Be one of the first readers to get WARRIOR! Available first in five thrilling stand-alone episodes, or you can wait to buy the complete novel in 2023, price TBC.
AD 18, Britannia. Prince Caratacus arrives at the Druid sanctuary in the far west of the island of Britannia: the mountainous valleys of the Silurians. The prince endures initiation rites and proves his mettle in training - but what he does not expect to find is an enemy: a thuggish fellow student, Eboricus.
As the young soldiers-in-training are schooled in the art of war, it soon becomes clear Caratacus is far from the only student being tormented by Eboricus. Caratacus knows he must find a way to confront the bully - but a contest of strength is still far beyond him. And even his closest allies in this shadowy sanctuary may not be what they seem. . .
Warrior: the new series set in Britannia - the wildest reach of the Roman Empire . . . From the Sunday Times bestselling authors of Invader and Pirata.
Release date:
October 13, 2022
Publisher:
Headline
Print pages:
80
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It was still dark when we were awoken by the shouts of Mendax and the other guards before the following dawn. I stumbled out of bed and rubbed my eyes as a guard thrust a plain brown tunic at me.
‘What’s this?’ I asked groggily.
‘Your clothes, new boy. All novices wear the same. Rules of the sanctuary. Now, get dressed.’
I hurriedly put on the tunic and laced my leather boots while a man brought us a wicker basket filled with leavened bread and a pitcher of fresh drinking water. We ate standing around the tables; a short time later I trudged out of the enclosure with the other initiates in the murky grey light of pre-dawn and followed the guards down the trail towards the gateway at the far end of the capital. Bladocus and the other Druid masters stood waiting beside the gate, their black robes rippling in the strengthening breeze. I glanced back over my shoulder, straining my eyes as I searched the chief’s enclosure for any sign of my uncle Epaticcus, but at this hour the area was deserted.
Bladocus greeted me with a stern expression. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘My uncle,’ I said. ‘I wish to bid him farewell, Master. Before he heads back east with the bodyguard.’
The grey-bearded Druid shook his head firmly. ‘There is no time. We must leave for the sanctuary. The High Druid is waiting to see you all.’
‘But I promised him, Master. I gave Epaticcus my word.’
‘Forget your uncle. You belong to us now,’ Bladocus snapped coldly. ‘Your old life in Camulodunum is over. Understood?’
I lowered my head. ‘Yes, Master,’ I muttered.
At a command from Mendax the guards on duty opened the gate, and our group started down the wooded hill towards the sanctuary. The first faint rays of light glimmered behind the mountain peaks as we descended towards a patch of gloomy forest. We followed the rough track through the tangled undergrowth, crossed a narrow timber bridge over a stretch of rapids where spray burst over glistening rocks, and a short time later we emerged from the treeline. Ahead of us I saw the Druids’ enclosure, situated on a spur of land above a gentle river. A pair of guards stiffened to attention at our approach, a shout went up, and the gate swung open. Then I followed the other novices and our mentors into the stockaded compound.
We entered a wide space with a pathway flanked by crude columns of stone inscribed with lines of runes. At the far end of the avenue was the Druids’ sacred shrine: a timber-roofed structure with an oak-framed entrance surmounted by the biggest pair of antlers I had ever seen. Then I lifted my gaze and stopped dead in my tracks. A dozen human skulls had been placed in niches along the length of the wooden lintel above the doorway. Beyond the entrance I glimpsed a vast pile of bent swords, gleaming bronze shields and helmets arranged in a shallow pit in the middle of the paved floor, reflecting the light from several bracketed torches.
To the right of the building there was a separate ditched enclosure with a series of deep pits filled with what appeared to be animal skulls, along with a smaller animal pen. On the far side of the sanctuary a set of steps led up to a platform with a large dais ringed by several jagged stone columns. At the end of the dais there was a giant limestone altar. Gnarled oak trees surrounded the platform, their ancient boughs creaking and groaning in the stiff breeze that moaned across the hilltop.
‘What do you think, child?’ Bladocus whispered.
I gazed up at the huge shrine and felt a sense of awe. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
He grinned. ‘I told you this was a special place.’
‘Who lives there?’ I asked, pointing to a small group of roundhouses set close to the main gate.
‘The High Druid and his most senior companions,’ Bladocus explained. ‘All men of the fifth ring. Only those who attain the highest standard of training are permitted to live among the spirits of the Otherworld.’
‘How long does it take to reach the fifth ring?’
‘Many years,’ said Bladocus. ‘Some men spend their entire lives trying to attain such a level of wisdom.’
As he spoke a group of dark-robed figures emerged from one of the huts and walked over to us. One of them, a shrivelled man gripping a long stave with a small sickle fitted to the end, muttered a few words to Bladocus and the other mentors.
‘Welcome to the sanctuary of the Twelve Skulls, children,’ he said, turning to address the new arrivals. ‘My name is Segorix. I am one of the senior Druids here. Follow me, please.’
He wheeled round and led our group across the pathway and up the stone steps to the elevated platform. We stopped in front of the dais, and then the older boys and their masters spread out in a loose circle. Above them I saw the dark outlines of several crows in the trees, cawing as they stared down at our group.
Once everyone had taken up their positions, Segorix, the sickle-wielding Druid, raised his hands to the sky and began chanting in a tongue I didn’t understand.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked.
‘The Druids are calling on the gods to witness the initiation ceremony,’ Bladocus said. ‘They must seek Lud’s approval before the rites may be conducted.’
Segorix ceased his chanting and one of his companions stepped into the middle of the platform: a tall man in a flowing white robe, with a gold chain around his neck. In his right hand he clutched several iron rods, each one as long as an arrow shaft and engraved with a series of peculiar markings. The man bellowed an incantation before he cast the rods, and they scattered across the ground with a metallic clatter. The other scholars looked on as the white-robed Druid bent down to inspect the symbols.
‘What is he doing?’ I whispered to Bladocus. ‘What are those sticks?’
There was a tense stillness as the Druid studied the markings. A moment later the man stood upright and made an announcement in the same strange dialect. Then several of the other Druids banged their staffs against the floor in unison.
‘What did he say?’ I asked.
‘The seer says the omens are highly favourable. Lud has given his consent. The ceremony may proceed.’
‘Now what?’
‘Now, we . . .
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