Masters of Rome

CHAPTER X

‘They make them a lot bigger here than they do in Germania,’ Magnus grumbled, looking at the huge figure on the Tagell peninsula just across the isthmus of bare rock connecting it to the mainland. ‘I doubt that the lads are going to want to go anywhere near it.’

‘Getting them there is going to be the first problem,’ Vespasian observed, looking at the sheer cliff-face at the end of the isthmus. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any path. We’ll just have to scramble down and across.’

‘I can’t see anyone over there; where are they all?’

Cogidubnus shaded his eyes from the strengthening sun. ‘They’ll have seen us coming and, if Judoc is right and they’re expecting us, then no doubt they’ll appear at some point with a few unpleasant surprises.’

Vespasian felt his unease grow at the marked lack of panic amongst the druids, faced with the imminent arrival of more than two hundred more troops; although smoke rose from the half a dozen huts around the wicker man the only life that he could see was a few sheep grazing on the rough grass at the giant’s feet. He turned to the two marine centurions waiting behind him for orders. ‘Glaubus, take your men across to the peninsula and try to find a way up along the south side. Cogidubnus will go with you; kill anyone you find over there. Balbus, you and your men will come with me and we’ll try the north side.’

The centurions snapped brisk salutes but the mutual look of disquiet that they shared as they turned to go gave Vespasian cause for concern. ‘I think you were right, Magnus: if the centurions are nervous about going over there how can I hope that their men will follow them?’

‘Then let’s just get back to the ships instead. Let’s face it, sir, Caratacus ain’t coming because Alienus didn’t tell him that we were here. You’ve succeeded in bringing the Cornovii over to us, which was the only other thing you had to achieve down here, so why don’t we just sail away and leave the druids to their own devices?’

‘There’s nothing that I’d like to do more; having faced the druids twice now I’ll not willingly do so again. But within a day or two of us leaving they’ll have turned Judoc against us or had him killed and replaced with someone more amenable to their cause.’

Cogidubnus nodded in agreement. ‘They’ve all got to die, otherwise there’ll never be any peace on this island. We’ve got the chance of killing Myrddin perhaps even before his successor has been found and that’s something that we mustn’t pass up.’

Magnus scowled and looked again at the wicker man. ‘It seems to me that the druids believe that if there is any killing to be done, they’re going to be the ones doing it.’

Spray flew on the strengthening wind, soaking their hair and making the bare rocks of the isthmus slippery and treacherous as Vespasian led Balbus and his men across. Just ten paces to his left Cogidubnus with Glaubus’ century kept level as they too slowly negotiated the passage in ones and twos. Above them the mound of Tagell soared to the sky, a dark, looming place filling their hearts with foreboding.

The roar of crashing waves intensified as they reached the lowest point of the isthmus; great rollers thundered in, pummelling a narrow beach below, to Vespasian’s right, and pulling on a currach turned upside down amongst the rocks at its head.

With no obvious pathway to follow, Vespasian picked his way through boulders and driftwood, using his hands to balance; the marines followed behind him in a random, dispersed order, struggling with their shields and pila. As they started to ascend the broken-up slopes of the peninsula itself, working their way around it away from the cliff-face, the wind speed picked up, whistling through the crags, tugging at their garments and increasing the sea’s rage. Magnus struggled at Vespasian’s side, muttering prayers and obscenities in equal measure as they slowly gained height and the head of the wicker man came back into view, gradually followed by its shoulders and chest. Vespasian scrambled on up, dislodging loose scree onto the marines below, as the noise of the wind’s fury grew, mixed with the crash of waves rising up from below, and now augmented by a new sound, a chilling sound: a high-pitched, bestial howling. He looked in alarm at Magnus. ‘Wolves?’

‘I actually hope so; I don’t know of any other animal that makes that sound, and if there is one then I wouldn’t like to meet it.’

‘Me neither; I’d rather face a wolf than the unknown.’ Vespasian looked back at the men following; their expressions were less than keen and Balbus and his optio were doing their best to urge them on, although with each new baying cry they too looked fearfully up the hill. The howling got louder as they climbed off the rocks and onto the steep, grassed hillside; the wicker man, visible down to its thighs, swayed in the gale but was kept upright by four ropes extending at right-angles from its neck. The ground was firmer and the going became easier, but Vespasian felt his reluctance to move forward grow with every step he took up the hill towards the source of the howling, yet he drew his sword and pressed on, conquering his powerful urge to turn back. Behind him the shouts of Balbus and his optio forming their men into a column were almost lost on the wind. Cutting back and forth diagonally to reduce the incline, his breath short and his heart pounding, he came to the final steep escarpment before the summit. The huts were still obscured from view but the wicker man towered above, totally visible apart from its lower legs: a brooding, malevolent colossus.

