Hyperborea veteran of ro.., p.31
Hyperborea (Veteran of Rome Book 4), page 31
“What message” one of the bearded druids growled.
“It is of a private nature and I am to give her the message verbally,” Marcus replied uncomfortably, “I was told to give it to her and her alone. Meryn, her husband, was very specific and I gave him my word that I would.”
Around the table, the druids were silent as they glanced at each other.
“The woman you speak of is not here,” the white-bearded man grunted in reply, as he peered at Marcus.
Marcus’s shoulders sagged and quickly he looked down at the floor, as he silently cursed himself. The journey across the ocean had been a complete waste of time! Meryn had lied to him and he had believed the false information. He had risked his life for nothing. Fool!
“Emogene has gone inland to stay at another native camp,” the druid continued. “She will return here at the end of the summer. She has gone to appease the thunder spirit who resides on Mount Katahdin.”
Marcus blinked in surprise and in his chest; he could feel his heart pounding away.
“Then with your permission, I would like to go and find her,” Marcus said, as he felt his mouth drying up. “I am honour bound to deliver my message and I cannot wait here until the end of summer, for I and my ship are keen to return home, before the winter storms make the crossing impossible.”
Again, the druids glanced at each other.
“Why the rush?” one of the druids snapped suspiciously. “Why not stay here and wait for her to return. It would be easier. After such a long and perilous voyage, why are you so keen to leave?”
“Like I said,” Marcus growled, turning calmly to look at the man who had spoken, “I and my crew were paid to come here. It’s a job and I have a pregnant wife back in Britannia. I would like to be there when my child is born.”
“We don’t know you,” one of the druids cried out, “Why would Meryn entrust you with a message to his wife? A message that you are not allowed to reveal. Why would he do that?”
Marcus shrugged. “Maybe you should ask him,” he replied, “But I am telling the truth. I was paid to bring Caradoc here and pass on a message to Emogene and that is what I am going to do.”
“You look like a soldier,” another druid hissed, “and you carry a Roman sword. Now why would you have a Roman sword?”
“You have Roman swords over there,” Marcus growled in an exasperated voice as he pointed at the corner, in which the trade goods lay piled up, “They are actually quite good, as I am sure these Hyperboreans will agree. Carrying a Roman sword does not make me a Roman and how many Romans have you met who have red- hair like mine?”
“Rome has many slaves who fight for her. Maybe you are one of them,” a druid called out in an angry voice.
“No,” Marcus retorted, “I am just doing what I was paid to do. We can go on debating this all day.”
The room fell silent, as the druids considered what had been said and, as they did Marcus felt their intimidating eyes fixed on him, searching, probing and trying to see into his very soul.
“Alright,” the white-bearded druid said at last, “once we have managed to retrieve Caradoc’s book and on condition that one of your crew remains here, we shall allow you to go to meet Emogene and deliver your message. Your ship however, will stay here and one of us will accompany you as a guide, for you do not know the way or the natives, like we do.”
Marcus remained silent as he considered the druid’s words. “This mount Katahdin,” he said at last, “How far away is it?”
“A hundred and fifty miles inland,” Ail replied sharply. “The journey will be by canoe up the river. The mountain is a holy place for the natives.”
Then the red-bearded druid turned to his colleagues. “If it pleases the Council I will accompany them. I know Emogene well and I know how to keep her calm. It will also give me a chance to check up on the native camps along the river and confirm whether the news that they are starving, is true. If they are starving, it may explain the recent hostility that we have encountered.”
There was a murmur of approval from the assembled druids.
“I would like to leave as soon as possible,” Marcus said. “And I will be accompanied by my brother and one of my crew. The others will stay here.”
“Alright Ail,” one of the druids called out, “It is agreed. Take two hunters with you and a couple of canoes.” Then slowly the druid turned to Marcus. “You may leave as soon as you have managed to open the iron box and have given us Caradoc’s book.”
Marcus nodded in agreement.
“How long will the journey take” he muttered looking over at Ail.
“Six or seven days,” the red-bearded druid replied sullenly, “We will be travelling upriver for most of the way.”
