The Warrior's Princess

  It was full daylight when at last he allowed them to stop. They had crossed the stream, and then another, changing the course of their flight, doubling back and forth into ever deeper forest until at last they came to a line of low cliffs, perforated with shallow caves. Into one of these they crept, so exhausted they could barely move. Within seconds the two women were asleep. Commios sat for a while in the mouth of the cave, staring down the gorge below them, alert for the slightest sign which would betray anyone amongst the trees. He was fairly sure they had given their pursuers the slip, but one could never be sure. ‘Dear Lord Jesus,’ he murmured. ‘Be with us here. Keep us safe so we can do your work. Guide us to our destination and hide us with the veils of your mist.’ He glanced at Eigon, leaning back against the wall, her eyes closed, her face lost in the darkness, her hair loose beneath the hood of her cloak slipping in gentle coils across her breast. He gave a fond sigh. His gaze did not stray to Drusilla who had moved further in, and was lying, her head cushioned on her arm. She dozed and then woke again, trying to get more comfortable. With a small pang of jealousy she saw his expression soften as he watched Eigon and determinedly she closed her eyes.

  Commios watched for a while longer then at last he allowed himself to lean back against the wall of the cave to sleep.

  They awoke some two hours later shivering as a cold wet fog lapped into the cave. Commios went outside to listen. He came back nodding. ‘I can’t hear anything. I think it’s safe to stop here for a bit but I don’t think we should light a fire.’ He reached for his knapsack and opened the flap. ‘Bread, ladies?’

  Drusilla’s eyes widened. ‘Where did you get that?’

  He grinned. ‘I’m afraid I stole it as we ran through the kitchen. I’m sure our hostess won’t miss one loaf. It’s yesterday’s bread. She was probably going to throw it to the dogs anyway.’ He tore it into pieces and passed them to each of the women. ‘Eigon, would you like to bless our food?’ She nodded, repeating the prayer, before sinking her teeth into the coarse bread. For a while there was silence as they ate, then at last she glanced up at him again. ‘I heard you pray for mist last night.’ They all glanced at the cave mouth, veiled in a damp white blanket. ‘Our Lord was listening to us.’

  He shrugged. ‘It was an old Druid prayer to conjure the weather.’

  She smiled. ‘I thought so. Melinus taught me prayers like that. But we are forbidden to pray to the old gods. It is a sin.’

  ‘I don’t believe that.’ Commios drew up his knees, leaning on his elbows thoughtfully as he chewed. ‘Our ancestors knew nothing of Christ. They called God by different names, that’s all. The spirits of the countryside are still there. You can feel them. See them. How could they have gone? Christ is our God. Our Lord. He knows the spirits exist. He calls them angels, that’s all. We are no longer in Rome, Eigon. We are in Gaul. We are heading for your country, and in our own lands we have to deal with our own gods.’

  She glanced at him doubtfully but said nothing. It was Drusilla who shook her head. ‘I am the Lord thy God: thou shalt have no other gods but me.’

  Eigon smiled. ‘And that is right. He is the father God. But Commios is right too. Peter spoke of angels all the time. God’s messengers. And they are all around us.’ She shivered. ‘Can’t you feel them, in the mist?’

  Drusilla frowned. ‘You’re wrong,’ she said sharply.

  Commios and Eigon stared at her. It wasn’t often that the gentle Drusilla raised her voice.

  Commios shook his head. ‘Well, whoever is out there, let us pray that they and the Lord will lead us out of this wilderness,’ he said ruefully. ‘Because once we have eaten this bread, we have nothing but what we find in the forest. There are nuts and fruits a plenty but not for long. The birds and animals are gorging themselves as we watch.’

  ‘We should go, while the mist is here to hide us, Commios,’ Eigon said. She threw the last crumbs from her piece of bread to the floor, an offering to the spirits of the cave.

  He noticed her act and grinned. ‘Crumbs for the angels?’

  ‘Or for the little animals that live here,’ she countered. ‘It is their home and I thank them for allowing us to stay here safely.’

