The Bronze Token
“‘O ye immortal powers,’ cried he, ‘who preside over the destiny of us frail mortals! Ye have restored me my Astarte; but alas! At what a conjuncture, in what a place, and in what a state and condition do I view her?’”
– Voltaire
Cymru, 126 BC – Chapter One
In her blurred line of vision, Alys could see a masked man leaning over her. He hit her jaw and she let out a muffled cry before weakly spitting small flecks of blood from her mouth.
“Ris, your own brother, colluded with the enemy. He spilled the secrets of our tribe to them, and you expect us to believe you had no knowledge of this? Everyone knows how close you were. Either you were involved with his traitorous designs, or you knew about them and did nothing to prevent him. Do you deny it?”
Alys pulled against the restraints, her body trembling, before it gave and collapsed against the table. They had been interrogating her for days now and had gotten nowhere, yet still asked the same questions over and over again, waiting for her to break, to admit everything they wanted to hear. Her lips felt chapped as she licked them; when was it that she had last drank water? She thought back to the moment when they had come for her brother. She remembered screaming as he clung to her, whispering in her ear asking for her forgiveness. He didn’t say a word as they took him. He kept his chin high, even as they lifted the executioner's blade. After the burial, once they had all gone, she stayed curled beside his rocky tomb. She cried until her cries turned into choking gasps. Eventually, her gasps turned into rattling wheezes, and the wheezes into silence.
“I knew nothing.”
“I should just kill you.” The man took a small knife from a leather pouch and trailed the sharp edge around her chest, nicking the skin and producing small pearls of blood that mixed with the sweat gathered there. “Do you know how many people died in the ambush? The ambush that only succeeded due to information slipped to Don’s lackeys by Ris? Three hundred: men, women and children – my own child among them. He was a strong lad you know, barely had a beard on him, but a prodigy with the spear. Of course he never stood a chance against a seasoned warrior, they cut him down in an instant, I imagine. So, forgive me if I don’t believe this bullshit that you’re currently spewing you traitorous bitch.”
He was so close that Alys could feel his spittle landing on her cheek and against the corners of her mouth. She stared at his exposed chin and resisted the urge to lean up and rip into it with her teeth. If this man would treat her like an animal then she would act like one, she would be a vengeful wolf sent by the gods to tear these lies from his mouth. No matter what they said, she knew that her Ris could never do such a thing. The man began to beat her with the hilt of his knife, and she felt as if she was falling out of her body. It was as though her consciousness was connected only by a thin, woven thread that had been pulled so taunt that it was beginning to fray and split. She licked her lips once more, chasing the illusion of moisture, and tried to focus on remaining awake.
Her dazed mind wandered back to the week before the ambush, when she and Ris had been sparring. She’d just succeeded in a particularly complicated feint, but before she could strike the winning blow Ris had pulled a short dagger from his sleeve and held it to her side.
“You favour your left side still, guard your right more. Again.” His words were short and clipped, devoid of their usual praises. They both jumped back and began to circle one another, occasionally darting forwards in a clashing of swords. “You’re only an average fighter,” he told her. Alys knew this, of course, but it still hurt to hear her brother say it. “You can hold your own, which is good, but it won’t be enough. Your strength lies in your cunning and your strategy, do you understand? You must always think of the bigger picture, Alys.”
She grinned at him. “I always do.”
When she came to, the masked man had gone. A couple of slaves stood in the doorway muttering to each other with strange expressions, a mixture of pity and disgust.
“You’re to come before King Aldith.”
They untied her binds and pulled her outside, her legs, too weak to support her weight, dragged behind her, leaving a trail in the loose earth. Once outside, the bright sun burnt her eyes, and she took great, shuddering gasps of fresh air.
Eventually, they came to a large roundhouse. Two guards dressed for battle were standing at the entrance, their hair spiked and faces painted with great swirling patterns. Alys gathered herself, preparing for what lay ahead. It was likely that she was brought here so that the king could interrogate her himself, or simply order her execution. If she kept denying everything, he would grow annoyed and have her killed. She could denounce Ris, fall at the king's feet and beg to be made into a slave as penance for her brother's supposed crimes, but how long would she be able to live as a slave? She was hated by too many people. She’d be murdered before the week was up.
The slaves threw her to her knees in the centre of the wide room. Everything around her screamed of a savage opulence. Richly woven tapestries depicting vicious battles of the gods and legendary kings adorned the walls. Mounted above the entrance was the head of a large brown bear, its mouth twisted open to reveal its bloody and broken teeth. Ahead of her, seated on oaken chairs, were the king and queen, surrounding them stood a small number of nobles and other members of the ruling family. They cut an intimidating picture as they stared down at her, swathed in beautiful, bright fabrics and golden ornaments, a world away from the filthy and unkempt woman kneeling before them.
“Alys, Daughter of Coel.” King Aldith stood and spoke, his wavering voice at odds with his impressive appearance. “You stand before me today so we can decide your fate. Your brother, Ris, Son of Coel, betrayed us. He conspired with our enemies, the Children of Don, allowing them to attack our people. You say you were unaware of his plans, yet something must still be done. Too much blood has been spilled.”
It was at this moment that Alys felt her own heart, that had previously been beating against her chest like a frantic bird, grow still and fill with hate. She looked up at Aldith and saw him as he was: a weak man, a charlatan king parading around a fraudulent hall filled with glories that were not his own. He dares talk of ‘betrayal’, condemning her brother to death, when the tribe had lost thousands to a war which he had started and had been consistently losing since the very beginning.
She gently smiled and looked up. “Kill me then.” When she spoke, it was not with the subservience expected of a tortured prisoner, but as if she looked down on everyone in that room, like they were nothing more than ants running around her feet. The man standing behind the queen glanced at her. Alys had never seen him before. He was tall and lithe, with a straight, proud nose leading down to thin lips. Overall, his appearance was plain, but his eyes betrayed intelligence. It was with these eyes that he regarded her now, not with hatred, but with an amused curiosity.
“You see. She says so herself!” Cadoc, one of the noblemen in attendance, called out. “Let's all go to the executioner's block for a show!”
Efa, standing beside him, shot out a hand, stopping his movements with her vice-like grip. “Don’t be hasty, dear husband. Let’s not waste life.” She turned and addressed King Aldith, “My king. She’s the last remnant of the Coel clan. Killing her may anger the gods, give her to us instead.”
Alys could see that Efa’s comment had shaken the king. There was a light sheen of sweat on his face. He turned to the man she had noticed earlier and asked, “Llyr, where is the soothsayer?”
“He has gone into the forest to commune with nature, father. He will return in a month.”
“A month?” King Aldith was trembling now. He reached down and grabbed the pretty clay vase next to his feet before throwing it against the wall. The resulting crash made the nobles jump in fright, Alys continued to smile calmly, never once taking her eyes off the king. “You!” King Aldith turned to Alys, incensed by her expression. He jabbed his finger towards her in a fit of rage, “One month. One month and we shall see if your head rolls.”
“Father, if I may.” Llyr stepped forward towards Alys. “You don’t look like someone who wishes to die.”
“I’m not.”
He scrutinised her for a second, before turning and addressing the room. “I shall take her for this month.”
The king nodded. “As you will, Llyr.”