Age of Iron (51 page)

“And now?”

“Let’s go back to your sand forts. What if you’d built them on rock, out of boulders?”

“They’d have been knocked over by the waves.”

“Bigger boulders.”

The girl pouted and Zadar continued.

“A boulder fort would stand, and remain when the tide retreated. And that, Sabina, is what I am doing. I am making Maidun and the land around it into a fort of boulders. The Romans will come, they will wash around and through us, but we will stand. When they go, the British people will still be here.”

“What about everyone who isn’t in your boulder fort?”

“They are like the bees that die so that the queen bee and the hive live on.”

“The rest of Britain suffers so that Maidun can thrive?”

“Yes.”

“That’s unfair.”

“It’s not. The best come to Maidun, more and more every day. They are welcome. It is only the weak, the unwell and the stupid who suffer.”

“But those people are just as important. Everyone is as important as each other.”

Zadar looked genuinely amused. “Do you really think that, Sabina?”

“Yes.”

“Who
have
you been talking to? The idea that all people are equal is for wool-headed druids who are given everything they need and don’t see or live in the real world. Compare an oak tree to a dandelion. They’re both plants but they are hardly equal. There is that much difference, and more, between people. Do you know why the best hunting dogs are from Britain?”

“No.”

“We take the strongest and most intelligent dogs and breed them with each other. The lesser ones we kill.”

“But that doesn’t mean the lesser ones have any less value.”

“It means exactly that. What
value
is a small, weak hunting dog? And humans are just animals, like dogs. It is no more difficult to separate the weak from the strong, the useless from the useful. If we’re going to become stronger as a people, in order to protect ourselves from this stronger breed called the Romans, we cannot support the weak. This is not a new idea. A Greek druid called Aristotle said centuries ago that the greatest inequality comes from trying to make unequal things equal. If Maidun accommodated the weak and ineffectual from Barton and places like it, we might well move towards some sort of equality, but only by weakening the strong. We’d become less as a people and ripe to become an inferior race under the superior Romans. I’m amazed that the self-evidence of this evades you. I thought you were better than the smug, unaware, ideology-stuffed blowhards they produce in places like the Island of Angels.”

“A king isn’t a god to decide who is weak and strong. Why are so many people sad, sick and dying? Why does everyone hate you if what you’re doing is right?”

“Sabina, as you’ll discover, a king must be like a parent to his people, not a lover. My duty isn’t to be
liked
. My role is to make us all stronger, to provide an environment in which we can thrive. I am a great king because, for the greater good, for the future of our people, I make decisions, force changes and enforce rules that go against the people’s will but are good for them. I will be remembered for ever as the great king who saved the land of Britain.”

“You’ll be remembered for ever as a smelly badger’s dick!”

Zadar’s already bulging eyes widened. “Spring, you’ve been with weak people and their bleatings for too long. You have been blinded. Everyone who follows me – everyone – has more because they follow me.”

“What about everyone else?”

“They don’t matter.”

“But they do! You say it’s all because the Romans are coming, but you’ll destroy your stupid boulder fort on the sand by making everybody Roman before they even get here. Coins are a Roman thing. I saw a town full of people in togas because of you. And why the Roman names?
I’ve
got a Roman name.”

“Those are all surface things. We remain British inside. The Romans will leave Maidun alone, but only if we convince them that they
can
leave us alone. They must think that we are already part of their empire. We’ll continue to send them slaves, to use Roman names and dress like Romans. We’ll look Roman but we’ll stay British. We’ll keep our stories and our gods. We will survive.”

Spring stared at her father, her fists clenched at her sides. Tears bulged in her eyes, then burst to flow down her cheeks. “Badgers’ balls!” she yelled. “Big sweaty itchy badgers’ balls! You’re wrong! We should be helping everybody, not just ourselves! The strong help the weak.
That
is how it should be! I
know
that is how it should be!” The girl stormed away.

“Chamanca!” Zadar called.

The Iberian melted out of the shadows. Elliax had had no idea she’d been near. She caught the fleeing girl like a hawk grabbing a mouse. Holding her by the shoulders, she marched her back to Zadar.

“I’m sorry, Sabina,” said Zadar, looking a long way from sorry. “You cannot go. You will be a danger to me.”

“Like Lowa?”

“I hope you’d be a much greater danger than the little archer woman.”

“So you’re going to kill me?”

