Song of the Centurion

by Steven A McKay

  “Will they?” Bellicus shook his head sadly. “I think Drest and Cunneda might not agree. As soon as the spring is here properly, their armies will be on the march and this time they might not be so kind to the people of Alt Clota. We should be going on a peace mission, not some wild assassination attempt that has no chance of succeeding.”

  Gavo raised an eyebrow and a small smile formed on his lips. “No chance of succeeding? Isn’t that what everyone thought about you rescuing Catia from the Saxons? Yet you managed it.” He looked at Duro, and then back to the giant druid, and his grin wasn’t mocking, it was confident. As if he believed the pair of them really could kill the Dalriadan king. “You’re a druid,” he said, as if that was all that mattered. “If anyone can do this, it’s you and that centurion. And, like I say, when you come back, everyone will rejoice and there’ll be feasting, and all will be forgotten.”

  “That’s what was supposed to happen when he brought the princess back,” Duro muttered sourly. “So much for the returning hero.”

  Bellicus spoke before Gavo could reply. “How quickly do you think we’ll be able to do this? The trip to Dunadd is a long one, and it’ll be hard with the weather at this time of year. Do you really think we’ll be back before Drest and Cunneda return with their armies?”

  “Don’t you worry about Dun Breatann,” said the captain, pushing back a long strand of hair the breeze had blown across his eyes. “I’ll take care of the place – just you complete your own mission and come home as soon as possible. It would be best to have you with us if there is another invasion.”

  “Not if,” Bellicus said firmly. “When.”

  “Well you’d better be off then, hadn’t you? The sooner you leave the sooner you’ll be back.”

  They clasped hands once more, and Bellicus followed Duro aboard the boat which was lying heavily in the water now, fully laden with men and goods.

  “You ready, my lord?”

  “Aye, you can cast off, Bri. It doesn’t look like anyone else is coming to wave farewell.”

  As the boat was pushed out into the current and the crew set about their duties Duro found a bench and Cai lay down next to him. They both had their heads raised up, eyes slightly hooded against the morning sun, breathing in the fresh, damp air. All the centurion had to do was open his mouth and let his tongue loll out and they might have been twins Bellicus thought in amusement. His happy mood was somewhat tempered though, as he looked back and waved at Gavo, alone on the dock.

  “Take care of my horse, Darac,” he shouted across the water to the guard captain. “Only the best oats for him!”

  Gavo grinned and waved once more before turning and heading back towards the stairs as the druid watched him go a little sadly.

  It would have been nice if Catia or Narina had come to see them off although, given the circumstances of their departure, it was always unlikely to happen.

  His eyes travelled up the great, imposing rock of Dun Breatann as the boat picked up speed and then he saw a flash of white and focused on the small figure at one of the windows in the fortress. It was the princess, watching as her rescuers sailed away to the west. She must have noticed him looking up for her arm lifted in a wave and, smiling, he returned the gesture before the sail was hoisted and she grew too small to see any more.

  “Goodbye, Catia,” the druid whispered, gripping his eagle-topped staff tightly and looking skywards, beseeching the gods to protect her from the fruits of Coroticus’s warmongering.

  Gavo was right: he had to complete his mission to Dalriada as quickly as possible, for within just a few short weeks there would be an army, more likely two, converging on Alt Clota, and this time Drest and Cunneda would have the entire summer to complete their goal of taking Dun Breatann.

  Bellicus walked to the prow of the boat and held up a hand to shade his eyes as he gazed into the distance, then he turned impatiently to Bri.

  “Can’t this thing go any faster?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “We should try to keep to ourselves as much as possible,” Bellicus said as the boat drew against the dock in Arachar. “We don’t want Loarn finding out enemies are in his lands.”

  Duro raised an eyebrow and laughed incredulously. “Okay, let’s keep our heads down, good idea. Although, even with your head down, you’re still bigger than anyone I can see in that village we’re about to walk through. Not to mention that giant dog that follows you everywhere.” He slapped the druid on the arm and shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you realise just how you appear to other people.”

  The boat nudged the wooden jetty and the pair grasped the bow to keep from falling. “Sorry, my friend,” Bellicus grumbled. “I can’t make myself any smaller. The gods chose to make me a great, strapping young warrior.”

  Duro nodded agreement and smiled. “That they did, lad. Even if a fat baker had to rescue you from those Saxon fools not so long ago.”

  The ship’s captain approached and bowed his head deferentially to the druid. “That’s us here, lord,” he said unnecessarily, as if the sight of land might have somehow escaped his passengers’ notice. “Will you need any help to disembark?” He scratched Cai under the chin as Bellicus shook his head.

  “No, thank you, Bri. We don’t have much to carry.” He grasped the captain by the forearm and thanked him again, this time for making their journey fast and smooth. Then the two men, along with the dog – excited to be on land with all its new sights and smells – made their way down the gangplank onto the dock.

  “Got everything? The tent?”

  Duro patted the rolled-up tent stowed over his shoulder, checked all his weapons were in place, including a hunting bow, and nodded. “Aye. You got our provisions?”