Pausing, he looked back to Balbus. ‘Have your men form line, centurion!’

Within a few moments the column had fanned out into four lines of twenty; many of the marines looked uneasily around at the steep drop behind them and then at the unknown over the brow of the hill. Not wanting to give the men too much time to fret over their situation, Vespasian moved forward and began to scramble up the escarpment, his hobnailed sandals struggling for purchase in the looser, grassless earth. As his hands reached the summit the howling ceased and was abruptly replaced by a series of rumbling growls; he thrust his legs down and propelled his body up so that his head crested the ridge. A light shape flew at his face; he managed to duck in time and it passed over him as similar forms flicked by to both sides. Behind Vespasian the screaming started instantaneously and was mixed with the throaty snarls of wild beasts ravaging flesh. He kicked a leg over the rim and hauled himself up; Magnus made it up next to him with Balbus and a few others who had been fortunate enough to slip under the pounce of the wolves — white wolves. But, below, carnage ensued as man fought beast in a savage battle of iron, teeth, fist and claw. Many of the marines had bolted, tumbling headlong down the incline, a few rolling uncontrollably towards a shattered-bone death on the rocks below. Others engaged in combat that would have delighted the crowd in any arena for its savagery as at least twenty beasts tore their way through the remaining terrified marines, clamping blood-stained teeth on sword arms, throats and thighs, ripping flesh and muscle as the wind blew ripples along their sleek, off-white coats in a strange juxtaposition of beauty and horror. Wrenching his eyes away from the slaughter, Vespasian looked around for the beasts’ handlers or the druids who had set this fearsome attack in motion; but on the summit of Tagell there was no one and nothing to be seen apart from the sheep, that had somehow escaped the attentions of the wolves. They grazed peacefully beneath the monstrosity whose magnitude could only now be appreciated. Vespasian led the dozen survivors towards the huts, knowing that they could not help their comrades against the fury of the wolves, which, although they had been reduced in number, were mauling their way through the very few marines still prepared to stand against them; a few men had been hauled to safety by their mates but the remainder were now scattered and beyond rallying.

A search of each of the half a dozen thatched shelters turned up nothing apart from burning fires in their central hearths; animal skins, boar tusks and antlers lined their walls and pots and bowls full of strange ingredients were formed up in neat lines on their floors. Each had four beds but not all seemed to have been slept in.

‘Where in Hades are they?’ Vespasian shouted against the wind, coming out of the last hut having checked the floor for trapdoors.

Magnus glanced nervously over his shoulder in the direction of the wolves. ‘They evidently ain’t here so I suggest we should find a way off this rock that doesn’t involve feeding ourselves to wild beasts.’

‘Yes, sir, we should go,’ Balbus affirmed, his eyes still registering the shock of losing so many men.

Vespasian looked up at the wicker man. Thirty feet above him its stag-like head and huge wooden antlers rocked back and forth against its restraining ropes in the howling wind, as if it were a beast on a leash straining to lurch forward; he wanted nothing more than to be away from it and everything else that was strange and unnatural on this windswept lump of bleak rock. ‘Yes, we’ll go.’ He turned to make his way back down in the opposite direction from the wolves and stopped suddenly in his tracks. Cogidubnus, Glaubus and a few marines were running in ragged formation towards him as if the Furies themselves were after them.

Magnus spat. ‘There seem to be a lot of wolves on this rock.’

‘Where are the rest of your men, Glaubus?’ Vespasian asked as the centurion came to a chest-heaving halt.

Glaubus took in the very few marines left from Balbus’ century. ‘Gone, the same as yours; although how I don’t know. It was like they were just plucked off the rock by invisible hands.’

‘Myrddin,’ Cogidubnus wheezed. ‘I’ve heard it said, although I’ve never believed it, that he has the power to call upon the spirits of the Lost Dead.’

Vespasian glanced nervously over the King’s shoulder. ‘The Lost Dead? Who in Hades are they?’

