Chapter Four B
Less than an hour later, the wagon entered the realm of dark hills.
Cam watched with curiosity as they came to the edge of a forest, which covered the hills and made dark lines against the night sky.
The air was brisk and he could hear the wind whistling through the trees, with the occasional chime of a night bird.
As the wagon began to lurch up a dirt road, Cam held on to the sides so he wouldn’t pitch from his seat.
Wherever they were going, it was remote.
It was difficult not to feel anxiety as the wagon began its trek into the hills.
Darkness was all around them, creating an eerie mood as the wagon traveled up the rocky, uneven road.
It was a bit of a winding path, tucked in a natural gully where two hills joined, and they traveled for several minutes before they suddenly came to a halt.
Men emerged from the trees with torches in their hands and very big dogs at their feet.
Cam strained to catch a glimpse of them.
He could see that they were dressed to blend in with their surroundings, with heavy woolen cloaks that were dark and dirty, and most of them were holding wicked-looking crossbows.
It could have been a bad situation. But the moment they saw the wagon in the torchlight, they waved it on and disappeared back into the bramble. Like wraiths, they were gone as quickly as they appeared. Onward they went until, finally, Cam began to see something in the distance.
Tucked into the crest of a hill was a castle, but not just any castle.
It had enormous walls, tall enough that ten men standing on each other’s shoulders couldn’t have reached the top.
There were pinpricks of light upon the battlements and the closer they came, the more Cam could see that the pinpricks were the torches of the men patrolling the walls.
As the road finally rounded the side of the castle and took a turn that would bring them to the front gate, it was as if a whole world suddenly opened up.
To the left and down a slight incline was a vast arena.
Cam could see the flat field and then rows of seating cut into the hillside around it, like a great amphitheater.
Next to the amphitheater were dozens of stone cottages in neat rows with fires blazing to stave off the night.
The smell of smoke wafted on the evening breeze.
As the wagon headed to the gatehouse, Cam still had a view of the arena and the village.
It was quite fascinating and even though he still felt a good deal of trepidation, he was somehow eased by what he was seeing.
He could only assume that the men in the wagon with him had not lied to him, and they had indeed brought him to the very thing he’d been hoping for.
The Ludus Caledonia.
Any lingering doubt vanished.
The wagon passed beneath the double-portcullis gatehouse, lurching to a halt in front of an oddly small keep.
Several men rushed toward the wagon with torches in their hands as Luther, Milo, and Wendell disembarked, followed by Cam.
He was still trying to take everything in.
As Luther and Milo left him, heading back toward the gatehouse, Wendell grasped him by the arm.
“Come along,” he said.
Cam was pulled toward the keep, joining the man with the brilliant blue eyes who had ridden with the driver. The two of them escorted Cam into the dark, cold keep.
Once inside the heavy oak and iron door, Cam was hit by a strange smell.
It wasn’t food and it wasn’t anything rotten, but he thought he might have experienced the smell once in a church near Netherton, a church that his wife had sometimes dragged him to.
It was in that church he’d smelled whatever scent was drifting through the air right now.
As he stood there, fighting off a sneeze, Wendell pulled him after the blue-eyed man as he headed for a cracked-open door. Light streamed through when the panel was pushed open to allow the three of them to enter. The blue-eyed man spoke to someone in the chamber.
“We have returned, my lord,” he said. “We have brought him.”
His thick Teutonic accent filled the air and as Cam was pulled into the center of the room, he could see that it was furnished as if the chamber belonged to a king.
There were fine rugs on the floor, and a treasure trove of elaborate furniture and fine vessels.
On a nearby table, something in a bowl was burning and sending gray ribbons of smoke into the air, but Cam was so overwhelmed by the grandeur of the room that he failed to see a well-dressed man sitting behind a massive table.
“And?” the man behind the table spoke up, breaking the silence. “I assume he is right for our cause since you have brought him here?”
The blue-eyed man nodded. “He is, my lord,” he said, turning to Cam. “This is the man called Cam Netherton. I have seen him fight Luther and win, so if he can do that, then he is indeed worthy.”
