by K. M. Ashman
Gwydion lay at the top of a sand dune keeping watch for any pursuit. The sun was setting when he crawled back down to their hiding place.
‘Any sign?’ he asked.
‘None,’ answered Prydain. ‘I don’t believe he will come.’
‘He will be here,’ said Gwydion.
They sat quietly as they waited, watching the sun set into the sea. Finally, it was pitch dark, with only the stars to light the beach.
‘What’s that?’ asked Prydain sitting up suddenly.
‘What?’
‘Listen, I heard something.’
They fell silent, listening for anything out of the ordinary. A faint voice carried to them in the night air.
‘Is it the fisherman?’ asked Prydain.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Gwydion. He turned to Prydain, a look of concern on his face, ‘it’s coming from inland!’
‘Wake Gwenno!’ snapped Gwydion, ‘I’ll see what’s happening.’
Gwydion ran up the dune again and crawled the last few feet to peer into the darkness. A few hundred yards away, two men walked slowly out of the tree line, crouching low as they examined the ground for any signs of tracks. They each held a flaming torch to light their way and behind them, Gwydion could make out the shapes of mounted men stretching back into the darkness.
‘Shit!’ he mumbled and scrambled back down the dune. ‘They’ve found our trail,’ he said, ‘We have to go.’
‘Where exactly?’ asked Prydain, ‘If they found us this quickly, how long would it be until they caught us anyway?’
‘I can’t run anymore,’ cried Gwenno, ‘I am exhausted.’
‘We have to,’ pleaded Gwydion, ‘if we stay here we will be caught within the hour.’
‘There is one place they won’t look,’ said Prydain.
‘Where?’ asked Gwydion.
‘Out there!’ said Prydain, and pointed out to sea.
‘What do you mean out there?’ asked Gwydion. ‘We don’t have a boat?’
‘What choice do we have?’ asked Prydain. ‘Our way inland is blocked. The only place they would not expect us to go is out there.’
‘Where would we go?’ asked Gwydion. ‘It’s too far to swim to the mainland.’
‘That’s the beauty of it,’ said Prydain. ‘We only have to go far enough out so they don’t see us and as soon as they’ve gone, we can return; half an hour at the most!’
Gwydion considered carefully.
‘It is a calm night,’ he said, ‘I suppose we would only need to be out there until they cleared this area. It is worth trying I suppose.’
‘I can’t,’ said Gwenno suddenly.
‘It is our only chance,’ said Prydain, ‘we have no other choice.’
‘No,’ she continued, ‘you don’t understand!’ She looked at him with fear in her eyes, ‘I can’t swim.’
There was an awkward silence as each realised the implications.
‘You two must go,’ she said. ‘It is me they seek. There is no need for us all to be caught. You swim out, I will tell them you left me alone hours ago.’
‘I gave you up once,’ said Gwydion, ‘I will not make the same mistake again. Either we escape together or we die together.’ He walked over and held Gwenno tightly in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder.
‘It’s not over yet,’ said Prydain suddenly, ‘I have an idea!’ He ran toward the bramble thicket, returning a few minutes later dragging the driftwood they had used as a backrest. Out in the open it was obviously the remains of a plank, a remnant of an ill-fated ship that had gone down somewhere out at sea.
‘We’ll use this,’ he said. ‘Gwenno can lie on top while we swim alongside.’
Both men looked at Gwenno in anticipation.
‘Well,’ said Gwydion, ‘what do you think, can you do it?’
Gwenno looked at the plank and back at Gwydion.
‘It’s our only chance isn’t it!’ she said.
‘That’s the spirit,’ said Prydain. ‘Come on; help me get it to the water.’
They dragged the plank to the water’s edge before the two men stripped off their clothes to avoid the weight dragging them under. Gwenno watched surreptitiously as they tied their bundles of clothes on to the plank.
‘Gwenno, you will need to take off your clothes as well,’ said Prydain.