“And as for your pregnant wife,” a druid said in an angry voice, “You may not be there at her side when she gives birth. The Council has not yet said whether you will be allowed to go back to Britannia. Caradoc was unwise in hiring you and you were foolish in accepting his offer. We do not want the knowledge of our trading post to spread to others. We do not want others coming here. You and your ship’s departure will depend on whether we feel we can trust you.”
The long house fell silent, as Marcus sighed and looked away, feigning alarm.
“Well, let me know when you have made up your mind,” Marcus replied in a sour voice.
Then he turned and pointed at the polished, white skull lying on the table.
“Why do you keep a skull on your table? Who did that head belong to?”
“What does it matter? Why are you so interested” a druid retorted, in a sharp suspicious voice.
“No reason,” Marcus replied hastily.
“The skull belongs to one of our enemies, a Roman soldier,” a druid growled. “Emogene brought it with her to use it as a drinking vessel. It reminds us that our enemies can be defeated. And one day soon, we will be able to return home, for the power of Rome will fade and her occupation of our land will end.”
Marcus did not seem to hear the last part of the druid’s words. He was staring at Corbulo’s polished, white-skull as he struggled to contain a surge of raw emotion and prevent himself from throwing up.
Chapter Forty-Two – The Secrets of the Druids
It was night when Marcus slowly opened his eyes and stopped pretending that he was asleep. He lay on a rug made of animal fur, which lay on the earthen floor, alongside the wall of the long-house, and in the spacious room; he could hear the gentle snoring and the occasional cough coming from the druids. Silently he sat up and looked around at the sleeping bodies. The smell of wood-smoke clung to his clothes and the walls, but the fire at the centre of the room had died out hours ago. The druids seemed to have the hall for themselves, and even though there was a huge amount of space, none of the Hyperboreans had come inside to share the shelter. Close by, a glowing Hyperborean stone-lamp, filled with seal-oil hung from the ceiling beside the doorway and another faint glow of light was coming from a small room at the far end of the house. Marcus blinked as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He had volunteered to be the first person to stay behind with the druids, but there had been no chance to tell the crew of the Hermes. As he waited, his head slowly turned in the direction of the table, around which the druids had gathered, when he had first spoken to them. The druids had left Corbulo’s skull lying there, as if it were a mere utensil, just another drinking cup, to be used and discarded, when they were thirsty. Marcus steadied his breathing and for a moment, he could hear his heart thumping away.
Silently he rose to his feet and looked down at the nearest, sleeping man. He had learned that there were fifteen druids in all, some of whom had been living at the trading post for nearly all their lives. Carefully he began to pick his way across the floor and over the sleeping men, taking great care not to tread on anything. Corbulo’s skull gleamed in the faint light. It was lying upside down, where the druids had left it on the table. Reaching out, Marcus grasped hold of it and as he did, he closed his eyes and his cheeks burned. Quickly he slipped the skull into a leather sack and turned to start retracing his steps towards the doorway, but as he did, he heard a sudden muffled noise coming from the small room, at the far end of the long-house. Torn by sudden indecision he hesitated. Then biting his lip, he crept past the cold fireplace towards the faint gleam of light. As he reached the doorway leading into the room, he paused as he heard voices talking quietly. Through a gap in the animal hides that covered the doorway, he saw two druids pouring over a table, upon which stood a strange, box-like machine with bronze, hand-cranks, dials and two concentric circular scales set into the front. The men were carefully adjusting one of the cranks on the front face of the machine and, as he stared at the mechanism, Marcus could make out words marking the outer and inner scales, but he was too far away to read them. Marcus frowned. The machine was like nothing he had ever seen before. What were the druids up to?
Silently he retreated from the room and turned towards the distant doorway. Whatever these men were up to, it was none of his business, and he had more important things to do. Carefully picking his way across the room, he made it to the doorway. A cool, refreshing breeze was gently moving the animal hides back and forth and for a moment he paused to listen, but the night remained quiet. Boldly Marcus pushed the skins aside and poked his head outside. In the native encampment, a few campfires were still glowing but in the peaceful darkness, nothing moved. The Hyperborean village seemed to be asleep. Marcus looked up to where he could just about see the dark, outline of the forest as it merged with the night sky. The heavens were covered by a fantastic and beautiful array of stars and a single full moon.
