Calgaich the Swordsman (24 page)

It seemed hours before the first fitful light of the gibbous moon shone through the trees. Calgaich and Guidd slept. Cairenn awoke at the sound of the wind. She looked out into the forest. The wind had swept away most of the mist. The forest had long moonlit vistas between the boles of the immense oaks.

A faint sound came from the distance. Cairenn turned her head and the sound came again. She hoped it was her imagination. She stood up, dropped the cloak with which she had been covered and stepped to the mouth of the cave. Bron raised his head.

Something moved within the forest. Cairenn saw, or
thought
she saw, a line of black-cloaked figures moving slowly through the clearing mist. Two of the figures carried great curved trumpets which glistened as though made of gold. A low chanting sound came to her.

Cairenn tried to speak. The words would not come. She moved backwards into the cave. “Calgaich,” she husked at last.

Calgaich's head snapped up. His hands dropped instinctively to his war spear. “What is it? The Romans?”

Cairenn pointed toward the file of cloaked figures.

Calgaich stood up slowly. Fear was etched on his face. “The gods protect us,” he whispered hoarsely. “It is
them
...”

“The Druids?”

He nodded. “If you value our lives, woman, do not move or make a sound.” He reached down and clamped a big hand over Guidd’s mouth. Guidd's one eye opened. “The Men of the Oak,” Calgaich whispered to him. Guidd nodded.

The long file of cloaked figures disappeared into the forest. The night was deathly quiet again.

“Can we leave now?” Cairenn asked. “The moon is up.”

Calgaich shook his head. “Not until they have done whatever it is they have come to do. Not until they leave this most accursed of all places!”

So they waited. Now and again, they could hear faint chanting mingled with the eerie blowing of the golden trumpets, and other sounds which they could not identify. None of them spoke. Their useless weapons lay to one side. The wolfhound was behind Calgaich, and only his great eyes moved now and then.

The mysterious night and the eerie sounds from within the huge sacred grove of oaks eroded what little courage they had kept in store.

The cloaked figures returned within a spear’s cast of the three crouching people in the cave. Not a sound came from the Druids as they moved through the moonlight like disembodied spirits. A deathly stillness hung over the oak forest. As the Druids vanished from sight, so, too, did the moon, as low, drifting clouds passed over the forest. The night became as dark as the pit itself.

“We’ll have to wait until dawn light,” Calgaich said at last. “Let’s hope the Romans have not reached this place.”

None of them could sleep. They sat in the cave, side by side in the thick darkness. The odor of the decaying head of Lellan sickened Cairenn, but it did not seem to bother Calgaich and Guidd.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they could distinguish the separate tops of the great oaks, rather than the dark and forbidding masses of them.

With the first light of dawn, Calgaich led the way, with Bron pacing at his side. Calgaich held his war spear in his right hand, while the head of Lellan was tucked beneath his left arm. Cairenn followed Calgaich, with Guidd bringing up the rear. Instead of leaving the forest by the way they had entered it, Calgaich seemed to be penetrating deeper into it, going in the direction from which they had heard the trumpeting and chanting of the night before.

“This is not the right way, Calgaich,” Cairenn said boldly.

He turned to look at her. “We’ve lost too much time. If we go back the way we came we’d risk running into those damned Romans.”

“Isn’t there the risk of something worse up ahead?”

“She might be right at that,” Guidd agreed.

Calgaich continued on. "Go back if you like
!”
he snapped over his shoulder.

They followed him on through the grove. Not a leaf stirred. Nothing moved. Not a bird twittered. There was nothing in the forest but utter stillness, as though they walked through a long abandoned tomb. Calgaich stopped short and thrust his spear forward. Bron slunk behind his master.

A large, circular open hollow was ahead of them. In the center of the hollow there was a pool, so still and dark that it seemed like molten lead had been poured into it, to harden with a gray-silver surface as smooth as polished metal.

"Look!” Cairenn cried suddenly.

