Masters of Rome by Robert Fabbri Page B

troopers swerved left and right out of the Hamians’ line of sight the eastern archers let fly a volley of shocking, close-range intensity. The front two ranks shot directly at the Britons racing through the rend in the Roman formation, drilling their shafts deep into the lead warriors, twisting them to the ground, long hair wrapping around agonised faces, whilst the rear two ranks aimed high; the second low-trajectory volley from the front ranks hit as their arrows poured down from above to bring the surge to an abrupt halt as if it had slammed into an unseen wall. A third and fourth volley, each with fewer than five heartbeats between them, beat the Britons back as if the wall itself was shunting forward, leaving only the dead behind it. Suffering grievous losses both from the head-on barrage and the metal-tipped hail pelting from the sky the warriors turned to flee, leaving the ground carpeted with their dead.
    But their retreat exposed a new threat, a threat that made the blood run cold in all who beheld it. A dozen druids were revealed as the last of the warriors escaped to the safety of their shield-wall; they stood motionless, chanting, unheard above the ringing resonance of battle. But it was not their presence thatchilled the heart, nor was it the fact that despite the continued volleys of the Hamians not one fletched missile touched the softly glowing figures; it was another presence, a presence unseen but not unfelt, a presence that surrounded them, protected them and exuded an air of malevolence that caused despair to well up within all who suffered it.
    Vespasian gasped as if the air was in short supply as he gazed upon what he could not comprehend. Verica’s words telling him of the druids while sailing back from the Isle of Vectis almost two years previously came back to him:
    â€˜ When my people came to this island – the bards deem it to be about twenty-five generations ago – the people we supplanted worshipped different gods; they had built great henges in their honour, ancient beyond reckoning. The druids dedicated these places to our gods but still the presence and power of some of the island’s gods persisted and they demanded worship. The druids took on that responsibility and uncovered their dark secrets and rituals; they keep the knowledge to themselves and they’re welcome to it; but what I know of it fills me with dread .’
    Was this then that power that the old King had spoken of? That ‘ cold power that cannot be used for good ’?
    For a few moments there was an audible lull in the fighting as the malice emanating from the eerie company pierced the consciousness of both Roman and Briton. The Hamians’ archery tailed off; the druids began to move forward.
    Vespasian roused himself from the dread-induced paralysis. If the power that the druids wielded was allowed to carry all before them then the line would be split asunder and the II Augusta would soon cease to exist. He kicked his reluctant horse onward, heading directly for the luminous group of priests as they slowly moved forward protected by an invisible aura; behind them the Britons had started to advance again.
    Suppressing the horror welling up inside him, Vespasian screamed incoherently, brandishing his sword as he closed on the druids; such was their concentration on their incantation that they took no notice of the oncoming threat. He urged on his increasingly unwilling mount, ready to swipe the head from thelead druid’s shoulders, but when he pulled his arm back for the killing blow he felt himself suddenly rise as if he had been hauled out of the saddle by an unseen hand from above. His horse reared, screeching; it toppled backwards as if violently shoved and Vespasian flew from its back. He landed with spine-jarring force amongst the dead; the air was pushed from his lungs and his eyes lost focus. As his vision cleared he saw the druids coming on in the glow of their own luminescence and