'Stop! Usher, I'm falling off. Slow down! Usherrr. For pity's sake!' Cal's grip
finally slipped and with a drawn-out wail, he fell from the trotting horse, landing
in a painful heap on the path.
They had been travelling at a trot for some time, aware that a party of Pict
warriors, and a Saxon with murderous intentions was in pursuit, and it hadn't
been easy. Right from the start the horse had let them know it didn't like two
people bouncing about on its back. It continually tried to break into a gallop,
twisting its head from side to side, as Usher heaved back, sawing on the reins
trying to bring it under control. It had been a constant battle between horse and
rider since they had set off, during which Cal had been bouncing about, holding
on as best he could.
After rolling on the ground, moaning in pain for a while, Cal gradually
realised he wasn't actually hurt and was happier where he was than on the back
of the horse. He became aware of movements and crunching sounds and opened
his eyes to see the horse pulling up tufts of grass close to his head; it glanced
across at him and snorted happily. Its warm breath was blowing over him, tangy
and fresh with the smell of chewed grass. Squinting up against the glare of the
bright sky, he saw Usher sitting high in the saddle, scanning back the way they
had come.
'I think we're all right at the moment, but we should get moving as soon as
you can get up.' Usher glanced down at Cal, then back along the path where they
had been heading. 'The smoke was coming from close to here.' He peered down
again. 'Are you hurt?'
Cal thought about it for a moment and sighed. Lying here looking up through
the leafy branches at the deep blue sky, he felt a whole lot less hurt than he had
all day. 'No, I'm okay. I'm going to walk for a while. I'll get on again if we hear
them coming.' He heaved himself up, groaning a little, as he realised that he
hadn't escaped completely bruise-free. 'I don't like horses,' he moaned. 'As soon
as we can, let's just leave the horse and go on by foot, all right?'
Usher remained silent.
The late afternoon air carried a chill, and the sky, visible between the
branches overhead, was beginning to reflect the orange of an unseen sunset.
After walking a little further, the trees gradually thinned out revealing a wide
grassy expanse rolling down towards an impressive Roman villa, the smoke they
had seen before was rising from one of its large chimneys. Outside, a throng of
people busied themselves among a number of wagons and horses.
'They're Romans,' said Usher, shading his eyes as he peered down the hill.
'How do you know? You've never seen a Roman before, have you? Maybe
it's just people taking stuff.'
'Never met a Roman, but I can see helmets and uniforms.' Usher nudged the
horse and started down the hill.
'I thought the Romans had all gone. Do you think they're friendly?' called
Cal, walking after him.
'Well, whoever they are, we can't go back, and one thing we can be pretty
sure of is that if they're Romans, then they won't like Picts, and hopefully that
will go for Saxons as well.' They made their way down towards the villa and
were about halfway, when five Roman warriors broke out from the crowd and
came marching up towards them. Usher reined in the horse and they waited for
them to approach.
'Well, I suppose we now get to see if they're friendly,' he mumbled.
'Who are you? State your business,' called the leading Roman as soon as he
got close enough to be heard. He was big and heavily muscled, with an accent as
thick as his neck. Having never seen a real Roman before, they both spent a
moment staring at the formidable force before them. Each warrior was armoured
in polished bronze or chainmail over hard-baked leather, with red tunics and
capes that flapped softly in the breeze. They each carried a short sword and a
large red shield with a round brass centre. Two also held spears with red and
gold pennants flapping from the top. One of the spearmen had the skin of a wolf
draped over his helm, which held Cal's unwavering gaze, as he trembled slightly.
'There's a band of Picts back there… and a Saxon,' reported Usher, after a
moment. He slapped Cal's hand down as it reached towards the wolf helm, then
saw the lead Roman's eyes dart to the top of the hill, then back again. 'They
attacked us but we got away.' The Roman raised a questioning eyebrow.
'On the Saxon's horse,' added Cal, dragging his attention from the wolf-head
helm and pointing to the horse, which snorted and nodded in agreement.
'Come with us,' ordered the Roman, and the small group made their way
back down to the villa where Usher had to repeat his story to another Roman,
this one wearing an impressive red-crested helmet, which once again captured
the boys' attention. The Roman ignored their interest in his helmet, and after
hearing there were probably no more than five or six Picts and not an invading
army, he dismissed them, telling them to put the horse in the stables and get
some food.
