Shadowland (15 page)

One of the small band ran over to finish the dying
Pict warrior, while their leader lowered his bow and called the hound back with
a shrill whistle.

‘I had a dream we would meet at this place and have
waited here three days for your arrival.’ The man smiled as if the whole notion
was somewhat foolish. ‘I’m not normally given to following dreams, and my men
have borne this fancy well, considering. However, I am glad to say, all this has
happened as I saw it and that I have not gone completely mad.’

‘I am Ambrosius, son of Clarens, who was once king
of all the tribes. I have come to make my rightful claim as king of the Britons
by succession.’ He stared at Usher then placed a hand upon his shoulder.
‘Welcome, brother, I have not seen you since you were a babe in arms.’

****

Calvador Craen turned from
where he had been staring into the fire, listening to his old friend reliving
the story of their youth. He had known what would be coming. However, when the
moment had arrived, the old storyteller had stopped with a jolt, almost in mid
sentence, his mouth moving wordlessly as the implication of the memory became
apparent.

‘Do you remember meeting Ambrosius that day, Usher?’
Cal watched
and felt some small pity as his friend grappled with his emotions. At last, the
old grey head nodded and Usher Vance took a long drink from his tankard.

‘Until this moment no, but how could I forget? I
don’t understand how…’ He fumbled for his tobacco pouch and filled his pipe
with trembling hands, then smiled across at Cal before continuing on with his tale, as
eager to hear more as anyone else in the room.

Chapter Nine – Ambrosius

‘How
many are with you?’ The blue-daubed face loomed so close to Meryn that the
fetid smell of his breath almost overpowered the pungent smell coming from the
rest of him. The Pict worked the gag loose and Meryn moved his jaw around,
wincing at the pain.

‘You will tell me now... or I cut the girl.’ The
Pict smiled horribly, showing black broken teeth, and then dragged Clarise over
by her hair. Drawing a stained knife from the folds of his cloak, he pulled her
head back and pressed the uneven blade to her thin white throat. He stared down
at Meryn, waiting for an answer as the blade slowly pressed harder, quickly drawing
a crimson bead of blood. With eyes squeezed shut, Clarise wept silently around
her gag.

‘There are two others,’ blurted Meryn... just boys,
they’re... ’

‘How many years do they have?’ growled the Pict. The
knife relaxed against Clarise’s throat but he didn’t let go of her hair.

‘They’re lads, just lads,’ continued Meryn. ‘Fourteen,
fifteen summers; they’re no more than that.’ He noticed the calculating look
the Pict gave before he barked something at one of the others.

‘We were to meet a force from the Trinovante.’ Meryn’s
eyes flicked across to the path in an attempt to strengthen the lie, but when
he looked back, he saw the Pict cared little for anyone that might be coming to
their rescue. Throwing Clarise to the side, the Pict replaced Meryn’s gag and stood
up, then turned to his two companions. There was a short conversation, and then
he disappeared into the trees with one of the others, leaving only one Pict as
their reluctant guard.

Meryn studied the Pict warrior as he moved
restlessly past him. The way he paced reminded Meryn of a dangerous dog tied to
a post, desperate to be cut loose. Every now and then, he would stop and cast a
malevolent glare at his two captives, and then growl something under his
breath. Meryn did his best to ignore him.

Whenever he thought the Pict wasn’t looking, Meryn
struggled, straining against his bonds, but try as he might he still couldn’t
get loose. Despair threatened to overwhelm him as he realised how helpless
their situation had become. They obviously wanted the boys and Clarise, he
shuddered to think what for, but him, they would no doubt kill. He choked down
the rising feeling of fear and determined for Clarise’s sake, if nothing else,
not to lose control. Drawing in a deep breath, he gathered his reserves and
centred his energies one more time, seeking the calm he knew would be necessary
if there was to be an opportunity for escape.

