Calgaich the Swordsman (21 page)

Calgaich unbarred the door. He glanced back over his shoulder as he did so. The legionnaire had turned to the deep shadows under the eaves. He couldn’t see the doorway from where he was standing.

Calgaich eased into a long hallway. A lamp flickered in a small room where a legionnaire was sleeping on a cot. His spear and shield leaned against the wall. He never knew what hit him. Calgaich gagged, blindfolded and then bound him. He took his cloak and helmet.

Calgaich padded down the hall. The door on the end room was barred. He gently lifted the bar from its sockets. The door swung back by itself. Faint yellow lamplight appeared. An old, white-haired man sat on a cot. "What do you want, Roman?” he asked. "Have you come to kill me at last?”

"Father,” Calgaich said. He hardly recognized him, so aged had he become in the past three years. He was not the tall, strong man Calgaich had known.

The dim eyes stared. “I hear the voice of my only son, Calgaich,” Lellan murmured.

“Yes, Father.”

“The gods are playing tricks on an old man. My son, Calgaich, has gone West-Over-Seas, by the Warrior’s Road to
Tir na n'Og.
Soon I hope to join him.”

Calgaich approached the old man and took his hands, no longer hilt-calloused, but thin and almost ascetic. It was his eyes that wounded Calgaich like a spear. They were wide, filmed with white, and did not blink.

“Do you trick me, Roman? Did I not hear the ghostly voice of my son?”

Calgaich gathered the old, broken man into his arms. Hot tears ran down his face.

“Is it really you, Calgaich?” Lellan sighed.

“Yes, Father. I’ve come to take you home.”

“The Romans have freed me at last?”

“No, Father, it is I who will free you.”

“You have brought the war spears of the Novantae to fight beside you?” Lellan asked in an eager voice. Now his voice sounded much younger, almost like that of Calgaich himself.

“No. I came here alone. Guidd waits outside to help us.” “There are many Romans guarding this place.”

“Trust in the help of Lugh, Father.”

“Can we reach our own country?”

Calgaich hesitated. Could he take this broken old man from the heart of a Roman stronghold and through the night to escape from the Asturians who would likely be baying at their heels? Calgaich and Guidd could make it alone. But he had to try to get his father to safety, too. That or die in the attempt.

“No, it is hopeless, Calgaich. To attempt to free me would cost you your lives. The odds are too great against you. But you’re young and strong. Go now! Swiftly! Take the chieftainship from my brother Bruidge. It is yours.” Calgaich placed the guard’s cloak about Lellan’s shoulders and put the helmet on his head. He tucked the thin white hair up under the helmet and then drew the hood of the cloak over the helmet.

"You are still chieftain,” Calgaich murmured.

Calgaich led the old man into the hall and along it to the outer door. He got the shield and spear of the guard and hung the shield on Lellan’s back. "Father,” he said, "you must walk straight as a legionnaire behind me to the gate. You must stay silent. Let me do the talking.”

"But if we are found out?”

"Do we Novantae fear death, Father?” Calgaich asked fiercely.

The rain was slashing down. Calgaich eased through the partially opened door. "Wait here,” he whispered.

The guard under the eaves was dozing as he leaned on his spear. The hilt of the Asturian sword struck him on the nape of his neck just under the rim of the helmet. Calgaich caught him before he hit the ground. Calgaich relieved him of his ^pear and his short sword. He dragged the unconscious man into the building and to the cell where Lellan had been imprisoned. He dumped the Roman into the cell and then closed and barred the door.

"Ready, Father?” Calgaich asked.

Lellan nodded. "Lead on, my Son.”

Calgaich placed an arm about Lellan’s stooped shoulders and drew the old man close for a moment. "Follow me,” he said. "Hold onto my cloak for guidance.”

Guidd One-Eye stood in the shadows of the barracks, behind a buttress, within a few feet of the Asturian gate guard who stood huddled within the deep doorway of the barracks, out of the rain but unable to see anyone approaching his post. Guidd turned as he heard footsteps on the flagstones. He saw the dim figures approaching the gate. He moved like a hunting cat through the leaden-colored rain and shadows and hooked an arm about the throat of an Asturian guard. He drew it tight. In a moment he eased the unconscious guard to the flagstones.