‘That’s just the point: they’re not in Hades or any other afterlife; the druids believe them to be the dead that have missed the chance to be reborn into another body and so are condemned to wander the land. They hate everything that lives. They congregate in barren places such as the plain to the east with the Great Henge of stone and, evidently, here. If Myrddin really does have the power to control them then we must leave. We are in great danger.’

‘I don’t think that Plautius understood just what he was asking us to do by coming here.’

Cogidubnus looked around with darting, nervous eyes. ‘How could he have? I didn’t even know.’

Magnus clenched his thumb and spat to ward off the evil-eye. ‘I’ve heard enough. Let’s get back to the ships, sir.’

‘I agree,’ Vespasian said, ‘but which way? Through the wolves to the north or the Lost Dead to the south or over the precipice to the east?’

Cogidubnus’ eyes widened with fear as he looked past Vespasian, towards the wolves. ‘The north is closed to us.’

Vespasian turned and froze. It was not wolves that he saw coming back towards him, but druids; druids with robes, hair and beards covered in blood as if they had just been in battle.

‘Hold, Romans!’ a druid called out in Greek. ‘You are surrounded.’

Curtailed screams pierced the wind and, turning to their source, Vespasian saw that it was true: they were surrounded. Eight marines buckled to the ground with their throats gushing blood to reveal a similar number of druids with vicious curved blades staring at him with no emotion in their dark eyes. ‘Where the fuck did they come from?’

‘And where did the sheep go?’ Magnus asked in a slow thick voice, looking with drooping eyelids at the deserted grazing beneath the wicker man’s legs.

Vespasian tried to recall how many sheep there had been but his mind was becoming sluggish; he felt a hand on his shoulder but saw nothing there, and then a cold pressure pushed into his back and icy fingers squeezed his heart. He managed to focus on the eight druids as his knees sank to the ground and then the image of the same number of sheep grazing beneath the wicker man came to his fading consciousness. ‘That’s impossible,’ he murmured as the wind-flattened grass came rushing towards him.

*

The mist cleared from Vespasian’s eyes to reveal spots of blue sky through a myriad of cracks in a tightly woven lattice of branches encompassing him. His hands were tied behind his back; he pressed his fingers down and found a gap in the weave of wood; probing it he felt grass. He raised his head and saw that Magnus and Cogidubnus were imprisoned with him in a confined area just long enough for them to lie in full length; a thick pole ran through the centre of the cage, above him, from wall to wall.

‘The legate wakes,’ a voice said in Greek from outside the cage. ‘We can soon begin.’

Squinting, Vespasian could make out a figure looking down at him through the weave; his face was indistinct but one dark eye peered through a crack, cold as a midwinter’s night and just as deep. ‘Myrddin?’

‘So you know our name. If you knew that why did you come here on your own volition?’

‘To kill you.’

‘To kill us? But don’t you know that we can’t die? Myrddin will always live on this island. We will still be here when you Romans are gone and the new invaders come from across the cold northern sea in their fat boats and then we shall laugh as they too lose our Lost Lands to an army less than the size of one of your legions.

‘We will still be here even if your death fails to prevent a power greater than those legions, which now spawns in the heart of your Empire, from coming to fruition. Even if another takes the place that you were destined to occupy and he allows this canker to be nurtured so that eventually it sweeps everything old and true before it — in a way that Rome could now only imagine doing with her armies — we will still be here. If the time comes when knowledge is forbidden, forcing us to hide in the forests to practise the true religion, we will still be here. Can you really believe that you can kill us when we know all this?’

Vespasian struggled to his knees. ‘You’re still just a man.’

‘Are we? If we were “just a man” do you think that we could have disguised what you saw? You heard wolves, you expected wolves, in fact, you even wanted wolves for fear of something worse, so when our druids came at you it was easy for us to make your simple minds see wolves, white wolves, the same colour as our robes, with a simple hex. And the same with the sheep: you had seen real sheep from afar so expected real sheep to still be there. But think: if there had been sheep and wolves together, wouldn’t nature have taken its course?’

‘So those sheep didn’t change into druids, we just couldn’t see them for what they really were.’

‘Exactly.’ Myrddin’s throat rasped in what sounded like sneering amusement. ‘Not even we have the power to change form, but we can make you see white sheep rather than white-robed druids. Our power is not about what we can do to ourselves, it’s about what we can make other people think we’ve done. Your men thought that they went to their deaths ripped apart by tooth and claw but if you were to look at their bodies you would only see slashes and punctures of blades. But you won’t get that opportunity, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, because once this King lying next to you is conscious we will have our sacrifice that you’ve tried to deny us. And what is more, you will die in the flames of our gods despite what has been prophesied for you because you have come here willingly.’

