The Eagle's Vengeance (2 page)

He paused for a moment to study the man standing before him between the warriors who had carried him to The Fang’s gates.

‘Well, either great bravery or equally great stupidity.’ He gestured to the warriors. ‘Put him on his knees.’

Sharp iron flashed in the firelight as his carefully positioned guards took Calgus’s supporters unawares, stabbing their stealthily drawn long knives into the Selgovae warriors’ backs and throats in a flurry of violence that made the king start despite the fact that he’d ordered it. In a blur of bright iron the two men died without even baring their own blades, their bleeding corpses pushed forward onto the floor in front of the exiled Selgovae king who closed his eyes and shook his head, putting a hand to the bridge of his nose. A rough push in his back was enough to send him full length onto the hall’s cold stone floor, his hands smearing the pools of blood spilling from his men’s corpses. Naradoc nodded down at him, a half-smile expressing his approval of the other man’s helpless prostration before him.

‘That’s better. Now we see the real Calgus, stripped of any pretence to nobility or power. There you lie, crawling in the blood of your last two friends in the entire world, a helpless shadow of the man you once claimed to be. So tell me, once king and present beggar, what is it that you believed you might gain by coming here? What strange process of thought was it that gave you the expectation of any greeting other than sharp iron, given your part in the disaster that befell my kingdom two years ago?’

Calgus pushed himself laboriously up off the floor and into a kneeling position, wiping his hands clean of his companions’ blood on the worn cloak that was wrapped about him. His long red hair had faded in hue since his crippling, and was shot through with streaks of grey, but any man who had known him at the height of his powers, in the days when his bloody uprising had tested the Roman army’s grip on northern Britannia to its limits, would have immediately recognised the glint in his eye.

‘And greetings to you, Naradoc, King of the Venicones. My thanks for your most generous welcome –’ he waved his hands at the corpses before him ‘– and for ridding me of the burden of these two. In truth, their wit and charm had long since started to wear a little thin, although I might have wished for a gentler way to find relief from their presence. As to why I come to you now, the answer is simple enough. I possess something from which I believe your tribe can profit, a symbol of Roman power upon which few men ever get to lay their hands. I still have the Sixth Legion’s imperial eagle, torn from their ranks in battle as we overwhelmed them early in the war. The loss of such a thing is a disaster for them, and its possession by a man such as
you
would be salt to rub in their wounds, now that they have realised that their encampment on the wall built by their emperor Antoninus is not likely to last beyond the end of the summer. The legions, I hear, are in a state of revolt at being sent so far north and forced to risk the ire of your warriors, the righteous anger that has already led them to abandon this more northerly wall twice before. Your open possession of their eagle will be the final straw upon that particular horse’s back, I suspect.’

He stopped talking and sat back upon the haunches of his wasted legs, the muscles withered from lack of meaningful exercise. Naradoc shifted slightly under his calculating gaze, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

‘I found myself wondering, Calgus, as you were speaking, why is it that I feel a distinct lack of comfort around you? And then the answer came to me. You are a snake, pure and simple, a devious, treacherous reptile in whom I would repose any trust only at the greatest risk to myself. You offer me a Roman eagle?’ The king waved a dismissive hand. ‘You can keep it. The Romans are a single-minded people, a vindictive people, and I know full well that they will not cease hunting for this lost icon of their power until it is recovered, at whatever cost to them in blood. I also know that they will visit their revenge upon whoever is left holding the eagle a dozen times whatever they calculate their own loss to have been. They would send forth a legion’s strength to punish us, if they believed we held this symbol of their power. And if our fortress here is impregnable against any attack they might make, there are dozens of our settlements that would be unable to resist them. No, Calgus, you can keep your eagle, as I wish you had withheld the invitation to my brother Drust to join the uprising that not only cost him his life but also robbed my tribe of thousands of warriors. I recall only too well your words in this very hall as he sat where I sit now, promising him both plunder and freedom from the Roman threat for ever. And what rewards did your war bring to my people? Only disaster, and evil tidings that thrust me onto a throne that Drust should have occupied for years to come.’