The villa was busy. People were coming out with armloads of things that
they handed up into the carts before dashing back inside for more. The warriors,
with their shiny breastplates and plumed helms, seemed to be doing little beyond
standing about talking, or marching up and down while the other people did all
the running and lifting.
Usher found an empty stall and tied the horse up, and it immediately began
pulling mouthfuls from a large pile of hay brought over by a smiling stable boy.
'Nice 'orse, where'd yer steal it from?' the boy asked happily.
'The biggest, nastiest Saxon you ever saw,' said Cal, attempting to remove
the smile from the boy's face.
'Ain't never seen a Saxon before,' said the boy, 'but I like his 'orse. Don't
worry, I'll take care of it for yer.' He produced a thick green leaf from the folds of
his tunic and offered it to the horse. They all watched as it delicately plucked it
from his hand with thick rubbery lips, crunched it, and then nuzzled him for
more. Reaching up, he patted the sleek black neck then began brushing it down
with a handful of straw, chattering softly to the horse as he did so.
'I think we should just leave the horrible beast here,' said Cal, after being
directed towards somewhere called the culina. 'It seems much happier with him
and I can't bear the thought of bruising my backside on a horse ever again.'
'It's not the horse's fault you had a bad ride,' said Usher, gazing around at the
huge building. 'It's a good horse; it just didn't like two of us on its back, you can't
blame it. This place is incredible, look around you!'
The culina, when they found it, turned out to be a large bustling room
dedicated to the making and serving of food. As they walked in, a fat woman
waved them towards a long table against the wall where two men were already
busily eating. They sat down and stared round at the general bustle, amazed at
the busy efficiency of the place. People were coming and going all the time:
collecting food, eating food, delivering food, or simply walking through. Others
fussed over racks of meat roasting on spits and several large bubbling pots
suspended above a massive fireplace. The smells wafting throughout the room
were wonderful.
The fat woman, who they soon realised was in charge of the cooking, came
back and, with a smile, set trenchers cut from the bottom of stale loaves of bread
in front of them, and then filled them with a thick porridge of boiled oats,
vegetables and some sort of meat that they couldn't identify. They were both so
hungry they didn't care what the meat was so long as there was plenty of it.
While they were eating, they tried talking to some of the people dashing back
and forth, but it wasn't easy. Most were too rushed, even the two others sitting at
the table said nothing, merely finishing their food and leaving without a word.
When they did manage to get a response from someone, it was only that no
one fitting the description of Meryn or Nineve had come to the villa in the last
few days, which threw Cal back into a black mood for a while.
'Anyone that comes 'ere will visit my culina at some point, and I'm sorry but
I've not seen them,' explained the cook, before dashing off to attend to some
minor emergency with the bubbling pots. They did learn that the Roman
Prefectus, as the servants called him, had moved out of the villa with his family
several days before, and that all the servants were busy packing up everything to
be taken back to Rome. He was, so they were told, one of the last Roman
governors to leave Britain.
'And we'll be the last of the servants to leave here,' said the cook coming
back to the table. She wiped sweat from her brow and sat down next to Cal. 'The
Ala have been coming and going for days, guarding the families' possessions as
they're taken away, but they'll all be gone soon as well… shame, I'll miss the
Ala.' She went all dreamy for a moment. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she stood
and began stacking the loaves of bread she had taken from the oven and packing
them in flat wooden trays, a small smile still playing across her face.
'What's the Ala?' Cal asked, breaking the silence through a mouthful of meat
and vegetables. He glanced at Usher who merely shrugged.
The cook turned and stared at him, mouth open with a look of shock. 'The
Ala? Why, that's the Ala… Primae… Herculaea. At least that's how the Romans
say it in their tongue. To you and me it would be something like… The first
Herculean troop.' She saw the blank look shared by the boys. 'The centurions
outside.' They still offered blank looks and she sighed. 'The Romans, that's their
unit's name. They call themselves the Ala for short… oh, never mind, do you
want any more to eat?' She ladled another helping of food onto the soggy
trenchers, and then went off in search of more hungry mouths to feed.
