by Scott Hurst
Paulinus looked up at the other man, ‘Who else is there? Certainly not Guidolin.’
Timotheus smiled uneasily. ‘Indeed no. After the reports we have gathered on him not even our Dobunnic colleague would suggest Guidolin. It is in our best interests to ensure he has no idea of our mission. He would push for his own candidacy most forcefully. And now it appears he is promoting this unchristian bear cult. His soldiers have begun changing their traditional Dobunnic horses on their shields to bears.’
‘This pagan resurrection disturbs me greatly. The cult had lessened as the bears died out – and with them the god Artur. Lupicinius, that fanatic, has persuaded Guidolin of its power once more. ‘Our faith was becoming clear to the Dobunni. Now, through him, it is being defiled by the old superstitions.’ Paulinus shook his head in sadness. ‘We were right to exclude him from the Guild all those years ago. Now I …I suspect him of madness, Timotheus.’
‘It is our fault – we have been too lax in sewing together the pagan past and the Christian present,’ Timotheus nodded.
Paulinus sat back. ‘Our beautiful faith has a messy and compromised history. It will survive even this.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lupicinius always struggled to separate the true from the false. I knew him even as a young monk. He transcribed many of Pelagius’s documents, speaking out against original sin.’
Timotheus nodded gravely. The heretic Pelagius had argued that where people's choices were their own, that they could be free of sin – and been excommunicated for that heresy.
‘Lupicinius had become a secret follower of his thinking and was drummed out of the Guild for it. It seems to me that Lupicinius has gone much further this time. In his desire for freedom in his faith he has become a heretic. But it lies deeper than that. I suspect, in his madness, that this bear cult is his way of gaining power for himself.’
‘Yet another challenge for your aspirant to overcome.’
Paulinus was adamant. ‘We have no time to search for another, Timotheus. Rome withdraws but the Saxon threat increases daily.’ His voice grew stronger. ‘And even if there were time, at heart Maximus is the best of men. Yes, as yet untried, but I have no doubt he will pass all five challenges our Guild demands, given time – and our veiled support.’
The other monk stared at the floor, frowning. ‘Let us hope you are right.’ He looked up to find Paulinus already standing. ‘Leaving so soon, Brother?’
‘Regretfully, yes. I imagine Max may have need of me. Just as one day we will have need of him. ’
*****
Awaking, Max found himself in his own bed. For merciful seconds, he was unaware of the events of the previous night. But soon he remembered those painful breaths as Decentius lost strength and felt his own sharp longing for him.
Drawing back the heavy wool curtains, Salvius could barely look at Maximus. ‘You must rise, Maximus.’ His voice was like stone.
‘You blame me.’ Max stated the facts.
Salvius turned to him, eyes red-rimmed. ‘I blame you, yes. It was unnecessary, Maximus. Decentius lost his life over an uncertainty. We don’t know if Lady Sabrina was telling the truth. She may have exploited the situation so we would take her with us.’
Max recoiled from the venomous tone in his voice. Salvius had never been angry with him before. ‘I believed her then and I do now.’
But Salvius had not finished. ‘The truth will out. Meantime, your father has commanded your presence. Immediately. We are already paying the price for your selfishness. Guidolin is making his anger felt. The Dobunni are burning more of our farms.’
*****
As soon as Max entered the room he sensed the tension. The expressions on his family’s faces were as fixed as those on the mosaic below his feet. Calista didn’t even wait until he sat down before launching her blistering attack. ‘So good of you to finally join us, Max. Did you have to tear yourself away from your little Dobunnic slut? I hope she was worth it. Between the two of you, you’ve caused the death of Decentius and saddled the tribe with a war. High price to pay for getting between her thighs, Maximus.’
Rhoswen’s voice was unusually harsh. ‘Watch your tongue, Calista. Sabrina spent the night in my rooms. She is a girl of noble birth and good character. You will not speak of her thus.’
Calista lowered her eyes, falsely humble. ‘She will no doubt feel at home with you, Lady Rhoswen, as you are of the same people. Have a care, lest she set light to your rooms. Arson seems a Dobunnic tradition these days.’
