Patrick (2 page)

We had seen them before and diced with them on occasion. “Hail, Legioni Augusti!” called Rufus when he caught sight of Darius stooping under the lintel. “Come! Bring your cups and sit with us.”

We made room at the table, and the soldiers joined us. “So,” said Fillipio when he had settled himself on the bench, “the ala of Bannavem honors us with its exalted presence.” He looked at each us in turn. “What are you doing here?”

“Where else should we be?” answered Rufus. Of the four of us, he most imagined himself a legionary—a general perhaps, or the commander of an elite cavalry troop. “A fast ride in the hot sun raises a thirst which nothing but the Black Wolf's best will slake.”

“You heard about the trouble at Guentonia.”

“We heard,” said Rufus. “What of it?”

“Two cohorts departed as soon as word reached the garrison,” Fillipio said. “They have not returned.”

“Sleeping off their wine beside the road, I should think,” offered Scipio.

“Guentonia is a fascinating place, of course,” Julian said. “Perhaps they decided to stay and take in the cultural amenities.”

The soldiers grunted and dashed down the contents of their cups. I took up the jar to pour them each another drink, but Fillipio stood. “No more. We are back on patrol soon.”

“Well, then,” I said, still holding out the jar, “just a small one to keep your tongues wet.”

Audager took the jar from my hand and placed it firmly on the table. “You should go home.” His words were thick in his mouth, but the warning was clear.

“When we feel like it,” Rufus replied, rising to the implied threat, “and not before.”

The big Saecsen looked at him, then turned on his heel and walked away.

“Audager is right,” Darius told us. “You should not be on the road after dark.”

“Go home, lads,” said Fillipio, moving away. “If you leave now, you can be back in Bannavem before nightfall. We will drink and dice another day.”

We watched the three soldiers out the door, and then Rufus said, “Afraid of their own shadows.”

“Obviously,” replied Julian. His agreement lacked force, I noticed, and Scipio did not voice an opinion at all.

“Are we going to let them spoil a good night's roister?” I said, pouring more beer.

In the end, however, the revel was spoiled. Although we waited long, few people came to the inn: just some merchants and a heavy-footed rustic or two stopping for a drink before heading home from the market. There were no more soldiers and, to my particular disappointment, none of the local girls of easy favor whose company we often purchased for the night. Even the promise of Magrid's bountiful charms failed to ignite our damp spirits.

As dusk fell, so, too, did a pall. The effort of forcing mirth
and merriment into the increasingly dull proceedings grew too much at last. Julian disappeared after a while, and the rest of us sat clutching our cups in the gathering gloom as a dank uneasiness seeped into our souls. Finally, I grew weary of the squalid drear and rose. “Friends,” I said, “let us bury the corpse of this stillborn night.” I drained my cup and tossed it aside. “Misery and woe I can get at home for nothing.”

I called for our horses and bade farewell to Owain, who said, “The rumors have everyone frightened, is all. Come again another night, and you will find us jolly enough.”

“Don't worry,” replied Scipio, “we'll return another day to redeem this misspent night.”

“Until then,” said Rufus, “farewell.”

We went out into the yard and waited for our horses to appear. “Where has Julian got to?” wondered Scipio. “Why are we always waiting for that laggard.”

“I'll fetch him,” I said, and walked around to the back of the house, where I found him and Magrid leaning against one of the outbuildings. Magrid had her mantle up around her hips, and Julian was pumping away, his face buried in her mounded bosom.

I gave a little cough to announce my presence, and Magrid pushed Julian's face around. “What now?” demanded Julian, his voice thick with lust.

“We are leaving,” I said.

“In a moment,” he replied.

“Now.” I turned on my heel and walked away. “Good night to you, Magrid.”

I returned to the yard, where the stable hand brought our horses, and Julian joined us soon after. We gave the boy a denarius for his trouble and then rode out; the guards at the gate were not for allowing us on the road, but Rufus told them they were behaving like fretful maidens, and they grudgingly opened the gate and let us go.

The dying embers of a fiery sunset still glowed in the western sky, gleaming dull red and gold in the dark clouds
sailing in from the sea. We turned onto the coast road and urged our horses to speed. Evening deepened around us as we rode; stars kindled and began to shine through gaps in the clouds. After a while we slackened our pace and continued in silence. The road was well known to us, the hills were quiet, the air warm and calm; it was a fine and peaceful night to be out in the world beneath the stars.