  ‘But it is cold and damp and the mist you summoned from God is very uncomfortable!’ Drusilla said sharply.

  An eerie sound echoed suddenly out of the forest below them and they froze. ‘A hunting horn,’ Commios said grimly.

  ‘Do you think they are on our trail?’ Eigon felt the blood drain from her face.

  He shrugged. ‘They may be hunting boar; they may know nothing about us, but you are right, we should move on.’ He broke off as the sound of the horn echoed again from the trees far away. ‘They are far to the east of us, and moving away,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll follow the stream down the gorge in the opposite direction.’

  In seconds they had gathered up their belongings and were once more climbing down the rocks away from the cave mouth.

  By the evening they had put many miles between them and the cave they had rested in, guiding themselves by the westering sun as it rose late from the blanket of fog, sucking mist in spirals out of the trees. They skirted several villages, crossed a dozen more streams and rivers heading ever west until at last they found a deserted shepherd’s hut on the shoulder of a hill where they could spend the night in relative warmth and safety. Commios, looking now as wild and unRoman as it was possible to look headed alone into the village with some coins. Speaking their language he aroused less suspicion and was able to secure food and ale and a couple of stout cloaks woven in the local design.

  They slept well that night, and next morning set off into bright sunlight feeling much more cheerful. Their mood made them careless. Even Commios had not seen the group of men hiding in the trees waiting for them. One moment they were walking in single file along a sunlit track at the bottom of the valley and the next they were surrounded by tribesmen and Commios was being held with a knife at his throat.

  Drusilla screamed. Someone slapped a dirty hand across her mouth and the three of them were dragged off the path and into the undergrowth. A growling voice spoke in Commios’s ear. ‘Who are you? Where are you going?’

  The language was that of his own tribe and he swore at their captors so roundly and comprehensively in the vernacular that they stood back in astonishment. Eigon glanced round. There were some dozen men standing in a semi-circle around them, swords drawn, their hair wild, their eyes angry, their clothes primitive and ill-made. She risked a glance at Commios who had moved on from swearing at them to demanding who they thought they were manhandling and were they intending to rob them as well? Two young men who had already seized the bundles from the women dropped them shamefacedly on the ground. One man stood forward. He was, it appeared, their leader. He and Commios exchanged some lively conversation during which their attacker looked more and more shamefaced. At the end of it they were all gazing at Eigon in awe.

  ‘What have you said, Commios?’ she asked suspiciously. She addressed him in Latin.

  He grinned. ‘I have told him you are Queen of the Silures, daughter of the great Caratacus and that you will demand their heads as payment for the insult they have offered you.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Good Christian sentiments, Commios.’

  He snorted. ‘They are not Christian. And I have never understood this rush to be martyred unnecessarily.’

  ‘And lies. I am no queen.’

  ‘You don’t know that. And you are the daughter of Caratacus are you not?’

  She nodded meekly.

  ‘Then act like it. Be regal!’

  She surveyed their captors nervously. Every pair of eyes was fixed on her face. Squaring her shoulders she assumed as haughty a look as possible and was gratified to see one or two of them quail. ‘Who is your leader?’ Her own Celtic was rusty, but she remembered enough to make herself understood, and she did after all come from a distant tribe from across the ocean. Her voice after a moment’s huskiness r
ang out true and strong. ‘Did you attack us on his orders?’

  She noticed Commios standing back respectfully as she spoke. He was muttering to Drusilla out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Even if you spit in her soup later, please act deferentially. Just for now you are her servant.’

  Drusilla’s eyebrow shot skywards, but she was quick to realise that at this moment, their lives depended on Eigon’s ability to act like a queen.

  It wasn’t hard. Eigon had only to think of her father’s combination of gentleness and natural authority and the power he used to wield before his illness. She added a touch of her mother’s arrogance to the mixture and straightening her back even further stepped forward into the ring of men. ‘Take us to your village. I will speak to your leader myself.’ She turned to the two would-be thieves. ‘You two, carry our belongings. You will tell him that you planned to rob the Queen of the Silures. You,’ she fixed their spokesman with a steady thoughtful gaze which told him she would never forget his face, ‘will explain to him why you rob travellers on the roads of your kingdom and have so completely forgotten the sacred code of hospitality.’