The misty morning had turned into a beautiful
afternoon, yet until then Meryn had been unaware of little past his immediate surroundings.
Once he felt his body let go of the fear, he closed his eyes and tried to
direct his concentration onto the cool breeze that occasionally played across
his face, and then moved to the flicker of warm sunlight filtering down through
the canopy of leaves. As he allowed tense tired muscles to relax, he accepted
the burning pain from his chaffed wrists, and set it aside into a corner of his
mind where it could no longer distract him. Sitting up with a straight back, he
pushed against the tree for support and breathed in deeply through his nose,
and then slowly out through his mouth, forcing the breath around the gag. His
awareness extended as he tried to locate the Picts, the last having sprinted
off a few moments before, leaving them alone with just the horses for company.
After a moment, he decided that they were indeed unguarded, and that he could
sense no other presence than Clarise as she sat close beside him.

However, before he had a chance to do anything more,
something brushed against his arm and moved behind him. He opened his eyes and
squinted back, trying to see what was happening. Someone shoved him forward,
and the rough rope binding his hands began to vibrate and, after a moment,
parted. The momentary relief of freedom this brought was short-lived as his
circulation returned and his hands exploded in a throbbing agony of pain. He
let out an involuntary moan.

‘
Shhhh
.’ The warning came
as he began massaging his wrists. Clarise moved in front of him and began sawing
at the rope round his feet with a sharp stone. As she cut, she glanced about
anxiously, obviously worried that the Picts would return before she was
finished. ‘I must go,’ she whispered. ‘Please tell Calvador not to worry about
me. Tell him I’ll see him soon.’ The rope parted and for a moment, she gazed up
into his eyes. ‘Thank you, Meryn.’

‘We’re both going to get out of here, Clarise,’
hissed Meryn once he had wrenched the gag down from his mouth. ‘How did you get
free?’ There was no answer. ‘Clarise… Clarise?’ He glanced about, then drawing
his legs up, rubbed at them, trying to bring back some feeling to the cramped
muscles. He stopped and listened for movement, and cast about again, but she
had gone. There was no sign or sound of the girl anywhere. ‘Clarise?’ Seeing
the rope that had bound her lying beside him, he picked it up and frowned. His
rope lay ragged and frayed, not like this one. The ends of this one were cut
cleanly, as if by a sharp knife; but she couldn’t have had a knife, could she?
Surely the Picts would have found it if she had? Anyway, if she had, why then
use a stone to cut his? Someone else had cut her free.

Behind him, the sound of running feet came from
further down the path. Meryn drew back behind the tree as one of the Picts came
into view, breathing hard. The Pict drew up short as he realised the two
captives were no longer tied to the tree, and then Meryn stepped out and struck
him a sharp blow to the back of the head.

Dropping the branch, Meryn stooped down and
retrieved the fallen man’s sword, and after a further search of the campsite,
was rewarded with his own bow. He watched as the Picts had examined it before
tossing it aside. It was longer than their short bows and needed more effort to
draw, something for which the Picts obviously had little appreciation. Grabbing
a water-skin and a food bag from one of the horses, Meryn set off through the
trees, scouring the ground for some sign to indicate the direction Clarise had
taken.

After circling the camp twice, and finding nothing,
he turned south, cutting from left to right across the trail, looking for any
small track or sign. The more he searched, the more he became frustrated, all
he found were animal tracks, and that puzzled him.

Later, as the light in the forest began to fade, his
thoughts turned to spending a night alone without his charges and, not for the
first time, began regretting sending the two boys off. There was no telling how
far they might have gone, and now that Clarise had vanished, he knew he had
failed completely. In the dark cold of the forest, Meryn laid his head down
close to the main forest path, and began to pray for help from the spirits.