Lellan staggered weakly and lost his grip on Calgaich's cloak. He went down on one knee. Guidd ran toward him. "Get the gate open, Guidd!” Calgaich snapped. "Hurry!” Calgaich turned to help his father to his feet. Guidd started to lift the bar from the gate sockets, but it was too heavy for him. It slid sideways and the butt of it struck the flagstones. Guidd tried to lean it against the wall but it got away from him and fell hard against the end door of the barracks. Guidd dragged back one of the heavy half-doors of the gate. The wind swept rain through the opening.

Calgaich tried to run while leading his father, but Lellan could not keep up with him.

Suddenly the door of the barracks was flung open and a flood of yellow lamplight shone through the driving rain. A man came through the doorway and stumbled over the unconscious Asturian.

“Pericol! What the hell is going on?” Centurion Decrius Montanas shouted.

Calgaich shoved Lellan through the gateway into the hands of Guidd, then whirled to face the cursing centurion. Calgaich held the long cavalry sword in his right hand and the short-bladed legionnaire’s
gladius
in his left hand.

“The guard!” Montanas roared. He whipped out his
gladius
and plunged toward Calgaich with short, stiff-legged steps.

Calgaich thrust his sword toward the face of the centurion. Decrius slashed his
gladius
sideways and struck the sword to one side. The shock of the blow made Calgaich’s sword arm tingle. He retreated to block the gateway so that Guidd and Lellan could escape.

Legionnaires and auxiliaries plunged two by two through the open doorway of the barracks. Two of them held flaring torches. Montanas ran at Calgaich but he could not get in a slashing attack because of the narrowness of the gateway, which was blocked by Calgaich. Calgaich’s sword seemed to leap out and the point drove into the unprotected right forearm of the centurion, who dropped his sword and staggered sideways.

The nailed sandals of the Romans thudded against the flagstones as they rushed Calgaich. He slipped back and to one side and caught the first of them who came through the gateway with a stroke across the nape of the neck.

Calgaich ran from the gateway. A legionnaire rushed up the stairway to the walk just behind the ramparted wall and thrust his torch up high with his left hand. He poised his
pilum,
the short and deadly Roman spear, and cast it downward beyond Calgaich. Lellan shuddered as the spear point caught him low in the back.

A group of Romans burst through the gateway and charged the three Novantae. Guidd drew back his right arm and cast his spear. It struck an auxiliary in the throat. Calgaich charged and plunged his sword into the chest of a legionnaire and followed through with a chopping stroke across his throat with the
gladius.
A sword glanced from Calgaich’s helmet and drove him down on one knee.

Lellan turned slowly and saw his son go down. He knew his own time had come. He swung the heavy Roman shield to his left arm and couched the spear under his right. He charged the nearest Roman as though he were again a young warrior leading his famed Novantae spearmen against the hated Red Crests.

Guidd snatched up the
gladius
Calgaich had dropped and followed his chief. More Romans and auxiliaries had come through the gateway. More torches flared along the rampart above the gate. A trumpet blared from Fort ala Petriana after an alert guard had seen the torches and had heard the combating at the villa.

"Get you gone, Calgaich!” Lellan shouted. "Pm done! Let me die on my feet like a warrior!”

The melee became wilder. A sword knocked Calgaich’s helmet from his head. A spear tip stuck lightly in his left shoulder and he felt the hot blood run down his breast.

“Abu! Abu!
To victory! To victory!” Lellan cried in a voice of amazing strength.

Calgaich was cut off from his father. Three Romans closed in on him, chins tucked behind their shields, short-bladed
gladii
feeling for his life’s blood. It was the end. He knew it now. There could be no escape. He saw the grimacing face of the cursing centurion as he charged toward the fray.

Suddenly a huge, brindled shape came out of the shadows and launched itself at one of the Romans. The weight of the great wolfhound drove the Roman onto his back and his jugular was severed by a powerful snap of the hound’s jaws.

"Bron!” Calgaich yelled as he struck down an Asturian.

Decrius Montanas went down with the snarling Bron on top of him. The centurion rolled over onto his belly to protect his vulnerable throat from the slashing fangs.

Lellan had gone down under the sword blows of three Romans. Guidd had his back against a tree and was defending himself against two Asturians. Calgaich was fighting to reach the side of his fallen father.

