Isle of the Blessed

Prologus

Prologus

A.D. 209

The rain was icy and sharp as it drove down from iron-grey clouds that clung to the jagged peaks of the hills surrounding the small valley. The rush of a waterfall cascading from hidden heights could be heard, feeding the bubbling river that ran like an artery through the village and out into the expanse of the glen.

In the heart of a gathering of village roundhouses, amid the torches that sputtered beneath the thatch overhangs of two neighbouring houses, Argentocoxus, Chieftain of the Caledonii, waited with three of his bodyguards. He stood wrapped in a long cloak of brown embroidered with silver thread, one hand reaching up to finger the thick rope of the golden torc that ringed his neck. His other hand, rested upon the silver hilt of the longsword that hung at his side.

The chieftain and his men peered into the mist and rain, down the village road, waiting for the arrival of the messenger.

“They should be here by now,” one of the bodyguards said.

Argentocoxus nodded to the other group standing out in the rain. He knew the villagers were watching him from the cracked shutters of their homes, waiting to see what he would do.

The bodyguard strode out to where three Romans knelt in the middle of the road, facing into the mist. Their hands were bound behind their backs, their mouths gagged with oily rags that made the bile in their throats rise. They dared not move, for the spears held by the enemy warriors behind them would plunge into the backs of their necks before they twitched a muscle.

The chieftain’s bodyguard removed the gag from the first Roman’s mouth and took his hair roughly in his tattooed fist, a short blade at his throat. “You said he was coming! That he wanted to talk!”

The Roman looked up at the warrior’s face, the braided, drooping moustache dripping with rainwater onto his face. “He does want to talk. He was right behind us until your men attacked,” the Roman growled. “He wants to-”

“Here they are!” the warrior behind the Roman said suddenly.

The bodyguard turned to see four warriors coming toward them, their blades drawn on a single Roman in their midst. He had a sack over his head, and his wrists were bound, but he walked with his head held high.

The bodyguard turned to look at his lord, and Argentocoxus came out into the rain with the other two men at his side. The Roman had asked for this meeting. Now they would see what he wanted. Just before they arrived before him, he glanced back at the roundhouse where he had been standing, to see the open door and darkness within. The situation made him uncomfortable, but he wanted to see where it would lead.

The group arrived and the four warriors pushed the Roman to his knees before Argentocoxus.

“Remove his hood,” the chieftain said.

One of the men ripped it free and there, looking up at Argentocoxus, was Marcus Claudius Picus.

“Good evening, Argentocoxus,” Claudius said, his eyes darting to his three men kneeling before him. “I see you’ve met my men.”

“You abandoned them quite easily, Claudius,” the chieftain said with disdain. “Do you do that to all your men?”

“I did not trust you. I was right.” Claudius made to stand, but was pushed back down.

Argentocoxus nodded and his men allowed the Roman to stand. “And I do not trust you, or any Roman for that matter.”

Claudius smiled. “I am perhaps the only Roman you can truly trust.” Claudius saw his men looking up at him, followed their eyes to the dark doorway of the roundhouse to his left. He looked back at Argentocoxus, and held up his bound wrists. “Do you mind?”

The chieftain eyed him warily, but nodded to one of the men who stepped forward to cut the ropes.

Claudius sighed as if bored and rubbed his wrists.

“What do you want, Claudius?” Argentocoxus asked.

“My spies tell me that the Maeatae are making plans for a large-scale assault. You wouldn’t happen to know about this, would you?”

Argentocoxus’ eyes went to the roundhouse quickly, but he shook his head. “My concern is for my people, and keeping to the truce I made with your emperor.”

“Yes…my emperor. And the shipments of silver you continue to receive,” Claudius said as he stared at the jutting hilt of the chieftain’s sword. “Severus is ill, and will not live forever.”

“So people keep saying, but he appears to live on and on, and Caracalla did not follow through on his plan,” Argentocoxus said. He remembered his conversation in the woods of Caledonia after that last battle, when Caesar Caracalla had made him promises, promises that had not been kept.

“Trust me when I say that Severus will not last much longer,” Claudius said. He eyed his kneeling men again. “Plans are in motion.”

“What plans?”

“That is not your concern. What should concern you is what I need you to do.”

“I am not your servant!” Argentocoxus said, his voice growing angry at the Roman’s arrogance.

“But you are Caesar’s, and I am his,” Claudius said. “We have a thorn in our side…several really.”

“Who?”

“The Dragon and his men.”

The chieftain balled his fists, and his mouth tightened. “He is in Britannia.”

“Yes,” Claudius responded.

“What do you want of me and my people then?”