* * *
A finger brushed Nineve's face and she gazed up through misty eyes,
swollen and still tear-filled from so much crying. Someone was there… but then
not there, it was just misty white. She shook her head and blinked, to clear her
vision. When a hand rose up in front of her, she tried to turn away as cold soft
fingers gently touched her eyes.
Floating. A feeling of calm and peace enveloping her, she smiled as the fear
and tension drained away leaving her somehow more complete than before.
'It is almost time, Nineve, my lady. Almost time for you to awaken, and
return.' Around her, she sensed the presence of many people, their thoughts an
insistent clamour at the edge of her mind. The speaker was female, someone that
she felt she knew and trusted. Someone she had shared a bond with that
stretched beyond mere lifetimes. 'You may set your guardian free, Nineve. He
struggles needlessly against his bonds. Tell him you will meet again. That this is
your time, not his, his time will come soon. He should carry greetings to your
brother, and explain that you will join with them again… when the time is right.'
Her spirit body lifted free and within an instant, she was approaching a large
circle of stones, at the centre of which burnt a fire, its many-coloured flames
reaching up to an impossible height, snatching and clawing as if desperately
trying to claim part of the starry sky above. The glowing presence in white
guided her forward and they joined with others, linking arms to concentrate the
earth's spirit that she could feel swollen and potent in the earth beneath her feet.
Gazing about, she studied the druids as they swayed gently from side to side
lit by the dancing flames. There were both men and women, young and old.
Some wore the colours of the tribes, while others were robed, their faces hidden
within the shadowed depths of their hoods. The group were chanting, creating a
deep melodic sound that filled her body and then her mind until she was caught
up in the spirit of the ceremony and her own voice joined with those of the
others. An elderly woman broke from the group and threw a handful of herbs
and powders into the flames. As she withdrew and rejoined the circle, the
colours within the fire changed. Flames of green and blue leapt up accompanied
by a strong pungent odour that filled the air, the tempo of the chant increased.
As her fingers began to tingle, Nineve gazed up and watched as a tall
column of blue-white light exploded upwards to pierce the heavens. In that
moment, she experienced a rush of awakening and understanding, it was as if a
veil had been removed from her mind and her spirit's tasks and destiny lay
spread before her once more.
* * *
The meal had been wonderful and the bed of straw above the stables the
most comfortable place either Usher or Cal could ever remember passing a
night. The sun was already high over the horizon when Usher placed a hand over
Cal's mouth to wake him. Cal jerked away from the hand, and then stretched,
making a satisfied moan as he did so.
'Shhh,' cautioned Usher. Cal's eyes flew open. Usher touched a finger to his
lips, and then indicated that Cal should join him at the small circular window
overlooking the courtyard.
'What's the matter?' whispered Cal, as he moved alongside. Then he looked
down to see where Usher was pointing. Directly below them was a Pict, standing
with his back to them, turning slowly surveying the buildings. He held the stable
boy by a handful of his scraggy hair, the boy whimpered and struggled weakly in
his grasp. Their attention was drawn to the door of the culina as a group of the
villa servants tumbled out in to the courtyard. More Picts followed out as they
kicked and punched at the slower ones to hurry them on. Last out was the blackgarbed Saxon, he looked angry. Usher pulled Cal back, his heart pounding,
barely daring to draw breath.
'Where have all the Romans gone?' Cal asked. Usher shrugged, and they
both crept up and chanced another peek.
The black Saxon strode out to the middle of the yard before turning to
address the frightened servants. 'I am Horsa, brother to Hengist, leader of the
peaceful Saxon settlers in this land.' The stable boy was flung aside by the Pict
holding him and he scuttled across to stand with the other servants, rubbing at
his head.
'I was attacked near here and my horse was stolen from me,' continued
Horsa, his strongly accented voice echoing around the yard. 'That horse is now
in this stable. I want to know where the two thieves are who rode it in here. I
wish, very much, to find them.' There was a low murmur from the servants but
thankfully, nobody spoke or pointed up to the loft where Usher and Cal lay. Only
the stable boy knew where they were, and he was still busy rubbing his head.