  “I have. Let’s go then. We’ll follow the road until we’re out of sight of the village, so we don’t attract any attention. Just two normal travellers heading northwest, right? Then we’ll do our best to keep off the well-travelled paths until we reach Dunadd.”

  He whistled for Cai to come to heel and they began to walk.

  “You know where we’re going?” Duro wondered, looking around at the snow-topped hills, brown fields, and leafless trees everywhere. “I mean, you’ve been here before?”

  “Aye, more than once,” the druid said. “When I was younger, I visited all the important sites across these northern lands. There weren’t many settlements this far west, although things might have changed since then, with the new settlers coming all the time. Bri will return for us in two weeks, although Taranis knows how long it’ll take us to complete our mission.”

  “Assuming it’s even possible,” Duro said. “If the fortress is impenetrable, how does Coroticus expect us to get in, kill the king, and escape again?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t,” Bellicus replied ominously.

  “You think he wants us to fail? To be captured or killed by Loarn?”

  The druid shook his head. “I doubt he wants us dead, just out of the way for a bit.” His face was troubled though, as this really was a fool’s errand the king had sent them on.

  “Hail, strangers!”

  They halted, and Bellicus muttered an oath under his breath. So much for not drawing any attention to themselves. They hadn’t even left the village yet, and here was someone already wanting to talk.

  They turned to see an older man hurrying towards them. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed, and his long woollen cloak was clean and in good condition. Bellicus marked him as a person of good standing within the community, and his thoughts were confirmed when the man reached them, eyeing Cai somewhat warily.

  “Forgive me,” he said, eyes drawn to Bellicus and, in particular, his eagle-topped staff. “I’m Conall mac Gabrain, headman of this settlement. I saw you come off the boat and, well, are you a druid?”

  Again, Bellicus cursed silently to himself – not only had they drawn attention to themselves but word of who he was would undoubtedly precede them now. He had thought of leaving his staff behind in Dun
Breatann but rejected the idea – it was more than just a length of wood, it was his badge of office and came in useful much more often than it caused problems. Besides, being a druid was a sacred calling, and if the people here needed his help, he was bound to give it, if possible.

  “I am, Conall,” he replied, and the man sagged a little, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The gesture didn’t bode well. “My name is Bellicus. These are my friends, Duro and Cai.”

  “Praise be, you can help us sort this out then! Taranis knows it’s too much for me alone.” He looked at the ground as if in a daydream then shook his head and looked back to Bellicus and the perplexed Duro. “Forgive me,” he said once again, “I will explain everything if you will follow me to the hall? We should hurry, it’s starting to rain.”

  The headman walked northwards, towards the largest building in the village, but Duro grasped his companion by the arm, holding him in place.

  “We have a mission to complete. Whatever’s happening here is none of our business.”

  The druid patted the centurion’s hand but shook his head and smiled almost apologetically. “You are thinking like a soldier again, my friend. We are not members of your old legion – I am a representative of the gods and I must do what I can for the people of this settlement.”

  Duro cursed under his breath as they followed the headman. “You know word will reach Loarn mac Eirc that a giant druid is in his lands? He’ll figure out straight away who you are.”

  “That was always a possibility. It matters little. Loarn has no idea what our plans are, and he certainly won’t see us as a threat. Besides, if we sort this out quickly, we’ll be on our way before word can travel anywhere.”

  The rain was falling steadily now and Duro was still muttering to himself as they passed into the hall, although he cheered up at the sight of a cask of ale, and even managed a smile when Conall threw some kindling onto the fire in the centre of the room and poked the embers, bringing the welcoming flames to life. Cai padded silently across to it and lay down, eyes, as always, fixed on his master.

  The downpour could be heard drumming on the thatched roof as the headman filled three mugs and set them down on the table the two companions had chosen to sit at.

  “Your hall is comfortable, and well made,” the druid noted, looking up at the roof. Not a drop of rain could be seen leaking through.

  Conall mac Gabrain smiled proudly at the compliment. “We’re a community of sailors, fishermen, boat-builders – we know how to keep the water out where it’s not needed. Would you like something to eat?”

  “Aye,” Duro grinned, rubbing his stomach, but Bellicus shook his head.

  “Later. First, Conall, you better tell us what troubles you.”

  The headman looked at Duro. “Is he a druid too? He doesn’t look like one, although, no offence, neither do you, my lord.”

  “No, he’s not a druid,” Bellicus smiled. “He’s my…servant.” The smile on his face only widened at the outraged glare he received from the centurion. “You can talk freely, Conall. Duro is trustworthy. And, rather like Cai, once you feed him, he’ll be your friend for life.”

  The headman laughed but, as he began telling them his tale the frivolity quickly evaporated.

  “One of our people was murdered, just two days ago.”

  Bellicus said nothing. Such a crime wasn’t particularly common, but it was hardly unheard of. Men fought over anything, from women to money to land. Gods, if drink was involved, someone might even be murdered over a misheard word! This was no simple drunken brawl gone wrong though, and a chill ran down the druid’s back as Conall went on.

  “It was a little girl.”