  The village lay in an arm of a small river. Two or three large wooden houses were surrounded by several smaller rectangular buildings, all thatched with reed, the whole settlement surrounded by a double ring of strong palings, with a guard house at the entrance. She stared at the place, memories flooding back.

  ‘Commios! It’s so primitive!’ she whispered. ‘I had forgotten.’

  He raised a haughty eyebrow. ‘To those brought up in the court of an emperor, perhaps. You had better get used to it. This is the life we will be leading from now on.’

  He strode ahead of her and at the gateway turned, bowing, gesturing extravagantly that she should enter the outer courtyard at the head of the file of men. Drusilla scurried behind her, tugging at her cloak to straighten it. ‘You wait, great queen, till we are alone. I will want my share of this special treatment,’ she murmured with a smile.

  Eigon grinned. ‘All are equal in the sight of the Lord, Drusilla. When we are alone, we will go back to being sisters.’ She paused and looked around her with a suitably regal air. The courtyard was deserted. There was no sign of anyone at all, though smoke rose from two fires outside one of the buildings. ‘Where is your leader?’

  There was a scuffle from one of the larger houses and an elderly man appeared. He was wearing a robe significantly richer than those of the men around them. He strode forward and came to a halt a few feet from Eigon, leaning on his staff. ‘Greetings, lady. To what do we owe the honour of your presence?’ He glanced at the man behind her who shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

  ‘This lady is an honoured guest. She is Queen of the Silures tribe.’

  The man’s face remained impassive. ‘I find that unlikely.’ His eyes bored into Eigon’s. ‘I have visited the land of the Silures and heard no word there of a queen.’

  Stunned by this revelation Eigon nevertheless continued to hold his gaze. ‘Caratacus was my father, sir.’ If this man really knew the Silures surely he would know her father’s name?

  The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Caratacus was a great king but he was captured many years ago and taken to Rome. As far as I know he is there still.’

  Eigon shook her head. ‘You are right. We were taken to Rome and I am sorry to tell you that my father has died. I am his only heir.’

  ‘And you were elected by the elders of his tribe?’ His face was like granite.

  She sighed. ‘No. I have not been back to the lands of the Silures since our capture. I am on my way there now with my father’s commendation and his blessing as his successor.’ She paused. ‘May I ask, sir, who you are?’

  He gave a humourless smile. ‘You may ask. I do not choose to tell you. Madunos?’ He addressed their escort. ‘Make our guests welcome. Give them food and beds for the night as they expect in the name of hospitality. Tomorrow give them food for their journey and show them the road west.’ He bowed towards her with grudging respect and turned away, walking back into the shadows of his house.

  Commios blew loudly through his lips. ‘He’s your Druid, yes?’ he guessed, addressing Madunos. ‘Friendly fellow. Well, all we require is food and shelter as you have taken us off our road. It is not our concern if you do not recognise Queen Eigon. She is travelling in disguise to avoid the Romans anyway. Where do we go?’

  Madunos was hesitating. He wasn’t sure whether or not to treat them with respect or scorn, if they were impostors.

  Eigon read his thoughts and took a step towards him. He flinched back as though she had struck him. ‘Obey your Druid, fellow,’ she ordered sharply. ‘I will deal with him later. He dishonours our God with his disbelief, but he has commanded you to give us food and shelter so bring our belongings and show us where we are to sleep.’

  ‘Don’t face up to the old one, Eigon. He seems a hard man and suspicious,’ Commios said as they stared round the small building which had been put at their disposal. ‘Let’s just eat, sleep and get out of here.’

