‘I have news,’ he announced. ‘Wondrous news that the council must know in full. Do I have your leave to speak?’
‘Aye,’ chorused the ring of chieftains.
‘Brigantia is at war and must fight. Trajan is dead without an heir. Neratius Marcellus falsely claims the purple, but is doomed to defeat once the Senate chooses the real princeps. We cannot declare for a traitor, and because I defied him he sent a legion against us. I met this legion and scattered them as doves flee the hawk. This man is Crispinus, tribune of II Augusta and nephew of Marcellus. He will tell you. Speak, worm!’
There was silence. The chieftains must have known about the battle already, and as yet they were not ready to acclaim or condemn him.
‘I said, speak.’
Crispinus staggered to his feet. ‘It is as he says,’ he said, eyes still staring down. Ferox could see none of the aristocrat’s usual restless confidence. ‘The prince is at war.’
‘Sit, dog.’ Arviragus swept the room with his gaze. ‘There is more. For months, there have been omens of war and chaos. The priests here have seen them.’ Several men nodded. ‘You others have heard of them.’ He reached for a cord around his neck, squeezing fingers past the torc, and pulled out a small pendant, shaped like an egg. Two of the chieftains gasped for this was a charm of the sort made by the druids. None doubted its potency, but all knew that to wear such a thing broke the laws of the emperors. Arviragus had their attention. ‘You all know of the last druid – the last true druid.’ Ferox saw a man frame the word ‘Acco’. They knew, even the most Roman of them, of the survivor of the old days, the one man who knew the old wisdom. ‘Acco gave me this armour and helm.’ There were louder gasps at the mention of the name. Arviragus raised a hand. ‘I speak of Acco, because now it is permitted. He gave me this torc, once worn by Cunobelinus, father of Caratacus. Acco spoke of the end of all that was past and the beginning of all that is new. Acco is dead.’
There was silence, until Audagus spoke. ‘You know this for certain?’
‘I know this, although I was not there. I am guessing my sister was there and saw it.’
Enica nodded.
‘You ask what this means?’ Arviragus shouted over the nervous questions. ‘The last druid has passed into the Otherworld. Such a thing cannot happen without unleashing a great magic – his magic. The old will perish and the new will rise. The new world ordained by the gods. We can resist and wither, or embrace the storms of change and fly on their wings.’ He snapped the cord of the pendant, raised it high, hesitated and then flung it into the fire. Something flared into bright green flame before it vanished. ‘This is old magic and now it must do its work.
‘War has come, whether you wished it or not. I bring this captive and other trophies. This son of a senator and nephew of a traitor will wait on us, the lords of Brigantia, as we decide what to do. I am Arviragus, grandson of Venutius who won battles against Rome and forced them to settle with him. I wear his helm and his armour for he is reborn in me, to lead us in this hour. Need I say more?’
‘You have said and done enough, brother.’ Enica’s voice was calm, and she did not shout, and perhaps it was the higher pitch that made the council fall silent. Or perhaps she truly had some of the power of her grandmother. Ferox thought of how Acco’s soft words had carried so far and swept over his hearers.
‘The war has come because you wished it. Tell me, noble Crispinus, who is it says that Trajan is dead? Tell me that.’
The tribune managed to meet her gaze. ‘I do not know, lady.’
‘It is a story and nothing more. Stories often lie, and we know this in our hearts even if we love to believe them. Stand, husband.’ She gestured with her left hand. Ferox stood, doing his best to scowl as requested. ‘This is Flavius Ferox, my consort. He is a prince of the Silures, grandson of the Lord of the Hills. He is a famous warrior, who has served the emperors and won so many decorations for valour that even he cannot remember how many there are.
‘Acco married us. At Samhain, on Mona, by the holy lake. The last druid did this. He told us that he would offer us both to the gods, and yet here we are.’ There were protests, but she stilled them merely by raising her other hand. ‘I do not speak impiety, since I speak only the truth. Acco knew. Before he broke the mirror of Cartimandua, I saw into his old heart. He spoke of the end because he knew that it had come. The druids have passed away. He was the last, and he could not send us into the Otherworld no matter how hard he tried. My husband slew Acco with the sword he wears tonight.’ They stared at him with a mix of fear and hatred. Several produced wheels of Taranis or other totems and kissed them to ward off evil.
‘Some of you here knew Venutius. I see before me faces of bold warriors whose chariots raced alongside my grandfather’s. See now the mail he wore and the marks of the wounds he suffered leading our people. See that helm with its high crest, and remember the days he slaughtered Selgovae, Parisi and even Romans. This is the true armour of Venutius, is it not?’
‘Aye, lady.’ One of the oldest men spoke. ‘I do not know what your brother wears.’
Arviragus glared hatred at the old man. ‘These came to me from Acco himself,’ he shouted.
‘Peace, brother. There is so much you do not know.’ Enica nodded to Ferox. ‘Sit, husband.’ Ferox tapped the pommel of his sword, gave the room another smouldering glare and did as he was told.
‘The druids are gone forever and with them the world they understood. Rome is here. Rome gives us peace and plenty. Rome means we do not steal each other’s cattle, rape each other’s women, or take the heads of each other’s warriors. You know all of this. Who truly wants to go back to the old days? Who wishes to challenge Trajan on a mere rumour?
‘War is here? My brother speaks the truth in this matter. Thus you must choose. Cleave to him and you will die. Tomorrow, next month, next year, it will not matter in the end. Cleave to me and I will lead you to life.
‘By dawn you must decide. You know the customs. Those of you with eyes will know whose spirit burns within me. Those of you with sense will know that I speak wisdom. By tomorrow eve you must all choose. Will you seek death or life? As my brother said – need I say more? You are the elders of our people. It is for you to decide what is best for them. That is all.’ She seemed to shrink a little in her seat as the speech was done, and she reached her left hand back towards Ferox. He took it and held it tight.
‘Come, brother,’ she said, and there was genuine fondness alongside the sadness in her smile. ‘Let us take a drink.’
‘Worm!’ Arviragus barked the word at the tribune. Crispinus rose, coming close as the prince beckoned. Arviragus pulled the bolt securing the chain, so that it fell, leaving the tribune solely with the iron collar around his neck. ‘Serve us each a cup of wine.’
‘I would be so grateful to you,’ Enica added softly.
Crispinus bowed to her, and then more stiffly to the prince. Two servants waited, one holding a silver cup in each hand and the other an amphora. The tribune poured out the wine, the sound loud in a room otherwise silent apart from the crackling of the fire. He reached out and spread a hand over the wide top of each cup to take them, then lifting them high, before he lowered them. Ferox gripped the lady’s hand hard, his senses telling him something was wrong, but her fingers slipped free as she and her brother stood to take the offered cups
The prince searched the faces.
‘Latenses, drink with me.’ A chieftain rose and walked forward.
Enica smiled warmly at Vindex’s father. ‘Carvetii, drink with me.’
Ferox was watching Crispinus. The tribune’s face hung down, but his eyes watched the scene unfold with an intensity that had not been there a moment ago. Then it changed to surprise, even panic.