“I want you to slaughter the Dragon and his men.”

“We tried. They are too powerful.” Argentocoxus remembered all too well the thunder of horses’ hooves and the roar of dragons upon the battlefield. His nights were riddled with dreams of blood and the massacred bodies of his warriors. It was a crisis his people had never faced before, and now they looked to him to make things right. Is this my chance? A deal with this Roman?

“If, you find an ally brave enough to face them…someone with the strength and numbers, it should be easy for you.” Claudius looked to the roundhouse and back to the chieftain.

“But the truce? If we break it, war will begin again. My people have had their fill of suffering.”

“They will suffer more if Rome remains here indefinitely,” Claudius said. “And I for one, do not want to remain here.” Even as he said it, the rainwater made him shiver beneath his cuirass. “Caesar belongs in Rome, and so do I. But the emperor’s plans, and those of the Praetorian prefect, are to remain and establish a northern capital of the empire. Is that something you want? Peace here means that Rome will stay.”

Argentocoxus was silent.

Claudius continued. “Let us make a new deal, you and I. You kill the Dragon and his men, and I will see to it that when Severus dies - and that will be soon - Caracalla will pull out of Caledonia for good.”

“A death sentence for many of my people,” Argentocoxus said.

“Freedom from Rome,” Claudius countered. “If you do not have the courage to do so, however, or don’t have an ally who is brave enough, then that is different. Perhaps we really have defeated you?”

“Enough.”

The growl that came from the roundhouse froze the blood of every Caledonian there, including the chieftain.

Claudius smiled and looked toward the doorway where two glowing eyes emerged out of the darkness.

An enormous warrior stepped out into the rain. His chest was bare and tattooed upon it was a wolf, the eyes seeming to glow in the dim light as if they were alive. He had raven-black hair that fell around his shoulders and a torc that was even thicker than the one Argentocoxus wore around his neck.

Claudius noticed the Caledonian chieftain recoil a little as the man approached them, but that he tried to keep his composure.

Argentocoxus, or any of his men, could not hide the fact that they were afraid and awed by this newcomer.

“You speak too much, Roman,” the new chieftain said. “You have a deal.”

“But-” Argentocoxus was about to protest, but one look from the enormous warrior silenced him.

The warrior approached, his blue eyes burning with a fire that surprised even Claudius. “The Caledonii may not have the stomach for another war with Rome, but the Maeatae do.”

“Ah,” Claudius said. “You are the one.”

“I am the Wolf. I am a son of the Morrigan, and I am sworn to destroy Rome and the Dragon.”

“And I don’t care,” Claudius said, smiling up at the warrior. “All I care about is the death of the Dragon, and leaving this cold, filthy island.”

The chieftain laughed, deep and cold as he stared at Claudius. He could use this Roman. If Rome pulled out of Caledonia, then he could rule as overlord of every tribe north of the Wall, and then, sweep south and push Rome out of the island once and for all. But first, he wanted war in the land where they stood, to wipe away the shame Argentocoxus had brought on the tribes, and upon the Morrigan herself.

“I will kill this Dragon. I will make him suffer,” the chieftain said, his face close to Claudius’. “But you will not tell us when. You will not dictate to us, or to me. We will bring war to your doorstep when our Gods deem it timely.”

With a speed that seemed entirely unnatural, the chieftain drew his sword and slashed it through the head of the first kneeling Roman in one stroke.

“What are you doing?” Argentocoxus cried out, his voice full of as much anger and rage as he could muster.

“I am sealing this pact with Roman blood!” the other chieftain said, as he grabbed the spear from the shocked Caledonian who had been standing behind the Roman. He then bent over, picked up that bloody, gape-eyed head with one hand, and slammed it down on the spearhead. “If you betray us, if you dare to ignore the pact the way your caesar did, then it will be your head upon a spear!”

The Maeatae chieftain growled, his entire body rising and falling calmly like the blood-loving beast that covered his body.

But Marcus Claudius Picus was not bothered by the sight of his slaughtered man. “I will do my part. You worry about doing yours, Chieftain,” he said, smirking. He began to walk away, but turned back to go to his remaining two men who knelt, looking up at him.

Without a word, Claudius spun, grabbed the sword from one of the men who had taken him prisoner and plunged it into the chest of one of his men, pulled it out and drove it into the neck of the other, leaving the blade protruding from the gasping man’s flesh.

Claudius turned calmly to face the spear points and swords levelled at him.

The chieftain of the Maeatae smiled beside the shocked Argentocoxus and his men.

Claudius wiped his hands and began to walk away. “You may keep the heads,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the mist and rain.