Duro frowned but blew out a sigh and grunted agreement.
“Good,” said the druid, grasping his friend by the shoulder. “You keep the lantern alight, but shuttered, and await my return. The entrance leads out into the well between the two peaks.”
Duro noticed now that the floor around where they were standing was damp, with moisture trickling down from the wall at what appeared to be end of the tunnel, glistening in the weak light cast by the lantern.
“The water level in the well rarely comes up this high,” Bellicus said, bending to remove the stone blocks in the wall. “In winter it comes through like this, but most of the time it’s fine.”
By the time he’d lifted out a dozen or so stones, leaving a hole wide enough for him to fit through, Duro could see the water had drained away, and, relieved, he knew they wouldn’t be flooded by tons of water.
“If we’re in the well,” he asked, frowning, “how are you going to get out into the fortress without getting soaked?”
Bellicus smiled. “The tunnel-builders thought of that, don’t worry. A ledge runs around the top of the well and leads to here. It’s only a short distance to the entrance, so even at this time of year when the water table is highest, it’ll just be my feet that get wet. Unless I slip and fall in.”
Duro shuddered at the thought of being immersed in the icy, black water of the well. They would have to seek aid from Coroticus’s men if that happened, for it would be a sure death sentence for the druid unless he could be dried and warmed up quickly.
“Don’t worry, I won’t fall,” Bellicus said, reading the concern in the other’s eyes. “There’s handholds in the wall.”
“This all seems very…convenient,” the centurion said. “If it’s so easy, how come no-one has ever discovered the tunnel by chance? There must be dozens of people using the well every week, every day. Over the course of decades, why hasn’t anyone thought, ‘I wonder where that ledge with the handholds in the wall leads to?’”
“Think about it,” Bellicus replied, shaking his head as if the centurion was stupid. “The well sees no natural light, it’s almost pitch black apart from at the very front of the doorway leading in, isn’t it? And no-one ever comes snooping about – why would they? It’s a well! The ledge is hidden either by the water level or the darkness, as are the handholds which aren’t really obvious even if you know they’re there.” He shrugged and got down onto his stomach. “You ask too many questions for a centurion,” he muttered. “Just keep an eye and an ear open for my return. If I’m chased the guards will be using their torches to try and figure out where I’ve disappeared to, so we’ll want to get the stones back into the wall as quickly as possible.”
“What if you’re…caught?” Duro had been about to say ‘killed’, but they both knew what he meant.
“Put the stones back and take Cai through the tunnel again, to Dun Buic. Then…You should go home to Luguvalium I suppose.”
The two friends stared at one another in the gloom and then grasped arms silently. No more needed to be said, and, with a final grin, Bellicus was gone, the sound of his footsteps splashing softly in the water of the well, fading away until there was only silence.
Cai lay on the tunnel floor, eyeing Duro quizzically, and the centurion sat down beside the dog to wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Bellicus waited at the entrance to the well for a long time, making sure no-one was nearby, then he opened the iron gate and crept up the short flight of stairs that led onto the level ground between the twin peaks of Dun Breatann. It was dark, with no moon to betray him, although there were of course flickering torches dotted around so the guards could patrol, and he knew he would have to tread carefully.
The prison was located by the north western wall, not far from where he stood now, but first he headed for his own small roundhouse in the opposite direction, making sure to make no sound as he went. The king’s great hall was right next to him, but everyone must have been asleep for there were no lights shining through the shuttered windows and no sounds of talking or singing.
The space here between the peaks was not large, so the buildings were all relatively small, with some of them even built on the slope up to the lower summit.
Bellicus stopped outside the small building he had called home for the past nine or so years, wondering if anyone had taken ownership of it since his fall from grace. He could hear nothing though, and, taking a deep breath, he lifted the latch on the door and slipped inside. His eyes were accustomed to the gloom now and he felt the tension ease from his muscles a little as he saw the sleeping pallet was unoccupied. In fact, it looked as if his things were all untouched.
Hidden beneath the bed, in a depression on the ground, was a bunch of keys. They could open every door within the fortress, even the one to the king’s own chamber. Coroticus knew they were there, indeed it had been his idea to have them made, in case of emergencies, but it surprised Bellicus that they had not been searched for in his absence. He could only assume the king, and the guards, feared the druid had placed magical wards over the house to stop anyone from defiling it.
“Lug, light my way,” he muttered, and went back out into the night, moving like a wraith towards the north-western wall. A light in his peripheral vision stopped him in his tracks and he willed himself to blend into the shadows as the guard on the slope above checked all was well. The soldier stood for what felt like an eternity, and Bellicus expected a cry of alarm at any moment but, at last, the torchlight faded further up the hill and disappeared behind one of the buildings.
Hurrying on again, the druid reached the entrance to the prison. Like the well, it was protected by a door made of iron bars. Unlike the well, this door was locked.
Now came the hard part, for he knew there would be at least one man guarding the prisoners, possibly more, and he could not kill them. Not even to save the queen, or himself. It might be some poor farm boy from Dun Buic, or Cardden Ros, called up by Coroticus to serve in his warband and given this duty tonight.
