Song of the Centurion

by Steven A McKay

  The day passed pleasantly, although the temperature dropped around mid-afternoon as clouds covered the sun. They weren’t the heavy, dark thunderheads of the previous two days though, and it seemed they would reach their destination without being drenched.

  When the great bulk of Dun Breatann at last appeared on the horizon Bellicus couldn’t help a smile tugging at his lips. They would soon be home, and safe within the impenetrable fortress – Loarn mac Eirc had been thwarted.

  Still, their own mission to kill the Dalriadan king hadn’t been completed successfully either, and Coroticus, well…The druid would not worry about their reception. They had nowhere else to go and they would just have to trust in the gods to take care of them.

  The gloomy thoughts turned then to little Catia and the druid’s smile returned. They had been away only a matter of weeks, but children grew and changed so quickly he wondered what the princess would be like now. She at least would be pleased to see him, he was sure of that.

  Yet, as he gazed into the distance at the giant rock, towering above the river around it, a sudden fear gripped Bellicus and he bit his lip in consternation.

  “What’s up? Sea sick?”

  The sailor had noticed the druid’s change in expression, and Duro glanced across at his friend curiously.

  “We’re nearly home,” the centurion said, nodding ahead, towards Dun Breatann. “And you’re only just feeling sick now?”

  “Not sick,” Bellicus replied softly, but his face had turned ashen and he had no idea what had come over him. “Put in at Cardden Ros,” he commanded their pilot, pointing at a small settlement near a peninsula that jutted out from the land into the river.

  “What?” Duro demanded. “We’re almost home. All we have to do is sit here in the boat and we’ll be dropped right off at Dun Breatann. What in Hades has come over you?”

  Bellicus wasn’t sure how to answer his friend’s perfectly reasonable question. By disembarking at Cardden Ros they would need to walk the rest of the way – around five miles – and they would not reach home before sunset.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to meet Duro’s irritated gaze. “I can’t say why, but I feel it would be a terrible mistake to just turn up at Dun Breatann.” The centurion’s expression softened, and Bellicus was pleased at the trust his friend had in him, even if it meant an extra walk he hadn’t been expecting. “Don’t worry, I have friends in Cardden Ros, they’ll take good care of us.”

  “What about me?” the sailor asked. It was one thing docking at a major port like Dun Breatann, where traders could expect to be safe, protected by custom and a code of honour set down for generations, quite another to simply put in at a random town or village. “You know Dalriada is at war with these people?”

  “You’re with me,” Bellicus said. “I’m the druid of these lands so you have nothing to fear. Make the most of the hospitality in Cardden Ros tonight, and you’ll be safely on your way home tomorrow morning.”

  The Dalriadan didn’t look entirely convinced but he had little choice in the matter so he trimmed the sail, setting the boat on a course that would bring them straight to the druid’s chosen destination. Bellicus could hear him muttering though, wondering what made him think he’d be safe in Cardden Ros, if he thought there was danger in Dun Breatann.

  It was a fair question, the druid had to concede, but they couldn’t spend the rest of their lives on this little boat in the middle of the River Clota and, as he said, there were friends in the village they were sailing towards. Men and women Bellicus had known for years and, more importantly, men and women he’d helped with various problems in that time.

  The people of Cardden Ros would not turn them away.

  And yet, as the boat struck the stony beach and Maedoc jumped out with Duro to drag its hull right out of the foaming water, Bellicus checked his weapons were in place and ready for use. Something had caused him to be fearful of Dun Breatann, it was only common sense to be wary of what they might find here in Cardden Ros since this was also part of King Coroticus’s lands.

  He lifted Cai out onto the beach and the dog rather incongruously shook his body as if he had swum there instead of coming by boat. Then, as the men shook their heads at the strange behaviour, sharing bemused smiles, Cai ran to the long grass a little way ahead, sniffing excitedly and emptying his bladder.