Slowly he turned to look at the large heap of discarded shells, which had been dumped beside the doorway into the long house. The natives, he had observed, had enjoyed eating shellfish and had thrown the left-over shells onto various rubbish dumps around their village. Marcus stepped forwards, pushed his hands into the heap of loose shells to make a space, before quickly stuffing the sack, containing the skul,l deep into the mound and covering it up again. Once the sack had been hidden, he looked up and paused to listen, but the night remained peaceful and quiet. Then, taking a final glance at the rubbish dump, he muttered a hasty apology to his father’s spirit, before turning towards the door and slipping back into the long-house.
***
Jodoc looked unhappy as he strode purposefully across the deck towards Marcus. It was morning and the Hermes lay at anchor in the calm water. Alexandros was standing in the canoe, that had brought Marcus back to the ship, as he waited his turn to go ashore and take Marcus’s place amongst the druids and Cora was sitting beside the mast making a drawing. She paused to look up, as Jodoc stormed past her.
“I want to go ashore,” the young man cried out in an aggressive voice. “And I want to give the druids my father’s work. You promised me that you would give me the book and let me go once we reached the trading post.”
“No,” Marcus replied sharply as he clambered over the side of the ship and landed on the deck. “Not yet. For now, you will stay here and so will your father’s book.”
“You promised,” Jodoc snapped in an accusing voice, as he raised his hand and pointed at Marcus.
“When the time is right you may go,” Marcus growled, fixing his eyes on the young man, “Until then you and the book, will stay here. Is that a problem?”
A light, blush appeared on Jodoc’s cheeks and suddenly he seemed less sure of himself.
“My brother has killed men for less,” Cunomoltus called out cheerfully, as he casually ambled up behind Jodoc. “So what’s it going to be, arsehole?”
A bitter defeated look appeared on Jodoc’s face and, with a snarl he turned and stomped away, vanishing down the ladder into the cargo hold.
Marcus caught Cunomoltus’ eye and silently gestured for his brother to follow him to the poop deck at the stern. For a while Marcus stood clutching the side of the ship, as he wearily stared out across the water at the Hyperborean camp and quietly brought his brother up to date with what had happened with the druids. Beside him Cunomoltus, his elbows resting on the edge of the boat, listened in silence and, as he did so, he grew increasingly sombre. From the roof of the deck house, the black ship’s cat was watching Marcus with half closed, contented eyes and close by two Hyperborean’s were fishing from a canoe, tensely searching the clear water with their tripod harpoons.
“Do you really believe the skull is our father’s” Cunomoltus said at last.
Marcus nodded.
“When the time comes, I will retrieve it,” he muttered, “For now it should be safe. I hid it in a pile of sea shells. I don’t think the druids have noticed it is missing yet. To them, it is just another ritual cup.”
“Those bastards,” Cunomoltus hissed, shaking his head in bewilderment, “Maybe tonight we should go ashore and kill them all in their sleep. Three of us would be able to manage that. This insult will not stand. We should avenge Corbulo! That’s why we came here.”
But Marcus shook his head.
“No,” he replied firmly, “They have the natives on their side. If we tried to kill the druids, we would never get away from here alive, nor would we find Emogene. Alexandros needs time to repair the ship and we need everyone to be alive, if we are to make it back home.”
“Then what?” Cunomoltus growled unhappily.
For a moment Marcus said nothing, as he stared at the native encampment.
“The druids have asked me to hand over Caradoc’s book,” he murmured at last, “Once they have the book they have agreed to let us go upriver to find Emogene. Ail is coming with us to act as a guide and no doubt to keep an eye on us. The druids say that Emogene has gone to appease the thunder spirit, who lives on a mountain. It sounds like it’s a holy place. We will go along with it, until we have what we came for.”