“No. You’re my daughter. I’m going to keep you by my side. You’ll soon see the reality of the world and come to agree with me.”

“I’m sure I won’t. And do you know what?”

“What?”

“A squirrel could beat a bear if it jumped down its throat and choked it.”

T
he crowd’s cheers were higher-pitched today, and they sounded less lascivious, more enthusiastic. Lowa blinked in the afternoon light. The arena’s seating was full, as it had been the day before, but there were many more women and fewer men. That explained the change in the noise they were making, but posed a new question. Why so many women?

Tadman was standing in the centre of the ring, arms raised, the short spear from the day before in one hand. In the other was a wooden carving of a fish. Spotting Lowa, the crowd began to shout: “Lowa! Lowa!” It wasn’t a bad feeling, several thousand people shouting one’s name. She felt a small smile creep onto her lips and stifled it. She had no right to be proud. She’d executed five Mearholders and a few semi-capable bandit types yesterday, all for Zadar. Despite everything, she was still killing innocents at his behest.

She looked to Zadar’s seat. He wasn’t there. Drustan had taken his spot, with that staff he’d affected to carry propped up behind him. Atlas sat next to him, then Carden. No sign of Anwen. The three men were talking quietly to each other, not looking at her.

“Today is animal day!” Tadman shouted. The crowd cheered. “What will we give Lowa to fight with? Spear?” Tadman waved the spear. “Or … Fish?” He waggled the wooden fish.

A deep-voiced chant started: “Fish! Fish! Fish!” but a higher-pitched counter-chant: “Spear! Spear! Spear!” overwhelmed it.

“Silence!” shouted Tadman. “I think you said … Fish!”

There were cheers and boos.

Tadman chucked the fish to Lowa. She picked it up. It was solidly carved from wood, about half a pace long. Actually not that bad a weapon. She also had the chain attached to her ankle. It depended on what they sent at her, but the chain might be useful too.

When she looked up again, Tadman was climbing a ladder out of the ring. He pulled the ladder up after him and stood on the ring’s side “Are you ready, Lowa?”

A small cheer.

“Come here and you’ll find out!”

A huge cheer.

Tadman smiled. “Open gate one!”

Lowa heard bolts shift. She turned.

A large bear lumbered out and spun round, hollering hatred at whoever had just jabbed it out of its cage. The door swung shut. The bear surveyed the baying crowd and roared again. Probably, thought Lowa, angry from lack of food. It would have been starved for long enough to make it ravenous but not long enough to weaken it.

The chain would be no use against a raging bear fifteen times her weight. She looked at the wooden fish in her hand, then at the bear. It had seen her. It was looking at her, nose out, sniffing. Bears, they all said, ate your face first, then your liver, maybe while you were still alive but with a wet bubbling hole where your face used to be. And she had a wooden fish.

The bear took a step towards her and growled, showing its teeth.

She hefted the fish from hand to hand. Could she jam it in the bear’s mouth? Who was she kidding? She was fucked.

A flash caught her eye. A short iron sword landed on the arena floor a few paces away. She picked it up and looked into the crowd for its source. Atlas, sitting between Carden and Drustan, nodded back at her.

The bear charged.

“I
can make you some eggs or something?”

“Um?”

“To go with your cider. It’ll make you feel better?”

Dug looked down at the little barmaid. She really was tiny. Not a dwarf with a disproportionately large head, more like a woman who’d shrunk in the rain, or a child with an adult’s face and body. Quite a nice body. What was it about hangovers? It felt like bright light would make him vomit, but he was overrun by a base, shag-anyone horniness that the most dedicated of sex pests would consider a little over the top.

“You’re kind, hen, but just the cider will do,” he managed. “Maybe in a few pints’ time I’ll have the eggs.”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

“Is it?” Dug searched his memory … Nope, yesterday had gone. “Aye, well, I agree with me.” He was still well enough to speak, but he knew the hangover would really kick in if he delayed any longer.

“What’s the damage for yesterday, by the way?”

“You didn’t fight last night and you’re all paid up for the night before. It looked like you were going to start something at one point, but you all ended up singing together. Remember?”

“Aye,” he lied.

“Hold the cider,” said an educated young man’s voice that Dug knew and disliked. He turned slowly.

“Ragnall.”

“Dug, you’ve got to help. Zadar’s got Lowa.”

“Left you already, has she? I’m sure they’ll make a lovely couple. Sorry for your loss.”

