Shadowland (13 page)

‘Two puppies, and this one has teeth!’ The Saxon laughed
as he drove Usher back with a flurry of well-executed jabs and cuts. ‘You’d
like to slice me up, eh, boy?’ The Saxon’s sword jabbed out, forcing Usher back
into the hedgerow.

‘You killed my family,’ screamed Usher, ‘and his!’
He leapt forward and struck wildly, but the Saxon easily deflected the blow,
throwing back his head and howling with laughter as he did so, clearly enjoying
the sport.

‘Well, if I killed your family, it’s surely only
right that I send you to the shadowland so you can see them again.’ He leaned
forward and rubbed the corner of his eye with his free hand, imitating a crying
child. ‘Boo-
hoo
, maybe they’re all missing you?’

Usher ran forward, exactly as the Saxon had anticipated,
but at the same time, Cal
leaped on the warrior’s back, driving him to the ground with enough force to
empty the air from his lungs.
    

All Cal’s
anger and grief at losing his parents and being parted from Clarise exploded; he
ripped away the warrior’s helmet, and then slammed it down repeatedly on the
unprotected head. The Saxon screamed and struggled to his feet, easily throwing
Cal to the
ground, but by then Usher had closed in enough to swing his sword, driving it
on with every fibre of his being at the back of the warrior’s head.

At
the last moment, something within Usher made him turn the blade, making the
flat of the metal strike the Saxon’s head, not the sharp edge.
The blade snapped in two,
the warrior dropped to his knees, and then slowly collapsed face down into the
grass.

‘Oh spirits… I killed him.’ Usher stepped closer,
drawing in a breath when he saw the blood running freely through the thick
black hair. However, he was spared any further uncertainties over the Saxon’s
condition when Cal
strode in and gave the fallen man a vicious kick to the side; the Saxon groaned
but didn’t try to get up.

‘No, Usher, unfortunately he’s still alive. This man
killed our families! I think we could kill him right now and have no worries
about the ill of it.’
He kicked the
warrior in the leg, eliciting a further groan and the man made a weak attempt
to rise before collapsing unconscious.

‘Quickly, Cal,
let’s get out of here,’ urged Usher, glancing round. The black horse was
standing close by cropping the grass, apparently unaffected by the whole
spectacle. Throwing down all that remained of his broken sword, Usher swept up
the Saxon’s blade and tentatively approached the horse. It lifted its head and
regarded him thoughtfully as it chewed, then bent down again to tug on another
mouthful. As it did, Usher took its reins and clambered up into the saddle.

‘Come on; climb up... before he wakes.’

Cal
picked the helmet up and,
with a yell, threw it as far into the meadow as he could. He walked past, but
then couldn’t resist one last kick at the fallen man. His foot came in and the
warrior’s hand stabbed out, catching Cal’s
ankle in a strong grip before twisting him to the ground.

Cal
stared into the warrior’s
open staring eyes. ‘
Whaaaa
, Usher!’ He kicked out
with his free leg, catching the man on the side of the head and the grip
slackened. Scrambling up, he dashed to the horse and jumped up behind his
friend. ‘All right, now let’s go… and quickly!’
 

Usher kicked the horse into a trot and they both
spared a last look back. The warrior was still lying face down in the grass,
but there were now Picts emerging from the forest on the far side of the
meadow. Passing through the hedgerow, they were soon out of sight and trotting
down a wide path, but the image of blue-painted faces running across the meadow
was firmly imprinted on their minds.

****

The
fire crackled and, for a moment, it was the only sound in the room. ‘You know,
I still have a problem with the colour blue,’ said Usher Vance, breaking the
silence. ‘Sometimes it need only be a clear summer sky, or just the right shade
of blue on a milk jug that brings it all back, and then I feel the weight of
fear descend upon me once again, eating into me like a… like a … ’ He shook his
head. ‘Like I don’t know what!’ He took a long drawn breath before continuing.