“If we hand them the book,” Cunomoltus exclaimed in alarm, “Then what is there to stop Jodoc from telling the druids why we are really here? You saw him. He only cares about his father’s work. He’s itching to abandon us.”
Marcus raised his hand to quieten his brother, as he hurriedly turned to look around, but there was no sign of Jodoc or Calista.
“I have thought about that,” he said quietly, “We are going to give the book to the druids and you will continue to wear the iron box around your waist and make sure that Jodoc sees it. The druids will be satisfied and Jodoc will think we still have the book.”
A sudden gleam appeared in Cunomoltus’s eyes as he studied Marcus.
“I like it,” Cunomoltus hissed, “Except what happens if the druids talk? What happens if Jodoc finds out that they already have his father’s book? You are proposing a dangerous game Marcus. If it goes wrong, we’re dead.”
“He is not going to talk to the druids,” Marcus replied sharply. “He is coming with us on the journey to the mountain. Then we only have to worry about Ail. The others will stay here. Alexandros can be trusted to keep his mouth shut. We keep our friends close and our enemies closer.”
“Clever,” Cunomoltus muttered, as he looked away and took a deep breath. For a moment he was silent. Then he turned to Marcus.
“Why don’t we just kill him,” Cunomoltus muttered. “It would be simpler.”
Marcus shook his head. “Maybe,” he growled. “But I promised Caradoc. I said I would not harm his son.”
“You and your sense of honour are going to get us all killed,” Cunomoltus muttered darkly.
Marcus remained silent as he watched the Hyperborean camp. Then he raised his hand and rubbed his tired eyes.
“The druids were up to something last night,” he said. “In the middle of the night, I saw two of them hunched over some kind of machine.”
“What kind of machine?” Cunomoltus frowned.
Marcus shrugged.
“I don’t know but the druids have secrets. How else can fifteen men, not even warriors, command such respect amongst these Hyperborean’s? How did the druids manage to gain so much power and influence over these natives? It can’t just be the trade goods that they provide.”
Cunomoltus raised his eyebrows as he stared out across the water.
“I don’t think they intend to ever let us leave,” he murmured unhappily, “They are too afraid that news of their little colony is going to get out.”
Marcus turned to give his brother a careful, thoughtful look. Then he laid a hand on Cunomoltus’s shoulder.
“I could not have done this without you,” Marcus muttered, “Stay cool brother, we must remain calm. The gods favour the bold but we are going to get only one chance to find Emogene and honour our father. So let’s make it worthy of his name and memory, for his spirit is watching us and one day, maybe soon, you will meet him again and you will have to explain yourself. That much is certain.”
“I hear you brother,” Cunomoltus growled looking away, so that Marcus would not see the sombre mood that was weighing on him, lift and vanish. “But we need to act fast. Sooner or later the druids are going to learn why we are really here.”
Chapter Forty-Three – The River Journey
“Why should I go with you?” Jodoc cried out in protest.
“Because that is how you will get your father’s book back,” Marcus retorted, as he stood facing the young man on the deck of the Hermes. It was morning and it was promising to be a hot day.
“You already promised me that,” Jodoc snarled, “Why can’t I just stay here? You don’t need me on this journey. What do I care about this Emogene?”
Marcus shrugged, “nevertheless you are coming with us.”
“You are a bully and a murderer,” Jodoc snarled, “I am not your slave. What are you going to do if I refuse?”
Jodoc’s head suddenly jerked backwards and a knife appeared, pressing against his exposed throat, as Cunomoltus came up behind him and caught hold of the young man.
“Now listen very carefully,” Cunomoltus hissed, as he pressed the steel blade against Jodoc’s flesh. “My brother over there is an honourable man. He keeps his word. I however am, not like my brother. I am the arsehole of the family. I spit on honour. I cheat, I kill and I steal and I don’t give a fuck whether you or your precious book survive. I will not hesitate to slit your throat if I think you are going to cause trouble for us. So that is why you are coming with us. There is your reason. Now repeat after me. I will be happy to come with you Marcus.”