Something about the way she said it made Max suspicious. There was an almost hidden smugness in her words. Did she know something? Was she withholding something from them?
Severus’s voice was gruff as he stared out from his solium. ‘Sabrina may well have saved all our lives; she warned us Guidolin intended to attack us. I for one believe her.’
Max finally found his voice. ‘If it had been up to Dye and Calista,’ he said flatly, ‘we would have already been at war over the missing girls.’
Calista was quick to strike again. ‘There’s still no sign of them, though the search had been widened. How much more proof do we need?’
Severus rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘Enough, all of you. We must stand together as a family and as a tribe. We can expect no defence from Rome; the whole country is being stripped of troops. I have ordered a force of a hundred men to gather immediately. Catuvellauni in the border areas are also arming themselves. You, Max, and you, Dye, will lead our forces.’ Severus looked at his sons boldly. This was a challenge and both of them knew it.
Instantly Dye was on his feet, daring his father to recognize him. ‘And I.’ Dye’s retainers immediately crowded behind him, showing their support.
A calm, clear voice echoed across the main reception room. ‘Do not be hasty, Severus. Violence now will only lead to more violence.’
Severus frowned at his old friend. ‘This strike is justified, Paulinus, even by your standards.’
Paulinus welcomed a glass of spiced wine from Felix. ‘Yet I understand there was a Dobunnic girl removed from Guidolin’s fort?’
Max had no intention of allowing Guidolin to escape blame. ‘Sabrina was not ‘removed’. She begged us to rescue her.’ He felt Paulinus’s eyes looking deeply into his, searching for signs of evasion.
Apparently satisfied, his mentor continued. ‘That’s as may be. However that still does not merit dragging this island into civil war. Severus, have you and I not seen enough violence?’
There was a guarded look in Severus’ eyes which Max did not recognise. ‘Old friend, I respect you greatly, but you talk as a reasonable man speaking of other reasonable men. Guidolin is not such a man. He has deliberately destroyed our property, setting fire to Catuvellauni farms. If we do not act we will soon wake up to find the Dobunni ruling our people. Is that what you want, Paulinus?’ The monk was silent as Severus continued. ‘I cannot, will not betray the glorious memory of my ancestors. We are Vellauni and we will fight!’
To Max’s amazement Calista and Dye began cheering. Sickened at the thought of more violence, he remained silent. Decentius was already dead. How many more good men would lose their lives before the day was done?
Paulinus turned to him. ‘We know your brother’s reaction. How will you meet this challenge, Maximus? Will you choose might or right?’
Max looked at Paulinus’ dear face, then down at the tiled floor. The last thing he wanted was for others to die, yet there seemed no other path but retaliation. ‘I will defend my people.’
Severus hobbled towards him, face glowing with pride. ‘Spoken like a true heir of the Vellauni.’ Silently Max accepted his father’s embrace, seeing over his shoulder the thunderous look on Dye’s face and the barely concealed fury on Calista’s. Hardest of all was the disappointment on the face of the old monk who had shown him such kindness.
Rhoswen had an appeal to make. ‘Madoc, the Dobunnic who escaped from Guidolin’s fort with us, has asked he be allowed to accompany any raiding party against
Guidolin. It seems he has much cause to hate the man and seeks an opportunity to avenge himself.’
The request angered Calista. ‘How can we possibly trust him? He’s one of them.’
Rhoswen’s voice was calm. ‘I too am ‘one of them’, Calista. Am I not to be trusted either?’ Without waiting for an answer she turned to Severus. ‘Command it.’
Max could see Severus agreed with Calista. Perhaps his mother knew that too. ‘Severus!’ she demanded, more steel in her voice.
The old man shook his head, growling. ‘He can go. Salvius, you are responsible for him.’ Turning back to the family, he squared his shoulders. ‘It is time to put that upstart Guidolin in his place.’
*****
Sabrina found Max out in the courtyard buckling on his knife belt. Somehow he sensed her presence even before she spoke. ‘I wanted to thank you properly for saving me. And to reassure you of the truth of what I said. Guidolin was planning to kill you all.’