“He’s making her fight in the arena. She may be dead already. You’ve got to come. I can’t do a thing, but maybe you—”

“No, sorry, can’t help.” He looked back towards the barmaid. “Make that two ciders.”

“I don’t want any cider,” Ragnall said.

Dug didn’t look up. “And? They’re both for me.”

“He’s got Spring too.”

Dug turned. They were the same height, but somehow he towered over Ragnall.

“You let them take Spring.”

“You left Spring.”

Dug raised his fist. Ragnall cowered. Dug lowered his fist.

The light outside the tavern was like knives in his eyes. The world swung towards him like a great weight on a rope and … aye, there you go. He spun round, hunkered down against the tavern wall and quietly vomited an evil bright green liquid, tending, towards the end, to orange. Recovering, he blinked and looked around. It was quite a cloudy day, thank Toutatis. Who knew what unfiltered sunlight would have done to him? So this was what Forkton looked like. He hadn’t noticed it on the way in and he hadn’t left the tavern since.

It was like a crap version of Bladonfort, with ramshackle single-storey wooden buildings surrounding a market. There was a burned-out, jagged-timbered gap on one side. The odd clean-shaven, toga-wearing man and a few women with hair in ringlets looked with wrinkled noses at the man who’d disturbed the peace with his chundering, but most of the people staring at Dug looked British – leather-clad, hairy and unscrubbed.

Ragnall was untying a couple of horses from a rail next to a water trough.

“Out the way, I’m going to dunk my head.”

“Actually I was thinking the river might be better? You smell quite bad…”

Dug looked at Ragnall. Ragnall took a step back.

“All right. River. But I’ll do this as well or I won’t make it that far.” Dug plunged his head into the water.

N
ita returned from the arena at the head of a gang, most of whom were women. Mal didn’t like the look of it. Nita peeled away from the throng, waving goodbye and shouting that she’d see them at the tavern in a heartbeat or two.

“She was amazing.” Nita’s eyes were ablaze.

“She?” Mal asked.

“Amazing. They sent in three huge bears. I don’t know where Tadman got them from. He must’ve been saving them. They didn’t stand a chance though. It was like she was dancing. Tadman looked lost. He obviously thought it would last a while but it was over in seconds. They put on a couple of dogs after and drummed up some captives from somewhere, but they were clearly an afterthought. They went even quicker than the bears. She is
amazing
.”

“She’s still alive then?”

“They’ll never kill her.”

“Oh, they will.” That was Miller, walking into the yard.

“Were you there?”

“I was. Part of the ever dwindling male audience.”

“Men aren’t going?” asked Mal.

“They’re trying to, but there are so many women clogging the stands that it’s tricky getting seats. They love Lowa. And that’s why she’ll die tomorrow,”

“Who’s going to kill her?” asked Nita. “You?”

“Nita, I like her too. But they have to kill her. She’s become the unwitting head of a fermenting rebellion.”

“What rebellion?” asked Mal, dreading the answer.

“The one that started at the inn, with little Silver. This idea that everyone – women particularly – will be treated badly under the Romans. People are questioning Zadar crapping on everyone else and letting the Romans come. There’s a lot of talk, a lot of very dangerous talk, that we should be bringing the Murkans, Dumnonians and all the rest into line and preparing to defend ourselves.”

“But that will mean war. It’s a stupid idea.”

“Maybe not. A lot of people have been talking to merchants and sailors. It seems that Silver was right. They all say that women are treated little better than animals in Rome and all over its empire. In fact, they’re saying that, bar a few at the top, everybody in the conquered lands is treated like shit, has to bow to Roman laws, follow the Roman gods … So pretty much everyone is speaking out against Zadar. I have some sympathy. But supporting Lowa and talking in the taverns is not the way to do things. We should choose someone to talk to Zadar ask him to reassure us that we won’t take on Roman ways. As it is, people are getting excited and angry, and that’s coalescing as support for Lowa in the ring. But you should have seen her today. She killed three bears with a sword like they were lambs, then they took the sword off her and she killed two wolves with a wooden fish. After that the captives never stood a chance. She can fight like Makka’s own. Plus I daresay she’ll be filling a few men’s thoughts for the days to come, if you know what I mean. If the people are ever going to unite behind anyone to oust Zadar, it’ll be Lowa Flynn. These are dangerous times and Zadar knows it. Someone needs to talk to him before he takes it out on the people.”