Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

"They may have no fight left in them. They don't look too belligerent right now."

"Take them as slaves, then."

"To Camulod? We have no slaves, and no need of them. Slaves are a sickness. Have the trumpeters get me attention." Murder is a sickness, too, my mind was telling me, and killing these men would be murder. Even if they chose to fight, they were dead before they started. I wondered how many had got out on the other side of the woods and how they were faring.

A single trumpet blast gave me every man's attention. I raised my voice. "On the next signal, you will form up on me and make a circle, open on the bogs. These men will enter the circle. I want it one man deep. If they choose to fight, every second man from my left and right will immediately form up in three arrowhead formations, one behind me, one behind Lieutenant Cato and one behind Lieutenant Maripo. Those men will identify themselves now." Amid the stir of interest as the troopers counted themselves off from my left and right, I turned my horse around, telling Cato and Maripo to come with me, and rode back until I was a good seventy paces from the point where the road emerged from the bog onto firm ground. I nodded to the trumpeter and another blast started my men forming around me as I had ordered.

"Maripo," I said, "I want you over to my right there, half-way from me to the end of the line. Take position thirty paces back from the circle. Cato, you do the same on my left." I nodded to the trumpeter again and another blast brought all attention back to me. I raised my voice again. "Once the arrowheads have formed, two more blasts will be the signal for those still left in the circle to break to the rear immediately and form up behind my arrow. I want a block formation there, four ranks of fifty. Once the block is formed, I will move my formation to the right, clearing the ground, is that clear?" I saw heads nodding. They understood me. I raised my voice even higher. "I want to intimidate these people, but not to fight them unless we have to. If any of them try to attack a section of the circle while the arrowheads are being formed, that section will fall back and try to avoid them without allowing them to escape. Remember they are on foot. They will have to run to you.

"We will wait here for them. No talking. No movement. Let them see our discipline." I turned to the trooper who sat behind me on my right, bearing my new standard. "Come with me." I kicked my horse forward into the forefront of the circle and sat there, waiting, for I could see activity among the group at the head of the knot of men on the roadway. Eventually an enormous man who, I could see from even this far away, towered head and shoulders above his fellows, stepped forward and began to advance purposefully towards me. His companions fell in behind him and I sat there and watched them approach.

The rogue walked proudly, and as he drew closer I could see that he was clean-shaven, which surprised me, for those of his people I had encountered before had all worn full beards or luxuriant moustaches. As he drew nearer still, however, I was shocked to see the reason for his lack of facial hair. He was only a boy! A huge boy, but still a mere stripling in age. He had a barbaric splendour about him, too, in a tunic of yellow, bordered with red, a breastplate of bronze on his massive chest and fur leggings tied around his thick calves. He wore an armlet of beaten gold on his left arm above the wrist, and the gold tore of a Celtic chief about his neck. A longish sword hung from a belt slung crosswise from his right shoulder.

When he reached the edge of the bog between the furthest points of the horns of my ring of men, he stopped and looked around the ring from left to right, all the way, before allowing his eyes to return to me. His face held no expression. The men behind him had stopped when he did. None of them moved a muscle. To my right a horse snorted loudly and stomped, fly-bitten. The silence stretched, and then he reached behind him and unslung a battle axe. He swung it gently in his right hand and caught the shaft in his left, just behind the head. He moved forward again, stopping about twelve paces in front of me while his men fanned out behind him, forming a solid half-circle facing my own. He had obviously issued his orders before approaching. His eyes had not left mine.

"So," he said. "It is time for us all to die, it seems." His eyes were filled with scorn as he looked from me around the circle of my men. "You'll find us not too shy about taking company with us."

I realized with surprise that he spoke in his own tongue and that I understood him easily. Some of his words were pronounced differently, the intonation was different, but the basic language was the same as that of Uric's people. I chose my next words carefully and spoke back to him in his own tongue. "If you wish to die, we can accommodate you quickly," I said. "But .ask yourself first if it is really necessary."

His jaw dropped in astonishment. It was obvious that he had been talking to himself before.

"How does a Roman turd like you come to speak the Tongue of Kings?"

"The Tongue of Kings? The Romans call it the tongue of the Outlanders, that I know. But we are not Romans."

His brow creased momentarily and his eyes flickered uncertainly over my armour and trappings. "Not Romans? What does that mean? You dress like Romans. You act like Romans. Who are you, then,' if you are not Romans?"

I gripped the shaft of my long spear and reined my horse in tightly as it tried to move in protest at being bitten by a fly. "We are the owners of this land," I said. "And you are raiders. We may dress like Romans and we certainly fight like Romans, but we are Britons, concerned only with defending our homes, our people and our lands against the likes of you, invaders from beyond the seas."

He threw his head up haughtily. "Invaders, is it?"

I shrugged. "Invaders, pirates, raiders—it makes no difference. You do not belong here and you come in war so, as you said, it is time for you to die."

He fell into a crouch and his men tensed behind him. "Come and kill us then, if you can."

I smiled down at him. "Oh, we can. Be in no doubt of that." I started to raise my arm to give the signal to engage, but he stopped me.

"Wait!"

I dropped my arm. "Well?"

He licked his lips and looked around my men again. All of their eyes were on me. 'Take us as prisoners!"

In spite of myself I had to grin, admiring the fellow's gall. "Prisoners? Three hundred of you? You can't be serious! What would we do with three hundred prisoners? Spend the rest of our lives looking after you and waiting for you to rise up and attempt escape?" I shook my head. "No, that won't do at all, I think—"

He broke in, "You will not have to keep us long. King Lot will buy us free."

Now I laughed aloud. "Lot? King Lot? Has the caterpillar sprouted beauteous wings? King Lot!" I stopped laughing and shook my head. "You are twice mad, my giant fellow. Mad to think that animal would care whether you live or die, and mad again to think we'd sell you to him to let him use you against us a second time."

When next the young man spoke, there was urgency and conviction in his words. "He will buy us free, I swear it! He has to! He has no other choice."

That gave me pause. I gentled my horse again and looked the giant straight in the eye. "You intrigue me. Lot, from the little I know of him, will always have other choices. But speak on. Tell me what you mean."

He licked his lips again and let the head of his battle axe fall to the ground, straightening from his crouch as he did so. "I am Donuil, High Prince of the people the Romans call the Scotii. My father Athol is Ard Righ, the High King. My sister Ygraine is to be wife to Lot of Cornwall, and alliance has been made between Lot and my father: he aids us in our wars; we aid him in his. This has been our first fight on his behalf."