Song of the Centurion

by Steven A McKay

  Galchobhar’s grin returned at the druid’s promise and he passed the bird off to the same woman who’d just got the fire going, ordering her to pluck and cook it in a soup, before he went to a barrel in the corner and drew three mugs of ale.

  By the time the bird had been prepared and set before the three men the sun had set outside and a few of the people began to filter in, rubbing numb hands by the hearty fire and stamping their feet on the floor to try and get the blood flowing again.

  Then the inevitable request came from Galchobhar: would Bellicus sing for them?

  Normally the druid would refuse, for he wasn’t particularly fond of singing, preferring instead to tell stories in return for his hosts’ hospitality, but he wanted these people in a good mood, for he had questions to ask them, and they would answer better if they were pleased.

  “Aye, all right,” he agreed, to whoops and cheers of delight. “I’ll sing a few songs. My friend Duro might even join me for one, eh? Good.”

  Some of the folk had simple things like skin drums and bone flutes and, as Bellicus expected, they all knew “Rhydderch The Red” and various other old songs of Hibernian origin. Everyone joined in as he sang the better-known ones, and then he hushed them to silence and Duro took out his flute and handed it to Bellicus. As they performed “Alatucca’s Song” the people remained quiet, appreciating their skill for they had become rather good performing at this tune by now. When they finished there was a round of applause and calls for another, but Galchobhar told the people to leave their guests alone, for they had more than earned their keep for the night.

  The musicians in the hall continued where Bellicus and Duro left off, entertaining those who wanted music, but things had reached a stage where many of the villagers were content to simply enjoy their ale or wine and chat to one another. The druid from Dun Breatann felt the same, and he settled comfortably on his stool next to Galchobhar and conversed with the headman, telling him the news from the wider world. From rumours of a wonderful white stag in the north, to the massing Saxon armies in the south, Galchobhar was soon lost within Bellicus’s words, charmed by the giant druid and the strong drink.

  “It’s not often we have one like you here in our village,” the headman of Auchalic smiled, glad to change the subject after hearing about Horsa and Hengist’s plans to subdue all the people dwelling in these lands, be they Briton, Pict or Dalriadan. “Well, never actually,” he corrected himself. “This is the first time I’ve ever met a real druid.”

  “What about Dotha,” Bellicus asked, thinking of King Loarn’s Christian Bishop. “You might have met him. He was training to be a druid originally, before he converted.”

  “Pah.” Galchobhar’s obscene hand gesture made it clear what he thought of the old bishop. “He doesn’t count. The man’s an arse.”

  Bellicus heard the venom in the headman’s voice and knew something must lie behind it.

  “You don’t like him?”

  Galchobhar shook his head with a scowl. “You’re right, I’ve met him. I’ve known him for years, even before we came over from the old country to settle here. Back then he wasn’t any trouble but…” He glanced about, finally realising his words might find their way back to either Dotha or Loarn, and then he’d be in trouble. No-one was listening though, not even Duro, who was watching the musicians entertain the handful of villagers who still wanted to sing and dance. “Since he became bishop, Dotha has been the scourge of the hard-working people in these lands.”

  “In what way?”

  Leaning in close to make certain he couldn’t be overheard, Galchobhar began setting out his issues with the bishop. “He made us all convert to his new religion, whether we wanted to or not.”

  “Did you not want to then?”

  “Of course not, druid!” the headman retorted. “I’ve followed the old gods all my life and they’ve always taken care of me. Why should I forget them all, and worship just one? Are we Dalriadans free? Or are we slaves, to be told what to do and how to think? No,” he went on, looking into Bellicus’s eyes, and there was a sadness there, hidden behind the angry mask. “I fear this new religion will be the end of our people – it makes us weak, and it’s made Loarn weak. If these sea wolves – Saxons – ye speak of, do come here, they’ll find us an easy target.”

  The headman turned away to watch the dancers, and Bellicus took in his words before drawing Galchobhar’s attention back to him.

