‘I must warn you, legate, that the druids on Tagell have their own protection, and it can freeze the soul. But more than that, Myrddin arrived with them a few days ago and Myrddin is like no other man. He has great foresight and I believe that he’s here because he’s expecting you.’ Judoc pointed in the direction of Tagell. ‘Look.’
Vespasian turned and saw a sight that chilled him to the core: standing tall amongst the few scattered huts on the rock of Tagell, lit by the soft red rays of the newly risen sun, stood a giant, five or six times the height of a man, with a stag’s head and towering horns.
‘That’s been built for you.’
Vespasian stared in awe at the wicker man.
CHAPTER X
‘They make them a lot bigger here than they do in Germania,’ Magnus grumbled, looking at the huge figure on the Tagell peninsula just across the isthmus of bare rock connecting it to the mainland. ‘I doubt that the lads are going to want to go anywhere near it.’
‘Getting them there is going to be the first problem,’ Vespasian observed, looking at the sheer cliff-face at the end of the isthmus. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any path. We’ll just have to scramble down and across.’
‘I can’t see anyone over there; where are they all?’
Cogidubnus shaded his eyes from the strengthening sun. ‘They’ll have seen us coming and, if Judoc is right and they’re expecting us, then no doubt they’ll appear at some point with a few unpleasant surprises.’
Vespasian felt his unease grow at the marked lack of panic amongst the druids, faced with the imminent arrival of more than two hundred more troops; although smoke rose from the half a dozen huts around the wicker man the only life that he could see was a few sheep grazing on the rough grass at the giant’s feet. He turned to the two marine centurions waiting behind him for orders. ‘Glaubus, take your men across to the peninsula and try to find a way up along the south side. Cogidubnus will go with you; kill anyone you find over there. Balbus, you and your men will come with me and we’ll try the north side.’
The centurions snapped brisk salutes but the mutual look of disquiet that they shared as they turned to go gave Vespasian cause for concern. ‘I think you were right, Magnus: if the centurions are nervous about going over there how can I hope that their men will follow them?’
‘Then let’s just get back to the ships instead. Let’s face it, sir, Caratacus ain’t coming because Alienus didn’t tell him that we were here. You’ve succeeded in bringing the Cornovii over to us, which was the only other thing you had to achieve down here, so why don’t we just sail away and leave the druids to their own devices?’
‘There’s nothing that I’d like to do more; having faced the druids twice now I’ll not willingly do so again. But within a day or two of us leaving they’ll have turned Judoc against us or had him killed and replaced with someone more amenable to their cause.’
Cogidubnus nodded in agreement. ‘They’ve all got to die, otherwise there’ll never be any peace on this island. We’ve got the chance of killing Myrddin perhaps even before his successor has been found and that’s something that we mustn’t pass up.’
Magnus scowled and looked again at the wicker man. ‘It seems to me that the druids believe that if there is any killing to be done, they’re going to be the ones doing it.’
Spray flew on the strengthening wind, soaking their hair and making the bare rocks of the isthmus slippery and treacherous as Vespasian led Balbus and his men across. Just ten paces to his left Cogidubnus with Glaubus’ century kept level as they too slowly negotiated the passage in ones and twos. Above them the mound of Tagell soared to the sky, a dark, looming place filling their hearts with foreboding.
The roar of crashing waves intensified as they reached the lowest point of the isthmus; great rollers thundered in, pummelling a narrow beach below, to Vespasian’s right, and pulling on a currach turned upside down amongst the rocks at its head.
With no obvious pathway to follow, Vespasian picked his way through boulders and driftwood, using his hands to balance; the marines followed behind him in a random, dispersed order, struggling with their shields and pila. As they started to ascend the broken-up slopes of the peninsula itself, working their way around it away from the cliff-face, the wind speed picked up, whistling through the crags, tugging at their garments and increasing the sea’s rage. Magnus struggled at Vespasian’s side, muttering prayers and obscenities in equal measure as they slowly gained height and the head of the wicker man came back into view, gradually followed by its shoulders and chest. Vespasian scrambled on up, dislodging loose scree onto the marines below, as the noise of the wind’s fury grew, mixed with the crash of waves rising up from below, and now augmented by a new sound, a chilling sound: a high-pitched, bestial howling. He looked in alarm at Magnus. ‘Wolves?’
‘I actually hope so; I don’t know of any other animal that makes that sound, and if there is one then I wouldn’t like to meet it.’
‘Me neither; I’d rather face a wolf than the unknown.’ Vespasian looked back at the men following; their expressions were less than keen and Balbus and his optio were doing their best to urge them on, although with each new baying cry they too looked fearfully up the hill. The howling got louder as they climbed off the rocks and onto the steep, grassed hillside; the wicker man, visible down to its thighs, swayed in the gale but was kept upright by four ropes extending at right-angles from its neck. The ground was firmer and the going became easier, but Vespasian felt his reluctance to move forward grow with every step he took up the hill towards the source of the howling, yet he drew his sword and pressed on, conquering his powerful urge to turn back. Behind him the shouts of Balbus and his optio forming their men into a column were almost lost on the wind. Cutting back and forth diagonally to reduce the incline, his breath short and his heart pounding, he came to the final steep escarpment before the summit. The huts were still obscured from view but the wicker man towered above, totally visible apart from its lower legs: a brooding, malevolent colossus.
Pausing, he looked back to Balbus. ‘Have your men form line, centurion!’
Within a few moments the column had fanned out into four lines of twenty; many of the marines looked uneasily around at the steep drop behind them and then at the unknown over the brow of the hill. Not wanting to give the men too much time to fret over their situation, Vespasian moved forward and began to scramble up the escarpment, his hobnailed sandals struggling for purchase in the looser, grassless earth. As his hands reached the summit the howling ceased and was abruptly replaced by a series of rumbling growls; he thrust his legs down and propelled his body up so that his head crested the ridge. A light shape flew at his face; he managed to duck in time and it passed over him as similar forms flicked by to both sides. Behind Vespasian the screaming started instantaneously and was mixed with the throaty snarls of wild beasts ravaging flesh. He kicked a leg over the rim and hauled himself up; Magnus made it up next to him with Balbus and a few others who had been fortunate enough to slip under the pounce of the wolves — white wolves. But, below, carnage ensued as man fought beast in a savage battle of iron, teeth, fist and claw. Many of the marines had bolted, tumbling headlong down the incline, a few rolling uncontrollably towards a shattered-bone death on the rocks below. Others engaged in combat that would have delighted the crowd in any arena for its savagery as at least twenty beasts tore their way through the remaining terrified marines, clamping blood-stained teeth on sword arms, throats and thighs, ripping flesh and muscle as the wind blew ripples along their sleek, off-white coats in a strange juxtaposition of beauty and horror. Wrenching his eyes away from the slaughter, Vespasian looked around for the beasts’ handlers or the druids who had set this fearsome attack in motion; but on the summit of Tagell there was no one and nothing to be seen apart from the sheep, that had somehow escaped the attentions of the wolves. They grazed peacefully beneath the monstrosity whose magnitude could only now be appreciated. Vespasian led the dozen survivors towards the huts, knowing that they could not help their comrades against the fury of the wolves, which, although they had been reduced in number, were mauling their way through the very few marines still prepared to stand against them; a few men had been hauled to safety by their mates but the remainder were now scattered and beyond rallying.