Praying to Lug once again, he took out the ring of keys and peered at them, wondering which was the right one. The first he tried was too big, as was the second, then the third fitted but failed to turn and the druid had to calm himself for he knew the longer he took, the more chance he’d be spotted. The fourth key turned the lock, thank the gods, and he pushed inside the corridor, closing over the door at his back.
He could hear a man humming to himself in a room on the right, which was lit by, from the smell, a beeswax candle. Bellicus edged towards the light, and began to hum the same tune himself, for he knew it well.
“Is that you already, Sentica?” the guard said, loudly, and Bellicus heard him standing up. “Is it time for your watch already? Ha, it feels like I only just came on duty, I must have fallen asleep if it’s near morning already.”
Bellicus stepped into the room and faced the guard, a veteran of about forty-five years of age. The soldier’s face fell as he realised that he had just admitted, however inaccurately, falling asleep at his post to the king’s closest advisor. But then confusion filled his eyes as he remembered the druid was to be arrested on sight.
“My lord. Wait…How did you get in here? What’s happening? You’re supposed to be—”
Before the man could finally make his mind up about what to do, Bellicus’s staff flicked out, the butt catching the guard beneath the chin. There was a clicking of teeth and the soldier fell backwards, tripping over the stool he’d been sitting on just moments before.
The druid took some rope from the wall, handily placed there for tying up prisoners, and used it to bind the dazed man’s hands behind his back.
“Forgive me, my friend,” the druid muttered, pulling off the guard’s woollen sock and stuffing it into his mouth as a gag. “If it’s any consolation, I won’t tell Coroticus that you fell asleep on duty. Next time, be more alert.” Then, as if the soldier was no more than a child, Bellicus bent his legs and lifted his captive with
the intention of locking him safely in one of the cells. As he completed the move, though, the druid felt a searing pain in his left shoulder and almost screamed. For a moment he stood, breathing heavily, teeth gritted, cursing himself. All the way to Dunadd and back, fighting off enemies all the way, only to injure himself now.
The pain subsided eventually but Bellicus knew he would have to be careful not to place any more undue strain on that part of his body. He drew in a deep breath and walked along the corridor, peering into each cell as he went.
Narina was in the furthest away, hands gripping the bars of her cell door. She looked pale and thin and her filthy face was streaked with dried tears. Her mouth fell open when she saw the giant druid approaching.
“No questions, my lady,” he urged. “Later. First,” he pulled back the bolts on the door and threw it wide. As he laid the guard on the ground the man tried to shout something, but a furious glance from the druid – whose shoulder had flared painfully again with the effort – and a threat to curse his bollocks with foul, weeping sores, was enough to shut the man up.
“Can you walk?”
Narina nodded and the druid quickly ushered her out into the corridor. He closed the cell door and bolted it with a final warning glance at the guard who, realising he was thoroughly beaten, slumped onto the floor to await his relief coming in the morning to free him.
“Follow me,” Bellicus said softly, leading the way to the prison entrance. “We don’t have far to go, and then you’ll be safe.”
The queen grasped the sleeve of his robe and pulled him back. Even this fairly gentle pressure sent a jolt of pain lancing through his shoulder and he turned to look at her, biting off another pained cry. The last thing he wanted to show the queen was weakness; she needed him to be strong now.
“We can’t leave without Catia.”
Bellicus shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady, but we’ll be lucky to get out of here with just the two of us in one piece. We must get you to safety first, and then we’ll think about what to do about the princess.”
“No, Bel,” the queen said firmly, refusing to follow him any further. “You’ve been away for weeks. You don’t know what’s been happening in your absence. Coroticus has, well, you know what he was like before – he essentially exiled you after all. But he found out about…the truth, about Catia.” She looked up at him and the fear was written plainly across her face. “He’s gone mad, Bel. So far, he’s not done anything to her, but, if I escape, he’ll be left with no-one to take out his anger upon.”
“You think he would harm Catia? Surely not. He loves the girl, that’s what started him down the path of madness in the first place!”
“Exactly! Put yourself in his place, Bel,” Narina hissed. “How would you feel if you were him? And bear in mind he’s drinking himself senseless most nights so he can’t think clearly, and that slut of a serving girl, Enica, is in his ear constantly, turning him against me. Against everyone except herself.”
It was too much information to take in properly, considering they might be discovered at any moment, and Bellicus was at a loss how to proceed. The pain in his shoulder was a constant irritation and, as he tried to take things in, he reached into one of his pockets and shook out some fine powder. Taken from the bark of the white willow tree, the druid knew it would mask the worst of his pain, so he swallowed it down with a swig from his ale-skin and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“Where is Catia now?” he demanded, but any thoughts of fetching her on their way out were dashed when Narina said the girl would be in the king’s house.
“I can’t get in there,” he said. “Too many guards. Either we go now, the two of us, or…” They stood in silence, facing one another in the dim light from the candle in the guardroom, wishing a solution would present itself. “How did Coroticus find out about all this anyway?” Bellicus finally demanded.