He snorted derision, shaking his head angrily at the Selgovae.

‘And now, given that you’re a sad, broken shell of the man you once were, I dismiss you from my presence. Go now, or risk my implacable anger …’ His hard expression slowly turned to a grim smile, as Calgus looked about himself helplessly. ‘But of course, you’ve nowhere to go, have you, with your people turned against you and your last supporters dead on the floor before you? And I’m sure you’ll be unsuprised that I intend to keep your horses, which I suspect were probably stolen from my tribe in any case. So, what alternatives do you have now, eh Calgus? How shall we deal with this uncomfortable situation into which you have thrust yourself? I could have my men help you to the gates, but what then? Nobody in my kingdom will feed you out of pity, I can assure you of that. Your name is not much loved around these parts. Perhaps the best thing I can do is offer you the relief of a swift death, rather than the protracted discomfort of starvation, or even being pulled to pieces by the wolves when you are too weak to resist? It’s your choice, Calgus. Take all the time you want in making it …’

The Selgovae looked up at him with a gentle smile, and Naradoc narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

‘Faced with the options of a slow death and quick one, it’s in a man’s nature to look for the third choice, wouldn’t you agree?’ The cripple raised a hand to forestall any reply, still smiling up into the king’s abrupt discomfiture. ‘Knowing that I was likely to face just such a hostile response to my reasoned approach, I took the precaution of carefully preparing the ground for my arrival over several months of careful negotiations with the men upon whose power you depend. You would have been disappointed at the ease with which my servants were able to come and go with my messages to the nobles arrayed behind you, Naradoc, and further distressed by the readiness with which
they
have agreed with my suggestions as to how your tribe might be
better
ruled.’

The king leapt to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at the kneeling figure before him.

‘Behead him!’
He stepped forward, clenching his hand into a fist. ‘I’ll nail your ears to my roof beams, you rotting cocked spawn of a deformed whore! I’ll throw your guts to my dogs to play with! I’ll …’

He stopped in mid-sentence, shocked to feel the sudden unnerving prick of cold iron on the back of his neck. Calgus raised an eyebrow at him, tipping his head to one side in a deliberate caricature of the king’s posture a moment before.

‘As is so often the case, the single most terrifying moment of your life can come just when you least expect it, eh Naradoc? I experienced mine alongside your brother, when I realised that the Roman camp we were storming was nothing more than bait to lure us into a trap, bait your
revered
brother was no more able to resist taking than a dog with the scent of a bitch in heat. He was a headstrong, foolish man, Naradoc, and if he had been just a
little
more calculating he might still be wearing that crown, with you sat behind him in a position rather better suited to your limited abilities. Instead of that you’re now experiencing the bowel-loosening sensation of a sword-point in your back where there should be stout noblemen lined up behind you, if you’d had the intelligence and ruthlessness to keep them there. I would call you
King
Naradoc, if it wasn’t so obvious to both of us that you’re no longer the king of anything more substantial than the shit that’s trying to burst its way out of your backside. ’

Naradoc stared helplessly down into Calgus’s eyes, realising with a further, sickening lurch of his stomach that the crippled Selgovae was shaking his head at him with a look that was more pity than contempt.

‘Do take a look around you, your
majesty
, and see what remains of your kingdom.’

Naradoc turned his head to meet his family’s eyes with a sidelong gaze, only to find their return stares expressionless for the most part. His brother had the good grace to look vaguely embarrassed, but his uncle, cousin and nephew all wore faces that might as well have been crafted from stone. The man whose sword was prickling the back of his neck, the hunt master Scar who, he realised with a defeated sag of his shoulders, had been his uncle’s sworn man since Brem had rescued him from the battlefield and nursed him back to health, stared back without any expression capable of moving the mask of scar tissue that clung lopsidedly to his face. The king tried to speak, but the words came out as no more than a whispered croak.