‘The smoke we’d seen earlier was coming from a
villa, a Roman villa … ’

Chapter Eight – Romans

‘Stop!
Usher, I’m falling off. Slow down!
Usherrr
. For
pity’s sake!’ Cal’s
grip finally slipped and with a drawn-out wail, he fell from the trotting
horse, landing in a painful heap on the path.

They had been travelling at a trot for some time,
aware that a party of Pict warriors, and a Saxon with murderous intentions was
in pursuit, and it hadn’t been easy. Right from the start the horse had let
them know it didn’t like two people bouncing about on its back. It continually
tried to break into a gallop, twisting its head from side to side, as Usher
heaved back, sawing on the reins trying to bring it under control. It had been
a constant battle between horse and rider since they had set off, during which Cal had been bouncing
about, holding on as best he could.

After rolling on the ground, moaning in pain for a
while, Cal
gradually realised he wasn’t actually hurt and was happier where he was than on
the back of the horse. He became aware of movements and crunching sounds and
opened his eyes to see the horse pulling up tufts of grass close to his head;
it glanced across at him and snorted happily. Its warm breath was blowing over
him, tangy and fresh with the smell of chewed grass. Squinting up against the
glare of the bright sky, he saw Usher sitting high in the saddle, scanning back
the way they had come.

‘I think we’re all right at the moment, but we
should get moving as soon as you can get up.’ Usher glanced down at Cal, then back along the
path where they had been heading. ‘The smoke was coming from close to here.’ He
peered down again. ‘Are you hurt?’

Cal
thought about it for a
moment and sighed. Lying here looking up through the leafy branches at the deep
blue sky, he felt a whole lot less hurt than he had all day. ‘No, I’m okay. I’m
going to walk for a while. I’ll get on again if we hear them coming.’ He heaved
himself up, groaning a little, as he realised that he hadn’t escaped completely
bruise-free. ‘I don’t like horses,’ he moaned. ‘As soon as we can, let’s just
leave the horse and go on by foot, all right?’

Usher remained silent.

The late afternoon air carried a chill, and the sky,
visible between the branches overhead, was beginning to reflect the orange of
an unseen sunset. After walking a little further, the trees gradually thinned
out revealing a wide grassy expanse rolling down towards an impressive Roman
villa, the smoke they had seen before was rising from one of its large
chimneys. Outside, a throng of people busied themselves among a number of
wagons and horses.

‘They’re Romans,’ said Usher, shading his eyes as he
peered down the hill.

‘How do you know? You’ve never seen a Roman before,
have you? Maybe it’s just people taking stuff.’

‘Never met a Roman, but I can see helmets and
uniforms.’ Usher nudged the horse and started down the hill.

‘I thought the Romans had all gone. Do you think
they’re friendly?’ called Cal,
walking after him.

‘Well, whoever they are, we can’t go back, and one
thing we can be pretty sure of is that if they’re Romans, then they won’t like
Picts, and hopefully that will go for Saxons as well.’ They made their way down
towards the villa and were about halfway, when five Roman warriors broke out
from the crowd and came marching up towards them. Usher reined in the horse and
they waited for them to approach.

‘Well, I suppose we now get to see if they’re
friendly,’ he mumbled.

‘Who are you? State your business,’ called the leading
Roman as soon as he got close enough to be heard. He was big and heavily
muscled, with an accent as thick as his neck. Having never seen a real Roman
before, they both spent a moment staring wide-eyed at the formidable force
before them. Each warrior was armoured in polished bronze or chainmail over
hard-baked leather, with red tunics and capes that flapped softly in the
breeze. They each carried a short sword and a large red shield with a round
brass centre. Two also held spears with red and gold pennants flapping from the
top. One of the spearmen had the skin of a wolf draped over his helm, which
held Cal’s
unwavering gaze, his mouth hanging open as he trembled slightly.

