Hyperborea veteran of ro.., p.30
Hyperborea (Veteran of Rome Book 4), page 30
Marcus peered down at the lines in the sand and the single stone as Cunomoltus and Jodoc joined him. Cunomoltus was the first to speak.
“If it is a map, then it is a very strange map,” he said with a frown. “The bearings are all wrong.”
“But it matches with what Caradoc told us,” Marcus snapped, “Look, the stone is on a headland in a wide bay, into which flows a river.”
Cunomoltus glanced at the native chief, who was watching them with an eager, amused expression.
Carefully, Marcus sat down on his haunches as he studied the sand. Then he reached out to gently touch the stone and, as he did so, he looked up at the man with the feathered-headdress.
“Is this where the sun sets,” he muttered, tapping the stone and then pointing with his other hand at the deep, red ball of the sun that was about to vanish below the horizon.
For a moment the Hyperborean said nothing, as he peered down at the map and then looked in the direction in which Marcus was pointing. Finally, he seemed to understand, for he said something and nodded. Marcus turned to stare down at the sand in sudden excitement. Then, sharply he turned to look up at Cunomoltus with a triumphant grin.
“The map is right,” he hissed in delight, “they just haven’t drawn it like we would, with north at the top. They have drawn it from sunrise to sunset.”
Chapter Forty-One – The Market of the Hyperboreans
Marcus remained silent as he stared at the headland. It was afternoon and he stood on the roof of the deckhouse, clutching the tiller. The Hermes’s red-square sail billowed in the wind as the little Roman ship cut across Penobscot Bay. For hours the Hermes had been carefully and slowly picking its way around dozens of small, forested islands. The unending pounding by the ocean had created a coast, that was a beautiful, maze of secret winding-waterways, deep-inlets, small-bays, stony- beaches and treacherous-rocks. Now however, the waters were placid and along the low, ragged and rocky coast, the thick, green forest covered everything. It was quiet and warm and in the clear, blue sky a few birds were circling but Marcus was not watching the beautiful scenery or the animals. His eyes were fixed on the level terrace beside the sea, at the very end of the headland, and the Hibernian curragh that lay at anchored just off a sandy beach. The ship had a single mast and its hull looked like it had been made of animal hide. There was no one on board.
At Marcus’s side, Alexandros was staring at the large native settlement, that covered the terrace beside the sea. The score of rounded, primitive looking Hyperborean shelters were clustered around a single, wooden longhouse, from which smoke was rising. Facing inland, there was what looked like a fortified palisade. Along the beach, a dozen or so birch bark canoes lay drawn up in the sand.
Slowly Alexandros turned to Marcus and silently the two exchanged an excited, triumphant glance. They had made it to the trading post. On the deck below them Cunomoltus, Calista, Jodoc and Cora were all standing at the side of the ship, as they peered at the native village in stunned, fascinated silence.
“You have earned the second part of your payment,” Marcus said quietly.
Alexandros nodded but said nothing, as he stared at the native settlement and the distinctive Hibernian ship.
As the Hermes slowly sailed towards the beach and the rocky plateau, there was a sudden commotion in the village and a stream of Hyperborean’s came running from their tents towards the water’s edge to stare at the Roman ship and amongst them Marcus caught sight of semi-naked women and children. On the shore, the crowd of natives were pointing, whooping and shouting and, as Marcus stared at them, the first of the canoes were launched into the water and started to head towards the Hermes, their occupants paddling frantically through the calm, crystal-clear water.
“Heave to,” Marcus cried out as he handed the tiller to Alexandros and slid down the ladder. On the deck, no one moved, as the crew stared at the rapidly approaching fleet of canoes.
“Heave to,” Marcus shouted again in an annoyed voice and, as the crew finally responded to his order, Marcus caught Jodoc by his arm. There was a grim, warning look in Marcus’s eye.
“You will remember our agreement,” Marcus muttered, as he gripped the young man’s arm, “Don’t go causing trouble for us with the druids and keep your mouth shut or else that precious book of yours goes overboard, together with your dead body.”