Hearing his name, Cam turned for the table where the blue-eyed man and the other man, still seated behind the cluttered table, were scrutinizing him.
The seated man appeared to be large in stature, round in the middle, with a silver beard and flowing, silver hair.
His face was lined and weathered, with eyes as silver as his hair.
As Cam looked into those eyes, he could sense that this was no ordinary man. There was something unnerving in the depths, something that suggested a powerful drive and desire. When the man finally spoke to him, it was in a rough, deep voice.
“Your name is Cam,” he said, not a question but statement. “You have been asking after The Cal in Edinburgh.”
“I have, m’laird.”
“And now The Cal has answered. What do you wish of us?”
Cam blinked as if caught off guard by the question. “I… I wish tae fight,” he said. “I want tae learn tae fight.”
“What makes you think you are worthy?”
“I never said I was. Yer man did.”
A hint of a smile crossed the man’s lips. “Tell me of yourself, Cam.”
Cam cleared his throat nervously. “I am from Netherton, a village in the Highlands,” he said, wondering just how much he should tell him.
“My mother was the daughter of the village leader and my father was a Northman who went by the name of Cam the Fierce. He died before I was born and I am named for him. I was raised by my grandfather and my life has been peaceful until this past year when our village was raided and my wife killed. And now I am here.”
The man propped his elbows on the table and folded his hands, examining Cam as one often does when appraising a side of beef or a prized stallion. The man had the look of a buyer about him.
“You have Northman in you,” he said after a moment. “That is good. That means you have the natural love of a fight. But the way you speak… Your accent is strong. You sound like an illiterate Highlander.”
Cam didn’t react outwardly, but he could feel his defenses go up. Before he could reply, the blue-eyed man spoke.
“Do not let that fool you,” he said. “He is quite clever. I saw him best Luther on wits alone.”
That seemed to be good enough for the man at the table. Rising from his seat, he came around the table to stand in front of Cam, his expression one of continuing appraisal. Everything about him seemed to be calculating.
“Cam, son of Cam the Fierce, my name is Clegg de Lave,” he finally said. “Remember that name, for I should expect prayers for my sake. From your lips to God’s ears.”
Cam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I am tae pray for ye, m’laird?”
Clegg’s lips twitched with a humorless smile. “You are to thank me in your prayers every night, for I am about to change your life forever. I expect gratitude for that. Do you understand?”
Lacking the time to think of any other reply, Cam simply nodded. “Aye, m’laird.”
Clegg’s gaze drifted over him for a moment before he turned away.
“Good,” he said. “Now, you will allow me to make introductions. If these men have not yet introduced themselves, then I will do so. The man with the grip on your arm is Wendell Stanhope, a fine warrior, and the ugly beast with the piercing eyes is Axel von Rossau. I met Axel in Saxony years ago and there is no finer trainer of men in the world. He is my Ianista, which means he will be your mother, your father, and your confessor for your duration here. Is that clear?”
Cam looked to the big Teutonic warrior, nodding as he did so. “It is, m’laird.”
Clegg moved to pour himself some wine out of a beautiful crystal decanter.
“Axel is in charge here and you will never disobey him. Wendell will be your instructor and you will never disobey him, either. Any show of resistance or rebellion, and you shall be reduced in status and expected to work off what I have already invested in you. You will no longer be a warrior in training, but a servant until such time as you have worked off the money I have put into your training. Do you understand this?”
Cam simply nodded his head. Clegg took a deep swallow of his wine before continuing.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now, allow me to tell you about this place, in brief. This castle is called Caelian Hill. Before I came into ownership, it was a royal hunting lodge. I was a great English knight once, but fortune took me away from England, where I served various kings as a mercenary, including the Scots King James. He granted me this property in payment for my services. This small keep we are standing in is the lodge, but I built everything else, including the walls around it. Caelian Hill is a small part of my entire complex, the Ludus Caledonia. That is the collective term for everything you see.”
It was a concise explanation from a man who had probably made the same speech hundreds of times, but Cam kept his mouth shut and he didn’t ask any questions. It was true that he did want answers, but Clegg was speaking and he didn’t want to interrupt the man.
Besides… he had a feeling he would have his answers soon enough.