  “Do you think the folk in the other settlements about here feel the same way?” He knew well enough how those living further away from a king’s seat of power would always feel less inclined to support them – far from the protection of Loarn’s warband, probably losing sheep and cattle to raiders from the islands to the south-west or his own Alt Clotan compatriots, the people of Auchalic would understandably be put out at having to pay fealty to a king that, through no real fault of his own it had to be said, couldn’t offer them protection the way he could to those living closer to Dunadd.

  “The headmen of the surrounding settlements do, aye. We meet at the markets and it’s always the same tales of woe.” He gazed at the druid, impotent anger burning in his eyes. “We send our wealth as taxes to King Loarn, leaving our people hungry during hard winters like this one. We even renounced our old gods to placate that fool Dotha. But what do we get in return?”

  He left the question hanging in the air – it needed no answer.

  “These lands once belonged to the Britons of Alt Clota,” Bellicus said at last, once Galchobhar had calmed down again. “Before you came from over the sea.”

  Galchobhar looked sidelong at the druid, warily, unsure where this was going. “Some of the men and women you see here,” he gestured to the gathered villagers enjoying the celebration as if they hadn’t a care in the world, “have lived in this settlement since before we came. We didn’t just turn up and start killing everyone.” He shook his head emphatically. “This village was dying before we came. Not enough people to support it. Most of the people were happy to let us join them.”

  Bellicus didn’t ask what happened to those who didn’t want the Dalriadans to settle here. The fact was, things were changing all across the country. Newcomers were arriving all the time now that the Romans were gone. Sometimes they killed everyone in an existing settlement and just took over their dwellings and belongings and often even their wives.

  From what the druid could see, that hadn’t happened in Auchalic. He could hear the different accents, and even pick out differences in skin tone or facial structure that he imagined separated the Dalriadans from the Britons. It appeared the two peoples had found a way to live together in harmony, content to continue their lives as fishermen and simple farmers, without killing one another simply because they came from a different place.

  Bellicus wondered if there was a lesson here for him. Should he, once they got back to Dun Breatann, advise Coroticus to try and make peace with the Saxons, offering them lands, or even taking some of them in to live and work in Alt Clotan settlements?

  He discarded the idea at once, knowing such a policy would be naïve and foolishly idealistic. The Dalriadans, much like the Picts, shared many similarities with Bellicus’s people – the Saxons were another matter. Horsa, for one, would need to be defeated in battle before he gave up his notions of conquest.

  Bellicus’s thoughts moved away from the Saxons, returning to matters closer at hand as he addressed Galchobhar once more.

  “You say many of your people are Britons,” he noted. “Yet this is a Dalriadan settlement: your king is Loarn mac Eirc and, if he calls your men to his armies, they will go.”

  “A man needs a king,” Galchobhar countered, and Bellicus dipped his head in agreement.

  “But you, and the others of this settlement, and those nearby,” he said, sipping from his ale, “feel no great loyalty, or love, for Loarn mac Eirc?”

  The enormity of what was being said – of what he had said already – suddenly seemed to penetrate the ale-induced
fog shrouding Galchobhar’s mind and his hand dropped to the knife at his belt as he stared into the druid’s eyes, wondering if he was a spy.

  Time seemed to slow then, as Bellicus gazed back, unblinking, ready to defend himself should Galchobhar decide this guest was more dangerous than he’d first thought. Treason was a crime punishable by death after all.

  Galchobhar, unnerved by the druid’s stony visage, dropped his eyes only to see the massive wardog, Cai, watching him intently beneath the table, and a shiver ran down his spine as he realised how close to death he’d just come. He lifted his cup and took a long pull.

  “You have nothing to fear from me,” Bellicus said and his tone was warm, reassuring – the result of many long hours spent learning how to control his voice under the tutelage of Qunavo and the other elder druids in Iova. “I am no spy, sent here from Loarn mac Eirc. In truth, I hate Dotha even more than you, and I despise the king for being led like a fool by the Christians. Your words here tonight will not be held against you, Galchobhar, I swear it, and may Taranis strike me down if I lie.”

