Roman - The Fall of Britannia (35 page)

‘
It
is beautiful,’ she whispered.

----

‘
Tomorrow,’ said Lapwing, ‘you will take the path down to the
Henge. Be brave and pay tribute to the awaiting Gods. Walk with
your head held high, Gwenno, you will be walking into
immortality.’

The two guards
walked out of the hut, followed by Lapwing, leaving the girls alone
in the candlelit room. Willow joined Gwenno in front of the window
and stared down at the sacrificial altar.

‘
I
told you it was beautiful, Miss,’ she said quietly.

‘
How
many have there been, Willow?’ asked Gwenno.

‘
You
are the second this year, Miss,’ she said.

‘
And
there have been others before that?’

‘
Yes, miss. Many.’

‘
Then what is the point?’ asked Gwenno. ‘They send so many,
yet still there is a need for more. You would think that if this
ceremony is of any use, then the Gods would have taken notice by
now. I fear there are no Gods, Willow. And even if I am wrong, then
they will not heed our representations of peace and love. They are
bloodthirsty and evil Gods who revel in pain and
suffering.’

‘
Miss, don’t say that,’ said Willow shocked.

‘
Why
not, Willow?’ asked Gwenno. ‘What are they going to do, kill
me?’

There was an
awkward silence as they both continued to stare down at the Henge.
Finally Gwenno turned to her companion.

‘
There is no escape plan is there, Willow?’

‘
Sorry, Miss?’

‘
Your plan to save me, it was just a ploy to get me up here
with the minimum amount of fuss, wasn’t it?’

‘
No,
Miss, it’s just...’

‘
Willow,’ said Gwenno, gently touching her cheek with the back
of her hand, ‘I understand. Don’t worry, I realise now it’s
pointless to try to avoid my fate. I promise I will do as expected.
I may not believe, Willow, but there are thousands that do. I will
do it for them.’

Gwenno walked to
the bed and picked up the beautiful cloak. She smoothed the fabric
lovingly.

‘
It
is very beautiful,’ she said wistfully, ‘I hope I don’t get blood
on it.’ She looked up at Willow and smiled. ‘Your cape is beautiful
too,’ she said. ‘We will make a very regal pair, you and I, as we
walk through the valley tomorrow.’

‘
I
won’t be there,’ whispered Willow.

‘
Won’t be there?’ asked Gwenno, ‘Why not?’

‘
The
path is yours and yours alone, Miss,’ answered Willow, ‘I am not
allowed to walk with you. My role is to care for you tonight and
prepare you in the morning. I will be watching from
here.’

Gwenno stared at
the younger girl and tears welled in her eyes once more.

‘
I
will be alone then,’ she said, ‘not even the touch of a friend’s
hand for comfort.’

Willow rushed
forward and threw her arms around Gwenno.

‘
You
can do this, Miss,’ she whispered through her own tears, ‘I may be
stuck up here, but I will be with you every step of the way, I
promise.’

----

It was still
dark when Willow woke Gwenno with a gentle shake of her
shoulders.

Gwenno opened
her eyes, momentarily confused as to where she was. Willow stood
before her resplendent in her red gown, already prepared for the
day’s events.

‘
It’s time, Miss,’ she said, stroking Gwenno’s
hair.

Gwenno sat up
and looked around, surprised that she had actually fallen
asleep.

‘
How
long have we got?’ she asked.

‘
A
couple of hours, Miss,’ said Willow. ‘Here, drink this.’

‘
What is it?’

‘
I’ve made you a drink. It will warm you up.’

Gwenno sipped on
the warm wine, resigned to her fate. Willow brought a bowl of warm
water from the fire and put it on the table for Gwenno to
bathe.

‘
Miss, there is something you should know,’ said Willow as she
started to brush Gwenno’s hair.

‘
Which is?’

‘
Before your time comes, something will happen and you may yet
have a chance to live.’