‘There’s a band of Picts back there… and a Saxon,’
reported Usher, after a moment. He slapped Cal’s hand down as it reached towards the
wolf helm, then saw the lead Roman’s eyes dart to the top of the hill, then
back again. ‘They attacked us but we got away.’ The Roman raised a questioning
eyebrow.

‘On the Saxon’s horse,’ added Cal, dragging his attention from the
wolf-head helm and pointing to the horse, which snorted and nodded in
agreement.

‘Come with us,’ ordered the Roman, and the small
group made their way back down to the villa where Usher had to repeat his story
to another Roman, this one wearing an impressive red-crested helmet, which once
again captured the boys’ attention. The Roman ignored their interest in his
helmet, and after hearing there were probably no more than five or six Picts
and not an invading army, he dismissed them, telling them to put the horse in
the stables and get some food.

The villa was busy. People were coming out with
armloads of things that they handed up into the carts before dashing back
inside for more.
The warriors, with their
shiny breastplates and plumed helms, seemed to be doing little beyond standing
about talking, or marching up and down while the other people did all the
running and lifting.

Usher found an empty stall and tied the horse up,
and it immediately began pulling mouthfuls from a large pile of hay brought
over by a smiling stable boy.

‘Nice ’
orse
, where’d yer
steal it from?’ the boy asked happily.

‘The biggest, nastiest Saxon you ever saw,’ said Cal, attempting to wipe
the smile from the boy’s face.

‘
Ain’t
never seen a Saxon
before,’ said the boy, ‘but I like his ’
orse
. Don’t
worry, I’ll take care of it for yer.’
He
produced a thick green leaf from the folds of his tunic and offered it to the
horse. They all watched as it delicately plucked it from his hand with thick
rubbery lips, crunched it, and then nuzzled him for more.
Reaching up, he patted the
sleek black neck then began brushing it down with a handful of straw,
chattering softly to the horse as he did so.

‘I think we should just leave the horrible beast
here,’ said Cal,
after being directed towards somewhere called the
culina
. ‘It seems much happier
with him and I can’t bear the thought of bruising my backside on a horse ever
again.’

‘It’s not the horse’s fault you had a bad ride,’
said Usher, gazing around at the huge building. ‘It’s a good horse; it just
didn’t like two of us on its back, you can’t blame it. This place is
incredible, look around you!’

The
culina
, when they found it, turned out to be a large
bustling room dedicated to the making and serving of food.
As they walked in, a fat woman waved them towards a long table against
the wall where two men were already busily eating. They sat down and stared
round at the general bustle, amazed at the busy efficiency of the place. People
were coming and going all the time: collecting food, eating food, delivering
food, or simply walking through. Others fussed over racks of meat roasting on
spits and several large bubbling pots suspended above a massive fireplace. The
smells wafting throughout the room were wonderful.

The fat woman, who they soon realised was in charge
of the cooking, came back and, with a smile, set trenchers cut from the bottom
of stale loaves of bread in front of them, and then filled them with a thick porridge
of boiled oats, vegetables and some sort of meat that they couldn’t identify.
They were both so hungry they didn’t care what the meat was so long as there
was plenty of it. While they were eating, they tried talking to some of the
people dashing back and forth, but it wasn’t easy. Most were too rushed, even
the two others sitting at the table said nothing, merely finishing their food
and leaving without a word.

When
they did manage to get a response from someone, it was only that no one fitting
the description of Meryn or Clarise had come to the villa in the last few days,
which threw Cal
back into a black mood for a while.

‘Anyone
that comes ’ere will visit my
culina
at some point,
and I’m sorry but I’ve not seen them,’ explained the cook, before dashing off
to attend to some minor emergency with the bubbling pots.
They did learn that the
Roman
Prefectus
, as the servants called him, had
moved out of the villa with his family several days before, and that all the
servants were busy packing up everything to be taken back to Rome. He was, so they were told, one of the
last Roman governors to leave Britain.