Vespasian felt suddenly alert. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Few men’s destinies are preordained and those that are can be changed if that man voluntarily accepts an early death. We can see the fate that your guardian god, Mars, had waiting for you, but that will not come to pass because Judoc played his part well.’

‘Judoc was false?’

‘Of course. When the man you know as Alienus came and told us that you were on your way here we had to work out how best to have you deliver yourself up to us. Alienus we couldn’t trust because we’re sure that he was the one who betrayed us before.’

‘It was; in return for his life.’

‘Then we shall take that from him. He was never going to be given to you, that was just a pretence by Judoc to make you trust him. Judoc respects the gods and will give his life and those of his people to preserve their ways. He set the fire in his settlement and allowed you to escape; it was fortunate, but not unforeseen, that your men turned up so that you wouldn’t realise how easy your escape was. You see, if you had been delivered to us in chains then you would not have willingly come to your death. In that case the prophecy from your birth would have been stronger than our will and you would have survived — somehow. So Judoc pretended friendship but refused to help you against us; he told you that we were expecting you; he told you that this wicker man was built for you and he warned you of our power and yet you still came of your own accord.’

Cogidubnus let out a groan.

‘Ah, the King stirs; we can begin. You’re a dead man, legate, and a worthy sacrifice to our gods.’

‘You’re wrong, Myrddin.’

‘We’re never wrong.’ Myrddin turned and walked away, shouting at his followers.

Vespasian yelled after him, ‘You are this time, Myrddin; I didn’t come here of my own accord. I came because it was my duty to Rome to do so; but I had to force myself to take every step towards you, do you understand? Every step was unwillingly taken; every part of my being rebelled against coming here except my sense of duty. I, Myrddin, am not here of my own free will!’

A sudden jerk unbalanced him and he sprawled onto Magnus.

‘That was some weird conversation you were having.’

‘You heard it?’

‘Most of it; and I reckon that you made a fairly decent point at the end.’ Another jerk and they felt themselves rise slightly off the ground; cries of terror came from close by accompanied by the bleating of sheep. ‘Although I don’t see how that’s going to help us now.’

Vespasian suddenly took in his surroundings. ‘Shit! We’re in the wicker man!’

‘Well, where else did you think we were?’

‘I thought that we were just in some sort of cage.’

‘And why would they put us in a cage when they’ve got a perfectly good wicker man waiting for us?’

They felt the wicker man rise again; the cries intensified and wind whistled through the gaps in the weave. ‘Of course! That settles it, I was put here without my knowledge and there’s no way that can be construed as willing. Let’s pray that Myrddin is as right about the prophecy meaning that I will survive as he is wrong about me being here of my own accord.’

‘I’d prefer it if you said “us”, “we” and “our” rather than “I”, “me” and “my”. Now get behind me and let’s try and loosen these knots.’

Vespasian crawled into place and Magnus began to work his binding with his fingers. Another jolt raised their prison further; white-robed figures placed themselves underneath and began heaving at the wicker framework with their hands and backs, helping their colleagues hauling on the four ropes. The ascent became smoother and steadier.

Cogidubnus opened his eyes; he groaned as he registered where he was and began struggling against the rope binding his wrists. ‘You shouldn’t have talked about being swallowed, Vespasian.’

‘What?’

‘Look where we are: at the top of the chest, just below the throat.’

With Magnus working behind him, Vespasian leant his head against the central pole and put his eye to a crack in what would soon become their floor; he could see down into the next compartment in the belly of the wicker man where Glaubus and Balbus were sitting back to back also fumbling with one another’s bonds, surrounded by bleating sheep. Beyond them the central pole split into a ‘Y’ shape; each branch headed into one of the legs, whence the cries emanated. He could just make out figures through the wall: the last few marines. He was, indeed, just below the throat; he felt the bile rise in his.

Then a vague hope came to him. ‘The four ropes came out of the throat; they must be tied off to this pole just above us. If we can break through into it we might be able to release them, and then with this wind the man would fall.’

‘And we’ll break our necks,’ Magnus complained, still pulling at the knot.

‘Better than being burnt alive; but we might not if we brace ourselves between the walls and try to land on our feet.’

‘I can’t think of a better option,’ Cogidubnus agreed. ‘And we have a bit of time; there’ll be prayers of dedication before they set the thing on fire.’