  “Come on,” Bellicus said, leading the way towards the village, the others falling in behind him. “We’ll get a warmer welcome if we arrive while it’s still light.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Cardden Ros was a small, quiet village, that, although situated on the banks of the Clota, was well insulated from the threat of invaders by the bigger settlements along the river. A large fleet would not reach their tiny village without being spotted and attacked further west.

  A solitary three-man boat was not seen as a threat though, and, as a result, Bellicus’s party made it into the village without being challenged. There were no gates, no palisade walls, and no sentries but, as the druid knew, the men here were as hardy as any he’d come across from Drumcrew to Soriodunum. Farmers and fishermen, as they were back in Auchalic, the people of Cardden Ros needed no walls to protect them – their sheepdogs and legendary tempers were enough to deal with any who caused trouble within their sparsely populated lands.

  As they walked towards the centre of the village Bellicus had a sudden thought. “I’d been going to head for the roundhouse the folk use as their meeting hall,” he said softly to his companions, raising an arm to halt their steps. “Many of them will be in there on a cold night like this, enjoying the communal hearth and one another’s company.” He started walking again but this time he headed for the left, away from the main paths, towards the fields, and he pulled his hood up over his head as he went.

  “Well, if they’re in there, where are we going?” Duro hissed in confusion. “You said yourself we’d get a better welcome if the people see us now, when there’s still some light. Creeping about in the fields won’t look suspicious at all, will it?”

  “Don’t worry, my sarcastic friend,” Bellicus smiled over his shoulder as they reached a stone wall and he raised a long leg over it. “There’s no livestock in this field so I doubt there’ll be any sheep or cattle-herders around to see us. I know one of the farmers not far from here who’ll be glad to see us. Or me at any rate. You two? He might let you sleep in his stable I suppose. You can huddle together for warmth when the frost begins to settle.”

  The Dalriadan didn’t seem to know whether the druid was joking or not but Duro didn’t bother reassuring him – the look on the man’s face was too comical. And the centurion had to stifle a laugh when Cai vaulted the wall, claws momentarily scrabbling on the stone, and the fretful sailor looked like he might shit his breeches so bemused was he by the whole strange situation he found himself in.

  They walked for a little while and, by the time a farmhouse came into view the sun had dipped beneath the horizon. The building was merely a black spot against a dark background until they grew nearer, and a weak light could be seen emanating from the gaps in a shuttered window.

  “Someone’s not out drinking in the village hall,” Duro muttered, eyes scanning the gloomy fields around them, ever alert for danger. “You sure they’ll be glad to find three strangers on their threshold? I don’t want some mad farmer attacking me with his hoe.”

  As he spoke, there came a sudden barking, and, already wary, the centurion drew his spatha, while the Dalriadan sailor pulled out his long knife. The dogs, which must have been bedded down in an outhouse or barn, charged towards them, invisible in the night, but given away by their excited, aggressive barking.

  A man’s voice came from inside the dwelling, asking, as dog-owners are wont to do, “What’s the matter?” even though he must have known his only reply would be yet more yammering.

  The sheepdogs came up to the travellers and their rangy forms were visible now that they were closer. Cai barked too, his deeper ton
es mixing with the others to form a cacophony that seemed to fill the entire field, all the way back down to the starlit Clota. The hounds did not set to fighting though, rather they seemed excited to meet and began sniffing and playing with one another as the door opened in the farmhouse and a tall figure loomed against the light within.

  “Who’s there?”

  The farmer’s voice was calm but Bellicus could make out the unmistakable shape of a hatchet in his hand and the druid called out, not wanting to cause any alarm to the man, whose supper had no doubt been rudely interrupted by their sudden appearance on his land.

  “It’s Bellicus the Druid, Cadeyrn. I’m sorry to arrive like this, as night is falling but—”

  “Bel! By Cernunnos, what are you doing creeping about in the dark?” the farmer broke in, and gestured the three men to come inside, as he scolded his dogs and ordered them to quieten down. They failed to do so until Cai had followed his master into the farmhouse and the sheepdogs were left outside to return to their beds.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Bellicus hadn’t even been offered a seat, never mind meat or drink, before the farmer’s question, and the druid stared at him, surprised by the unexpected lack of hospitality.