  The headman, fortified by his swig of ale, managed a smile then noticed Duro also sitting watching him. “By the Tuatha De,” he said, with a wry shake of his head. “I wouldn’t like to meet you three on a dark night. I’m glad you’re my friends!”

  Bellicus sensed the change in tone of the conversation and, rather than forcing it back to talk of allegiances and misplaced loyalty, he remained silent, allowing Galchobhar to enjoy the rest of the night.

  After another song or two, toasts to new friends and gods, old and new, those who were sober enough went to their homes. The rest, including the three visitors, bedded down in the hall.

  Before he fell asleep, Bellicus saw a young woman, quite attractive, lie next to Duro. The centurion looked surprised, and then embarrassed, and the druid could hear their conversation.

  “Do ye not find me desirable?”

  Duro shook his head. “It’s not that…I just…My wife was…” He looked down and Bel could see the tears glistening in his friend’s eyes. “I’m flattered, but not tonight, girl.”

  She apparently understood his pain and touched his arm as he laid his head back down and turned away, facing the wall so no-one else could see his anguish.

  The girl, apparently finding outsiders extremely alluring, looked towards Bellicus but he too shook his head and she wandered off. The druid wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or angered by their rejection of her charms, but it didn’t matter – he had made it a rule never to sleep with women in a situation like this. It only led to trouble, as jealous men would start a fight even when sober, never mind after a heavy drinking session like they’d all enjoyed this night.

  Bellicus didn’t want to battle with the good folk of Auchalic. Quite the opposite in fact, as their unplanned visit here had set several wheels in motion within his head…

  “What’s our plans for tomorrow?” Duro asked eventually, turning back towards Bel, face composed once more. The fire was now almost burned out, offering only a little heat and orange light.

  “Leave as soon as possible,” Bellicus replied drowsily. “Did you find someone to take us home? I noticed you talking to one of the men, with some of your Roman coins changing hands.”

  Duro snorted. “Nothing gets past you, does it, druid? Aye.” Laughing now. “You’re half right. The lad will indeed take us back to Dun Breatann, but the only payment I offered was the boat we sailed here in. We won’t need it, but he can make use of it and we’ll be back in front of the jovial Coroticus in no time.”

  “What about the coins? I definitely saw you passing some to the villager.”

  The centurion grinned, pleased to know something his friend didn’t. “Can’t you guess? No? The wise druid, Bellicus, scourge of the Saxons and—”

  “Get on with it, by Dis. I want to get to sleep before the sun comes up again!”

  “The boy had never seen Roman money before,” Duro said, still smiling. “I was simply showing it to him. It’s basically worthless here anyway.”

  “Good night, Duro,” said the druid and within seconds, both the druid and his dog were snoring as if they were safely tucked up in a comfortable bed in the fortress of Dun Breatann. Duro lay awake, planning on keeping watch for although the headman and the rest of the villagers seemed friendly enough, you could never tell what people would do when night fell. A full moon, like the one that hung overhead outside tonight, often made folk act a little strangely.

  Soon enough though, the centurion’s eyelids became heavy, and he too felt the comforting blanket of sleep draw over him.

  * * *

  The next day proved stormy, and so did the one after that. Despite Bellicus’s desire to be away from Dalriada, it would have been folly to sail in such weather and they were forced to remain in Auchalic for a little longer. There was a chance Loarn mac Eirc would still be on their trail but even dogs couldn’t follow a scent across the water so it would only be chance that brought the pursuing king to the very settlement the druid and Duro were staying in.

  The pair earned their keep though, for although the wind and rain weren’t ideal for travelling, it didn’t stop them wandering about the land near the village, cloaks pulled tightly around themselves, hunting for game. Hares were plentiful in this part of the country, and their meat was a welcome addition to the table in Auchalic. Bellicus further endeared himself to the locals by gifting the cook, Luigsech, some of the herbs and spices he carried in his cloak pockets, which she used to make a wonderful, aromatic stew. Duro too, became a favourite amongst the women in the village, showing them a recipe for simple sweet cakes he’d come up with himself back in his days as a baker.

