The Dark Island

Henry Treece

Description

Battle, intrigue and Druidism followed to their brutal conclusions in the dark pre-Christian world of the Celts... Henry Treece explores a period in British history when magic and murder were matter-of-fact and the 'civilising' influence of Rome had yet to make headway against the dark and powerful undertow of the Celtic spirit. Something of a cult classic.

Sujets

• Fiction
• War
• Military

Informations

• Publié par: Rare Treasure Editions
• Date de parution: 09 novembre 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781774643785
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Dark Island
by Henry Treece

First published in 1952
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
[e-mail]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
The Dark Island
by HENRY TREECE

PLACES IN THE STORY Abus The River Humber Armorica Brittany Brigantia The lands north of the Humber Camulodun(um) Colchester Dubra Dover Eburac(um) York Evrauc An invented name, near York Gesoriacum Boulogne Lindum Lincoln Londinium London Lyonesse The drowned land of the West Mai Dun Maiden Castle Mona Anglesey Segedun(um) Wallsend in Northumberland Siluria South Wales Sorbiodun(um) Old Sarum Tamesa The River Thames Verulum Verulamium, or St. Albans Viroconium Wroxeter in Shropshire Other proper names Caradoc Caratacus Cunobelin Cunobelinus, or Cymbeline
THE DARK ISLAND
Britain is a dark island of mists and woods. It lies farther north thanany other known land, so that the sun is seldom seen there. The people ofthis island are brave in battle but fearful of their gods and priests.
Their chief god is Lugh, who is the sun; he is so powerful that his namemay not even be mentioned by believers. He lives in the mistletoe and hisshrine is the oak. His priests are the Tree-men, or Druids, who cut thesacred mistletoe at full moon with their golden knives. They are the law-makersand the teachers, the poets and the physicians. They speak Lugh’swords for him, and then even the kings, of whom there are many in Britain,are afraid.
The animals of this island are like those of other countries west of Rome,but with this difference that they are all hairy creatures; the dog, thewild-cat, the long-horned cattle and the badger. Some of them, such as thehen and the hare, are sacred and may not easily be killed. All these animals,together with such birds as the eagle, the owl and the hawk, give theirnames to the Brotherhoods which are so loved by these Britons.
The men of this island are not of one sort; some are dark, others yellow,and then there are the red ones. They have all come to the island in boatsat different times; but once there, they all fall under the spell of the greatstones. In this, as in the blue rank marks which they make upon theirforeheads, they resemble the people of the East; the men of the rising sunand the men of the setting sun.
Arminius Agricola, Ambassador to Camulodunum
A.D. 25–A.D. 30
PROLOGUE
A.D. 30
T he military attaché’s voice cut, harsh and unfriendly,across the great thatched and timbered hall. “By Jupiterand his seven-headed dog, but I can show you a sort of magic tobeat that!”
Heavy with the native mead, he clattered and stumbled throughthe peat-smoke towards the log-fire in the centre of the hall, thesilver bracelets at his wrists making gleaming arcs in the firelightas he swung his long arms about drunkenly. He was a short man,almost as broad as he was high, bull-necked, and bow-legged frommuch riding, swarthy as an African, with curling black hair andbright Spanish eyes, an ex-centurion, risen from the ranks, whosecoloured ribbons, hanging from the shoulders of his body-armour,proclaimed the service as a soldier in India, Scythia andGermany that lay behind him.
“Damn me, but I’ve seen a one-eyed Russian who could show athing or two to your wizards! This stuff is only fit to trick you blue-faced,sheep-eating mist dwellers! By God, but it wouldn’t do forRome! We like real entertainment there, I can tell you!”
He laughed loudly and stupidly as he swayed on his feet by thefire. His grotesque, dwarfish shadow leapt and pirouetted againstthe heavy skin hangings on the walls, and for a moment there wascold silence in the hall.
The tribal leaders, magnificent in their long tartan cloaks andgold gorgets, suddenly stopped talking and laughing and drinking.They stared in amazement at their Roman guest, smiling just alittle ironically. Two slaves, lying shackled with iron chains bythe wall, put down their harp and flute and listened, mouths wideopen in wonder, for they came from a far western tribe that hadno contact with Rome and did not understand its language;yet, from the sudden tense atmosphere around them, among theirBelgic conquerors, they knew that something strange and perhapsdangerous was happening. They guessed that the black foreignerwas about to do something unusual. Even the treasured war-horses,standing knee-deep in straw at the dark end of the hall,ceased pawing the ground and were still, snuffling the thick air;and the three great woolly-haired sheepdogs that lolled in aprivileged position close to the fire turned their white headstowards the man who had dared to shout in the King’s presence.