Sullenly Jodoc shook himself free and glared at Marcus.
“I remember,” he growled, “Just keep your part of the deal like you promised.”
Marcus watched the young man stride away, to help the others lower the sails. Then he turned towards the canoes that had nearly reached the Hermes. The natives were surrounding the Roman ship, whooping and crying out in excitement, as they stared up at him, but somehow they seemed to lack the same astonishment and wonder he’d seen on the faces of the first Hyperborean’s they’d met. It was as if these men had become used to seeing foreign ships appear from the direction of the ocean. As he studied the natives, half-expecting to see Emogene amongst the throng of strange faces, Marcus suddenly caught sight of a tall, ginger-bearded man, clad in a faded tunic similar to those worn in Britannia. The man looked different to the natives around him and, with a shock, Marcus realised the man must be a druid. The red- bearded man’s eyes were fixed on Marcus and he did not look happy. As his canoe drew closer, Marcus slowly raised his hand in greeting.
“Who are you” the druid’s deep powerful voice boomed across the placid water as he slowly stood up in the canoe and stared at Marcus. “Where have you come from?”
At the sound of the druid’s voice, the rest of the Hermes’s crew came to the side of the ship to stare at him. For a moment, Marcus was unable to reply. Then a broad smile appeared across his lips.
“You have no idea how good it is to hear a fellow Briton,” he called out in reply.” We have been at sea for a long time and the only people we have come across do not speak our language. My name is Ahern and this is my ship. We have come across the ocean from Londinium in search of this place.”
“You have come from Londinium?” the druid bellowed, as his face grew concerned. “How can this be so? No one knows about this place. How did you know that we were here? How did you find us? What has brought you here?”
Marcus nodded cheerfully. “I am just a sailor and this is my ship and crew,” he replied, “We were hired to undertake this voyage by a man called Caradoc, a druid like you. He told us about this place. He was coming here to give the druids a book, an important book that he has locked inside a metal box, but unfortunately, he died during our journey, washed overboard during a storm. However, we still have the book and we decided to continue and fulfil his mission, for that is what he paid us to do. He was a generous man.”
“The book?” the druid cried, his eyes lighting up in surprise. “You know about Caradoc’s book? You came all this way to give us his book?”
“Yes,” Marcus replied, “Caradoc said it was his life’s work. He said it was a written account of seven hundred years of the history of the Briton tribes from before the coming of Rome. He spent years compiling it. He said there were only two copies in existence. He called it a treasure. It was his life’s work.”
In the canoe, the druid was staring up at Marcus in silence, his shrewd, suspicious eyes boring into Marcus, trying to decipher him.
“You knew Caradoc” the druid called out suspiciously. “He is the one who hired you to come here? So describe him for me.”
“Yes, he hired us, paid us in gold,” Marcus nodded, “Bald fellow, about my age, carried a stick around and liked to spend his spare time recording things on wood with his pen. He was a scholar.”
Down in the canoe, the druid was watching Marcus closely. Then the man’s shoulders seemed to slump a little.
“So Caradoc is dead” the red-bearded man exclaimed, as he suddenly looked away, his voice filled with disappointment and a tinge of sadness.
“I’m afraid so,” Marcus replied grimly.
The druid was silent for a few moments, as he digested the news. Then quickly he looked up at Marcus.
“No one has ever crossed the ocean without us knowing about it,” the man cried out, “My name is Ail. I knew Caradoc, he was a friend and I know he would not have chosen to make the crossing in a Roman ship.”
“Well, you are wrong about that,” Marcus shrugged. “We’re just sailors, hired to do a job. I work for anyone who pays me. Caradoc approached me in Londinium and told me that there was trouble in Hibernia and that the sea route was closed. That is why he came to Londinium and hired us. It is the truth. I swear it. Caradoc said he wanted to bring a copy of his book to this place, to keep it safe and far away from Roman hands. Once we have completed the task for which we were paid and repairs have been made to our ship, we will be keen to head home.”
Ail peered up at Marcus in sudden irritation. Then his silent, suspicious gaze switched to the rest of the crew.