Magnus turned around to examine his progress. ‘This plan works upon yet another assumption: that I can get this bastard knot undone.’

Cogidubnus crawled over. ‘You use your teeth and I’ll pull at it; stop me if I’ve got hold of the wrong bit.’

The wicker man continued to rise; it was now beyond the height of the druids below who had resorted to long poles to help erect it.

The wind strengthened the higher they went, whistling through the different sized and shaped cracks, producing various tones and pitches as if scores of pan pipes were being blown at once. The angle grew steeper and Vespasian’s face was forced against the wall that would soon become the floor of the chest section, but he stayed where he was and prayed to Mars that this was how he would survive to fulfil the prophecy made at his birth.

‘It’s coming,’ Magnus growled through teeth clenched around the rope. ‘Pull yourself away slowly, sir.’

Vespasian arched his back, pulling his wrists away from Magnus and Cogidubnus; he felt the pressure of the rope around his wrists tighten and then, a moment later, give a little.

‘Stop,’ Magnus ordered. He opened his mouth and let go of the rope. ‘I’ve made a loop; put your fingers to my chin, Cogidubnus, and I’ll guide you to it.’

The King did as he was told and Vespasian felt a finger push next to his wrist.

‘Got it!’ Magnus exclaimed. ‘All right, pull again, sir.’

This time he sensed the rope giving gradually; Magnus leant forward and yanked with his head and neck. Vespasian felt the constriction around his wrists lessen and began to work them apart until, with a sharp pull of his right hand, the rope fell away.

He hauled himself up as the angle increased; Magnus and Cogidubnus floundered forward unable to support themselves. Pulling Magnus towards him, Vespasian worked on his knot; within a few moments it was loose. The wicker man was almost upright; through the gaps he saw two of the four ropes pulled around to the other side to prevent the colossus toppling as it reached the vertical. Cogidubnus’ wrists were released as the wicker man settled upright, rocking back and forth and making Vespasian feel sick as he looked down from his swaying prison.

Cogidubnus began to scrabble at the wickerwork’s weak point where the central pole cut through the ceiling. It was just within his reach. ‘It’s giving a bit.’ He stuck his fingers through the gaps and pulled up his body with his arms so that his full weight was suspended from the ceiling; he hung there for a moment and then began to bounce. ‘Add your weight to mine!’

Vespasian and Magnus each grabbed one of the King’s shoulders and pulled down; the woven wood began to creak and bend. Below, the druids had tied off the four ropes and were now forming a circle around the base.

Still Cogidubnus bounced as the wind howled around them and still the extra weight of Vespasian and Magnus produced nothing more than the groaning of supple wood. Their efforts became more frantic as it became clear from the raising of their hands that the druids had started to dedicate their sacrifice.

Cogidubnus heaved down once again and this time a small gap appeared between the ceiling and the pole; clinging on with one hand he forced the other into it, grazing his knuckles. Once he had a grip he slipped the other hand in next to it and then pulled himself up with all his strength as Vespasian and Magnus pulled down with all theirs. A loud crack caused their hopes to surge.

‘And again!’ Cogidubnus shouted as the cries of terror from below reached a new high.

They pulled down and, with another series of cracks, the gap grew. Vespasian glanced below and saw the cause of the intensified screaming: a brazier, glowing with burning charcoal, had been brought out of one of the huts. His pulse quickened as they wrenched down again; the gap was now wide enough for a head.

‘A couple more!’ Cogidubnus cried; blood trickled down both his arms.

Vespasian closed his eyes as he put his whole force into the effort; Magnus snarled like a beast at bay. With multiple snaps Cogidubnus fell back and all three of them collapsed to the floor causing the wicker man to sway and then jerk against the supporting ropes.

The gap was now a hole and through it could be seen the knots.

‘Give me a hand up,’ Magnus said, getting to his feet and clambering onto the pole. ‘I’ll undo the two seaward ones so we fall inland.’

The desperate noise continued to rise from below but now it came with something else: the smell of burning straw. Vespasian and Cogidubnus pushed Magnus without ceremony up through the hole as fingers appeared through the gaps in the floor.

‘Break it down!’ Balbus bellowed, tearing at the wicker with Glaubus; below them the sheep ran in circles bleating fearfully.

Vespasian and Cogidubnus both began to stamp and jump on the area around the pole as smoke fumed upwards from the legs along with screams that were no longer of terror but of anguish.

