Song of the Centurion by Steven A McKay

Author:Steven A McKay [McKay, Steven A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Broadsword Publishing
Published: 2019-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

“Did you know the girl named Fedelmid?”

The man seated on the ground before Bellicus looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“I did,” he replied hoarsely.

Night had fallen and the rain had mercifully stopped, although clouds still covered the moon and only a couple of rushlights illuminated the site where the child’s body had been discovered. Bellicus wore his hood up, and Cai lay by his side, a malevolent, silent shadow.

The man before him was the third of the five suspects, and, like the previous two, he was terrified by the giant druid and the spirits that undoubtedly haunted this place of ill-portent.

“Did you kill her?”

“No, I swear by Taranis, I did not! She was a nice wee thing, reminded me of my own daughter. No-one in their right mind could have done…that…” He trailed off and the dim light caught tears streaking his face. “Do you have children, druid?”

Bellicus, caught completely off guard by the question, stared at him, unsure how to reply. At last, he nodded.

“Then you’ll understand,” said the villager. “No father could have committed that crime.”

The druid knew that statement was incorrect – many parents had been known to commit such crimes in the past – but it was obvious this fellow was innocent. As the other two had been.

“You may go,” the druid said, and leaned down to help the man to his feet. When he was gone, Bellicus shouted back towards the village, where Duro, Conall mac Gabrain and some of the villagers held the two remaining suspects. “Send the next one,” he shouted, and watched as the centurion’s shadowy outline approached with a rather smaller figure in front of him.

“Sit,” the druid commanded.

“Where? On the grass? No – it’s wet.” The voice was that of a youngster, sullen and uncooperative.

“I said, ‘sit’!” Bellicus’s massive palm lashed out, striking the lad on the side of the face, sending him flying. The druid, eyes well-adjusted to the gloom by now, took in the sight of this fourth suspect.

Aeron Cynbel, about seventeen years old, slim, strangely confident eyes and a defiant curl to his upper lip. This one, Conall had told him, was the least likely to have committed the crime.

“Quiet lad,” the headman had attested. “Keeps himself to himself, does his work without much complaint and, although he’s not exactly popular, he’s never had a cross word with anyone as far as I know. Not the violent type.”

Bellicus glared at the young man and compared his demeanour to that of the previous three suspects. The others had appeared terrified from the moment they were brought here to this secluded spot, next to the loch and overlooked by a small grove of yew and birch trees.

This young man didn’t seem scared, just sullen and irritated after spending the day locked in a room with the other accused.

“Have you been here before?”

Aeron Cynbel nodded. “Of course. This is a small village. I’ve been to every part of it.”

“Did you kill the girl here?”

A smile tugged at the man’s mouth.

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