  ‘The Druids have no love of Romans,’ she said firmly. ‘He is clever and he has travelled to western Britannia and he could be an ally. He suspects us for our Roman clothing under our cloaks. We will talk to him, you and I, later and convince him we are genuine. And I think we should change our clothes. We will ask them to sell us Gaulish clothing so we can pass for villagers as we journey on. We have to avoid the town centres if Titus is following us, so we should follow the forest tracks and keep out of their way. We need to blend in.’ She glanced at Drusilla’s face and laughed out loud. ‘Do not look so horrified, Drusilla! Their clothes are comfortable and warm.’

  ‘And stinking!’ Drusilla said with a shudder.

  ‘Then we will ask for clean ones. These people are poor,’ Commios retorted sharply. ‘Shame on you! Poor people in Rome stink as much, if not more. You know that from when we worked amongst them spreading the word of the Lord.’

  Drusilla bit her lip. She nodded reluctantly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  To their surprise they were invited to join the people in the settlement around the communal fire for food and singing that evening. Having been told to accept their visitors by their Druid they had obviously decided to make the most of the unexpected company and they made them welcome. It was late when Eigon stood up and beckoning Commios and Drusilla bid their hosts goodnight.

  Drusilla ducked into their bedchamber alone as Eigon and Commios headed towards the Druid’s house. They were stooping to enter the low doorway when someone stood up out of the shadows and put out his hand to stop them. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘We want to speak to your Druid,’ Eigon said softly.

  ‘Taxilos? He’s not here. He has gone to his private house in the woods.’

  Eigon glanced at Commios. ‘Then we’ll go and see him there,’ Commios said firmly. ‘Take us there and ask him if we can speak to him urgently.’

  Somewhat to their surprise their request was acceded to at once. They found the old man seated at a table in a small hut some way into the forest outside the stockade. He looked up as they entered and smiled coldly. ‘I was expecting you.’

  Eigon glanced round the room. It was lit by three lamps which cast a warm golden glow around his desk. On it lay a pile of scrolls, some wooden leaf notebooks and a wax tablet and stylus. There were stoppered jars, an intricate metal instrument which she guessed was a miniature astrolabe and a complicated calendar, the dates engraved into a fine sheet of bronze. His staff rested against the wall. He looked extraordinarily weary as he waved them towards the two spare stools and turned away from the desk to face them, his hands folded in his lap.

  ‘So, what can I do for you?’

  ‘We’ve come to ask your help,’ Eigon said slowly. She did not look at Commios who sat beside her in silence. ‘By now you will have consulted your gods and they will have told you that we speak the truth about who we are.’

  He inclined his head.

  ‘We wo
uld like to buy clothing and food for our journey and ask advice about the best way to travel on towards the coast. We are being pursued by a Roman officer who means me harm. I need to avoid him by travelling the back ways.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Titus Marcus Olivinus.’

  Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him, shocked. ‘You know?’

  ‘He has sent messengers all over the country. He is a very determined man. He has offered a vast sum of money as reward for information about your whereabouts.’

  She was speechless for a moment and Commios took the opportunity to speak. ‘We couldn’t blame you or your clan for wanting to earn that reward.’

  ‘To do so would dishonour us and betray you,’ Taxilos said sternly. ‘You have nothing to fear from us, but I should warn you that he has a powerful ally in Rome. She walks the inner pathways and can see into the distances as well as the past and the future.’

  ‘Marcia,’ Eigon murmured. ‘I have seen her.’

  He gave her his full attention again. ‘Then you have been trained by a Druid, lady, for all your Roman ways.’

  She nodded. ‘Melinus. He was my tutor for many years.’

  ‘And now he is dead?’

  She bit her lip. ‘He died in the Roman circus.’

  He frowned. ‘They call us barbarians! You know that he still watches over you? Consult him when you need to.’

  She glanced at Commios. He shrugged. His face was pale and he glanced round the room uncomfortably. She tensed. Was there danger here?

  Taxilos noticed and smiled thinly. ‘You need have no fear of me, lady. I do not run messages for Roman soldiers. I will see to it that you have what you need tomorrow. Now I suggest you go and sleep. You still have a long journey to the coast and the winds grow stronger and the waves that protect your isle grow larger as each day passes.’