Horror / Tristan and Isolde, Part 4-2, Fabian and the Druid
Moving the Legion from Gall to Brittania was no small feat. A Legion was a small city, and we were literally sailing that small city across the channel. It was a hard thing for some of the soldiers, many had taken women of Gaul for substitute wives and they had children. There were many sad goodbyes, and few of the families would ever be re-united. But soldiers were soldiers, and they knew their duty. They were Romans first and family men second.
I was miserably seasick during the crossing. Tristan brought me some heated wine and some bread, and told me to not look at the horizon. That seemed to help and I spent the days it took us to cross on deck. The galley slaves smelled miserable and my nausea started to return, but we were almost to Brittania and I made my mind up not to be sick. If I’d given in, though, I would have been in good company. Many men were sick from the moment we shoved off until we made landing in Brittania.
The London you know is a major city now, but when I came there it was no more than a very large army camp. We were reinforcing the troops that were there, for some of the tribes had taken to raiding and burning Roman homes and farmsteads. They had even grown so bold as to attack the fort, and the walls were constantly being re-built.
As a Roman, this all seemed very primitive to me. Brittania seemed cold and damp and there were forests all around. I was used to a cosmopolitan city, and hot, dry, weather, and I wrapped myself in woolen cloaks and leggings to stay warm. My uncle laughed at me, but he had been through the same thing himself. I was his little nephew from the city who had not yet learned to tolerate the adverse conditions I faced. That did not prevent his comrades from laughing at me, though. I knew if I was going to be a soldier, I was going to have to learn to put up with a soldier’s life.
One day there was great excitement at the fort. A group of druids had been found performing a human sacrifice. The Romans pursued the druids without mercy; they were a major threat to stability amongst the population. When unrest and discontent stirred among the Britons, you could find a druid at the heart of it. They were avowed enemies of the occupying Romans and were determined to see us driven out. They would sacrifice captured Roman soldiers that had the misfortune to fall into their hands, and would leave the body as a warning.
I saw Tristan looking at them. I did not know what I expected, but he had a look of hatred on his face that almost scared me. He guided me away from the wall, saying, “This is a sight you need not see. These are evil men, and they might not your resemblance to you uncle. Sometimes walls do not hold these men, they have allies even among our men. Do not be too comfortable and think that we are secure here, because we are not. I don’t want to find you lying on an altar with your throat cut.”
I turned and looked anyway. The old druid was looking around, hatred in his eyes for the Roman soldiers who lead him by a rope looped around his neck, the his acolytes following in a chain. He looked up and spied Tristan and began shouting at him, fighting the soldiers who held him in an attempt to free himself. The rope tightened as he struggled, and his shoulders slumped as he gave up the fight.
Suddenly he saw me, and started shouting words at me I did not understand. The look on his face had the same madness Tristan aroused in him. I did not know what this meant, but I became very afraid of the old man.
“What was that?” I asked. The old druid had targeted Tristan and me, but no one else. It was like he knew him, knew something about him, but what? This was my uncle’s dearest friend and aide-de-camp, a Gaul loyal to the Legion. I could see no reason for the old man’s rantings. Maybe he hated him because he had renounced his Gallic roots and now served with the Romans.
Tristan all but dragged me down to my mess, and told me I was to go nowhere, unless I was with him or my uncle. He repeated this to my company’s commander before he left, and I found myself confined to my barracks.
The next morning, the old druid had been found dead in his cell, his body drained of blood. His throat had been cut, but there was no blood on the cell floor. My uncle puzzled over what happened, but Tristan’s only words were, “We are well rid of him. He would have caused nothing but trouble. Bury his body in the woods and forget about him. Without him, his acolytes will be leaderless and will cause us less grief. We can hang them and forget them.” My uncle seemed to agree with this, and the matter was forgotten.
My uncle and Tristan had made the mistake of being too complacent. They had not taken into account that something perhaps was being planned. Fortunately, a member of the Dumnoni tribe demanded entrance to the fort, and was brought to my uncle. He was far from his home and his people, and bore little love for the tribes that lived around Londoninium. His father was a Roman soldier, somewhere. He’d never know him.
He had heard rumors that the fort was to be attacked in revenge for the seizing the Druids. Exactly when, he did not know, but it would take place shortly after the full moon. He pleaded with my uncle to keep watch and send out spies. The man the soldiers had taken had been important, and the forest dwellers sought revenge for the loss of their high priest.
The man remained in the fort. It was his desire to join the Legion and my uncle was willing to accommodate him. The Britons who had come over the Romans were valuable assets, and their knowledge of native languages made them more valuable.
Another acolyte died that night. When he was found, his skin was bone white. My uncle decided to leave his body in the cell for a few days so that his comrades would not know another of their own had died.
An attack came first thing in the morning. The Britons fought nearly naked and limed their hair back in clumps, bodies covered in blue tattoos. Their cries and howls were designed to intimidate their enemies. But they had not reckoned with the well disciplined Roman army and we fought back wave after wave of attacks, until they tired of losing their men. Just as they were about to turn and retreat, Tristan appeared, carrying the body of the acolyte. He threw it over the fortress wall, right into the midst of our attackers. We cheered at their reaction of shock and dismay.
Just as I turned to try to find my uncle, a stone hit my head. Whoever had thrown it was skilled with the sling, and only luck had kept it from my forehead or temple. But it did hit the back of my head, and the last thing I saw was Tristan learning over me.
I woke in the infirmary with our other wounded soldiers. Tristan was keeping watch over me. “You were very lucky,” he said, “Never turn away from your attackers. You might have avoided that stone.”
“What happened?” My head ached fearfully, but I wanted to know how we had fared.
