Shadowland (14 page)

‘And we’ll be the last of the servants to leave
here,’ said the cook coming back to the table. She wiped sweat from her brow
and sat down next to Cal.
 
‘The Ala have been coming and going for days,
guarding the families’ possessions as they’re taken away, but they’ll all be
gone soon as well… shame, I’ll miss the Ala.’ She went all dreamy for a moment.
Wiping her hands on a cloth, she stood and began stacking the loaves of bread
she had taken from the oven and packing them in flat wooden trays, a small
smile still playing across her face.

‘What’s the Ala?’
Cal asked,
breaking the silence through a mouthful of meat and vegetables. He glanced at
Usher who merely shrugged.

The cook turned and stared at him, mouth open with a
look of shock. ‘The Ala?
Why that’s the Ala…
Primae
…
Herculaea
. At least
that’s how the Romans say it in their tongue. To you and me it would be
something like... The first Herculean troop.’ She saw the blank look shared by
the boys. ‘The centurions outside.’ They still offered blank looks and she
sighed. ‘The
Romans
, that’s their
unit’s name. They call themselves the Ala
for short… oh, never mind, do you want any more to eat?’ She ladled another
helping of food onto the soggy trenchers, and then went off in search of more
hungry mouths to feed.

****

A
finger brushed Clarise’s face and she gazed up through misty eyes, swollen and
still tear-filled from so much crying. Someone was there… but then not there,
it was just misty white. She shook her head and blinked, to clear her vision.
When a hand rose up in front of her, she tried to turn away as cold soft
fingers gently touched her eyes.

Floating. A feeling of calm and peace enveloping her,
she smiled as the fear and tension drained away leaving her somehow more
complete than before.

‘It is almost
time, Clarise, my lady. Almost time for you to awaken, and return.’
Around her, she sensed the
presence of many people, their thoughts an insistent clamour at the edge of her
mind. The speaker was female, someone that she felt she knew and trusted.
Someone she had shared a bond with that stretched beyond mere lifetimes.
‘You may set your guardian free, Clarise. He
struggles needlessly against his bonds. Tell him you will meet again. That this
is your time, not his, his time will come soon. He should carry greetings to
your brother, and explain that you will join with them again... when the time
is right.’

Her spirit body lifted free and within an instant,
she was approaching a large circle of stones, at the centre of which burnt a
fire, its many-coloured flames reaching up to an impossible height, snatching
and clawing as if desperately trying to claim part of the starry sky above.
The glowing presence in white guided her forward and
they joined with others, linking arms to concentrate the earth’s spirit that
she could feel swollen and potent in the earth beneath her feet.

Gazing
about, she studied the druids as they swayed gently from side to side lit by
the dancing flames. There were both men and women, young and old. Some wore the
colours of the tribes, while others were robed, their faces hidden within the
shadowed depths of their hoods. The group were chanting, creating a deep
melodic sound that filled her body and then her mind until she was caught up in
the spirit of the ceremony and her own voice joined with those of the others.
An elderly woman broke from the group and threw a handful of herbs and powders
into the flames. As she withdrew and rejoined the circle, the colours within
the fire changed. Flames of green and blue leapt up accompanied by a strong
pungent odour that filled the air, the tempo of the chant increased.

As
her fingers began to tingle, Clarise gazed up and watched in awe as a tall
column of blue-white light exploded upwards to pierce the heavens. In that
moment, she experienced a rush of awakening and understanding, it was as if a
veil had been removed from her mind and her life-mission and destiny lay spread
before her once more.

****

The
meal had been wonderful and the bed of straw above the stables the most
comfortable place either Usher or Cal could ever remember passing a night. The
sun was already high over the horizon when Usher placed a hand over Cal’s mouth to wake him.
Cal jerked
away from the hand, and then stretched, making a satisfied moan as he did so.

‘
Shhh
,’ cautioned Usher. Cal’s eyes flew open.
Usher touched a finger to his lips, and then indicated that Cal should join him at the small circular
window overlooking the courtyard.