  “We’ve been travelling,” he replied. “On a mission for King Coroticus.”

  Cadeyrn’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the king and he seemed unsure how to proceed.

  Duro and the sailor glanced at one another awkwardly, unsure what was happening. Hadn’t the druid said this farmer was a friend?

  “Out with it, man,” the druid suddenly commanded, his voice taking on a powerful tone that Duro had heard before. As he expected, the farmer began to speak.

  “Have you not heard? No, I suppose not, or you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.” Suddenly, it seemed as if Cadeyrn remembered his duties as a host, and he muttered, showing the three newcomers to a table in the corner of the room. It was by another window and Bellicus knew, from a previous visit one past summer, that it offered a wonderful view of the Clota and the fields on the far shore that the farmer could enjoy while eating his meals. Now, though, it was shuttered like the other windows, and Bellicus felt glad of it, as if there might be someone or something out there waiting to do them harm if given the chance.

  He sat in silence, letting the vague feeling pass as the farmer placed a jug of ale and two cups on the table. “They’re the only ones I’ve got,” he said apologetically. “We’ll have to share.” Also for sharing was the remains of a black loaf and some butter, which he set down before on a trencher with a knife and bid them dig in.

  Like the cups, there were only two stools, one for the host, and the other taken by Bellicus while Duro and the sailor sat on a bench attached to the wall by hinges so it could be folded down when not in use. The farmhouse wasn’t particularly small, but, with four men inside it was a little cramped, although the crackling fire in the hearth meant it was also wonderfully cosy after the cold boat trip.

  Without preamble, the farmer spoke again once everyone was seated and furnished with food and drink. “The king has put word out, Bel, that, when you return to Alt Clota you’ve to be arrested.”

  Bellicus stopped mid-chew and stared at the farmer, while Duro muttered an oath, crumbs flying from his mouth. The sailor, perhaps unconsciously, seemed to move away from his two travelling companions, as if distancing himself from their company.

  Time seemed to grind to a halt just for an instant, as Cadeyrn’s words sank in, but then Bellicus began to masticate his buttered bread again and the moment passed. “What for?” he asked. “I mean, what am I accused of?”

  Cadeyrn shook his head and looked as bewildered as anyone else around the table. “No idea. The word was just put about that you were to be taken into custody when you returned. Everyone’s been talking about it – seemed a strange thing to ask people. I mean…you’re Coroticus’s closest advisor. A druid!”

  They sat again in silence, finishing the simple meal and allowing the warmth to penetrate their tired muscles. Cai whined by the door but Bellicus took no notice, lost in his thoughts, wondering what had happened in his absence from Dun Breatann to bring about this royal edict.

  “Why are you here – at my place – anyway?” Cadeyrn asked, repeating his earlier, as-yet unanswered question, and the druid heard the trepidation in the farmer’s voice this time.

  “I had a foreshadowing of trouble when Dun Breatann came into sight when we were on the river, although I did not expect…this. I’m sorry,” he said, meeting the farmer’s gaze. “I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known it might bring trouble to you. You can rest assured though, no-one saw us coming to your house, and we will be gone before sun-up tomorrow. Coroticus will have no knowledge of our presence here, or the hospitality you’ve provided us.”

  The farmer flinched almost imperceptibly at that last statement, and Bellicus felt a little guilty at having thrown it in, but he wanted Cadeyrn to know the king might very well punish him. If Coroticus found out he’d given Bellicus food and drink and a place to sleep, without immediately hurrying to raise the alarm in Carden Ros, Cadeyrn might be seen as a traitor to the crown.

  It was ridiculous, the druid mused. The whole thing – from the fight with Coroticus, to their enforced mission to Dalriada, to this latest nonsense calling for his arrest.