“There were more than enough arrows to take care of a small band of Britons. We buried their bodies in a pit. We lost only a few men, but the losses were dear. As for your, you have earned yourself a furlough that you do not really deserve, but we want you healthy when you return. Listen to the doctor and do not leave the bed until he says you are ready. I will go back to your uncle and tell him that his foolish nephew will live. I imagine he will give a small feast in thanks when you have recovered.” He grinned and left me.
Though my head was aching, something was bothering me. Tristan looked different. He was still pale, but there was more color to his skin than before, and his lips had lost their bloodless look. If the difference had not seemed so striking, I would not have noticed it.
It was not my imagination, or the bump on the back of my head. Tristan had effected a transformation and looked more like the other of the Galli in the Legion. The difference was sinister, but, mysteriously, he was not. He was a loyal soldier, a kind man, and a good friend to my uncle.
This was not the first time, I realized with horror. He had had the same look when the Druid was found dead—and bloodless. Tristan’s color had changed then, too, only I had been too foolish to notice it. This was too much of an enigma for me. I just wanted to be a soldier—I did not want to deal with magic and mysteries.
In the mean time, I took shameless advantage of my position. It was several days before I was steady on my feet, and my head ached, but I was eager to be out of bed. As soon as I could walk, and could be counted on not to faint, I was released to my barracks. If I took longer to return to duty than another soldier might, it was understood. I was not allowed much as regards the leeway of privilege, but I was the nephew of the Legatus. It was taken for granted that special consideration was due me.
One day I took off on my horse to explore—something that I had had no chance to do. I rode at a gentle gait through meadowlands, then giving in to curiosity, I entered the woods.
This was not a wise decision—I could be attacked at any moment. But the old oaks, older than any could say, were beautiful. Compared to Rome, Brittania and Gaul were full of lush green foliage. We had no such trees in Rome. I rode through the forest, caught up in its spell, unwilling to leave the cool greenery.
I wasn’t paying attention when a mist started to obscure my path, and soon also my sight. It couldn’t be that late in the day, but I tried to turn my horse to head back the other way, but he refused. No matter how many times I turned his head, or kicked his sides, he would go neither backwards nor forwards.
I dismounted, with the intention of turning him, when I felt something strike me. Something had hold of me, pulling my head to the side, and I felt something like fangs sinking into my neck, while whoever or whatever it was kept an iron grip on me.
I swore that I could feel my blood leave my body and enter this creature’s. I began to grow weak and my sight began to fade and I said a prayer to say goodbye to all whom I loved. I collapsed to my knees and gave myself over to Hades, when I heard a thumping sound I thought was the beating of my heart.
Something ripped the creature off my neck, its fangs leaving deep scratches. Then I heard a voice saying, “Drink” and a wrist was held to my mouth. I held on and began to drink, and as I did, I felt my strength return to me.
I looked up to see who my savior was, and Tristan was standing over me. “You little fool, I told you to stay away from the groves. I’ll have to take care of you now, there’s a lot you have to learn if you wish to continue to fool your uncle.
“What do you mean” I asked. My head felt fuzzy, nothing about this felt real. I didn’t truly understand what had happened to me.
“Fabi, you’ve become what I am. I tried to stop you from going out today, but I wasn’t in time. Don’t worry. I’ll always be there. It wasn’t so many years ago that it happened to me. Just remember, when times seem dark, you are still the man you were and always will be. We were both victims of forces beyond our control. Just for now, remember your uncle must never know what has happened.”
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This 185 word review has not been unlocked.
Good job on the second installment. I like the way F. is developed as a soldier in a foreign land and how typical it is for the invader to fail to learn the language of the invaded. This sets up unreliability on the part of F. who misses the significance of many local customs and cultural realities including the significance of the bloodless Druids that is not lost upon either Tristan or the howling Brittons. In terms of plot and character development, I have little to offer in the way of criticism. Well done. You also have a minimum of descricption re: the setting yet it is not difficult to picture ancient Londonium or the wet, foggy climate that existed even then. That, too, is a strong point. There are, however, many grammatical errors--mostly misspelling things a spell-check won’t catch--pronoun agreement and number and the like. The drudge work of story-telling, I guess. Good intro of the horror element toward the end.
On the rating system, it’s a bit “iffy”. I can take a stab at talent and clarity, guess wildly at publishibilty and absolutely lie to you about the best horror on Urbis (because I haven’t read ALL the horror on Urbis). I wouldn’t rely too much on the numeric rating system. Good luck with this piece. It’s pretty good so far.
Nitpicker’s list:
First sentence “Gall” should be “Gaul”.
“As a Roman, this all seemed very primitive to me. Brittania seemed cold and damp…” Though a small point, eliminating “seemed” in passages such as this strengthens the narration because the narrative voice is more forceful and authoritative. This is particularly true in first person narration.
“The Romans pursued the druids…” Wouldn’t it be more likely that F. would say something like “we pursued” or ‘we Romans pursued”? ”The Romans” strkes me as an unnecessary distancing that F. hasn’t done before.
“These are evil men, and they might not your resemblance…” “note” your resemblance?
”...the his acolytes following…” the or his? And following “in a chain” is, I think, an unfortunate description. I know what you mean but the first response to “in a chain” is of captivity at this point and not of linkage.
”...he had renounced his Gallic root…” Gaelic?
“He’d never know him.” Known? I think I’ll stop noting the minor grammatical errors to save you credits but this piece needs an editing with such housekeeping in mind.
When F. is attacked by the vampire in the grove, he sees no one and is blindsided but he feels something like “fangs” entering his neck and when the creature is torn away he feels “fangs” scraping across his skin. My problem with this is that F. the current narrator knows exactly what fangs are in this case but F. the tourist/soldier wouldn’t have a clue would he? This creates a stumbling point for me in an otherwise smooth narration.
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