The sound of many tramping feet came from the direction of the fort. A trumpet blew through the windy darkness. The other gate of the villa was thrown open as Ulpius Claudius appeared leading a group of legionnaires.

Bron dropped back to stand beside Calgaich for the fight to the death. Sword blades rang against each other. Men shouted. Torches flared in the rising wind.

A horseman appeared out of the darkness beyond the road. The torchlight glistened wetly on the blade of a great war spear just before it drove past Calgaich and sank into the chest of a Roman. The horse brushed against Calgaich. He looked sideways into the face of the rider. “Cairenn!” he shouted. The horse knocked Romans and Asturians aside. The war spear struck into the throat of an Asturian and was withdrawn, dripping blood.

The Romans and Asturians fell back before the fury of Cairenn’s attack. Lellan lay alone on the muddy ground, slashed and stabbed by dozens of sword strokes.

Calgaich whirled. He dropped one of Guidd’s opponents and the other one fled before the fury of the Celt.

Cairenn turned her horse. “Run, Calgaich!” she shouted. “I can’t drive them back much longer!”

“My father!” he yelled back.

“He’s dead!” Cairenn screamed.

“Run, Calgaich!” Guidd shouted.

Battle madness was still within Calgaich. He felt no pain and no fatigue.

The crumpled body of Lellan was red with blood. His clothing was saturated with it. Only his face had been untouched, and the long white hair was still unstained.

Cairenn swung the horse toward Calgaich. “Run,
fian
!” she cried.

Calgaich took ten long strides. The upswung
spatha
flashed in the torchlight, glistening with blood, to come down in a solid sure stroke that cut the head of Lellan clean from the trunk. Calgaich snatched up the head by its long white hair, and as Cairenn rode past him he dropped the
spatha
and reached up with his right hand to grip the pommel of the saddle. He swung up behind Cairenn. She spurred the horse into the shadows, passing Guidd, who gripped one of her legs and ran lightly alongside the horse. Bron loped swiftly after them.

Calgaich turned and held up the severed head. His eyes were alight with the battle fire. He raised his voice in a rhythmic chanting:

"A head I carry, close to my heart,

Head of Lellan, generous leader of the war spears,

And on his white breast, a black carrion crow.

A head I carry...

Alive he was a refuge for the oppressed,

A head I carry...

Whose war-bands patrolled vast territories,

The head of much sung Lellan, whose fame is far-scattered.

A head I hold which once sustained me…

My arm is numb, my body trembles,

My heart breaks;

This head I cherish, formerly cherished me."

"Do not try for the bridge little hare!” Guidd cried. "Ride to the east and behind the Great Wall! Somewhere there may be a place where we can cross it this dark night!”

The rain slashed down in a cold torrent and extinguished the torches. Ahead of the escaping trio and the great wolfhound was the clinging darkness of the rolling moors.

It was as it had been before, Cairenn thought wearily, as she urged her horse up a long slope wreathed in mist. The mist obscured the hills and streams so that even the directions became confused. Calgaich and she were running again. She reined in the blowing horse, then turned in the saddle and looked behind. Bron raised his head and looked curiously at her. He had been given orders to stay with her when Calgaich and Guidd had vanished into the mist at dawn light. Somewhere behind them and close at hand, there had been other horsemen.

The rounded object in the tom piece of cloak had been hung from the saddle, and during the long night's ride it had bumped against Cairenn's right knee with the rhythm of the horse's stride. She reached down and pushed it farther forward. The mental picture of Calgaich's flashing sword blade as it had descended and the sight of the head rolling on the blood-soaked turf had stayed with Cairenn all that night.

Bron turned quickly, his hackles rising. He growled deep within his throat, then padded off into the mist. Cairenn was alone again. Somewhere behind her and to the north was the Great Wall. They had covered many miles during the night, riding and walking to the east.

Her horse turned his head and whinnied. Cairenn drew her dirk. There was no place to go. She could not run. The horse was worn out.

A plover complained querulously as it was disturbed.

A faint wind began to blow along the rolling moors.

“You're looking in the wrong direction, little hare," Guidd said from just behind Cairenn.

Cairenn was startled. She turned the horse around.