‘What’s the matter?’ whispered Cal, as he moved alongside. Then he looked
down to see where Usher was pointing. Directly below them was a Pict, standing
with
his back to them, turning slowly surveying
the buildings. He held the stable boy by a handful of his scraggy hair, the boy
whimpered and struggled weakly in his grasp.
Their attention was drawn to the door of the
culina
as a group
of the villa servants tumbled out in to the courtyard. More Picts followed out
as they kicked and punched at the slower ones to hurry them on. Last out was the
black-garbed Saxon, he looked angry. Usher pulled Cal back, his
heart pounding, barely daring to draw breath.

‘Where have all the Romans gone?’ Cal asked. Usher shrugged, and they both
crept up and chanced another peek.

The black Saxon strode out to the middle of the yard
before turning to address the frightened servants. ‘I am Horsa, brother to
Hengist, leader of the peaceful Saxon settlers in this land.’ The stable boy
was flung aside by the Pict holding him and he scuttled across to stand with
the other servants, rubbing at his head.

‘I was attacked near here and my horse was stolen
from me,’ continued Horsa, his strongly accented voice echoing around the yard.
‘That horse is now in this stable. I want to know where the two thieves are who
rode it in here. I wish, very much, to find them.’ There was a low murmur from
the servants but thankfully, nobody spoke or pointed up to the loft where Usher
and Cal lay. Only the stable boy knew where they were, and he was still busy
rubbing his head. With a nod from Horsa, two Picts dragged an elderly male
servant from the line and threw him down at Horsa’s feet. The man began to wail
and grovel, and several of the other servants cried out, pleading for him to be
let go.

‘I didn’t steal no ’
orse
,’
wailed the old man, beginning to sob.

Glancing down, Horsa placed a foot on the man’s neck
and forced him down, pinning him to the tiles. When the old man struggled, he
stamped firmly down and the struggles reduced to mere whimpers.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Usher hissed, as he
headed towards the ladder. He peeked down through the hatch to be sure there
wasn’t a Pict waiting underneath and was relieved to see that the horse was
alone. It stared back at him; its ears twitching in surprise at seeing a head
appear through the ceiling.
As Usher
dropped down, quickly followed by Cal,
a muffled shriek came from the courtyard, followed by more cries, and then the
sound of Horsa’s voice echoing from the walls as he questioned the servants
again.
  

‘Pass me the harness,’ commanded Usher, in an urgent
whisper. He straightened the fur he had thrown over the horse’s back and then
slipped the proffered harness over its neck.

‘You really want me to get on that horse again?’
hissed Cal,
eyeing the horse uncertainly. It returned the stare as if echoing his concerns.

Usher stopped tying the harness and glanced round.
‘No, Cal. I expect you to stay here and get yourself killed. Of course I want
you to get on the horse, stop being stupid! It’s only a short way to the gate
and then we’re out and away.’ Ignoring the fact that Cal still hadn’t moved, he tied a short
length of rope to the door then carefully unlatched it. A quick glance out
confirmed that Horsa was still busy with the servants, and that the body of the
old man lay silent and unmoving in the centre of the yard. Pushing down a
feeling of fear and panic, Usher climbed onto the horse and patted its neck
softly. ‘Get on!’ he commanded, and Cal
reluctantly pulled himself up behind.

‘Promise me we’ll either get another horse for me to
ride or go back to walking as soon as we can,’ mumbled Cal, taking a good hold of Usher.

‘Agreed,’ said Usher, then he pulled hard on the
rope, the door sprang back with a bang, and the horse, with its riders clinging
on, shot out into the courtyard.

They exited the stable much faster than either of
them had thought they would, and headed directly towards the black Saxon.
Servants screamed, Picts yelled then ran in, and Horsa threw up his arms as the
horse reared in front of him, tipping Cal
to the ground.
 

‘I knew the horse was a mistake,’ cried Cal. Jumping
up, he ducked under the grasp of a Pict warrior, ran past the servants, and
disappeared into the villa. The horse reared again, striking out at its former
master who fell to the ground with a cry, then Usher managed to gain some
control. He tugged heavily on the reins and the horse wheeled round to the
left, scattering the Picts. Two possible routes presented themselves; the open
gate, which had three Picts close to it, or the doorway to the villa that Cal had just dashed
through. With no time to decide, he gave the horse its head as they spun
towards the villa. However, it ignored the door to the
culina
and ran up the steps, through a bigger door and into a large hallway.