Max looked at her, unsure what to say. Should he be grateful only one had died? The pain was too deep, his anger too great, so he said nothing. Uncomfortable in the silence, she cleared her throat. ‘I’ve also come to offer you my condolences. Your friend lost his life on my account.’ Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes.
He had given no thought to how she must be feeling. Instinctively he took a step forward, putting his arms around her, just as Rhoswen had done when he was a child. They stood for a moment, taking comfort from each other’s warmth. But then she straightened in his arms and broke free, sobbing, ‘Forgive me…’ before running off.
Max reached up to pinch off the tears about to form in his own eyes then turned back to prepare for war.
*****
They were still some ten miles from Guidolin’s territory when they came across the first of their tribe fleeing the Dobunni border. Families in carts, as many people and possessions as possible crushed inside them. Children huddled next to their mothers for warmth, or trudged wearily alongside their fathers. Max stopped a family travelling in an ox cart, herding ten or so cattle behind them. ‘What drove you from your land?’
‘The Dobunni torched our neighbour’s farm. We saw the smoke and the burning. Some of their workers escaped.’ The man shook his head. ‘They told us terrible tales, my Lord.’ Lowering his voice he went on. ‘We would have been next, so we packed up and got out of there. I have a brother in Pontes. We’ll go there, until it blows over.’ He looked directly back at Max, fear and hope in his eyes. ‘It will blow over, my Lord?’
How must it feel to be adrift in the world, responsible for a young family with no shelter for them and no money to feed them with? His decision to take Sabrina had caused this man’s plight too. Suddenly guilt seemed less important than doing something about it. Thrusting a few coins in the man’s hand he adopted the tone of voice he imagined his father would use in such a situation, gruff and certain. ‘I hope it will blow over, and soon. ’
Dye had ridden up, mounted on his showy white horse, wearing a bright crimson cloak with a matching crimson belt, a new dagger thrust into it. Playing soldiers. Max could barely look at him. Salvius and the Dobunnic exile, Madoc, joined them as the refugee was talking. Max hadn’t seen the man since the hillfort. In the daylight he had a winsome face, freckled and honest, but it was earnest now as he listened to the refugees’ complaints.
Dye had no hesitation making rashes. ‘We’ll deal with them for you, make them pay. Dobunnic scum.’ He grinned at Max as the man and his family went on their way. ‘That was leadership, brother. That was what he needed to hear!’
Madoc turned to Max. ‘Not all Dobunni support Guidolin, Maximus. Be assured, there are those among us who do not want bloodshed.’ Max felt a stirring of gratitude towards the stranger. If that were true perhaps Decentius’ death, perhaps this whole sorry mess, was due to Guidolin’s greed and ambition too and not just his own rashness. He eyed the Dobunnic man with renewed interest. Perhaps Madoc could be a useful source of information.
Riding on towards the boundary between the two tribes, Max noticed Dye drop back in the column. Now he was nowhere to be seen. So be it. A couple of miles from the border they came across local militiamen blocking the road. In the distance behind them three columns of smoke were rising lazily into the air. More Catuvellaunian farms were burning. They could smell the smoke now. Max’s eyed the local militia, wondering how useful they might be in days to come. They were even more poorly equipped than the men he and Dye had brought with them. At least their militia had knife belts and hunting spears. A few had even unearthed old helmets and pieces of armour. Some of them were army veterans Max had deliberately placed between himself and Salvius, keen to make use of their knowledge and advice. These local men had armed themselves but most were relying on farming equipment, including long scythes. They might look fearsome, but they’d be impossible to use in combat.
‘Now you’re here, my Lord,’ one tow-headed youngster called, ‘we’ll march on Corinium!’
‘Aye, burn the bastards’ capital down!’ cried another.
Max asserted himself. ‘First we need to find the Dobunni raiding force and drive them back across the border.’ Calling to one of the veterans he ordered him to organise their advance. ‘Tetricus, choose several good men, men with experience. Scout the area. Watch out for any ambush.’ Turning Zephyr, Max headed for the burning buildings. When they reached the first farmstead flames were still roaring from its thatch. Urging their horses on, they passed other farm buildings, abandoned but otherwise intact, headed for the second farm, still burning on the near horizon. Here they found a blackened corpse, so charred it was impossible to say whether it was man or woman.