Then, as we crested the last hill and turned inland toward Bannavem, I halted.

“What is it?” said Scipio, reining up beside me.

“Can't you smell it?”

“Smell what?”

“Smoke.”

“There!” said Rufus, joining us. I looked where he was pointing. A faint ruddy glow stained what appeared to be a dirty fog hanging just above the hilltops.

“Christ in heaven…” I murmured; then, with a slash of the reins, I lashed Boreas to speed.

Julian, last to join us, called after me. “Succat, what are you doing?”

“Bannavem is burning!”

I
REACHED THE TOP
of the last hill and paused to look down upon the town below. Gashes of flame streaked the filthy sky. Along with the stench of smoke came a thin, almost ethereal wail, snaking along the trail to reach us as a cry of terror that chilled the warm marrow in our bones.

Behind me I heard Scipio suggest, “Someone has been careless with a lamp.”

I turned on him. “Fool!” I cried. “Bannavem is attacked!”

I started down the slope, but the others hesitated.

“Follow me!” I shouted.

Still they hung back.

I wheeled my horse and urged them to follow. “Hurry! The town is attacked!”

The three looked uneasily at one another. None made a move to join me.

“What can we do?” said Rufus.

“We have no weapons,” added Julian.

“It won't help anyone if we get ourselves killed down there,” Scipio pointed out.

Their stubborn refusal angered me. “Cowards!” I shouted, and left them behind.

“It is too late for them,” Julian called after me. “We can only help ourselves.”

“The devil take you!” I shouted. “The devil take you all!”

Heedless of the danger, I rode for the town, fearing only that I would come too late to help save our lands, and that
my mother would be worried about me. As I came nearer, I could hear shouting and the sporadic clash of weapons. In the darkness I could make out the walls and what appeared to be a knot of men on the road: raiders. I glimpsed flames through the broken gates and knew that the town was lost. I turned Boreas off the trail and raced for Favere Mundi.

The countryside between the town and our estate was quiet; so far as I could see, none of the smallholdings outside the town had been attacked. I arrived at the entrance to find the gate securely barred and locked. My shouts failed to raise anyone, so I left the trail and continued along the boundary hedge to a particular place I knew—I had long ago discovered how to enter and leave the estate when the gates were shut after dark—and, pausing to listen one last time, urged Boreas through the hawthorn gap and into the grain field behind the house.

Sliding from the saddle, I ran for the open archway leading into the courtyard, where, to my great relief, my mother stood calmly ordering the packing of the family treasure. “Mother!” I shouted, running to her.

“There you are, Succat,” she said, turning from a wagon which was being loaded with various objects from the house. “You came back.” A frantic servant tossed a carved box into the wagon and hurried away again.

“Bannavem is attacked. They will come here next.”

“Yes, of course, my darling boy. As you can see, I have grasped that much.”

“We must flee.”

“All in good time.”

“No, Mother. Now. We must go now, while there is still time to get away.”

“I will not have my precious things dumped into a hole like so much rubbish.”

“There is no time,” I said. An elder servant, a man named Horace, hurried past carrying one of my mother's fine glass bowls. I grabbed him by the arm and took the bowl from his hands. “Saddle the horses, Horace,” I ordered. “Run!”

I placed the bowl on the ground, took my mother by the elbow, and pulled her away from the wagon. “We are leaving. Where is Father?”

“He rode to town to help the militia.”

“You let him go?” I cried.

“He is leader of the council,” she replied. “It was his duty.” She picked up the bowl and turned to place it carefully in the wagon.

“He will be killed,” I said. For the first time a quiver of fear passed through me. “The town is overrun.” Snatching the bowl from her hands, I threw it against the trunk of the nearby pear tree. The bowl smashed, scattering pieces everywhere.

“Succat!” shouted my mother, aghast at my action. “Can you even imagine the value of that bowl?”

“Leave it,” I told her, pulling her away again. “Leave it all.”

“I will
not
have you shouting at me like this.”