Wrong move
,
thought Usher in dismay. Then shouted, ‘Cal,
where are you?’ His cry echoed through the empty villa, now stripped of its
furnishings, mixing with the sharp reports of the horse’s hooves as they moved
from the hallway, past a large room that held some kind of pond, then into an
even larger room with the sound of the Picts close behind.

‘Usher!’ Cal
came down some stairs in a rush and clambered up behind his friend. ‘How are we
going to… ?’ His question was cut short as the horse, sensing fresh air,
trotted on and then burst out onto a terrace and on towards a low wall.

‘Hold on!’ cried Usher, as the horse jumped. It
cleared the wall but there was a steep drop on the other side and it landed
awkwardly, a shrill scream escaping it as it stumbled. Finding its feet, it
snorted and tossed its head then managed to carry them a good distance away
from the villa, eventually stopping at the top of the hill where Cal slipped thankfully
to the ground. The horse was shivering violently, there was foam all around its
mouth and it was wavering from side to side. Usher dropped down and looked back
towards the villa where running figures were coming up towards them.

‘We have to get out of here, Cal,
they’re coming!’ he urged, but Cal
stayed where he was.

‘I think the horse is hurt.’ Cal stroked the horse’s nose and it snorted
and trembled again, swaying slightly.

‘We can’t help it. We have to get out of here and
you’re right; the horse is hurt, it can’t take us further.’ Usher started to
move off into the trees.

‘Thank you, horse. I’m … I’m sorry,’ whispered Cal. He stroked its nose
and still shivering and swaying, it tossed its head. With a sigh, he turned and
followed on after Usher.

Trees covered the top of the hill, but as they
emerged on the other side, they ran downhill across meadow-grass, towards more
thickets of trees. This late in the year, the grass was old and yellow, and
lying flat to the ground where the summer sun had dried it out and more
recently the rain had pounded it. It made going downhill more of a long slide
than a run.
 
As they topped each small
rise, they glanced back only to confirm that the Picts were gaining on them.

‘In there,’ said Usher, his breath coming in ragged
gasps, ‘we have to lose them.’ They entered a large thicket of trees, which
slowed their progress further as they frantically searched for a place to hide,
but the trees were too thinly spaced to offer much in the way of sanctuary.

‘What are we going to do?’ Cal asked as they gave up and came out on
the other side. There was another thicket a short distance further down hill,
Usher pointed towards it, not having the breath to explain more, then ran on.

They were half way down when the Picts came out of
the trees behind them, sighted their prey, and began to shriek and call,
bounding down the hill after them. There was no alternative, nowhere else to
run. The boys turned and drew their weapons; Usher still had Horsa’s black
sword and Cal
had a long knife. There were four Picts closing in with several others still
only unseen voices amongst the trees behind them. Usher swung his sword as the
first warrior reached them, but it rebounded on the Pict’s outthrust shield.
The blue-faced warrior let out a scream that chilled Usher’s blood and swung
his blade in a deadly arc. Usher just managed to jump back and avoid it and
then moved back in, stabbing forward with his own blade as he did so. Beside
him, Cal had
been backing away, but as the next Pict arrived letting out a shrill battle
cry, he leaped forward; knife outstretched, and stabbed him in the stomach,
wrenching the knife to the side as he felt it grate against bone. The man let
out a terrible shriek and collapsed, clutching at his guts that were already
spilling from the wound. For a second, Cal
simply stared at him transfixed in horror, and then, without warning, the next
Pict was on him. The warrior lifted his axe, the blue-painted face split into
an ecstatic smile and he shrieked his war cry into Cal’s terrified face, and then an arrow
embedded itself in his chest and he stared down, the smile turning to a look of
bewildered shock. At the sound of a deep growl, Cal pushed the dying man away and swung his
attention towards Usher. As he did, a grey blur leapt at the Pict holding Usher
by the hair, enveloped his whole head in its jaws and shook him to the sound of
cracking bone. The Pict’s screams were muffled as the huge war-hound continued
its savage attack before changing its grip to the man’s neck and ripping his
throat out in one easy bite, silencing him forever. The remaining warriors
turned and fled, with the hound in pursuit, while from the trees emerged a
small group of Romans.