Some of the young, hot-headed militiamen called out for vengeance, but the rest of the party were ominously quiet.
At the last farm they dismounted, only to find two more blackened corpses and several slaughtered animals. Returning to Zephyr, Max saw Dye throwing up behind a bush. Remembering his own horror at seeing their dead slaves he felt compassion for him. When Dye straightened he couldn’t meet his eye. Finally they came to the broad stream that marked the border. Quickly Max issued his orders. Calling the experienced militia, he spoke to them quietly. ‘Settle into defensive positions. You, Marcus, and you, Laris, scout the area for raiders and report back to me.’ Turning to Dye, he offered him a chance to regain face in front of the men. ‘Will you lead the scouts?’
Dye wiped his mouth, as if the bitter taste of vomit was still present. ‘My position is by your side, brother.’ Out of the corner of his eye Max saw Salvius look dubious before riding off to check on the other men.
When the scouts returned a short while later the thin-faced Laris gave a brief report. ‘No sign of the Dobunni on our side of the border. But an old farmer told us he’d seen the raiders returning across the stream into their territory.’
Salvius wheeled his horse around. ‘They’re headed home. Mission accomplished. There’ll be no more Catuvellaunian farms burnt today.’
But one of the others spoke up. Otho, Calista’s cousin who had attacked Sabrina at the feast, was not yet ready to turn back. So far the man had avoided him as much as possible, but his views and Calista’s were given voice now. His small eyes narrowed as he studied Max. ‘There’s a small Dobunnic farm not far from here, across the stream. They’ve razed three of ours to the ground today. Let’s burn one of theirs.’
Max looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Who owns the farm? Someone connected with the raiders?’
Otho shrugged. ‘Two elderly brothers. Does it matter? They’re Dobunni, aren’t they? Let’s send Guidolin a message that he can’t push us around.’ Calista had infected her cousin with her nationalistic nonsense. How many more Catuvellauni had she poisoned with her ideas of blood purity?
Otho turned to address the small crowd of militia around him. ‘Isn’t that right, men?’ he shouted.
The crowd gave a ragged cheer.
Anger battled with the wea
riness inside Max. ‘Cold justice, murdering a couple of old men.’
Otho had a wild look in his eye. ‘Justice!’ he spat. ‘Where was the justice when they burnt our farms? Rome’s spent. Soon it’s going to be every tribe for itself! We Catuvellauni ruled before the Romans, and we’ll rule again after the bastards have gone. The sooner we remind the Dobunni scum of that, the better!’
Christ, it was worse than he’d thought. This was just the kind of anti-Dobunnic rhetoric Calista was touting. Just how far had these racial purity ideas spread? As soon as they were home he’d call Calista to task.
Otho rose up in his saddle. ‘Help me, men! Help me purge our country of these Dobunni!’
The cheering became louder and the militia started moving across the stream, chanting, ‘Death to the Dobunni’. Max was just about to issue an order to stop when Dye too rose up on his saddle and began shouting. ‘Advance, Catuvellauni. Avenge our dead! Show the Dobunni what we’re made of.’
Max rode up to him, incensed. ‘Hold your tongue if you value it!’
Seeing Max’s face, Dye fell silent. But it was too late. Under Dye’s orders the militia had forded the stream and were charging towards the farm, set low on the hill. Max roared for them to stop, but the force had been set in motion. Sensing his intention, Salvius held him back. ‘Gather the cavalry first. There might still be some Dobunni in the area.’ Sound advice, but by the time Max had gathered his horsemen and the remaining militiamen it was too late. The thatch on the farm building was already alight and one of the old Dobunni farmers was lying dead on the ground. Even as they rode into the farmyard the other old brother was being forced to his knees. Looking Max straight in the eye, Otho proceeded to cut his throat.
Max stared, horrified, as the men began looting what they could from the burning building. He could understand their anger – some of these men had lost their farms. But the sight of them carrying their pathetic booty from the farmhouse incensed him. Should he put a stop to it? With the brothers already dead, there seemed little point. Watching them, he knew that this militia would have to become much more disciplined if they were to be led usefully. He had a great deal of work ahead of him.