The druid held up the rope that had tied the lady’s arm. ‘Enica of the Brigantes, granddaughter of Cartimandua, the caster of spells and weaver of enchantments, you did not know, but I was there when you were born and saw your destiny written in the stars and whispered on the winds. There was never any doubt.’ He flicked the sword hard so that it spun and sank its point into the earth. ‘You must be queen of your people and for that you must have a consort.’
‘I know.’ Enica’s voice was faint. She turned her head and gave Ferox a pitying smile. ‘I know,’ she repeated firmly.
‘Blood of king, blood of queen,’ Ferox mouthed the words, not that it made any difference now. He wondered whether he could swing the manacles and knock down the old man and then dive into the lake before the warriors slaughtered him. He would not be able to swim, so must drown. Simple pins held the metal bracelets closed. Could she move fast enough to free him? Would she? To his amazement she looked almost happy, perhaps believing that this was her fate.
‘Give me your arm, child.’
Enica stretched her right arm out towards the druid.
‘You too, boy.’
Ferox did not move. Acco gestured at one of his own warriors. Gingerly the man stepped into the circle and went over to the centurion. He grabbed him firmly by the arms and raised them up.
‘Thank you,’ Acco said, and bound Enica’s right arm to Ferox’s left with the same rope that had bound her. ‘So the gods make two into one,’ he intoned, and began a long prayer calling upon gods and goddesses by name to bless this union. Ferox did not really listen, although the thought came to him that Crispinus had once suggested this unlikely alliance. The tribune was helping Arviragus, although it was hard to say how willing his assistance was, and what the young aristocrat really intended. At present it really made little difference, much as it did not seem to matter whether he died married or still on his own. Hazy cloud veiled most of the stars, and he could do no more than guess that it was around the fourth hour of the night. Acco did not seem to be in a hurry to complete his ritual.
The prayer ended. ‘Kneel.’ Enica did as she was told, arm held up awkwardly because Ferox stayed as he was. He had not been listening, so one of the warriors hit him hard in the back of the knees, using the flat of his long sword. Ferox knelt. Enica smiled again.
‘Greetings, husband.’ Her smile was broad, her eyes glinting in the firelight. He wondered whether she thought this marriage was all the druid wanted from them. One of the warriors undid the cord binding them.
‘Huh,’ she whispered. ‘Is that take your things and go?’ Ferox could not help smiling at the traditional Roman formula for a divorce.
‘Begin,’ Acco told his warriors. Two of them went to the stone head with its three faces and lifted it. They were tall, strong-looking men, and yet they struggled, walking slowly to the edge of the water. Once there they stopped, glancing back. Acco nodded. The men swung the head once, twice and then flung it into the lake, the splash soaking them since it did not go far. ‘This is the end and the beginning,’ Acco intoned.
Next they took the Spear of Camulos, and one snapped the shaft across his knee. Then the other took the part with the head and hammered the iron until it was bent. Again they faced the druid and again Acco nodded. The two fragments of the broken spear flew further before they sank into the dark mere. The skull of the witch was shattered with the hammer and tossed into the water. When they came to the cloak, they threw it into the fire.
Ferox wondered whether he could reach the gladius stuck in the ground. It was not much more than a yard away, so the chances were good and if he would not be able to wield it properly with these manacles, at least it would give him a chance to take one or two of them with him. Should he kill Acco first? For all that the man wanted to kill him and the woman beside him, he shrank from the deed. It was Samhain still, and he felt as if his ancestors watched him from the shadows of the night. The druid’s power was growing almost visibly as the heat of the fire stirred his hair and made it stand on end. Killing these artefacts one by one, sending them down through fire or water into the Otherworld, fed Acco’s spirit and his magic. Would the iron even bite if Ferox got the chance? Instead of acting, he watched and waited.
The mirror of Cartimandua was next.
‘Please, no.’ Enica sounded like a child, so unlike her usual confidence, let alone the chatter of Claudia.
‘It is just a mirror, child,’ Acco told her. A warrior struck the bronze back with the hammer, bending it. Another took it and threw it far into the lake.
‘They say the cauldron of the Morrigan can raise the dead,’ Acco said. Ferox wondered why he was taking so long to do everything. Perhaps that was the nature of magic. Unlike the Stallion, Acco had patience. ‘Place a corpse inside the bowl, say the right words, and he will leap out, able to run, fight, make love, in fact do anything, except he cannot speak.
‘I never saw it done. There were plenty killed when I came to Mona that first time. My comrades, my commilitones if you will, died one by one.’
‘Domitius,’ Ferox said, as the last pieces slid into place, and he knew the old druid had once been a Roman and Gaul, and an officer in the legions.
‘You understand at last. You should, you know, for like both of you I have two lives intertwined. I was born Cnaeus Domitius Tullus of Lugdunum and can become him again when need be. That…’ He glanced at the sword sticking in the grass and Ferox felt the druid saw into his mind. ‘That sword was the sword of my family, although for some reason my father did not give it to me when I went to serve as a tribune here in Britannia and was captured by the Silures, who sent me to Mona with their other prisoners.
‘The gods shaped their plans and I followed the path set me. Truth can speak to the right mind. My comrades died one by one. Some were brave and cursed back, and some died screaming or begging for mercy. Days passed and they did not come for me. They hung me up by my arms from that tree and sliced at me with knives, and I made no sound at all. That was not why they let me live. The truth came to me and they knew it, for they were old druids, men who knew the true ways of the gods. Now and again they found a pupil who had not come willingly, and found that he learned faster and more deeply than those who chose themselves. They saw that I was such a one, and I saw at last that Rome was a poison, but that here in Britannia Rome did not have to win, not in the end.’ He nodded to the warriors and they took the cauldron and sent it into the lake.
‘It is almost time.’ Acco walked round behind them, raising the flint knife he had used to kill Prasto. He stood there, both arms above his head. A warrior came and stood in front of him, his long sword held low and blocking the path to his gladius. Still Acco waited. At least they were not to go into the fire, and a cut throat would be quick. Yet it was strange that they were to be spared the triple death of sacrifice, for the druid was not in a hurry. They should have eaten the grain and beans with their slow poison, have the cords at their throat ready to tighten, and suffered the death blow with knife or club just before their last breath left them.
‘It is the last day,’ Acco screamed at the night sky. ‘The end of the past.’
Ferox waited. In a moment he would spring up, knocking into the warrior and then hoping to break free and reach his sword. If Enica was quick she might get away. Her arms and legs were free and she was a good swimmer. She could cross the lake and then…? The boats were surely gone and even the best swimmer would struggle to cross the sea to safety. The most he could hope for was to let her live a little longer and perhaps by some miracle find a way out. That was all he could do for his new ‘wife’.