As Vespasian worked he glanced out to sea; the biremes were making their way north, under oars on a heavy swell. ‘We’ll head for the haven, if we make it.’ Cogidubnus’ expression indicated that he thought that was a remote possibility; the tang of roasting human flesh wafting on the wind seemed to confirm his doubts.

‘Catch!’ Magnus shouted from above and threw down the end of the first rope; the wicker man swayed precariously for an instant before Vespasian managed to take up the strain. ‘I’ll untie one more and that’ll do it.’

Vespasian coughed as the smoke started to rasp in the back of his throat; he held on to the rope whilst still trying to trample a hole in the weakening floor. Horrific animal cries rose even above the human agony as, below Balbus and Glaubus, the sheep began to ignite and race around the base of the belly like four-legged torches.

‘And again!’ Magnus shouted, chucking the second rope’s end down for Cogidubnus to catch. Magnus followed it down as Vespasian’s foot finally went through the floor. ‘We’re going down!’ Vespasian shouted at the two centurions as they scrambled to enlarge the hole. He looked below; through the wafting smoke he could see faint figures running this way and that and it seemed to him that there was a different human sound in the air and it was not one of pain. The heat started to scorch his legs; he, Cogidubnus and Magnus looked at each other for a second, as if to say “what choice do we have?”, before letting go of the ropes and then throwing themselves onto their backs on the floor, gripping onto the wall that would end up as their ceiling.

They felt the wicker man sway and then roll; below them Balbus and Glaubus clung on for their lives as the sheep, now balls of fire, threw themselves at the walls, maddened by pain.

The construction lurched and teetered for an instant, as if held up by one of the gods to whom the sacrifice was dedicated, before groaning forward just a few hands’ breadths; then, with a stomach-lurching inevitability, momentum took over and the colossus fell, uncontrolled, sickeningly fast, funnelling the smoke up through the wicker to blind Vespasian.

‘Bend your legs!’ Magnus yelled as they were at forty-five degrees; the sudden impact came an instant later and a mighty crash filled Vespasian’s ears as he was propelled forward face first into the jagged wooden weave that separated them from the throat before crumpling to the ground.

The clash of iron against iron broke through Vespasian’s reeling senses; he opened his eyes but his vision was still obscured by stinging smoke. A low groan next to him caused him to turn; Magnus was on his knees clutching at his face with blood seeping through his fingers. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I can run.’ He wiped the blood from his face, contorted with pain, to reveal a gore-dripping mush in place of his left eye, which hung, impaled, on a shard of wood protruding from the broken weave. He blinked his other eye. ‘And I can see, just; let’s get out.’

Cogidubnus picked himself up, unscathed, a flicker of hope on his face. ‘The head broke off in the impact; we’re clear!’ He climbed through the hole, dislodging Magnus’ eye.

Vespasian helped Magnus through the gap as Balbus and Glaubus scrambled out of their compartment with tunics smouldering and legs blackened with burns; behind them the sheep blazed and crackled.

Focused only on following Cogidubnus and Magnus out of the growing inferno, Vespasian made his way, crouching low, up the throat out into the open; figures ran towards them through the eddying smoke, shouting war cries, across ground strewn with the bodies of druids.

‘Cogidubnus!’ the King bellowed; the figures slowed and Vespasian almost stumbled to the ground with unexpected relief as he recognised them as Cogidubnus’ followers whom Magnus had sent to secure the haven.

After a brief conversation with his men, Cogidubnus turned to Vespasian. ‘We must hurry.’ He ran off in the direction whence they had come. Vespasian followed, helping Magnus who held a piece of material ripped from his tunic over his bleeding socket. Cogidubnus’ men, carrying the two marine centurions and a couple of their own wounded, maintained a rearguard as they raced away from the wicker man. Horizontal, blazing uncontrollably, it consumed the remains of the marines and the sheep. Only its great stag-like head remained untouched by the flames, looking up towards the gods who had been deprived of the most potent part of their sacrifice.

‘How did your men know to come here?’ Vespasian asked as they climbed down the escarpment where the wolves had attacked.

‘Some of the marines made it back to the haven and told them what had happened and that they thought we were dead. As my men are sworn to me unto death they were oath-bound to come to avenge me and reclaim my body. They say the way back is clear; the marines are holding the haven.’

‘The druids?’

‘Dead or scattered; my men came at them through the smoke and caught them unawares. We must be off the peninsula before they regroup.’

