Niall stopped at the water’s edge. ‘I promise You many slain,’ he said, ‘but this You know I have given and will give. Is there anything else that You are requiring?’ The bird did not stir nor blink. ‘Is it that You have a word for me, darling? I listen. Ever have I listened, and when at last You call me, I will not be slow to come.’
The grisly beak moved, touched him lightly on the forehead. Wings spread. The raven went aloft. Thrice it circled low above Breccan maqq Nélli. Then it flapped back up into unseen heaven.
Men were casting themselves to the ground, making signs against evil, vowing sacrifices. Niall and his Company stood firm. He did shift the spear to the crook of his right arm, and laid that hand upon the shoulder of his son.
After a time Nemain said softly, ‘This is a wonder and an omen. I am thinking that that was the Mórrigu Herself.’
‘As Medb, She has … favoured me,’ Niall answered. ‘I remember tales of how She has thus appeared to armies before a battle.’
Breccan clenched his fists. ‘What happened to them afterwards?’ he cried. His voice broke in a squeak. At that, a blush drove the pallor from his face, like rage overwhelming fear.
‘Why, some won the day and some fell,’ Laidchenn told him, ‘but always it was a battle from which fateful issue welled.’
Niall regarded Breccan. ‘Her message was for you too,’ he said.
‘Choosing him for undying fame,’ Laidchenn offered.
‘Choosing him, at least,’ Nemain muttered into his beard.
Niall shook himself. ‘Enough of this. Quickly, now, before the lads give way to terror. Sing some heart back into them, poet!’
Laidchenn rang his chimes, took forth his harp, smote the strings. Men roused from their bewilderment when they saw and heard, for he commanded unseen dominions of his own, whence words came forth to blast, blight, or bless. The trained throat spoke from end to end of the hundreds:
‘Well may it be that this means Mighty ones at work, Willing we all gain honour. I invoke victory!’
Niall raised his spear on high. His call rolled out: The Mórrigu is with us! Rejoice!’
The kings who were gathered saw their King run into the water. It sheeted white about his knees. One-handed, he grabbed the ship’s rail and swung himself aboard. There he immediately seized a red cock which lay trussed in the prows. With his sword he cut those bonds, so that the bird fluttered and cawed wildly in his grasp. ‘Manandan maqq Leri, you will be granting us the passage of Your sea, that we may bring You glory!’ He put the victim against the stempost. A sweep of his blade beheaded it. The death struggle laved the Roman skull with blood. ‘Onward!’ he roared to his men.
A cheer lifted, ragged at first, but ever louder and deeper. Weapons flashed free. Standard bearers whipped their poles to and fro until banners were flying as if in a gale. Breccan shuddered in exaltation. Laidchenn and Nemain kissed him on the cheeks, then stood waving farewell as he embarked and the guards followed. Ready-making went swiftly. The anchor came up, the oars bit, the King’s galley stood out to sea.
That was the signal for the rest to start. They swarmed. The fleet was on its way.
Even in this weather, that was a grand sight. The ships were not many, and aside from Niall’s had no more crew than needful. They were meant mainly to carry home loot and captives. But the currachs were everywhere, lean and low, coursing like hounds around horses. Some of those leather hulls could hold only four or so warriors, but in others were better than a dozen. As they got away from land and met real waves, they no longer simply spider-walked;
they danced, they skimmed, they soared. Chants of oarsmen went back and forth across unrestfulness, surf-sounds.
Those not at this work were busy getting things shipshape. By the time they were done, the salt was in their nostrils to whip their blood alive. They agreed that the raven had been a marvellous vision, a holy vision, foretelling slaughtered foes, plundered lands, and return to fame. Breccan was so rapt in dreams of it that Uail maqq Carbri, skippering the royal ship, relieved him of duty just to keep him out from underfoot.
Dim on the right, Ériu would be Niall’s guide for the first few days. At eventide, whenever possible, his folk would camp ashore. Given their numbers, they need not fear attack by the Lagini, since it would be clear that they were peacefully passing by. However, wind, fog, seas, or rocks might sometimes force them to lie out overnight. After crossing the channel where it was narrowest, they would use Alba the same way – more or less; there was no sense in anything but a straight dash across the Sabrina firth, and safe campgrounds would be hard to find in Roman country.