‘
What do you mean?’ asked Gwenno.

‘
I
can’t tell you, Miss,’ she said, ‘all I can say is that when it
does, you will know, and when that time comes, you must run. Run as
fast as you can.’

‘
I
don’t understand, Willow,’ she said. ‘Even if I get the chance,
what is the point? Guards surround us. Surely I would be caught
within minutes.’

‘
There will be a short time when their attention will be
elsewhere. When that happens, run for your life, like you have
never run before.’

‘
And
what about you?’ asked Gwenno, her pulse rate increasing as she
realised it was not yet all over.

‘
I
will be fine,’ said Willow. ‘You just concentrate on getting
away.’

Gwenno was
silent for a while until Willow finished brushing her hair. The
younger girl passed her the bowl of warm water.

‘
You
should bathe now, Miss,’ she said, ‘it’s almost time.’

‘
Willow,’ said Gwenno gently, ‘will you do it for
me?’

Willows eyes
moistened.

‘
Of
course, Miss,’ she said, and Gwenno stood up while Willow washed
her body with the rose scented water.

----

Chapter 30

The warrior sat
in the midst of a reed bed, wrapped in his muddy cloak. It was
still wet but at least it kept the worst of the biting wind from
his freezing body. He had lain in the mud for hours, feigning death
as the invaders had rampaged through the forests. He heard a rustle
to his right and an old man carrying a woven sack came scuttling
through the reeds, keeping as low as possible to avoid any unwanted
attention. He opened the bag and started pulling the contents onto
a rock.

‘
I’ve got water,’ he said, ‘cloth for a bandage and look,’ he
held up the last item, proud of his prize, ‘horse meat,’ he said.
‘Can’t have been dead more than a couple of days. We’ll have to eat
it raw of course, can’t risk a fire, but it’s meat
nonetheless.’

The wounded
warrior stared at the older man as he busied himself stripping the
cloth into bandages with his knife.

‘
Why, Holler?’ asked the wounded warrior weakly.

‘
We
need food, Sire,’ said the old man ‘and we have to clean that wound
before...’

‘
No,’ interrupted the warrior. ‘Why did you
return?’

‘
Why
wouldn’t I?’ asked the man, without taking his eyes from the task
in hand.

‘
You
could have made good your escape.’

‘
Escape, Sire?’

‘
From me of course,’ came the reply. ‘The Gods have forsaken
me, Holler, you should too.’

‘
I
have known nothing else but service to you since a boy,’ said the
servant. ‘I have been told what to do, how to do it and when to do
it. I have been fed, clothed and have had a roof over my head. I
know no other way.’

‘
But
you would be free,’ said the warrior. ‘There is no one left to hunt
you down or administer the whip. You could see out the rest of your
days as a freeman.’

‘
And
what sort of freedom would that be?’ he asked. ‘Whether I serve in
a household or wander unfettered through the forests, I will never
be free while they echo to the step of the Romans. I am still a
Briton and I will never be free as long as one invader remains in
these lands. Don’t forget, Sire, I too have witnessed their
brutality. I have also held my hands over my ears at night to block
out the screams of the crucified. I have thought of running, but I
stayed, and have done so for one reason only.’ He lowered his eyes;
suddenly aware of whom he was talking too.

‘
Some speech for a servant,’ said the warrior. ‘Probably the
most I have ever heard you say.’

‘
I
know my place,’ said the old man, ‘I was born into servitude and
will die the same. Every man should follow the fate the Gods
intended, servants, brigands or Kings.’

‘
Holler, you old scoundrel,’ said the warrior, ‘your words
wound me more than my enemy’s sword, yet I see their intent is to
shame me into action, but don’t you see, it is too late. The battle
is lost, the army is slaughtered or scattered across the
country.’

The old man
grabbed the warriors arm causing him to wince as he jarred the
wound in his chest.

