faces of those who had been their friends, or at the least their comrades in war. By a gnarled oak lay the body of Atticus, the rope-walker. Around him the snow was stained with blood, and it was obvious that he alone of all the retainers had managed to inflict wounds upon the attackers.
'At least three men,' said Caradoc, as if reading the thoughts of his companions. 'But then Atticus was a tough whoreson. What do we do now, Victorinus?'
The young Roman stayed silent for a moment, scanning the horizon. 'The king,' he said softly.
'And the boy!' said Gwalchmai. 'Sweet Juno! We must find them - warn them.'
They are dead,' said Victorinus, removing his bronze helm and staring at his own distorted reflection. That is why the retainers were lured away and murdered, and why the king was invited on the stag-hunt. It was a royal stag they hunted. We must get back to Caerlyn and warn Aquila.'
'No!' shouted Caradoc. 'This treachery cannot go unpunished.'
Victorinus saw the pain in the Belgae's eyes. 'And what will you do, Caradoc? Ride back to Deicester and scale the walls to find Eldared?'
'Why not?'
'Because it would be futile - you would die before getting within a yard of Eldared. Think ahead, man. Aquila does not expect the king back until spring and he will be unprepared. The first sight he will see coming from the north is the Deicester army and any allies Eldared has gained. They will seize Eboracum and the traitor will have won.'
'But we must find the king's body,' said Gwalchmai. 'We cannot leave it for the crows; it is not fitting.'
'And suppose he is not yet dead?' offered Caradoc. 'I would never forgive myself for leaving him.'
'I know what you are feeling, and I grieve also. But I beg you to put aside emotion and trust Roman logic. Yes, we could bury the king - but what of Eboracum? You think the king's shade would thank us for putting his body before the fate of his people?'
'And if he is not dead?' persisted Caradoc.
'You know that he is,' said Victorinus sadly.
CHAPTER TWO
Thuro was lost. It had happened soon after the riders left the castle, when the dogs had picked up a scent and raced into the dark wood with the hunters thundering after them. Having no intention of galloping into the trees in hot pursuit, he had reined in the mare and followed at a sedate canter, but somewhere along the trail he had taken a wrong turn and now he could no longer even hear the hounds. The wintry sun was high overhead and Thuro was cold through to his bones . . . and he was hungry. The trees were thinner here, the ground slowly rising. The wind had dropped and Thuro halted by a frozen stream. He dismounted and cracked the ice, dipping his head and sipping the cold fresh water. His father would be so angry with him - he would say nothing, but his eyes would show his displeasure and his face would turn away from the boy.
Thuro cleared the snow from a flat rock and sat down, considering all the options open to him. He could ride on blindly in the hope of stumbling upon the hunters, or he could follow his own tracks back to the castle. It was not hard to find the right course of action with options such as these.
He mounted the mare and swung her back to the south.
A large stag stepped lightly on to the trail and stopped to watch the rider. Thuro reined in and leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle. 'Good morning, prince of the forest, are you also lost?' The stag turned contemptuously away and continued its leisurely pace across the trail and into the trees. 'You remind me of my father.' Thuro called after it.
'Do you often talk to animals?' Thuro turned in the saddle to see a young girl, dressed like a forester in green hooded woollen tunic, leather leggings and knee-high moccasins fringed with sheepskin. Her hair was short and a mixture of autumnal colours - light brown, with a hint of both gold and red. Her face was striking, without a hint of beauty and yet. ...
Thuro bowed. 'Do you live near here?' he
'At least three men,' said Caradoc, as if reading the thoughts of his companions. 'But then Atticus was a tough whoreson. What do we do now, Victorinus?'
The young Roman stayed silent for a moment, scanning the horizon. 'The king,' he said softly.
'And the boy!' said Gwalchmai. 'Sweet Juno! We must find them - warn them.'
They are dead,' said Victorinus, removing his bronze helm and staring at his own distorted reflection. That is why the retainers were lured away and murdered, and why the king was invited on the stag-hunt. It was a royal stag they hunted. We must get back to Caerlyn and warn Aquila.'
'No!' shouted Caradoc. 'This treachery cannot go unpunished.'
Victorinus saw the pain in the Belgae's eyes. 'And what will you do, Caradoc? Ride back to Deicester and scale the walls to find Eldared?'
'Why not?'
'Because it would be futile - you would die before getting within a yard of Eldared. Think ahead, man. Aquila does not expect the king back until spring and he will be unprepared. The first sight he will see coming from the north is the Deicester army and any allies Eldared has gained. They will seize Eboracum and the traitor will have won.'
'But we must find the king's body,' said Gwalchmai. 'We cannot leave it for the crows; it is not fitting.'
'And suppose he is not yet dead?' offered Caradoc. 'I would never forgive myself for leaving him.'
'I know what you are feeling, and I grieve also. But I beg you to put aside emotion and trust Roman logic. Yes, we could bury the king - but what of Eboracum? You think the king's shade would thank us for putting his body before the fate of his people?'
'And if he is not dead?' persisted Caradoc.
'You know that he is,' said Victorinus sadly.
CHAPTER TWO
Thuro was lost. It had happened soon after the riders left the castle, when the dogs had picked up a scent and raced into the dark wood with the hunters thundering after them. Having no intention of galloping into the trees in hot pursuit, he had reined in the mare and followed at a sedate canter, but somewhere along the trail he had taken a wrong turn and now he could no longer even hear the hounds. The wintry sun was high overhead and Thuro was cold through to his bones . . . and he was hungry. The trees were thinner here, the ground slowly rising. The wind had dropped and Thuro halted by a frozen stream. He dismounted and cracked the ice, dipping his head and sipping the cold fresh water. His father would be so angry with him - he would say nothing, but his eyes would show his displeasure and his face would turn away from the boy.
Thuro cleared the snow from a flat rock and sat down, considering all the options open to him. He could ride on blindly in the hope of stumbling upon the hunters, or he could follow his own tracks back to the castle. It was not hard to find the right course of action with options such as these.
He mounted the mare and swung her back to the south.
A large stag stepped lightly on to the trail and stopped to watch the rider. Thuro reined in and leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle. 'Good morning, prince of the forest, are you also lost?' The stag turned contemptuously away and continued its leisurely pace across the trail and into the trees. 'You remind me of my father.' Thuro called after it.
'Do you often talk to animals?' Thuro turned in the saddle to see a young girl, dressed like a forester in green hooded woollen tunic, leather leggings and knee-high moccasins fringed with sheepskin. Her hair was short and a mixture of autumnal colours - light brown, with a hint of both gold and red. Her face was striking, without a hint of beauty and yet. ...
Thuro bowed. 'Do you live near here?' he
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