‘Why?’ interrupted Gwydion defensively. ‘She will be on the plank, there is no need for her to strip.’
‘If she falls off, the weight of her cloak will send her straight to the bottom,’ said Prydain, ‘she can lay her tunic over her, but has to be able to discard it quickly if needed.’
‘There’s no need...’ started Gwydion.
‘Oh, Gwydion,’ interrupted Gwenno, ‘in the name of the Gods, don’t be such a prude. This man has helped save my life; I have nothing to hide from him.’
‘But...’ started Gwydion.
‘Shut up, Gwydion,’ said Gwenno already starting to disrobe, ‘our lives are in the balance here.’ She gave the cape to Prydain and paused before lifting Willow’s red tunic over her head.
‘Right!’ she said, holding the garment in front of her. ‘Let’s go swimming.’
The two naked men dragged the plank into waist deep water closely followed by Gwenno, gasping as the cold water crept up her body. They guided it over the swell and held the board steady while Gwenno hauled herself up. For a few moments, her naked body was fully exposed in the moonlight, and modesty forgotten, both men stared in awe at her natural beauty before she steadied herself and laid face down on the wood. Gwydion spread the tunic the best he could over her back to help her maintain some semblance of warmth. The board sunk a little lower in the water as it took Gwenno’s weight, but as soon as the load distributed evenly, it floated well enough.
‘Time to go!’ said Prydain and indicated the light of the burning torches coming over the dunes.
The two men kicked out, propelling themselves and the raft further out to sea, conscious that they not only had to be out of range of the torchlight, but also far enough out that they couldn’t be picked out in the moonlight. They swam gently, keeping the splashes to a minimum. For ten minutes they continued before Prydain called a halt.
‘I think this is far enough,’ he said and they each held onto the raft as they trod water, getting their breath back.
‘Are you allright?’ asked Gwydion to Gwenno.
‘I’m fine,’ she answered, her voice shaking with the cold. ‘How about you two?’
The two men looked at each other, each knowing how the other felt. While they were swimming, it wasn’t so bad, but now they had stopped, the cold was beginning to bite deeply.
‘I’m good,’ Gwydion lied. ‘How about you, Roman?’
‘Never better!’ said Prydain through chattering teeth and they all floated in silence as they waited for the distant burning torches to disappear.
----
They lasted ten more minutes before Prydain knew they couldn’t wait much longer.
‘I think they are leaving, ’he said, ‘their torches are further away.’
‘There is only one torch,’ said Gwydion, ‘the rest must have already gone.’
Prydain’s brow furrowed as he stared at the shoreline. He swam around to Gwydion and whispered quietly, so as not to alarm Gwenno who had the tunic over her head.
‘We have to go back,’ he said. ‘Now!’
‘What’s the problem,’ asked Gwydion, ‘they are leaving anyway. A few more minutes won’t hurt.’
‘They are not leaving,’ said Prydain. ‘That light you see is not a torch but a fire. They have made camp on the beach.’
‘Can’t have,’ said Gwydion, ‘it is too far away. They must have retreated into the dunes.’
‘They are still on the beach,’ said Prydain. ‘It is us who have retreated. The tide must have turned and we are drifting out to sea. We have to get back in right now.’
Realising the danger, they kicked out as hard as they could
toward the shadowy land, half-numb with cold and silently terrified at the thought of drifting out to sea. Though some feeling came back to their limbs, it was soon obvious that they were making little headway. Their strength left them and they finally stopped their exertions, clinging on to the raft as they drifted in the darkness, the fire a mere pinprick in the distance.
Gwenno lay still on the board, soaked through with the wash of the swell. She had heard the explanations and despite her own fears, she didn’t want to add to the men’s distress and shame at failing her. Her hand crept forward and her fingers intertwined with those of Gwydion. They drifted aimlessly and Gwydion knew he could not hold on much longer. His head lay in the crux of his arm, which rested on the board, and he had lost all feeling in his lower body. He heard a mumble from Gwenno.
‘What did you say?’ he asked lifting his head.