With a nod from Horsa, two Picts dragged an elderly male servant from the line
and threw him down at Horsa's feet. The man began to wail and grovel, and
several of the other servants cried out, pleading for him to be let go.
'I didn't steal no 'orse,' wailed the old man, beginning to sob.
Glancing down, Horsa placed a foot on the man's neck and forced him down,
pinning him to the tiles. When the old man struggled, he stamped firmly down
and the struggles reduced to mere whimpers.
'We have to get out of here,' Usher hissed, as he headed towards the ladder.
He peeked down through the hatch to be sure there wasn't a Pict waiting
underneath and was relieved to see that the horse was alone. It stared back at
him; its ears twitching in surprise at seeing a head appear through the ceiling. As
Usher dropped down, quickly followed by Cal, a muffled shriek came from the
courtyard, followed by more cries, and then the sound of Horsa's voice echoing
from the walls as he questioned the servants again.
'Pass me the harness,' commanded Usher, in an urgent whisper. He
straightened the fur he had thrown over the horse's back and then slipped the
proffered harness over its neck.
'You really want me to get on that horse again?' hissed Cal, eyeing the horse
uncertainly. It returned the stare as if echoing his concerns.
Usher stopped tying the harness and glanced round. 'No, Cal. I expect you to
stay here and get yourself killed. Of course I want you to get on the horse, stop
being stupid! It's only a short way to the gate and then we're out and away.'
Ignoring the fact that Cal still hadn't moved, he tied a short length of rope to the
door then carefully unlatched it. A quick glance out confirmed that Horsa was
still busy with the servants, and that the body of the old man lay silent and
unmoving in the centre of the yard. Pushing down a feeling of fear and panic,
Usher climbed onto the horse and patted its neck softly. 'Get on!' he commanded,
and Cal reluctantly pulled himself up behind.
'Promise me we'll either get another horse for me to ride or go back to
walking as soon as we can,' mumbled Cal, taking a good hold of Usher.
'Agreed,' said Usher, then he pulled hard on the rope, the door sprang back
with a bang, and the horse, with its riders clinging on, shot out into the
courtyard.
They exited the stable much faster than either of them had thought they
would, and headed directly towards the black Saxon. Servants screamed, Picts
yelled then ran in, and Horsa threw up his arms as the horse reared in front of
him, tipping Cal to the ground.
'I knew the horse was a mistake,' cried Cal. Jumping up, he ducked under the
grasp of a Pict warrior, ran past the servants, and disappeared into the villa. The
horse reared again, striking out at its former master who fell to the ground with a
cry, then Usher managed to gain some control. He tugged heavily on the reins
and the horse wheeled round to the left, scattering the Picts. Two possible routes
presented themselves; the open gate, which had three Picts close to it, or the
doorway to the villa that Cal had just dashed through. With no time to decide, he
gave the horse its head as they spun towards the villa. However, it ignored the
door to the culina and ran up the steps, through a bigger door and into a large
hallway.
Wrong move, thought Usher in dismay. Then shouted, 'Cal, where are you?'
His cry echoed through the empty villa, now stripped of its furnishings, mixing
with the sharp reports of the horse's hooves as they moved from the hallway, past
a large room that held some kind of pond, then into an even larger room with the
sound of the Picts close behind.
'Usher!' Cal came down some stairs in a rush and clambered up behind his
friend. 'How are we going to…?' His question was cut short as the horse, sensing
fresh air, trotted on and then burst out onto a terrace and on towards a low wall.
'Hold on!' cried Usher, as the horse jumped. It cleared the wall but there was
a steep drop on the other side and it landed awkwardly, a shrill scream escaping
it as it stumbled. Finding its feet, it snorted and tossed its head then managed to
carry them a good distance away from the villa, eventually stopping at the top of
the hill where Cal slipped thankfully to the ground. The horse was shivering
violently, there was foam all around its mouth and it was wavering from side to
side. Usher dropped down and looked back towards the villa where running
figures were coming up towards them.
'We have to get out of here, Cal, they're coming!' he urged, but Cal stayed
where he was.
'I think the horse is hurt.' Cal stroked the horse's nose and it snorted and
trembled again, swaying slightly.
