Veneficus: Stones of the Chosen (25 page)

But only the faintest squeak issued from his lips.

Merlin chuckled. “I have made it so that you can only speak in very low tones because demons tend to scream and caterwaul, and it is a noise that offends our ears.”

His eyes glowed and Penda was again mute.

The long magus continued with a question to the boy.

“Do you think that this prostrate, paralyzed, mute, Northumberland invader demon-that-would-be-king is the ultimate arbiter of the religious laws of the universe?”

“I cannot see how he can be,” replied Twilight. “Only a true immortal, a god himself, can claim such a title, and he is most certainly not one of those.”

“Then why do you suppose he has taken it upon himself to impose his Christian absurdities upon an otherwise contented and happy Celtic population at the point of his sword? Why are heathen deities referred to by his like as ‘filthy’ when his faith, the aforementioned Christianity, is described as ‘pure’?”

“Because,” replied the boy, “it suits his purpose of domination,
vi et armis,
by strength of arms.”

“There is the crux of it. He is a bully boy who, because he has a great army at his back, must maraud around the land dominating the weaker tribes for personal glory. I believe history will mark him down as a weak warmonger with the personal courage of a burrowing weevil.”

The long magus leaned in close to Penda’s face.

“In the quietus of this land known as Wessex, in clearings and on the edge of dense woods, under broad chalk and limestone hills and beside clear streams, there are many Celtic settlements full of gentle, lyrical folk worshipping the idols and symbols of their forefathers in peace. United by their many shared customs and connected dialects, shackled by poverty and the bondage of serfdom and the geld, reliquary, regional identity and pagan worship are the basis of their self-esteem. The object of their worship will vary from place to place. It might be a representation of the Sun, an Earth Mother, Nature, or the Stars and Planets. It could be Fire or Thunder, Rain or Wind, the Sea and its Tides, mythological beast or everyday animal. They will raise sacred altars to these diverse, deathless gods, build shrines of stones and earth, fashion jeweled icons, charms, and luck pieces and by these swear oaths, seal promises, and offer blood sacrifices. Their burials will be in flaming boat pyres for the high-borne and in chalk-hill long barrows for the good peasantry. Their rites of worship will be conducted in long handed-down customs, incantations and couplets chanted in ancient tongues. They will not roam the land looking for converts, nor will they seek glory or immortality for their chosen faith. To carry on with their devotions in their own self-effacing, gentle manner is all they ask. Why must these innocent people die because one insignificant little northern demon warmonger called Penda-who-would-be-king considers it profane if they continue in that way? What is wrong with such beliefs if the people who hold them are happy and causing no harm to others as they conduct them?”

Merlin stepped away, drew his right arm back, and delivered a stinging, long-fingered slap to Penda’s bearded face. It was the ultimate insult to one who was used to having his every whim attended to. Penda’s eyes bulged to bursting point, and his face suffused bright red with the effect of the slap and attempt to release himself.

“That is for them,” breathed the long magus. “And all the heartbreak and death your Nazarene faith has and will continue to cause this nation.”

After a suitable moment the boy spoke again. “Shall we give the demon another opportunity to speak?”

“Only if he can exercise some control,” said Merlin.

“Can you so do?” asked the boy as speech was again restored to the invader.

Penda took a very deep breath. His pride had taken a battering, particularly with the slap. He was beginning to accept the fact that he was not in a very kingly position, being completely under the control of these two, and his voice, normally stentorian and closely listened to, would be switched into an ineffectual squeak the instant they heard anything untoward. Straining with all his might to keep his emotions in check and voice normal, he opened his mouth and managed a somewhat croaked question.

“What have you done with my daughter?”

The long magus clapped his hands in glee. “There, you see. The northern demon invader can speak in a civilized manner. All it takes is a little effort. As to your daughter, Rawnie, she is safe in a place far away from here. A place you will never find, no matter how long you search, for I have cloaked it in mystery. Chivalry still abounds in these parts, and we venefici of Wessex do not punish womenfolk for the sins of their men, regardless of the death and destruction caused by them. I must say, however, that she is a most spirited young lady and one deserving of a better lineage than that we see before us.”