‘You
bastards …
’

Calgus laughed at his bitterness.

‘They’re just realists, Naradoc. Your younger brother gets the crown, that’s obvious enough. Your mother’s brother Brem gets your wife, for whom he tells me he has long harboured urges hardly fitting in a man when expressed towards his queen. He tells me that he plans to spread her legs in your bed quickly enough though, so the status will hardly matter. His son, your cousin, gets your oldest daughter, who I’m sure you will be the first to admit is of the age to be bedded. I’m sure she’ll give him a fine crop of sons with hips like those. And your brother’s son gets your younger girl child. She may be a little young for the marital bed, but he’s only a boy himself. I’m sure they’ll work it out together, eh? And you …’

He paused for a moment, waving a hand at the men behind the king.

‘My lords, whilst I am comfortable enough in this position of supplication, it might be more fitting if I were to continue my employment as the
new
king’s adviser on my feet?’

A pair of men stepped forward at a signal from Naradoc’s brother, helping the Selgovae back into a standing position. He bowed his head to the new king, all the time keeping his eyes locked on Naradoc’s furious gaze.

‘You made the fatal mistake, my lord was-king, of failing to safeguard your own position once you were obliged to put on your crown. Those first few years on the throne are never easy, are they? There’s always such a fine balance to be trod between being too harsh and seeming too soft. In hindsight I’d say you should have found a way to quietly dispose of your younger brother. I believe that hunting accidents are a favourite means of both avoiding future conflict in the family and showing your teeth to the surviving members to put them in their place, but then that’s not really your style, is it? Such a shame, when a judiciously timed murder or two can often avert a great deal of inconvenience …’

He glanced across at the king’s younger brother, smiling at the predatory look with which he was staring at Naradoc’s back. ‘It’s just as well your sibling doesn’t seem overly troubled by the morality of arranging for
your
disposal, now that your situations are reversed.’

Finding his tongue with the sudden realisation that his death was imminent, Naradoc roared his defiance at the brother who had so comprehensively betrayed him.

‘You bloody fools! This man will have you at each other’s throats in days! And you, brother, how long before you too have just such a
hunting accident
, leaving the way clear for our uncle to take the throne!’

Even as the feeling that he might have been duped sank into his brother’s eyes, Calgus spoke again, his tone warm in contrast to the words that spelled out the would-be usurper’s fate.

‘You know he’s right, my lord. You really are quite exceptionally stupid not to have had the good sense to side with your brother the king, but that’s just a lesson you’ve learned too late. And now that I consider it, I suspect that an accident is somewhat less likely to convince given that we’ll have two victims to mourn …’ He paused, his gaze alighting on the man’s white-faced son, barely into his teens. ‘No, my mistake, of course that will have to be
three
victims, won’t it?’

He turned to the two men’s uncle, opening his hands in question.

‘Perhaps a family squabble under the influence of an excess of your excellent beer might have more credibility as the regrettable cause of your being forced to take the throne, obviously with the greatest of reluctance? What do
you
think, my lord, King Brem?’

1

Oceanus Germanicus, April,
AD
184

‘
Mercurius?
Mercurius is the winged messenger, right?’ The First Tungrian Cohort’s senior centurion shook his head in weary disbelief, rubbing a hand through his thick black hair. ‘We’ve marched all the way from Dacia to the edge of the German Sea, over a thousand miles in every weather from burning sunshine to freezing rain, and now the only thing between my boots and home soil is a mile or two of foggy water …’ He sighed, shaking his head as he stared out into the thick fog. ‘So you’d think a ship called the fucking
Mercurius
with over a hundred big strong lads at the oars would be moving a little bit quicker than the slow march. This is a bloody warship after all, so surely all the man in charge has to do is say the word to have us skipping across the waves.’

Tribune Scaurus turned to look at his colleague Julius with an indulgent smile, while the three centurions standing behind him exchanged wry glances.

‘Still feeling unwell are you, First Spear?’