‘Horses!’ murmured Gwenno weakly through salt encrusted lips.
‘Horses?’ queried Gwydion. ‘There are no horses out here Gwenno.’
‘I can hear their harnesses,’ she said weakly. ‘Perhaps, we are nearing death and the horses await us in the next life.’
Gwydion smiled weakly.
‘You will ride a white stallion my love,’ he said, ‘as befits a princess.’
‘Wait!’ said Prydain lifting his head. ‘I hear them too - listen.’
‘It sounds like bells,’ said Gwenno. ‘Tiny little bells.’
Gwydion suddenly looked at Prydain, realising the source of the sound.
‘Fairy bells,’ confirmed Prydain and they both started laughing.
‘Fairy bells?’ asked Gwenno. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Fairy bells!’ confirmed Gwydion through his laughter. ‘We are saved Gwenno; our fisherman is here.’
Without any more explanation, both men started calling out across the water. Gwenno watched for a few moments in bemusement before, without quite realising why, raised her voice to join the others.
----
Chapter 35
Caratacus stood at the mouth of a cave contemplating the scene below him. The stream pouring through the gulley had carved this feature in the landscape over tens of thousands of years and the water fell angrily from the inaccessible gorges above. For years, it had been the hiding place of fugitives and brigands, but the sight of five hundred battle weary warriors descending on their hideout had persuaded the incumbents it was probably in their interests to move out, and Caratacus had taken over the gorge with little argument.
They had been on the move for weeks and their numbers had increased to over a thousand men, women and children with more arriving by the day. He looked down at the makeshift camp with growing concern and turned to his servant.
‘How much food do we have, Holler?’ he asked.
‘The meat is gone, the grain runs short and the people eat the frogs and creatures that live at the water’s edge,’ he said.
‘How fare the hunting parties?’ asked Caratacus.
‘No matter how successful the hunt, Sire, there is never enough. We send riders to the local clans but they fear the Romans and know that any village caught helping us, will be slaughtered to the last child.’
‘How many fit men do we have?’ asked the King.
‘About five hundred, Sire,’
‘Bring me the leaders,’ said Caratacus. ‘We cannot continue like this.’
Ten minutes later, ten battle hardened warriors sat in a circle around the small fire Holler kept burning outside the cave. Caratacus emerged from the cave and joined the surviving leaders of his decimated army.
‘I will get straight to the point,’ said Caratacus. ‘Three weeks ago we came here with the aim of raising an army and taking the fight back to the Romans, but we have become distracted. It was never my intention to carry women and children with us, especially refugees. While they are here, our time is taken up foraging to keep them fed. This is not the way of warriors.’
Everyone looked at him in silence.
‘Every day we spend here,’ he continued, ‘the people get hungrier and we are one more day away from spilling Roman blood. We have to take action.’
‘But what?’ said one of the warriors. ‘We hide like rats from dogs, but if we leave, the Romans will catch us in days.’
‘Yet, if we stay,’ interrupted another, ‘it is only a matter of time before they find us anyway. We will be trapped and killed like fish in a pool.’
‘We are safe here,’ replied the first warrior. ‘This place is almost impossible to find unless you know of its existence. Only the locals know how to find it.’
‘And how long do you think it will be before someone shares the information in return for a crust of stale bread?’ interrupted Caratacus.
‘They are your people, lord,’ said the warrior. ‘They will not betray you.’
‘They are loyal, I agree,’ said Caratacus, ‘but loyalty doesn’t feed the stomach twisted in starvation and the point of a blade is very efficient at loosening a loyal tongue. No, we cannot stay. Even as we speak, my people are suffering through their silence. The sooner this Plautius thinks I have gone, the sooner our people can get on with their lives. We have to leave tonight.’
The first man spoke up again.
‘It is impossible,’ he said, ‘our people are too weak and our wounded still need to heal. They cannot travel and we cannot leave them here.’