Then another voice called out from the long tables. “Silence,Lepidus; remember that you are a guest in Britain. Rememberthat you are at the King’s table. Come back here and sit down!”It was the Ambassador to Camulodun himself, Arminius Agricola,an old German who had in his time broken more Roman headsthan most until they made him a citizen of the Empire. He was amoderate man, the warrior turned diplomat, and always anxiousnot to provoke the tribes among whom he was stationed. Onecould not afford to upset the tribes just now. Not while theywere so amenable, taking on Roman ways and paying theirtributes with no complaints. It wasn’t as though Rome had anyreal right to tributes, or any real reason for keeping an ambassadoramong the Catuvellauni, except that, after Caesar the “HairyOne”, the Senate had thought it might be advisable not torelinquish the Empire’s moral hold, fragile as it was, on theseBritons of the south-east. And here was this idiot, Lepidus, lettinghimself get drunk on the native wine and acting like any soft-headedbarbarian! But what could one expect, sending a Spaniardout to act as military attaché! The Spaniards weren’t even fit yetto be citizens. They were too headstrong, altogether too fiery.There was too much African in them. What was needed weremore Germans or more Gauls. They could keep their heads amongthese Britons. They knew how to drink. They knew more aboutthe British gods. In fact, Arminius speculated, the British godsweren’t so very different from the German gods. Just a name ortwo, here and there, but the sacrifices were the same, as near asmade no matter. Yet here was a Spaniard making fun of theBritish magic, and that involved gods. Arminius glanced downthe long room and saw that the chief druid, Bydd, the King’sbrother, had got up from the table and was making his way outside,muttering and waving his arms about. He saw him kick outat one of the slaves as he passed. That was a bad sign. One mightlaugh at the druids in their white shirts, and their savage wreathsof mistletoe hanging round their ears, but they were a power notto be despised.
Arminius looked along the table. The chiefs were restive, andtheir glances becoming more and more hostile. They were astrange unpredictable people, the Britons, never the same twominutes together. Arminius stood up, pulling his tartan cloakabout him, toga-fashion. “Sit down, Lepidus, I order it,” hebegan, but a rough, woad-streaked hand took the ambassadorby the arm and pulled him back onto the bench. “Let the lordspeak! If he is happy, let him amuse himself! No doubt he willamuse us too!” There was a certain menacing sarcasm in thevoice, and Arminius suddenly became sensitive of the respect dueto Rome. He turned sharply towards the tribesman who hadspoken to him. He was a tall, red-haired man, whose blue-linedface was made even more sinister by the old sword-cut which hadbroken his nose and laid open both of his cheeks nearly to the ears.
“But he will bring discredit to the Empire, my friend,” beganArminius, a little too pompously. The broken-nosed tribesmanscuffled and spat on the floor and then drank another noisydraught from his silver-rimmed mead-horn. “To hell with theEmpire! To hell with Rome!” he mumbled. He began to turntowards Arminius, pulling angrily at his long moustaches, rememberinghis wounds. Then suddenly he coughed and slid downfrom his seat under the table, already asleep.
Lepidus began to shout again, turning from side to side, annoyednow by the sneering faces that showed wherever the firegleamed. “Bring me a sword, one of you! I’ll show you magic!Bring me a sword.” For some time no one answered him, thoughhere and there along the room hands slid down to sword-beltsand steel glistened in the light of the torches. “Bring me a sword!You, with the eagle’s feathers in your hair, where’s your sword?”He stared across the hall, and a tall, dark-skinned chieftain out ofthe hills rose from the table. He inclined his head towards the endof the room, then turned and spat in the direction of the fire.There was a hush as he flung his long cloak over his shoulders andstalked from the hall.
Then, for the first time, the King spoke. Cunobelin, King of theBelgic Catuvellauni, whose dominion stretched from Belgium tothe Welsh border; a massive man with a nose like the beak of ahawk and a red beard that hung in two great spikes from his chin,whose woollen tartan cloak was decorated with innumerablesmall silver acorns, so that wherever he turned he was followedby flashes of white light, whose great arms were bound from wristto elbow with coral and amber bracelets, and whose deep vibrantvoice filled the great hall, bringing down silence on all the tumbledmass of men and animals that clustered under his roof. When hespoke it seemed that the fire stopped crackling and the blackcattle outside stayed in their bellowing. “Let the s