  What had prompted the king to act in this manner? He had no idea, and his fabled, if mostly mythical, powers of clairvoyance offered no clues.

  “What are we going to do?” Duro asked.

  Bellicus shook his head. “I’ll sleep on it, but, right now, I don’t know. Sail back to Auchalic with our friend here, perhaps.”

  The Dalriadan shrugged. “I’m going there anyway,” he said. “You’re welcome to return with me if you like. I’m sure the people will be glad to hear more of your songs and tales, druid.” He took the cup he was sharing with Duro and refilled it. “I still get to keep the boat though, right?”

  Bellicus smiled almost sadly, not relishing the thought of heading back to the little fishing village but knowing it might be their best option for now, until they could find out what was happening in Dun Breatann. “Aye, you get the boat no matter what, my friend.”

  Again, the four men fell into a maudlin silence, with only the crackling fire to brighten the atmosphere. Bellicus found his head nodding as sleep threatened to claim him and he sucked in a deep breath, planning to find a spot on the floor where he might find some rest, but then the farmer spoke again.

  “Please don’t tell anyone I said this,” Cadeyrn muttered, leaning in over the table so he could keep his voice low but still be heard by those around the table. “But I think King Coroticus might have gone mad.”

  “Why do you say that?” the druid asked, keeping his own voice low, wondering what new information the farmer might impart. When it came, the druid was shocked to his very core.

  “You’re not the only person that’s pissed him off, Bellicus,” Cadeyrn said. “He’s arrested the queen as well.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “He’s lost his mind,” Bellicus muttered, staring into the fire as if it might offer some hint as to how he should proceed after Cadeyrn’s shocking news. He didn’t want to say too much in front of their Dalriadan companion, just in case the man passed on his words to those back at home and it reached the ears of Loarn mac Eirc. Alt Clota was still the druid’s home after all, and the last thing he wanted was to let their enemies know they were weak and labouring under the rule of a madman. But the sailor had fallen fast asleep and so had the farmer, leaving Bellicus and Duro to chat quietly between themselves.

  “We don’t know that,” the centurion said. “Perhaps the queen tried to overthrow Coroticus or something…” He trailed off, knowing himself how ludicrous that idea sounded.

  “You’re probably closer to the truth than you realise,” Bellicus replied, so softly that his companion didn’t hear him. He had a feeling Coroticus had begun to s
ee enemies at every turn – he was paranoid when he forced Bellicus and Duro into what was essentially exile after all, so it would be no surprise if he also suspected Narina was plotting against him.

  Yet that theory didn’t explain why Coroticus had ordered the druid’s arrest should he be seen in Alt Clota.

  Despite the warmth from the fire a chill ran down the back of Bellicus’s neck and he suddenly saw everything with great clarity: Coroticus had been given confirmation of Catia’s true conception.

  The king knew he was not the princess’s father. He had found out, somehow, about Narina and Bellicus’s liaison in the sacred grove all those years ago. Or, he suspected it at least, and it had been enough for him to throw the queen in prison and seek to hunt the druid down.

  “This is just perfect,” he growled, shaking his head in disgust. “Now we have two kings trying to kill us.”

  “And all the people in Dalriada and Alt Clota,” Duro agreed.

  They looked at one another and both burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all.

  “You should be a hero to Coroticus,” the centurion said when their mirth had passed and reality returned. “You went into an impossible situation, hunting a Saxon warband the length of the country just to rescue his daughter. Which you did, by Mithras!”

  “Which we did,” Bellicus corrected him.

  “And he rewarded you by sending you on yet another impossible fool’s errand, to kill a king, during winter, when the bastard’s safely tucked up in his impenetrable fortress all day.” He sighed, then put his hand out, gesturing for Bellicus to pass the cup of ale that sat on the table beside him. “So, I’ll ask you again, and don’t give me that ‘I’ll sleep on it’ bollocks: What are we going to do?”