'We can't help it. We have to get out of here and you're right; the horse is
hurt, it can't take us further.' Usher started to move off into the trees.
'Thank you, horse. I'm… I'm sorry,' whispered Cal. He stroked its nose and
still shivering and swaying, it tossed its head. With a sigh, he turned and
followed on after Usher.
Trees covered the top of the hill, but as they emerged on the other side, they
ran downhill across meadow-grass, towards more thickets of trees. This late in
the year, the grass was old and yellow, and lying flat to the ground where the
summer sun had dried it out and more recently the rain had pounded it. It made
going downhill more of a long slide than a run. As they topped each small rise,
they glanced back only to confirm that the Picts were gaining on them.
'In there,' said Usher, his breath coming in ragged gasps, 'we have to lose
them.' They entered a large thicket of trees, which slowed their progress further
as they frantically searched for a place to hide, but the trees were too thinly
spaced to offer much in the way of sanctuary.
'What are we going to do?' Cal asked as they gave up and came out on the
other side. There was another thicket a short distance further down hill, Usher
pointed towards it, not having the breath to explain more, then ran on.
They were half way down when the Picts came out of the trees behind them,
sighted their prey, and began to shriek and call, bounding down the hill after
them. There was no alternative, nowhere else to run. The boys turned and drew
their weapons; Usher still had Horsa's black sword and Cal had a long knife.
There were four Picts closing in with several others still only unseen voices
amongst the trees behind them. Usher swung his sword as the first warrior
reached them, but it rebounded on the Pict's outthrust shield. The blue-faced
warrior let out a scream that chilled Usher's blood and swung his blade in a
deadly arc. Usher just managed to jump back and avoid it and then moved back
in, stabbing forward with his own blade as he did so. Beside him, Cal had been
backing away, but as the next Pict arrived letting out a shrill battle cry, he leaped
forward; knife outstretched, and stabbed him in the stomach, wrenching the
knife to the side as he felt it grate against bone. The man let out a terrible shriek
and collapsed, clutching at his guts that were already spilling from the wound.
For a second, Cal simply stared at him transfixed, and then, without warning, the
next Pict was on him. The warrior lifted his axe, the blue-painted face split into
an ecstatic smile and he shrieked his war cry into Cal's terrified face, and then an
arrow embedded itself in his chest and he stared down, the smile turning to a
look of bewildered shock. At the sound of a deep growl, Cal pushed the dying
man away and swung his attention towards Usher. As he did, a grey blur leapt at
the Pict holding Usher by the hair, enveloped his whole head in its jaws and
shook him to the sound of cracking bone. The Pict's screams were muffled as the
huge war-hound continued its savage attack before changing its grip to the man's
neck and ripping his throat out in one easy bite, silencing him forever. The
remaining warriors turned and fled, with the hound in pursuit, while from the
trees emerged a small group of Romans.
One of the small band ran over to finish the dying Pict warrior, while their
leader lowered his bow and called the hound back with a shrill whistle.
'I had a dream we would meet at this place and have waited here three days
for your arrival.' The man smiled as if the whole notion was somewhat foolish.
'I'm not normally given to following dreams, and my men have borne this fancy
well, considering. However, I am glad to say, all this has happened as I saw it
and that I have not gone completely mad.'
'I am Ambrosius, son of Clarens, who was once king of all the tribes. I have
come to make my rightful claim as king of the Britons by succession.' He stared
at Usher then placed a hand upon his shoulder. 'And you… All I can say is
welcome, brother; I have not seen you since you were a babe in arms.'
* * *
Calvador Craen turned from where he had been staring into the fire, listening
to his old friend reliving the story of their youth. He had known what would be
coming. However, when the moment had arrived, the old storyteller had stopped
with a jolt, almost in mid sentence, his mouth moving wordlessly as the
implication of the memory became apparent.
'Do you remember meeting Ambrosius that day, Usher?' Cal watched and
felt some small pity as his friend grappled with his emotions. At last, the old
grey head nodded and Usher Vance took a long drink from his tankard.
'Until this moment no, but how could I forget? I don't understand how…' He
fumbled for his tobacco pouch and filled his pipe with trembling hands, then
smiled across at Cal before continuing on with his tale, as eager to hear more as
anyone else in the room.