“Go to the stable, Mother, and get on a horse. I know a place nearby where we will be safe until the invaders have gone. I'll look after this.” I pushed her away from the wagon. “Hurry!”

She seemed to understand at last and moved off toward the stable. Frantic now, I turned and ran into the house in search of a weapon. My father and the men of the estate had taken all the swords and javelins, of course, and the shields, leaving only a few light hunting spears behind. I took two of these and ran through the house shouting for everyone to abandon the place.

Then, with the help of one of the servants, I pulled the wagon to the end of the courtyard and pushed it out into the field, where, at the near end, lay a pile of straw. “There!” I said, indicating the straw. We pushed the wagon to the pile and then heaped straw over it until the wagon and its cargo of valuables could no longer be seen.

Returning to the courtyard once more, I found my mother holding yet another of her large glass bowls. I was about to
shout at her to drop the damned thing and get back to the stable when I heard a sound which seemed to come from the front of the villa. I darted inside and ran to the entrance hall, opened the door, and looked out to see a dozen or more men on the path leading to the house. My heart leapt to my throat.

I fled at once to the courtyard, took my mother by the arm, and led her away. “I thought we were to take the horses,” she complained.

“No time.” At the archway I stopped and shouted a last time for everyone to flee. Horace reappeared, and several of the younger women servants ran from the house. “This way!” I shouted, desperate to get everyone clear of the house. “Follow me, everyone. Horace, see to my mother. I will lead the way.”

At the end of the field stood a small grove of beechnut trees; they grew low to the ground, their branches forming a screening breastwork of dark leaves. In the full leaf of summer, no one would know we were there—a fact I often put to good use in trysts with one of my mother's handmaids. Inside the hollow of their protecting branches was an old disused well that still held water. This would be useful if we were forced to stay any length of time. The ground sloped sharply down behind the grove where a small brook ran to the woods from which our fields had been cut. If worse came to worst, I thought, we could make an unseen escape along the shallow waterway and into the woods.

We reached the grove and settled down to wait. I crept to the low-sheltering edge of the branches and lay down on my stomach, staring at the house and straining for any sound. The small ticks and chirps of the night creatures and insects seemed to fill the entire valley. The servants grew restive, and the sound of their scratching and twitching distracted me. “Quiet!” I hissed. “Keep still.”

As I spoke, I heard a door slam. Instantly everyone froze. A long moment passed, and then I heard someone shouting from the courtyard.

“…Succat!…Concessa!…Succat!”

“It's Calpurnius,” I said.

“There. You see, dear?” replied my mother. “We are saved.”

“Perhaps.”

“We can go back now.” She started to her feet.

“Wait,” I said, taking hold of her arm. “I'll go and look. Stay here until I come for you.”

Leaving the spears with the servants, I darted out from the grove and ran back through the field to the villa. I paused at the archway and heard my father call again, whereupon I entered the courtyard and ran to him. “Here! Here I am!” I shouted.

“Thank God you are safe.” His face was smudged black with soot, and he was bleeding from a cut to the side of his neck, but he appeared unharmed otherwise. He looked behind me. “Where is your mother?”

“At the old well,” I told him. His smoke-grimed face wrinkled with incomprehension, so I added, “In the beech grove. Remember?”

“Ah,” he said, “good thinking.”

“Shall I go get them?”

“No,” he said, turning away. “Leave them. They are safer there.”

“Father, wait,” I called, hurrying after him as he dashed to the house.

He turned to me abruptly. “Where were you tonight?”

“In Lycanum,” I answered, “with the others.”

“Was it attacked?”

“There was no trouble when we left.”

“Good. We still may have a chance.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I want you to go to Lycanum and bring the soldiers—bring as many as you can.”

“But I could never reach—”

“I sent two riders to Guentonia,” he said, hurrying on, “but they will not reach the garrison in time.”

“Father, listen, I—”

“Go, Succat. We do not have much time.”

Still I hesitated. “What should I tell them?”

“Bannavem is lost,” he said. “But there is still time to save the outlying settlements if they hurry. Tell them that.”

There came a sound from inside the house. “Come with me,” I said, and made to pull him away. “They are here already.”