At the southwestern tip of Dumnonia the men must either hope for a spell of fair weather or settle in and wait for it. Ahead of them would be days and nights on the open sea, as they steered clear of Armorica and its Ysan she-druids, then turned east for the Liger mouth. True it was that they could be rowing that whole while, watch and watch, or sailing if Manandan was kind. But they must see sky well enough to hold a course. Otherwise –’We might blunder our way to Tír innan Oac,’ Niall had laughed. ‘Likeliest, though, we’d only gladden the gulls and sharks, and they have not any great name for the returning of hospitality.’
The plan was quite sound, he went on to say. Armorican
fishermen regularly worked farther out than he proposed to go. Jutish traders and pirates regularly made trips as long, also beyond sight of land, between their homes and Alba. And had not his Milesian ancestors sailed the whole way up from Iberia?
The voyage met no worse trouble than kept men on their mettle – until the first night beyond Dumnonia, in the very Ocean.
Heaven was clear, the moon full, so that vessels need not keep dangerously close together to stay in sight of each other. This was twice good, because they had got the wind for which rowers longed and were under sail. It crooned low and not too cold, when you ran before it; waves whooshed and gently rumbled, gleams and silvery traces swirling over the obsidian of them; ships rocked, surged, talked to themselves in creak of timbers and tackle. Niall, who stood a lookout himself, had finished his turn and was about to go join the crew who slept nested together down the length of the hull. Muffled in a cloak, he took a moment of ease on the foredeck. Starboard, larboard, aft, his fleet came along like leaping dolphins. The eye sockets of the trophy skull gaped towards Rome.
Something caught his gaze. He turned his head upwards. Broad wings slipped by. An eagle owl … at sea?
It swung away and vanished eastwards. Niall said nothing to the other man, who had not seen. That night the King slept ill.
3
In the morning Eppillus took the legionaries out on Redonian Way to the far side of Point Vanis. The whole thirty-two were present. Gratillonius had relieved the honour guard of duty, observing that he would not be at the palace for a while. After his required stay at the Wood, he would be busy in and around Ys, and lodging in Dragon House so he could readily confer with officers of the armed forces.
The Romans tramped smartly off. It was a clear, calm day. Sunlight glared on their metal. A few fleece-ball clouds drifted overhead as lazily as bees droned about wildflower blossoms. On the promontory the grass was thick and intensely green, studded with shrubs and boulders. Under Northbridge, the sea churned and roared among rocks between the headland and the wall of Ys; but everywhere else it reached in sapphire brilliance, its calm broken only where it went white over reefs. Far and far away, a streak of darkness marked Sena. The pharos at the end of Cape Rach, beyond sky-striving Ys, seemed in its loneliness to be calling to the isle of the Nine.
Where Redonian Way bent east, Eppillus barked: ‘Halt! Fall out.’ He turned to face the men. ‘You’ve been wondering what this is for. Well, I didn’t know myself till yesterday when the centurion told me. We’re going to do a little drill, boys, a little war game. That’s how come I ordered you each to bring a baton. Save your real swords. You might be needing ’em.’
‘Eh?’ said Adminius. ‘D’you mean we’re expecting an attack? Why, just last night, down in a ‘ore’ouse, I was talking with a chap back from Condate Redonum, and ’e
was telling ‘ow it’s all serene. Maximus is way off south by now, driving the opposition before ‘im.’
Eppillus squirted a jet between his front teeth, to spatter on a breast-high wall of dry-laid stone about ten feet long. A couple more were nearby. Already they looked as ancient as a beehive-shaped rock shelter for shepherds in the distance. This wasn’t built against no Roman troops,’ the deputy said. ‘What use in that? It’s to protect archers and slingers from enemy coming up out o’ the water. One thing you’ll do today, my fine fellows, you’ll learn and learn well where the lilies are.’ – as Romans called mantraps of the kind that Ysan labourers had here dug for them, ‘Wouldn’t want a stake up your arse, would you?’
‘Saxons!’ Budic exclaimed.
Cynan shook his head. ‘No such rovers anywhere near,’ he replied. ‘The fishers know. I was talking myself – with Maeloch; you remember Maeloch, Adminius – he and I’ve got to be pretty good friends–’
‘As broody as you both are, I can see that,’ the man from Londinium said with a gap-toothed grin. ‘Wot d’you do, sit around arguing whether Lir or Nodens is ‘arder ter please?’
‘Silence!’ Eppillus rasped. He planted his legs well apart, put hands on broad hips, and glowered at: the troops. ‘Now listen close, you braying jackasses. I don’t want to have to say this twice. Ask your stupid questions today. Later on, each one costs an hour’s pack drill. Got me?