In the early hours of the morning, he awoke with a
sudden start from a deep but troubled sleep, and spent a few moments of
confusion as his senses screamed that there was movement close by. Rolling
over, he saw the light of a half moon shining between the trees, illuminating
the path in its silvery light, and watched, fearing to draw breath, as a tall
shadowy figure strode past, trailed by two Pict warriors. One of the Picts was
cradling his arm as if wounded, while the other carried himself with an air of
dejection. They gave the impression that they had narrowly survived some
violent encounter. It was hard to make much of the man at the front. His
attitude was confident, almost arrogant, and he was walking without regard for
his two companions as they dogged his steps. Meryn tried to focus. The light
was deceiving, casting the man as a shadow without features, as a creature of
the night. He shivered and dismissed the imaginings of a tired mind as the
figures passed from sight.

Laying back down, his thoughts returned to Clarise
and the boys. The girl’s disappearance was a mystery that troubled him greatly;
and the spirits alone knew where Usher and Cal had gone. Sleep would be a long
time returning now that he was awake, and tomorrow was set to be another long
day.

****

The smell of blood filled his nostrils, tangy and
sharp. Saliva flowed unbidden, running down his tongue as it lolled over sharp
teeth, there was a strong feeling of contentment. Then his head came up and his
jaws snapped shut, sounds, close by amongst the trees. Scanning the darkness,
he watched a rabbit hop out from the shadows, then turn as soon as it saw him
and scamper away in fear of its life. Relaxing once more, he sniffed at the
air, enjoying the myriad of scents that it carried and the knowledge of the
forest it imparted to him. With a full belly, he had little interest in chasing
rabbits, better to simply move on and rejoin the pack. A howl drifted through
the forest and a moment later, another answered its cry, this one even closer.
Lifting his head, Cal
echoed the call of his clan and howled into the night.

‘Cal!’
Something was shaking him, pulling him away.

‘No! Let me stay!’ Opening his eyes, Cal saw Usher leaning
over him with a frown of concern. ‘Oh, leave me alone, Usher,’ he mumbled, ‘I
was sleeping.’

‘No, you were howling, like a wolf!’ Usher grinned
down at him. ‘Are you all right?’ Cal
nodded, as sleep began to reclaim him and his eyes closed once more.

‘Is your friend well?’ Usher stood and saw Ambrosius
silhouetted in the doorway holding back the stiff goatskin that served as a
door.

‘Just an evil dream, I think,’ said Usher, leaving Cal’s side. Passing
through the door, he rejoined Ambrosius and his two companions.

‘It’s no wonder his dreams are filled with evil,
brother. You’ve both had your share of troubles lately. The Saxons have been
searching for you everywhere. They’ve tried to kill
me
on two separate occasions, which is understandable, but you?
You, we thought were well hidden. I still don’t know how they knew where to
look, but they searched for you and for some reason, a young girl. Every
village across the lands of the Iceni has been either searched or destroyed by
Saxon and Pict war parties trying to find you.’ He clapped Usher on the
shoulder. ‘But you evaded them like a true brother of mine. We are our father’s
sons.’

Usher nodded at the man calling him brother; it
still didn’t seem right, but then something in him said that everything
Ambrosius had told him was indeed true. Ambrosius returned to his two
companions and continued with their discussion, which allowed Usher to resume
study of the three men, three very Roman-looking men, who claimed to be
Britons. He supposed if the armour was gone, and they wore proper clothes, but
why?

‘Why are you dressed like Romans?’

Ambrosius broke his concentration on the map the
three were studying, and smiled at Usher.

‘I told you. I’ve lived with the Romans since our
father was killed and I was taken into hiding.’

Usher shook his head, his face set in a frown. ‘But
if I am your brother, why didn’t I go with you?’

Ambrosius sighed. ‘I do not rightly know, Uther.
Remember, I had only eight summers at the time and had little to say in the
matter. I’ve often asked that same question over the years, but no one could
provide me with an answer. I came to believe it was done so that if I were
found and killed by our enemies, then our people would still have a true king,
you! For whatever the reason, when our father was killed, the druids hid you
here amongst the Iceni, while I was taken into the Roman
Empire where the Romans schooled me and taught me their ways.
However, I always knew that one day I would return to take up my birthright in Britain
and become king, and that we brothers would be reunited. It was something I
grew up being sure of, and now, Uther, its happening.’