“I want her back, long magus. She is very important to me.”

“My father was very important to me until the wolves ripped his body to shreds when they attacked the settlement of Malmesbury.” Twilight’s voice was edged with emotion.

Penda dropped his head for a moment before raising it to look at the boy.

“I did not order that attack. Elelendise sent her wolves in as retribution for losing her white wolf and to teach you both a lesson. As you probably know, I have banished her from my side. “

“You may not have ordered the wolf attack, but you didn’t stop it, either,” replied the boy.

“I will not offer any excuses as to why I and my army are here. The long magus is right. We are Christians and as such are driven to convert all non-believers to the true faith, by force if necessary.” He looked directly at Merlin and, conscious of being shut down again, continued in an even tone.

“Your argument on leaving well alone is a very persuasive one, but you will also know, having advised your own King Arthur through many victorious battles with similar aims, that successful kingship requires expansion and unification of people and lands. Invaders are everywhere. To prevent being dominated by others we must strike out first. I have seen the many pennants and trophies of those battles hanging from the walls of the great hall in this castle. Those were acquired by King Arthur, with you by his side, under the exact same conditions as I find myself in now.”

The long magus sighed. This question always seemed to come up.

“There was no threat to you in your northern stronghold from Wessex. As far as I know there is no single, unified force big enough or organized enough anywhere in these islands to mount a challenge to your force in conventional terms, so that argument is discounted immediately. As for my period at Arthur’s side and subsequent change, I will explain it in simple terms that you will understand. Your faith has many stories illustrating its absurdities. These absurdities have been invented to help non-believers convert to the faith and followers to remain steadfast. One of these stories concerns the conversion of Saul, a man whose view of Christianity was simple. He hated it and wanted everyone associated with it destroyed. As such he was always willing to give approval for the death of any Christians, as was the case with the stoning of Stephen, considered to be the first martyr of your faith. One day when he was on a journey of persecution near the town of Damascus, he found himself surrounded by a bright light. Falling to the ground he heard a voice from the heavens asking why he continued to persecute the Christian god. This converted Saul, who then became known as Paul, and gave rise to the term ‘Damascene Conversion’ for those who, through prevailing circumstances, had a complete change of heart, had seen the light. As my tyro skirmisher here knows, I had my own version of the ‘Damascene Conversion’ after Arthur burned some soldiers’ faces in an attempt to extract information from them. The interesting thing about the story of Saul-then-known-as-Paul is that he was later executed by the Romans for preaching Christianity, the faith that he had once tried so hard to destroy.”

“Nothing - magic, sorcery, and the kidnapping of my beloved daughter and defeat of my armies - will ever separate me from my Christian faith,” said Penda unconvincingly as if it was the expected response, but he was unsure of his place in saying it.

“Your faith is your affair and long may it bring you great joy and satisfaction. Immerse yourself in it totally until death separates you from it with my blessing,” replied Merlin. “As I have made perfectly clear, I care little for Christianity or any of the many other religions. It’s the imposition of those blatantly invented absurdities upon others by force that I am against.”

“And you?” Penda said, looking at Twilight.

The boy smiled. “I will make my own decisions when the time is right. I am thirteen years of age and so have plenty of time. Suffice it to say at this stage that I have had access to learning and phenomena within the enchantments that are denied normal humans, including invader kings like you. At this stage this privilege leads me to see through and therefore discount the faith that you follow. I am, however, completely with my venefical master and vehemently opposed to the imposition of any religion by force, and I will fight you or any other invader to my last breath if they try to convert these lands.”

Penda paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He’d had his daughter taken from under his nose and, along with four hundred and fifty soldiers, been spared by the mercy of these two in the field. Now, in a castle occupied and surrounded by his own army he was completely incapacitated and trapped. Perhaps it was time for some cold, hard reconsideration of his position.

“Answer me this. Is your sorcery greater than my religion, greater than my army?” he said quietly.