‘That is exactly what we must do,’ said Caratacus. ‘We aim to rebuild an army in order to help our people, yet it is they who are our greatest threat. The longer we stay the more likely it is that we are discovered. We must seek other tribes to join our cause.’
‘We cannot leave our people to starve!’ shouted the first warrior, jumping to his feet. ‘What sort of King are you?’
‘Blennus,’ said Caratacus calmly, ‘your concern is admirable, but you are still a young man. Sometimes the benefits of leadership are great, but they are countered by the weight of responsibility. This is such a time. We have to leave them for the greater good.’
‘You would see them starve to death?’
‘We will leave them what food we can and draw off the Romans so they can escape to the villages. The foreign devils seek me, and if they know I have been unearthed, they will take up our trail leaving our people time to escape.’
‘And where would we go?’ asked another chieftain. ‘This area is swarming with Romans and more arrive by the day. Already they send envoys into the villages preaching cooperation or annihilation. Our source of recruits grows smaller by the day.’
‘There is one place where the arm of Plautius has yet to reach,’ said the King, ‘the land of the Deceangli.’
The warrior spat on the floor and many voices were raised in anger.
‘Seek union with our enemies,’ shouted one, ‘I would attack the Roman legions alone before sharing their campfires.’
‘Do you think they see us as different tribes?’ shouted Caratacus. ‘To them, we are but a single barbarian race to be killed, raped or sold into slavery as they see fit, the name of the tribe is irrelevant. We share a common purpose and need to stand shoulder to shoulder against the invader. At last light, we will leave this valley and make speed to the land of the Deceangli. Those who would follow me will need a horse and enough bread for one meal. Leave everything else for those we leave behind. If we travel hard and the Gods are with us, we can be in the camp of Idwal by tomorrow night.’ He turned to Holler. ‘You will check each man who steps forward,’ he said, ‘I only want fit men who can ride and can still wield a sword.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said Holler.
‘You would give a servant sway over a warrior,’ sneered Blennus. ‘I don’t recognise his authority or come to think of it, yours!’ He stepped forward and drew his sword, but before he could assault Caratacus, the King flew across the clearing and charged into Blennus, driving him to the floor. Holler leapt forward to aid his King, but was held back by another warrior.
‘Leave him!�
�� he said.
‘But the King is already wounded,’ said Holler. ‘He can’t win.’
‘He is Caratacus,’ said the warrior, ‘and Caratacus does not lose.’
The two men wrestled on the floor, Blennus’s sword lying in the dust, having been dislodged in the fight. Caratacus got the upper hand, managed to twist himself on top of Blennus, and gripped his throat, cutting of his airway. Blennus’s hand crept down to his waist band and drew his knife. He drove it into Caratacus’s side and the King rolled off in agony. Blennus staggered to his feet, coughing and spluttering as he caught his breath.
Caratacus withdrew the knife and scrunched his tunic against the wound in pain. Both men looked at the sword and both staggered toward it, each determined to gain the advantage. Caratacus got to the blade first, but as he bent to pick it up, Blennus kicked him in the face sending the King flying backwards. Caratacus sprawled in the dirt, his hands clawing at the earth.
Blennus picked up the sword and stood over him panting for breath.
‘Stand up!’ he said.
‘Finish it,’ said Caratacus.
‘I will not kill you while you grovel in the dirt,’ said Blennus. ‘Stand up and die like a King.’
Caratacus stood up and stared at the young warrior chief.
‘You were a great King, Caratacus,’ said Blennus, ‘but your time is over.’
‘You are wrong,’ said Caratacus, ‘it only just begins.’ Suddenly he threw a handful of gravel he had picked up whilst on the ground into Blennus’s face, causing him to flinch for half a second, but it was all Caratacus needed. He launched himself forward and punched the warrior with a swinging right arm. Blennus’s jaw was smashed sideways and though he staggered back, he did not fall. He turned his head back toward the King, his lower jaw completely wrecked and hanging loose by the tendons, blood pouring from his mouth as he stood in shock.