An immense oak, a giant among its kind, stood beyond the far end of the pool. Torques and fibulas of gold and of enameled bronze hung from the branches, mingled with thick growths of mistletoe. Miniature spears, swords and other weapons were mingled with toy-like tools of many kinds. In front of the oak a tree trunk had been set into the ground. Its top had been skillfully carved into the likeness of a three-faced head, with flowing mustaches and long hair once painted yellow. One of the countenances stared impassively back at the intruders, while the other two profiles stared toward the empty glades in front of them. Great cracks had appeared in the carvings, and rot had set in deeply, so ancient were they in origin. Dark stains showed on the trunk below the carved faces.

"The Holy of Holies,” Calgaich muttered tensely.

"Let’s flee!" Cairenn cried, pulling at his arm.

Calgaich nodded, but he could not move. His legs seemed too weak to carry him away from there.

"For the love of the gods, Calgaich,” Guidd said hoarsely, "there is nothing but evil for us here in this accursed place!”

"Aye,” Calgaich agreed, but he could not move his legs. It was as though a creeping paralysis had set into them. Sweat broke from his face. "I can't move,” he whispered.

"Call to your gods! Pray to them!” Cairenn cried.

Something from somewhere within the dark reaches of his fertile imagination, the gift or the curse of many of those who were of Celtic blood, held Calgaich fast there, staring toward the rotting, blood-smeared idol.

Slowly, ever so slowly, like an old man, or a cripple Who is again learning to walk, Calgaich moved toward the idol and the monarch oak. He forced the butt of his spear against the soft ground as an aid to his snaillike progress. Cairenn and Guidd stared after him in superstitious awe.

Calgaich looked beyond the great oak. He saw what looked like a large, lidless coffin made of sheets of stone. It was filled to the brim with water. Calgaich shook his head, trying to clear the spell from his mind. He tried to tear his intent gaze away from die coffin, but it was to no avail. Foot by foot he approached the coffin until he stood looking down into the clear water.

Calgaich tried to raise his head. He could not do it. His heart beat erratically. The icy sweat streamed down his face and body. Something was holding him rooted there as if he were made of stone. Something ...

Guidd turned quickly. The faint sound of baying hounds carried to the glade. “Calgaich!” he shouted. “The Romans!"

Calgaich paid no attention. He peered closely down into the water and found himself staring into a pair of incredibly large light-gray eyes that returned his stare. He tried to turn his head but found it impossible.

“Calgaich!" Cairenn cried. “The hounds are closing in on the forest! Why do you stay?"

The nostrils of the strange-looking face were just above the water level, and they moved slightly as if the creature, or whatever it was, were breathing. Again Calgaich tried to break the hold of those eerie-looking eyes but it was no use. A message seemed to come to him. Calgaich dropped his spear and pushed his hands into the icy water to touch a large, flat stone that rested on top of the creature. Whether he wanted to or not, Calgaich knew he was being mentally forced to lift the stone from the water.

Calgaich gripped the edges of the stone and lifted it. Beneath it was the white body of a naked man, who was still looking up into Calgaich’s eyes. Calgaich dropped the heavy stone on the ground. The being sat up. Water flowed from his long silvery hair and his blue-white features. The great eyes stared without blinking at Calgaich. Calgaich reached out and touched the icy flesh, and then helped the creature from the coffin.

Calgaich stepped back. The fear of death swept over him.

Guidd ran forward. “Calgaich! It is an evil spirit! Strike it or run! The Romans are within the forest! There is not much time!”

The creature waved a hand toward Calgaich’s eyes. Calgaich suddenly seemed released from the iron spell that had bound him to do the creature’s bidding.

"Lugh of the Shining Spear,” he gasped. "Who or
what
are you?”

"Say not what, but rather who,” the being replied. "I am only a man, such as yourself.” He looked beyond Calgaich and past Cairenn and Guidd. "Romans,” he added quietly. "They will find this holy place at last.” He looked sideways at Calgaich. "I must have clothing.”

"We haven’t any time left,” Calgaich said. Now that he was released from the spell he was again himself, the man of war and action. He picked up his spear. "Whoever you are, or whatever you are, you must take care of yourself. I don’t know how you came to be in that coffin with that stone on your chest but you’re free from it now. Look out for yourself!”

The man shook his head. "You can’t escape. The Romans have surrounded this grove. There are hundreds of them out there now.”

"How can you know that?” Calgaich demanded suspiciously.

