Caledonia, land of cold and rain (première partie)

I have begun reading Caledonia. Book One: The Ninth Legion, a new bande dessinée by Corbeyran (scénario) and Emmanuel Despujol (dessin). (Thank you, Santa!) Naturally, Corbeyran’s text is in French, so I present the following précis in order to make it more accessible to Anglophone readers.

It opens by night (p. 3), with a woad-striped crone chanting Gaelic on a bonfire-lit beach (thighearna nam marbh “Lord of Death, receive our gifts, so that our alliance may last forever!”). She despatches five young Caledonians into the large scaly hand of a mysterious forest dweller (p. 4). (Hold that thought for fifty pages).

Grey daylight, and a Roman column is marching through a defile in the Scottish mountains (p. 5). These are men of the third cohort of the Ninth Legion. Riding at their head, the newly-arrived centurion grumbles, “We’re making an infernal noise!” The hard-bitten optio shrugs: “Believe me, we’ve already been spotted by everything that has a sense of smell, two ears, and two eyes, from leagues around”.

The optio has seen the world and battled on various frontiers, but he has never met more ferocious adversaries than the Caledonians. The centurion is unconvinced: “I hear that blood flows in their veins, and I conclude that they are only men. If they are human, they will die”. (“We will die, too”, mutters the optio. “Just a matter of time”.) And sure enough, at that precise moment, a rocky avalanche heralds a flank attack by the savage Caledonians, gloriously depicted (pp. 8–9) by artist Emmanuel Despujol (and beautifully coloured by his daughter Juliette). After a hard-won victory, the Romans trudge off through the icy February rain.

The little fort

It is March and the unnamed centurion rests, binds his wounds, and writes up his report (p. 11). Men move about the tented enclosure (p. 12). Corbeyran’s graceful prose (Les dieux qui habitent ces contrées et ont façonné ces paysages ont été bien inspirés. Ils sont à la fois d’une grande beauté et offrent de multiples possibilités de cachettes à nos adversaires. Les Caledonii savent utiliser le relief du terrain à leur avantage. Chaque creux, bosse, faille, fossé, chaque arbre, chaque fourré constitue un allié solide sur lequel ils peuvent compter) cries out for a lavish landscape view. But the plot forges ahead.

A young woman — Leta, daughter of the chieftain Galam — has been captured but remains badly wounded (p. 13). The men are exhausted, fifteen were killed in the latest skirmish and five wounded. The disgruntled medic sees them as his priority, “but”, says the centurion, “the prisoner must not die”. The two men bicker (pp. 13–14). “I can put her out of her misery” growls the medic. “Her life is worth more than yours”, spits the centurion. “With such a bargaining chip, we can get Galam to lay down his arms!” “You are not only a bad commander, but also a dreamer, and I don’t know which is worse”, mutters the medic, at which the centurion lashes out with the back of his hand, warning him that next time he will use his blade.

Leaving the infirmary tent, the centurion runs into the optio, who reveals to us the centurion’s name (p. 15): it is none other than Lucius Aemilius Karus! Against the optio’s advice, he has ordered the men to their action stations. “They need rest” objects the optio. “If they are killed, they will have eternal rest,” replies Karus. “But if they defeat the Caledonians, they will live and be able to sleep victorious!” However, I have an uneasy feeling that his final words — “sacrifices are sometimes necessary” — might prove to be true ... literally.

To be continued ...