  Bellicus and Duro listened as the headman explained everything to them and, by the end of it, both men were filled with anger, for the child’s death had been neither quick nor painless. Bellicus couldn’t help thinking of Catia, and a sense of outrage, such as he’d never felt before, threatened to consume him.

  “Do you know who did it?” he demanded, and the headman shrank back at the power in the druid’s voice.

  “No. There were only five men around that part of the island on the day the body was discovered, so it must have been one of them. All deny it, though, and I see no way to find the truth.” He looked hopefully at Bellicus. “Perhaps the gods will shine their light on the perpetrator? Our community will never be able to move past this horrible time until justice is served.”

  “You’ve questioned all the suspects?”

  “Of course. Some of them are not particularly well liked and their treatment hasn’t been altogether pleasant. Yet, all continue to protest their innocence.”

  “Where are they now?”

  Conall mac Gabrain shrugged. “At work I assume.”

  “You aren’t worried the guilty man will simply flee?” Duro asked.

  “What else can I do? I can’t simply imprison five men. This is only a small village and they are needed at their work. Besides, four of them are innocent, and all have ties here – family and so on – so they’re unlikely to go anywhere.” He spread his hands wide. “You see why I was so glad when you appeared here today? I have no experience of dealing with something like this. It is a terribly heavy burden. That little girl…”

  “Gather ten of your men and arrest the suspects,” Bellicus said, staring thoughtfully into the fire. “Have them taken to the place where the girl was found. I will question them there. Tonight.”

  * * *

  “Did you know the girl named Fedelmid?”

  The man seated on the ground before Bellicus looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

  “I did,” he replied hoarsely.

  Night had fallen and the rain had mercifully stopped, although clouds still covered the moon and only a couple of rushlights illuminated the site where the child’s body had been discovered. Bellicus wore his hood up, and Cai lay by his side, a malevolent, silent shadow.

  The man before him was the third of the five suspects, and, like the previous two, he was terrified by the giant druid and the spirits that undoubtedly haunted this place of ill-portent.

  “Did you kill her?”

  “No, I swear by Taranis, I did not! She was a nice wee thing, reminded me of my own daughter. No-one in their right mind could have done…that…” He trailed off and the dim light caught tears streaking his face. “Do you have children, druid?”

  Bellicus, caught completely off guard by the question, stared at him, unsure how to reply. At last, he nodded.

  “Then you’ll understand,” said the villager. “No father could have committed that crime.”

  The druid knew that statement was incorrect – many parents had been known to commit such crimes in the past – but it was obvious this fellow was innocent. As the other two had been.

  “You may go,” the druid said, and leaned down to help the man to his feet. When he was gone, Bellicus shouted back towards the village, where Duro, Conall mac Gabrain and some of the villagers held the two remaining suspects. “Send the next one,” he shouted, and watched as the centurion’s shadowy outline approached with a rather smaller figure in front of him.

  “Sit,” the druid commanded.

  “Where? On the grass? No – it’s wet.” The voice was that of a youngster, sullen and uncooperative.

  “I said, ‘sit’!” Bellicus’s massive palm lashed out, striking the lad on the side of the face, sending him flying. The druid, eyes well-adjusted to the gloom by now, took in the sight of this fourth suspect.

  Aeron Cynbel, about seventeen years old, slim, strangely confident eyes and a defiant curl to his upper lip. This one, Conall had told him, was the least likely to have committed the crime.

  “Quiet lad,” the headman had attested. “Keeps himself to himself, does his work without much complaint and, although he’s not exactly popular, he’s never had a cross word with anyone as far as I know. Not the violent type.”

  Bellicus glared at the young man and c
ompared his demeanour to that of the previous three suspects. The others had appeared terrified from the moment they were brought here to this secluded spot, next to the loch and overlooked by a small grove of yew and birch trees.

  This young man didn’t seem scared, just sullen and irritated after spending the day locked in a room with the other accused.

  “Have you been here before?”

  Aeron Cynbel nodded. “Of course. This is a small village. I’ve been to every part of it.”

  “Did you kill the girl here?”

  A smile tugged at the man’s mouth. “I’m not stupid, you won’t trick me into confessing,” he said. “Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Do you find this amusing?” Bellicus growled, crouching down and staring into the other’s face. “A child was raped and murdered here. Her spirit still haunts the place, tied to the land until justice is done and her killer pays the price for his crime. Yet you sit there, smiling.”

  The young man simply shrugged and stared back at the druid. “Why shouldn’t I? You don’t frighten me; I did nothing wrong.”

  “I may not frighten you, but what about the gods?”

  No reply.

  “The gods know what you did,” Bellicus said softly, standing up once again, wondering how best to rattle this strangely confident youngster. Was he unmoved by the druid and this ill-fated place because he was innocent of the horrific crime, or was something else happening behind that sullen façade?

  “Do you know what happened to the girl?”

  Cynbel nodded. “Everyone does, it’s all people have talked about for the past two days.”

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “Sad.”

  Bellicus couldn’t read the man at all. He seemed to have a natural gift of hiding his emotions, a talent that often took trainee-druids months or years of practice. His face betrayed no fear, remorse, guilt, or, for that matter, sadness.