“Yes,” said the boy and Merlin together.

“Could I have succeeded with the assistance of the wolf-woman?”

“Probably not, but you would have had a better chance. Sorcery can only be overcome by stronger or greater sorcery. Command of the enchantments is everything. Unfortunately she has not had the experience to use the powers at her command correctly. We also doubt her purpose here,” Merlin replied.

“Then, as long as you two are here, I cannot and could not win.”

“No,” they replied together emphatically.

Penda dropped his head in defeated resignation.

The long magus spoke firmly. “I will allow you this and only this. Leave at first light with your army and return immediately to Northumberland. Do not press Christianity upon anyone or attack or sack any Celtic settlements on the way. If harm comes to any individual I will hold you personally responsible. For every Celt you harm I will remove a limb from your daughter’s body. More than four and she will receive the same treatment the repellent Elelendise meted out to the brave young knight, Godwinson. When you and every member of your army have passed over the borders of Northumberland, I will return Rawnie to you. We are the liege-lords of the pica and hawk named after me. They will be watching your every move from the sky. Make all haste. If you ever venture out of Northumberland again, be very sure to head north for we shall be watching you. And remember this; you, your daughter, and four hundred and fifty soldiers are alive because of the mercy of this boy here. I would not have shown such magnanimity. The next time you may not be so lucky. Cut your losses and retire gracefully. The boy and I have many tricks up our enchanted sleeves, many other ways to entrap you. Go back to where you belong and leave Wessex in peace, or by the Seven Sages of Greece we will see your flesh rot upon the green sward of this land.”

Penda kept his head bowed for a few moments. “Thank you. We leave at first light,” he whispered, lifting his head.

But there was no one there.

The immortal gods began to gather for the show to be staged by Tiresias, the Seer of Thebes. The islands of that curious little group of lands collectively known as the Britains where his show was to take place was not all that familiar to them. Since the Romans had left this remote outpost of their mighty empire over one hundred years ago, the place had been a hotbed of petty squabbling between Saxons, Jutes, Gauls, Belgae, Iberians, and Celts with seemingly none of them gaining the upper hand. Zeus, the father of them all, had not taken his seat. When he did, Ganymede, the cup bearer to Zeus and the other gods, would bring ambrosia, and that would signal the beginning of the event.

It was then up to Tiresias to entertain them.

If he succeeded his star would be very much in the ascendancy.

If he failed, even honorably, the reaction of Zeus was difficult to gauge. Losing his seat on the Presidium was not out of the question.

Surrounded by massed ranks of pica and Merlin hawks with the resident hooded ravens flapping around in the towers behind them, the long magus and Twilight perched high on the topmost ramparts of Cadbury Castle as Penda’s huge northern army wound its way slowly across the Summer Land valleys and into the distance. It had only been a few days since they had sat in the same position and watched them arrive; now they were leaving.

Flanked by his senior officers, Penda rode straight-backed through the castle gate and across the drawbridge without a backward or upward glance. His retreat signified a crushing defeat by minimalist forces to say the very least, and everyone winding their defeated way out of the Wessex sward knew it. Northern wounds, although mainly psychological, would take more than a few licks to regain the all-conquering arrogance with which it had arrived in here. Indeed, it was doubtful if Penda’s reign would survive once the full extent of the humiliating retreat was known back in Northumberland. However he explained it, sorcery, kidnapped daughter, or anything else, losing an invasion with that many men to an old man of ninety-three, a boy of thirteen, and a few birds was unbelievable and unacceptable, especially to the men themselves who had no real idea why they were plodding back toward home with their tails between their legs. Aware that the retreat might cause mutinous mutterings in the ranks, Penda had told his officers to spread the word that Northumberland was being threatened by a Saxon raiding force from the Low Countries and they had to return forthwith to defend their homeland. Few were convinced and recognized it for what it was, an attempt by a defeated king to save face and keep them on-side. For now the retreat was orderly, and it remained to be seen if it would stay that way for the three long weeks the march home would take them.