“So this is your crew?” the druid cried.
“That’s right,” Marcus replied. “There are six of us.”
“I am coming on board to take a look,” the druid growled, as he turned to the natives and said something to them in a language Marcus could not understand. In response, the Hyperborean’s dipped their paddles into the water and propelled the canoe towards the side of the Hermes.
Marcus gave Cunomoltus a quick glance, before he turned and gestured for Jodoc to throw the netting over the side of the hull. As Ail clambered over the edge of the ship, the crew gathered around him in a loose, semi-circle, silent and watchful. Several natives followed the druid, climbing nimbly up the side of the hull and, as they reached the deck, they looked around in wonder.
“Have a look around,” Marcus said, forcing a smile, as he opened his arms wide in welcome, “We have nothing to hide.”
“I will,” the red-bearded druid growled darkly. “And I want to see Caradoc’s book.”
As Ail and the natives swarmed over the Hermes, Marcus and the crew stood silently on the deck without moving, as they waited for the inspection to end and as he waited, Marcus glanced across at Cunomoltus and saw the same tension on his brother’s face. Nervously Marcus’s fingers played with the pommel of his sword. He was about to have to explain the weakest part of his story and if it all went wrong, they were going to have fight for their lives.
When at last, the druid came towards Marcus, he was scowling.
“Where is Caradoc’s book?”
In response, Marcus gestured at Cunomoltus who, giving the druid a big, fake smile, silently undid his thick cloak to reveal the small, iron box strapped around his waist. From the corner of his eye, Marcus caught Jodoc’s face darkening, as the young man suddenly realised where Marcus had hidden it all this time.
“Where is the key to the lock” Ail snapped.
“Ah,” Marcus exclaimed, “Well that’s the problem. Caradoc had it on him when he went overboard. It is a sturdy, stubborn box. We cannot open it without possibly damaging the book inside.”
“There is no spare key?”
“My friend here,” Marcus said indicating Cunomoltus, “trained as a blacksmith. He is fashioning a new key, he just needs a few more days. The box needs to remain here though, until we can open it.”
Ail was silent, as he stared at the iron box. Then he looked up at Cunomoltus who once again gave him a broad, fake smile.
“Alright,” the druid growled, “do what you have to do. But you,” he snapped turning to Marcus, “You will come with me and explain yourself to the Council. The rest of you will stay on board your ship, until we have decided what to do with you. You are forbidden from leaving or going ashore without our permission.”
Hiding his relief, Marcus glanced quickly at Cunomoltus as the druid called out to the natives, speaking rapidly and confidently in their language. Then without saying a word, he followed the druid to the edge of the ship and awkwardly slipped his legs over the side and, as he started to clamber down into the waiting canoe, he felt a hundred eyes watching him.
“Do as the man says,” he called out to Cunomoltus in a reassuring voice, as he lowered himself into the rocking canoe and steadied himself. “Everything will be alright.”
As the natives started to paddle away towards the shore, the ginger-bearded druid sat down opposite Marcus and glared at him with a suspicious, watchful and unfriendly face.
“One word from me,” Ail growled, “and these natives will tear you to pieces, set your ship on fire and hang your entrails from the nearest tree. So don’t even think about starting any trouble.”
***
In the arched entrances of their domed tents, Marcus could see children and women, wearing pointed hoods on their heads and clutching infants, peering out at him as, accompanied by the red-bearded druid and a loud throng of excited Hyperborean’s, he strode through the native camp, towards the wooden, long house. The smell of smoking fish filled his nostrils and beside the native shelters, lay heaps of discarded shells. The Hyperborean’s, clad in breechcloth and leather leggings and wearing Moccasins on their feet and clutching an array of stone and bone weapons, were making whooping noises and crying out to each other. Amongst them, Marcus suddenly caught sight of a number of mixed-race children. The primitive-looking conical, native shelters, constructed of arched saplings and with an outer cladding of birch-bark and brown, animal hides were arranged around the long house. Amongst the tents, Marcus caught sight of ceramic pots, hanging over cold, dead blackened, cooking fires and wooden racks, upon which freshly-caught fish had been hung up to dry. In between the shelters, an old man was repairing a canoe in which lay several fish traps and beside one of the wigwams, a woman was tending to a stack of beautifully decorated baskets. Tensely Marcus lowered his head and his right hand idly came to rest on the pommel of his sword. The decisive moment was fast approaching. If Emogene was here, if she had not died or returned to Britannia, he was likely to come face to face with her very soon. Would she remember him? Would she recognise him? Many years had passed since his last encounter with her, as a prisoner of war, during the Brigantian uprising and, although he was older now, his appearance had not changed that much since then. But there was nothing he could do about that. He would just have to stick to his plan.