‘Well, then. Maybe once in a while one or two o’ you’s come up for air out o’ his beer and noticed how the centurion’s got work started on land defences. The city could stand off any barbarians that might land, sure; but he don’t aim to
let
them land and go around scorching the countryside. That’d make a hungry winter for us, wouldn’t
it? Did any such thought ever stir in your dim little minds?’
Having captured their full attention, he relaxed his stance and lowered his tone. ‘Ah, the centurion’s a deep one, he is. But I didn’t understand how deep, myself, till yesterday, when he called me in. Brace yourselves, boys. This is uncanny.
‘Somehow, he didn’t say how, he knows there’s a big fleet o’ Scoti at sea. It’s bound for the Liger mouth, to loot and lay waste that whole fine country. The garrisons there are stripped because o’ the war. Gratillonius don’t figure he can allow this, not at the back o’ Maximus Augustus.’ He drew breath, hunched forward, dropped his voice close to a whisper. ‘Well, somehow, and believe me, I didn’t ask how – somehow he knows a great storm’s going to come out o’ this clear blue sky, and blow the Scoti on to the rocks around Ys and drown them!’
Rocking back on his heels, thumbs hooked in belt, he let the men mumble their amazement, clutch their lucky charms, speak their hasty prayers. When he judged the moment right, he grinned and said:
‘Easy, now. You’ve got nothing to be scared of, less’n you’re a Scotian. After last year on the Wall, I don’t suppose any o’ us in the Second Augusta bear those headhunting devil-cats much love. Our job is to make sure o’ them. You see, all their boats may not be wrecked. Some crews may make it ashore. If we let them go, we’ll have a dangerous nuisance on our hands, or worse, for months to come. If we don’t – if we cut ‘em down as they straggle up from the water – why, not only will we be saving ourselves future trouble, we’ll be doing Mother Rome a whopping big favour. Every Scotian we nail is one that won’t ever go raiding again.’
Cynan cleared his throat. ‘Question.’ Eppillus nodded. Cynan turned and pointed over Ys, towards Cape Rach.
‘I mentioned I’ve become friendly with a fisher captain. I’ve visited him and his family in that tiny village down under the southern cliffs. They don’t call it Scot’s Landing for nothing, deputy. It’s the only good place to put in hereabouts, aside from Ys itself, and pirates have used it in the past.’
That was long ago, wasn’t it?’ Adminius protested.
‘What matters,’ Cynan snapped, ‘is that Scoti still use it now and then. Not for hostilities, no. But small traders from Hivernia drop in to do business without paying Ysan duties. Or Scotic fishers blown off course come to refill their water casks.’
‘I know,’ Budic interposed. They are from the south of Hivernia. Many are Christian. Father Eucherius was telling me about them.’
Cynan sneered. ‘Is it impossible for a Christian to be a pirate? Besides, surely, if he’s not a fool, the chief of this Scotic fleet that Gratillonius … foresees – surely he’s provided himself with information about these waters and pilots who know them, even if he doesn’t intend anything against Ys.’
Adminius rubbed his chin. ‘M-m, you’ve a point there, chum.’
Cynan’s sombre stare challenged Eppillus. This is my question,’ he said. ‘Why are we being assigned here? Why not down at Scot’s Landing?’
A smile relieved the heaviness of the deputy’s features. ‘Ho, a damn good question, soldier. I’m going to tell the centurion you asked it. He’s said he needs leaders from among us. You might make vinestaff someday.’
Cynan did not return the smile, simply folded his arms and waited.
‘Well,’ Eppillus explained, ‘the centurion knows what you do, and more. He’s made ready. The fishers are a tough lot, nobody you’d care to meet in a brawl. Ysan
marines will be on hand too, to help them hold Cape Rach. The centurion himself will stand by in town, at the head of a striking force which’ll go wherever it’s needed the most. But that leaves this place.’
He pointed. What had once been a path, worn away by neglect and weather to a poor excuse for a trail, dropped down between brambles, over the edge of land and out of sight. ‘That goes to the ruins o’ the Roman maritime station,’ he said. ‘Possible place for boats to put in. Maybe not likely, but possible. The centurion wants to cover all bets. He’s decided to place a few men here, few but good. That’s us, and you’d better measure up. We’ll have Ysan sharpshooters with us, and we can send for reinforcements if we need them – like I told you, he’ll be standing in reserve – though I hope we won’t.’