Narina turned away and she wore an expression the druid had never seen on her pretty face before: shame.
“I told him,” she admitted. “During an argument. He pushed me too far, I couldn’t stop myself.” She turned back to him and the old, familiar determination was back. “So you see, Bel, I can’t just run away and leave Catia to her fate. This is all my fault.”
There was no point in admonishing her for her lack of control, the damage was already done. What were they to do now, though? Should Bellicus simply head back to the tunnel and leave her to untie the guard, who could then lock her away again, as if nothing had ever happened? That was what she wanted, and it would certainly make life easier for the guard but…Maybe he could somehow get inside Catia’s chamber and free her. There was still a little time before the sun would rise.
The sound of soft, cautious footsteps came to them then, and they froze, eyeing the doorway as a stocky figure, sword in hand, walked in. Bellicus recognised the man with long brown hair and a grizzled beard that seemed to have more grey in it than just a few weeks earlier.
It was the captain of the guards: Gavo.
“Sulis help us,” Narina whispered, staring at the man in despair. “It’s all over now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“How did you get in here?” Gavo demanded, stepping into the corridor with a glance back over his shoulder. The astonishment was plain on his face, but it soon turned to anger as the thoughts whirled through his head. “Did the gate guards let you in? Those bastards, I’ll have them—”
“No,” Bellicus shook his head. “I let myself in.” He tapped the bronze eagle on his staff. “With my magic.”
Gavo shivered and accepted the explanation without question. He knew the guards at the gates, knew they wouldn’t have let the druid in without seeking advice from their captain. He also knew it would be impossible for Bellicus to scale the walls without being spotted for the men tasked with keeping watch for invaders were on high alert. The suggestion that magic had been used to gain access to this inner section of the fortress was more realistic than any other to the guard captain.
“Can you magic yourself back outside then? It would save a lot of trouble.”
Bellicus smiled grimly. “Sorry, my friend. It’s not as easy as that. What will happen to Catia?” he finished, changing the subject.
Gavo didn’t answer for a long time, the two warriors just stared at one another and Bellicus realised the captain had no idea what Coroticus might do with the princess. Probably the king himself didn’t even know.
At last Gavo seemed to come to a decision and drew himself up, a hard look on his bearded face.
“Where’s the guard that was in here? Did you kill him, Bel?”
“Of course not,” the druid retorted. “He’s in the cell at the back, with a sore face but otherwise unharmed. I came to rescue the queen, not to murder my own people.”
Gavo gave a satisfied nod, pleased by the druid’s response, and pushed past both Bellicus and Narina, apologising to the queen as he did so, but ordering them both to remain where they were for they were still prisoners.
He reached Narina’s former cell and peered through the bars at the forlorn, gagged soldier within, then, shaking his head in disgust, unbolted the door and went inside to cut the man’s bonds.
The queen watched Bellicus, hoping or expecting the giant would lock Gavo in and make good his escape, for there seemed only one end to this night now, and it would not be pleasant for any of them. The druid remained where he was though and the captain was soon back outside the cell, the guard at his back, rubbing life into his freed limbs, a purple and yellow bruise starting to appear on his chin.
“Go and rouse the men,” Gavo commanded and the guard, still dazed, simply stared at the captain as if he hadn’t understood the order. “Give yourself a shake, lad! Go and gather the men, apart from the king’s guard and the men on the walls. Wake those who are asleep and tell them to line up outside. Move!”
Finally, the words penetrated the guard’s sluggish mind and, with a final, fearful glance at Bellicus, the man hurried
off to do as he was told.
“What now?” Narina said, eyes flashing angrily at the captain. “Your loyalty to my husband is commendable, Gavo, but also stupid. You do realise that Coroticus will destroy Alt Clota? The people are close to revolting already.”
Gavo sighed but didn’t offer a reply. He looked Bellicus up and down, then jerked his head towards the doorway. “Come on, I’m taking you to the king. You can come too, please, my lady.”
There was something strange about Gavo’s demeanour and, as they emerged from the prison into the cold night air Bellicus wondered if the guard captain’s state of mind had been affected by the king’s own descent into…what? Madness? Was the king mad, or simply unable to think clearly thanks to his constant drinking? It amounted to the same thing, the druid thought, and it could very well have started to change the way those surrounding Coroticus viewed the world themselves.
Why had Gavo summoned the soldiers after all? Some were already gathering, one or two carrying torches to light the space between the peaks. Was there really any need for an escort of such size? The druid gazed around at those guards, their faces pale and tense, perhaps even fearful—of him, or what might be about to happen, he couldn’t say. There must be at least twenty-five soldiers here, practically the entire winter garrison.
Before Bellicus could ponder the matter further, Gavo pointed to the path that wound up the lower, eastern summit. “Lead the way, druid,” said the guard captain, and the grim procession, Narina silent and frightened at Bellicus’s side, began to walk, the flickering torchlight casting weird shadows all around them.
Song of the Centurion Page 29