‘
No,
Sire, it’s not too late. Yes, the battle is lost and yes, the army
is scattered to the four winds, but this country is worth fighting
for. This time we were but one tribe that stood against the Roman
boot and we came so close. If one tribe can do that, imagine what
an army made from all the tribes from across Britannia could do. If
someone could unite us under one banner, then the invaders will be
little more than ants beneath our heel.’

‘
The
tribes spend most of their time fighting each other,’ said the
warrior. ‘No one has ever united them.’

‘
But
this is different, Sire,’ said Holler. ‘We have never faced a
common enemy before. I believe the right man can unite us all and
take the fight back to them. It may take years, but it can be
done.’

‘
And
where will we find this man?’ asked the warrior.

‘
I
am talking to him,’ said Holler.

‘
What makes you think they will listen to me?’

‘
Why
wouldn’t they? You alone have faced the invader. Your tribe, the
mighty Catuvellauni came close to defeating them. Many lesser men
bent their knee to the Romans and took their coin even before they
had stepped foot off their cursed ships. You alone faced them down
and spat in their face.’

‘
And
you think I can do this?’

‘
I
know you can, Sire,’ answered Holler, ‘and so do many
others.’

‘
Others?’

‘
Stand up, Sire,’ he said, ‘and look to the trees.’

The warrior
struggled to his feet and stared across the reed beds. Over a
hundred men stood at the forest edge, many wounded but all standing
tall and proud.

‘
Who
are they?’ he asked.

‘
Survivors,’ said Holler. ‘Stragglers from many different
clans. Only a few but there are many such groups and they seek a
leader. They seek their King.’

They stared for
a long time before the warrior spoke again.

‘
Bandage me up, Holler,’ he said, ‘we have work to
do.’

‘
Yes, Sire!’ said the servant and hastened to the task. This
was the man he knew, the leader that the country needed. King
Caratacus, son of the great Cunobelinus.

----

Chapter 31

Gwydion and
Prydain had ridden their horses hard from the Cerrig and paid a
fisherman to take them across the narrow straits of water between
the mainland and the island of Mona. They left the horses back in
the fisherman’s stables and it was only when they were out in the
middle of the strait that Gwydion offered further payment to take
them around the headland and nearer to the Henge.

Since leaving
the mainland, the musical tinkling of a row of tiny bells hanging
from the mast had accompanied them, and as they neared the shore,
Gwydion turned to the fisherman.

‘
Can’t you shut that noise up,’ he asked, ‘someone will hear
us.’

‘
Can’t do that,’ said the fisherman. ‘Them’s my fairy bells,
keeps the evil spirits away they do. A witch from the emerald isle
gave them to me many years ago.’

‘
Oh
for God’s sake,’ mumbled Gwydion.

It was dark when
they landed on a pebbly beach. Nearby a stream emptied its fresh
water into the sea.

‘
Follow that stream,’ said the fisherman, ‘it will take you
right into the Henge.’

‘
Are
you sure?’ asked Gwydion.

‘
Sure as I can be,’ said the fisherman. ‘It runs blood red
often enough.’

‘
Can
you wait for us?’ asked Gwydion.

‘
I
am already risking execution,’ he said. ‘This is a holy place. If I
am found, it would be my blood that colours the stream.’

‘
I
will pay you extra!’ said Gwydion.

‘
I
will not stay,’ said the fisherman, ‘but for the right price, I
will return tomorrow night when the moon is at its
highest.’

‘
Name it.’

‘
That Torc you wear around your neck.’

Gwydion’s
fingers crept subconsciously to his necklace. It was the symbol of
his clan given to him by Erwyn, the first time he had visited the
Cerrig.

‘
How
do I know you will return?’ he asked.

‘
If
I don’t, and you still live, then you know where to find
me.’

‘
I
will trust you,’ said Gwydion, ‘but if you betray me, then know
this. Before I cut your throat you will watch me burn your wife and
children.’