  The nights, while not as raucous as that first occasion when they’d washed ashore, were still pleasant affairs spent in the hall, chatting to people, learning their ways, their hopes and dreams, which were, of course, much the same as anyone in any other part of the world. Bellicus spent hours in Galchobhar’s company, becoming fast friends with the clever headman.

  At last the weather changed and, on the third morning, the sun rose above the settlement, making the rippling waves on the loch sparkle in its brilliance.

  “I’m sorry to see ye go, lads,” Galchobhar said to both men, grasping their forearms tightly before pulling Cai in tight against his legs and rubbing the dog’s muscular body affectionately. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever see ye again, but it’s been good having ye around. We’ll miss yer tales, and yer recipes!”

  “Maybe you will see us again,” Bellicus said, turning back from looking at their boat being readied to leave. “Perhaps Loarn’s time as king will come to an end and the loyalties of Auchalic will move to another. One better placed to offer you the protection from raids you require, while taking less in tribute every month?”

  The headman shrugged. “Perhaps. But, for now, Loarn is our king and Dotha our spiritual leader.” His mouth twisted in distaste before he continued in a more upbeat voice. “Who knows how long that will last though? Kings come and go and it’s possible the people in the lands around here will look favourably on one who still follows the old ways.”

  “You will speak to them?” the druid asked, and received a nod in response.

  “I will, my friend. If ye come this way again, accompanied by yer king or just with Duro and Cai, ye will always be welcome. Now go – Maedoc is ready to sail. Make the most of this fine weather, for it might change at any time.”

  The three travellers made their way down the beach to the boat and the two men tossed their packs on board before Bellicus lifted Cai into the vessel and Duro followed. It was cramped with the three of them plus their Dalriadan pilot, Maedoc, but the journey should, all being well, be over by the evening. If the wind was against them, or the weather turned again, they should still make it back to Dun Breatann some time the next day.

  Duro and Maedoc pushed the boat from the beach into the water, grunting with the effort, but Bellicus insisted he rem
ain on board to steady Cai who was understandably nervous of being in such a small boat without even a proper flat deck to sit or lie on.

  “At least we don’t have to row all the way this time,” the druid grinned, patting Duro, who was puffing hard as he jumped into the boat and it floated forward at little more than a walking pace. “Maedoc will have the sail up and we can just relax and enjoy the view.”

  “Unless Loarn mac Eirc appears behind us,” the centurion muttered. “We’ll bloody need to row if that happens.”

  “What’s that?” Maedoc asked, brows lowered. “Why would the king be coming after us?”

  Bellicus threw Duro a dark look. The experienced soldier really should have known better than to let slip such an important – secret – piece of information.

  “Never mind, lad,” the centurion said, smiling reassuringly, but placing his hand on the hilt of his sword to remind the Dalriadan to do as he was told or there would be consequences. “Just get us back to Dun Breatann and you’ll be well rewarded with this fine boat.”

  The young sailor turned his blue eyes on the druid who stared back at him stony-faced and the lad simply nodded and set about unfurling the sail. He was no fool and besides, Galchobhar had told Bellicus the men of Auchalic held no great love for their Christian king. Maedoc would not hinder their journey, even if he thought he might survive such a foolish course of action. Which he would not.

  Of course, the Dalriadan sailor’s views might change if a ship with Loarn mac Eirc on board did appear on the horizon behind them, but they would deal with that if it happened. Until then…The druid placed his back against the hull of the boat and gazed up at the blue sky, watching the clouds scud across it as the sail was raised and they began to pick up speed.

  “This beats walking anyway,” he murmured, before closing his eyes and basking in the sun and the gentle motion of the waves.

  Around midday Bellicus asked their pilot how far they’d travelled and was pleased to hear they were almost in Damnonii lands, and halfway to Dun Breatann itself. They shared a meal of bread and smoked fish and the druid asked Maedoc how the sail worked, just in case he ever needed to steal a boat again in the future.