The long-house was made of wooden logs and covered in bark, with an arc-shaped roof covered in branches with leaves and straw that stretched for some twenty-five yards. As the party approached, Marcus caught sight of three, bearded druids, standing beside the entrance. They were staring at him with hard, suspicious, unfriendly eyes. Without saying a word, they turned and one by one vanished through the hide-covered doorway and into the building. As Marcus stepped inside, he entered a dark, cool room. At the centre of the long-house, he could make out a dead fireplace and the only natural light came from the small, smoke-holes in the roof. Long, empty, wooden-benches stood arranged along the side of the walls and, in a corner was a large collection of ceramic, Roman amphorae, together with a small pile of Roman shovels, hammers, nails, spears, swords, knives and iron axes. At the far end of the long-house, clustered together under a flickering oil lamp that hung from the ceiling, the majestic druids, clad in their white, ceremonial-cloaks had gathered around a table. As Marcus approached he sensed a fierce, intimidating intelligence amongst the grand gathering. The druids, with their long beards, were staring at Marcus in solemn silence, their old, hard, faces, pensive and unhappy. There were thirteen of them and all of them were men.
As Ail led Marcus towards them, Marcus saw that the table was filled with a dozen wooden cups, several small ceramic jugs, and a single, polished white skull. The empty, eye-sockets seemed to be staring straight at him and as he caught sight of the skull Marcus froze, his feet suddenly unable to move, as a fierce, hot blush appeared on his cheeks. What had Fergus, his son told him? Emogene had turned Corbulo’s skull into a drinking cup.
“How did you find us?” a man said suddenly, in a clear, authoritarian voice. “Who else knows about us? Are there other ships on their way here?”
One of the druids, an old stooping man with a white-beard had stood up and was pointing at Marcus with a gnarled stick, similar to the one Caradoc had brought on board the Hermes.
Marcus wrenched his eyes away from the gleaming white skull and turned to stare at the druid. The room fell silent as all waited for him to speak.
“No, it’s just us,” Marcus muttered, “No one else knows about this place. Only I and my crew.”
Then carefully, Marcus repeated the story he had told Ail and when he was finished, the druids glanced at each other in contemplative, unhappy silence.
“No one comes here without our knowledge or permission,” another of the druids said at last, speaking in a quiet, sullen voice, “so your arrival is a surprise and we do not like surprises. We do not like strangers coming here for they only cause trouble. The Council will need some time to decide what to do with you. Until then, you are forbidden from leaving and one of your crew will stay here in this house, as a gesture of good faith.”
The room fell silent.
“You mean as a hostage” Marcus said, “I already told you. We are not here to cause trouble.”
“As our guest,” one of the druids replied coldly.
Marcus remained silent for a moment as he considered the druid’s words. “May I propose in that case,” he said carefully, “that my crew take turns in staying here in this house? We have had a long, exhausting voyage and they are all eager to spend some time on land. It is only fair that they all get a chance to go ashore.”
“That is acceptable,” the white-bearded druid said.
Marcus nodded in silent gratitude and took a deep breath. “There is however another matter, that I need to discuss with you lords,” he said in a slow, clear voice. “In Londinium, I knew a man called Meryn. He asked me to pass on a message to his wife, Emogene. She is a druid. He said she crossed the ocean to this place, but unfortunately, I do not see her here amongst you. Can you tell me where I can find this woman?”
