his child.
Apart from Narina, and even that had taken a few years and many, many attempts…
He might have just asked his wife straight out who Catia’s real father was but, in truth, Coroticus feared the answer. What would he do if Narina said it was Bellicus who had fathered the girl?
Coroticus had gone half mad when his daughter was abducted by the Saxons – learning he wasn’t even her real father would truly send him over the edge.
He was quite content to continue believing Catia was his flesh and blood – his heir. But the rumours about Bellicus, and his actions the previous night, had to be dealt with if Coroticus was to continue as Alt Clota’s king.
Bellicus had to go.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“My lord.” The guard addressed Bellicus somewhat sheepishly when the druid opened the door of his roundhouse and stared at the soldier who, dressed in full armour, had come for him. “The king commands your presence in the great hall.”
There was only the one guard which, Bellicus thought, was a good sign. At least Coroticus didn’t expect a fight at this stage in proceedings.
“Give me a moment,” he replied, closing the door and turning to look at Duro who stood, grim-faced and ready for whatever was to come. The loyal centurion had wanted to wear his complete legionary uniform – crested helmet, cuirass and all – but the druid didn’t want to come across as overtly confrontational or defensive at this meeting which they’d been expecting since they woke with the sunrise.
Neither did they want to appear frightened or contrite either though – Bellicus had acted in self-defence after all and, while it was regrettable what had happened, no-one could say it was the druid’s fault. If you poke a sleeping bear with a stick, you should be prepared for the consequences, as Qunavo, his old tutor on the island of Iova, had often told him.
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