Читать книгу Legions of the Eagle (Henry Treece) (Literary Thoughts Edition) - Henry Treece - Страница 7

The journey back home was not a long one, but Gwydion did not feel that he wanted to return to his bed straightway. There was too much to think about; he was sure that he would never sleep if he went home immediately. So he turned away from the path, and took a route that led him out towards the woods where he and Math had been hunting earlier in the day. Near the spot where he had stood to throw the knife in among the trees, Gwydion stopped and sat down on a flat stone, to think about the gallant scenes he had witnessed in the council chamber. He recalled the king, lolling in his carved oaken chair, a cow's horn full of mead in one hand and his other bejewelled hand caressing the head of his favourite greyhound which was always given a place beside the throne. He recalled his own father, strutting up and down, his face red with pride and wine, his words bold and brave, his arms making arcs of light in the torchlit hall as he swung them about, to emphasise his words.... Gwydion sighed with admiration for such things, for he was a true boy of the Belgae, a natural warrior, and he dreamed of the day when he would pass the initiation ceremonies and be allowed to ride with the king on a grey horse like the one his father rode. Then they would give him a battle-name, like "War Eagle," or "Wolf," or, if his father was still living, they might call him "Young Badger," for his father was "The Badger."

As Gwydion thought of this his heart was filled with pleasure, until he thought of Math, suddenly. Math could never be his friend then, for a lord could not ride with a mere slave. Gwydion's pride was stilled then and he half-turned towards the wood, his eyes a little moist, for he loved his friend, Math, as dearly as he loved Bel, and perhaps more. As he turned, his heart started up into his throat violently and he felt a great shudder run through his body. A man was sitting within the shadow of the wood, quite still, and watching him with bright, unwinking eyes.

Just then a shaft of moonlight struck inward through the foliage of the wood and Gwydion saw for an instant what the man looked like. His face was a dark brown, darker than Math's, and his eyes were as piercing as those of a hawk. His long nose was hooked and his lips curled in a cruel smile below the hanging moustaches that almost reached his chest. In his ears he wore dangling ornaments, and on his head towered a high conical hat of sheepskin, in which was stuck a heron's feather. His broad body was clothed with brightly coloured animal skins, held round the waist with a broad studded belt, into which was thrust a variety of knives such as the Belgic boy had never seen before. Yet what attracted Gwydion's attention more than anything else was the great bow which was slung over the stranger's shoulder. It was exactly like that which Math had flung away, but of course much longer and stronger. A wide sheaf of arrows lay across his knees, their feathered ends coloured red.

Gwydion saw all this in a flash, and then the moon withdrew her light, and Gwydion shook with fear as he heard the man moving towards him. At first, the boy was rooted to the spot, but as the man came out from the dark shadows, he was able to jump to his feet and begin to run in fear.

When he was twenty yards or more away from the wood, Gwydion looked back over his shoulder. The man had stopped at the edge of the wood and seemed to be laughing and calling something. Gwydion listened, but could not make out what it was. The language he was using was certainly not any sort of Celtic, nor was it Latin, for Gwydion had been to school in Camulodunum and had had a Roman teacher who had taught him from Caesar's book about the war in Gaul. This was something different, something the like of which he had never heard before.

Then a fearsome thought struck him. This must be a god o the woods, and the language he was speaking must be the language of the gods! Yes, that was it—this was a warning from the gods that Math, or Gwydion, or both, had done wrong! This god had come to punish them!

Gwydion began to run frantically towards the house on the hill; never looking back after that realisation had come to him. Yet, when he was half-way there, he stopped, and another thought struck him. If this was a messenger of the gods, why hadn't he put an arrow to that great bow and shot it at Gwydion? Or, easier still, why had he not drawn one of those long knives and ... Gwydion shuddered at the awful thought. Then he became calmer. No, this god must be a kindly one. He must have come down to say that their guilt was forgiven, that their sacrifice of the bow and the knife had been sufficient to pay for the dead hare. Gwydion's mouth began to smile. He felt easier in his mind now and turned back, to look towards the wood. In the silver moonlight, he saw the man, but this time he was seated on a horse, a small shaggy pony rather than the sort of tall charger with which the boy was familiar; and he was waving something above his head. What was it? It looked like a creature of some sort. Yes, it was a hare, and he was waving it by the hind-feet, as though he were wishing Gwydion goodbye.

The boy's legs suddenly felt very weak, for he had been through much excitement since he had stolen from his bed that night. He began to make his way slowly to the house, still a little afraid, but now determined not to say a word about this strange encounter, lest the gods should be displeased a second time, and should take Bel from him.