Worms of the Earth | Page 3

bore the gilded chair ceremoniously, and by the stolid soldiers, with
whom walked Valerius, head sunken.
The man called Partha Mac Othna flung a wide fold of his cloak about
his shoulder, halted a moment to gaze at the grim cross with its burden,
darkly etched against the crimson sky, where the clouds of night were
gathering. Then he stalked away, followed by his silent servant.
Chapter Two
In an inner chamber of Eboracum, the man called Partha Mac Othna
paced tigerishly to and fro. His sandaled feet made no sound on the
marble tiles.
"Grom!" he turned to the gnarled servant. "Well I know why you held
my knees so tightly--why you muttered aid of the Moon-Woman--you
feared I would lose my self-control and make a mad attempt to succor
that poor wretch. By the gods, I believe that was what the dog Roman

wished--his iron-cased watchdogs watched me narrowly, I know, and
his baiting was harder to bear than ordinarily.
"Gods black and white, dark and light!" He shook his clenched fists
above his head in the black gust of his passion. "That I should stand by
and see a man of mine butchered on a Roman cross--without justice
and with no more trial than that farce! Black gods of R'lyeh, even you
would I invoke to the ruin and destruction of those butchers! I swear by
the Nameless Ones, men shall die howling for that deed, and Rome
shall cry out as a woman in the dark who treads upon an adder!"
"He knew you, master," said Grom.
The other dropped his head and covered his eyes with a gesture of
savage pain.
"His eyes will haunt me when I lie dying. Aye, he knew me, and almost
until the last, I read in his eyes the hope that I might aid him. Gods and
devils, is Rome to butcher my people beneath my very eyes? Then I am
not king but dog!"
"Not so loud, in the name of all the gods!" exclaimed Grom in affright.
"Did these Romans suspect you were Bran Mak Morn, they would nail
you on a cross beside that other."
"They will know it ere long," grimly answered the king. "Too long I
have lingered here in the guise of an emissary, spying upon mine
enemies. They have thought to play with me, these Romans, masking
their contempt and scorn only under polished satire. Rome is courteous
to barbarian ambassadors, they give us fine houses to live in, offer us
slaves, pander to our lusts with women and gold and wine and games,
but all the while they laugh at us; their very courtesy is an insult, and
sometimes--as today--their contempt discards all veneer. Bah! I've seen
through their baitings--have remained imperturbably serene and
swallowed their studied insults. But this--by the fiends of Hell, this is
beyond human endurance! My people look to me; if I fail them--if I fail
even one--even the lowest of my people, who will aid them? To whom
shall they turn? By the gods, I'll answer the gibes of these Roman dogs

with black shaft and trenchant steel!"
"And the chief with the plumes?" Grom meant the governor and his
gutturals thrummed with the blood-lust. "He dies?" He flicked out a
length of steel.
Bran scowled. "Easier said than done. He dies--but how may I reach
him? By day his German guards keep at his back; by night they stand at
door and window. He has many enemies, Romans as well as barbarians.
Many a Briton would gladly slit his throat."
Grom seized Bran's garment, stammering as fierce eagerness broke the
bonds of his inarticulate nature.
"Let me go, master! My life is worth nothing. I will cut him down in
the midst of his warriors!"
Bran smiled fiercely and clapped his hand on the stunted giant's
shoulder with a force that would have felled a lesser man.
"Nay, old war-dog, I have too much need of thee! You shall not throw
your life away uselessly. Sulla would read the intent in your eyes,
besides, and the javelins of his Teutons would be through you ere you
could reach him. Not by the dagger in the dark will we strike this
Roman, not by the venom in the cup nor the shaft from the ambush."
The king turned and paced the floor a moment, his head bent in thought.
Slowly his eyes grew murky with a thought so fearful he did not speak
it aloud to the waiting warrior.
"I have become somewhat familiar with the maze of Roman politics
during my stay in this accursed waste of mud and marble," said he.
"During a war on the Wall, Titus Sulla, as governor of this province, is
supposed to hasten thither with his centuries. But this Sulla does