“It is the militia,” he said, removing my hands. “I brought them here. We will hold the villa until you return with troops to aid us.” He saw my indecision and put his hand to my shoulder once more. “You can do nothing here,” he said. “Ride to Lycanum and bring soldiers. These Irish thieves will not stand against legionaries. Go. Quickly.”

“Very well,” I said, accepting his judgment at last. I turned and rushed away.

“Take Boreas!” he called after me. “And God speed you, my son.”

I paused at the bottom of the courtyard and called farewell, then hastened through the arch once more. Boreas was still in the field where I had left him. He would be tired from the evening's ride, but he was young and his strength green; I reckoned that, even fatigued, Boreas was still the fastest mount we had.

Snatching up the reins, I leapt to the saddle and streaked across the field to the break in the hedge wall, passed through, and raced out across the open countryside to the place where the path from our villa joined the coast road. I flew along the gently rippling road: dark hills on my right hand, the wide, moon-speckled sea on my left, and the high, bright, star-dusted sky above. My heart pounded in my chest, thudding with every beat of brave Boreas' hooves.

I drove that good horse hard and reached Lycanum far more swiftly than I imagined possible. Because of the rumored trouble, there was a watch before the gates: six legionaries standing around a fire, leaning on their javelins. They started from their gossip as I clattered up, and three of them ran to meet me with weapons ready.

“Help!” I cried. “Bannavem is attacked! We need soldiers!”

“Is that Succat?” said one of the men.

I looked down and recognized Darius. “Hurry! The town is overrun. My father sent me. We need soldiers.”

“How many?”

I stared at the man. “All you have!” I shouted.

“I mean,” replied Darius evenly, “how many raiders? How big is the attack force?”

“I cannot say. Hundreds. Maybe more.”

“Ships?”

“I did not see any.”

“Did you look?”

“Of course I looked.”

Darius regarded me with a stern, searching expression. “Do not lie to me, boy. Did you look?”

“No, but—”

One of the soldiers spat a curse of exasperation. Darius remained unmoved. “How many militiamen do you have?”

“A dozen, I think, maybe a score.”

“Bannavem is lost, boy,” said one of the soldiers, turning away.

“Sorry, Succat,” said Darius.

“You will not help us?”

“We cannot, lad,” replied the legionary. “Most of the troops were sent to Guentonia. There are only two cohorts left behind to protect the town.”

“Then bring them, for God's sake!” I snarled. “There is still time to save the settlements. Hurry!”

“Know you, if it was my decision, I would,” answered Darius. “But we cannot leave Lycanum unprotected.”

“Besides,” added the other legionary, “with those odds it would make no difference.”

“You mean to do nothing?” I said, my voice growing tight with disbelief. Tears of frustration welled in my eyes.

“I am sorry.”

“Not as sorry as the dead of Bannavem.” Wheeling my horse, I made to gallop away before the soldiers could see I was crying.

“Stay, Succat,” called Darius. “We can protect you here. You will be safe.”

“Damn you to hell!” I cried, my voice shaking with rage as I blindly lashed Boreas for home.

Back we raced, over the empty, night-dark road. Boreas—lathered, sweating, his sides heaving—gamely answered my command. Foam from his muzzle spattered my leg; I looked down and saw the white flecks streaked with blood. Still I did not relent. I would not leave my family to face the marauders alone. Help was not coming; it was time to abandon the villa and save ourselves.

On and on we went, at length reaching the slope rising to the last hill above our estate. Boreas labored up the long incline, gained the top, and galloped headlong into a swarm of Irish raiders.

Before I could dodge or turn, I was in among them. With a cry of surprise, the dark heathens scattered, leaping in all directions.

I put my head down and lashed Boreas hard so as to drive through them.

Two great half-naked hulks appeared directly in my path, running, screaming, the blades of their spears glinting in the moonlight.

I threw the reins to the right; Boreas, frightened now, tried to swerve, but his strength was gone. His legs tangled; he stumbled and fell. I slid from the saddle as he went down, rolling free of his flailing hooves. Still holding the reins, I scrambled to my feet and tried to pull him up. “Hie! Boreas! Up!” I shouted, pulling with all my might.

The poor exhausted beast made one last effort, and then his heart gave out and he collapsed. His head struck the road, a shudder passed through his body, and he lay still.