The man waved a hand. "I
know.
If they find me here, they will kill me at once.”

"You’re a Druid?”

The man nodded. He did not seem afraid, although he faced instant death if the Romans caught him. "Do not let them kill me. I can be of great service to you. I owe you a debt.”

"You owe me nothing.” Calgaich turned. "Cairenn!” he called.

Calgaich stripped off his shortened cloak. Cairenn came to him and he tore off her clothing. She stood there shivering in her nakedness as he tossed the trousers and the sheepskin tunic to the Druid. Then he draped the cloak about Cairenn.

"Quickly!" he commanded the Druid.

Calgaich picked up Cairenn and thrust her up into the lower branches of the great oak. "Be absolutely still,” he told her. She disappeared into the leafy maze. Calgaich pointed to another tree as he looked at the Druid.

The Druid shook his head. "It's of no use. The hounds will smell me out."

"By the gods, priest! If you had not cast a spell on me, we might have escaped."

The Druid looked through the mystic grove as though he could see something the others could not. "You could not have escaped them."

Calgaich jerked his head toward Guidd and Bron. "The three of us will die here, rather than be taken captive by the Red Crests."

The Druid smiled a little. "Why?"

Calgaich looked at him curiously. "We will not be dragged back to Luguvalium with ropes about our necks like slaves.”

The hounds were crying in full voice now. Men called to each other from around the huge grove. The Druid was right then, the Romans had surrounded the grove.

"Will you fight beside us?" Calgaich asked.

"Fighting is not for Druids.”

Calgaich spat. "Spoken like a priest!"

"We fight other ways,
fian.”

"How do you know that I am a
fian?"
Calgaich asked suspiciously.

The Druid shrugged. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

Guidd came to Calgaich, carrying the bundled head. He held it out to Calgaich. "What of this?" he asked. "Can we let the Romans desecrate it?"

The Druid wrinkled his fine nose. "Cast it into the sacred pool," he suggested. "This is the Holy of Holies. The head of Lellan, chief of the Novantae, should not be allowed to become a plaything of the heathen Romans."

Calgaich closed his eyes, prayed, then cast the head into the sacred pool. The ripples flowed concentrically to the edge of the water and lapped quietly there. In a little while the pool was again like a sheet of polished metal.

Calgaich looked at the priest. "What have you done that you should have been so cruelly punished?” he asked.

"Punished? Don’t be a fool! I was there of my own free will.”

"You're mad. All Druids are mad. This grove seems to be madness itself!”

Guidd nodded. "How did he know that was the head of Lellan?”

"Well?” Calgaich asked the priest.

The Druid smiled a little. “There are many things we know, Calgaich mac Lellan. There is not time to tell you of them now, with the Romans baying at your heels and mine.” His clear gray eyes once again held those of Calgaich so that Calgaich could not look away. "I willed you to help me. Now we are trapped. We can gain nothing by fighting to the death. Let them take us. You may think there is no hope to survive the fate they have in mind for you, but I say this to you—you have saved my life. I will not forget that. Somehow, somewhere, I will repay you. But now you can't fight those Red Crests and win a victory. This place is doomed now that they have found it. We too are doomed if you stand and fight.”

The will to fight to the death suddenly left Calgaich. He dropped his war spear. His mouth was set like a wolf trap, but his face was calm as he stood beside the strange and confident Druid, with Guidd and Bron, waiting for the approaching Romans.

They could be seen now, moving slowly and cautiously through the forest. They were Asturian cavalrymen, with a handful of black Numidian archers among them. Here and there strode a few hard-core Roman legionnaires, as superstitious of the place as any Asturian or Numidian, but bound by the iron discipline of the legions not to show fear in the face of an enemy.

"How did your friends escape last night through the cordon of Romans, Druid?” Calgaich asked out of the side of his mouth.

"We Druids can create mists. We can baffle and confuse the eye and the mind. That is why we still survive despite the efforts of the Romans to stamp us out completely.”

"Why can't you baffle and confuse these Romans?”

"This is not the time, Calgaich.”

"You'll need a name, priest.”

"I can't tell them my true name. It would be the end of me.” He glanced sideways at Calgaich and grinned. "Give me a name, Calgaich.”