‘That gets my vote,’ Magnus croaked, struggling to keep on his stumbling feet as they passed through the bodies of the dead marines; all had wounds inflicted by blades. ‘I’ve just about had my fill of their company.’

‘I’ve a feeling that’s not a mutual sentiment,’ Vespasian observed, placing a supporting arm around his friend’s shoulders as they descended, as fast as the gradient would allow, diagonally down the steep flank of Tagell.

Reaching the bottom they began to scramble along the rocks back to the isthmus. As they negotiated the treacherous slabs of rock, Vespasian felt the urge to stop and look back at the sheer cliff above; seeing Myrddin standing there, he knew that the thought had been placed in his mind.

‘Vespasian!’ the druid cried. ‘We will let you go. Your guardian god’s will has proven too strong for us and our power cannot fight it — this time. Go! Leave this island and return to Rome where you may yet fulfil the prophecy laid out for you. But remember, nothing is absolute; there are many ways for a man to accept death willingly without him realising. We failed to secure yours because we made the mistake of allowing you to see the true extent of our power before you came here. Therefore you feared us. We see that now; Alienus will pay dearly for leading you to Sullis. We pray that another will succeed where we have not and by your death, which we still demand, help to bring to an early end the abomination that threatens the freedom of us all that, even now, grows in the bosom of Rome. The abomination that, although you will have the power to do so, you will not crush.’ Myrddin extended his right arm and held his palm towards Vespasian for a few moments before walking backwards to disappear behind the brow of the cliff.

‘What was that all about?’ Magnus asked.

‘I’ve no idea; what he said made no sense to me whatsoever.’

‘Said? He didn’t say a word; you just stared at each other. And none of us could move.’

Vespasian looked into Magnus’ one remaining eye and saw he was in earnest. ‘I’ve had enough of this; let’s get away from here.’

*

Vespasian’s chest was tight by the time they descended into the haven, following the downhill path of the stream that flowed into the inlet. A marine optio met them, looking nervous to see his commanding officer whom he had left to die.

‘It’s all right, optio,’ Vespasian reassured him, ‘I can’t blame any man for running from that horror.’ He looked over the man’s shoulder to his men who were busy floating the Cornovii’s currachs. ‘Have you sighted the ships?’

The tension on the optio’s face cleared and he looked mightily relieved. ‘Yes, sir; they’re about a quarter of a mile offshore.’

Four of Cogidubnus’ followers pushed a currach over and held it steady for Vespasian to climb in. ‘Good; how many men have you got here?’

‘Just seventy-four, sir.’

‘Seventy-four! That’s worse than I thought.’

‘Well, it’s seventy-six actually.’ The optio nodded to the men holding the boat as Magnus got reluctantly aboard. ‘But a couple rowed one of Cogidubnus’ men with your message out to the master trierarchus about half an hour ago.’

‘I didn’t send any messages.’ Vespasian turned to Cogidubnus. ‘Did you?’

‘No.’ The King shook his head and raised his eyebrows in admiration as he swung himself into the currach. ‘But you’ve got to hand it to the man; he’s got balls.’

‘I don’t suppose the two lads floating with their throats cut are feeling that complimentary about him right now,’ Magnus pointed out, settling heavily in the bow.

‘We could chase him.’

Vespasian sighed in resignation as Cogidubnus’ men pushed the boat out before jumping in to man the oars. ‘No, he’ll have headed further southwest. By the time we’re all aboard he’ll have a two-hour head start; we’ll never catch him. I’d like to know how he escaped from Judoc, though.’

Cogidubnus took up the steering-oar. ‘There seems to be nothing that can hold him; best just to kill him as soon as you have him.’

‘Well, that’s down to you now, Cogidubnus. Kill Alienus when you find him. Although where he will go with Rome, you and Myrddin all wanting him, I don’t know.’

The King’s florid, round face cracked into a smile as his men pulled on the sweeps, propelling the boat out into the harbour. ‘He’ll turn up. Men who want vengeance always do.’

‘Yes,’ Magnus muttered, dabbing at his seeping socket, ‘and normally they turn up just when you least expect them to.’

‘Oh, I’ll be expecting him every day; it’ll give me great pleasure to send his head to you in Rome.’

Vespasian patted the Britannic King’s shoulder. ‘Cogidubnus, my friend, when I’m back in Rome the last thing I shall want to receive is a souvenir of this island, however pretty it might be.’