by James Wilde
For a moment, all was right with the world.
Comitinus flung a bony arm around Bellicus’ shoulders – something he would never have dreamt of doing when wine was not flowing through his veins.
‘Better days lie ahead, brother,’ he slurred.
‘Not for you, if you don’t remove your arm.’
The other man did as requested, but his grin never dimmed. ‘Let me tell you my wisdom,’ he said, throwing his hands towards the heavens.
‘Ugh,’ Solinus grunted. ‘I prefer you when you’re a miserable fucker.’
‘To appreciate all that we have here, a man has to look death in the eye,’ Comitinus continued, undeterred. ‘When I was a lad, I fell into a bog and spent three days and nights up to my neck. I thought my days were done. More so when the rats came, and tried to eat my face off. But I was saved, brothers, by a hungry hawk who chased those vermin away. The lesson here—’
‘There’s always a lesson with you, you whiny bastard.’ Solinus swung a foot at his companion’s arse.
‘The lesson here—’ Comitinus began again, narrowing his eyes.
‘Even a rat thinks you’re not worth fighting for,’ Solinus said with a firm nod. ‘We learned that lesson long ago.’ Mato threw back his head and laughed. Bellicus knew that would only encourage Solinus.
‘The lesson,’ Comitinus all but shouted, ‘is that when things are darkest, there’s always hope. I’m wasted here. Wasted.’
Bellicus snorted, but as he strode on his instincts flickered towards figures approaching through the wisps of smoke. From the way they moved, shoulders low, balancing on the balls of their feet to be ready to react in an instant, he could see they were not the lowly folk of the vicus.
Mato edged beside him, his grin fading fast. ‘The gods must have decided we were having too much fun,’ he breathed. ‘That’s Motius and the Carrion Crows.’
‘What are they doing here, so far from home?’ Bellicus murmured.
As the band of arcani drew near, he could see they were dirty and bedraggled, their hair clotted with mud. Cold eyes glowed in faces blackened with soil. They had been long in the Wilds, Bellicus could see from those stares. They hadn’t had time to throw off the beast and return to the ways of men.
‘Grim Wolves,’ Motius said. His hair hung in braids knotted with beads, the left side of his face a swirl of black tattoos. At a glance he could pass for one of the barbarians. ‘Your leader is not with you?’
‘He has business in the fort. What brings you to Vercovicium?’
‘We needed to break our journey before the long trek back to Vindolanda. And to hear what news there is, when we’re fed and rested.’
‘News?’
‘When we’ll receive the coin we’ve long been promised.’ Behind him, his men began to shift. Someone spat on the ground. ‘I’d share a cup with Lucanus and talk of these things. Do they keep your purses full here in Vercovicium?’
‘Lucanus is the man who counts the coin. I’m only good with a sword.’
‘Usually the one between his legs,’ Solinus said. The Carrion Crows remained sullen.
‘We’ll share what we know,’ Bellicus said, ‘no doubt of that. But first, share your news with us. You’ve roamed far and wide beyond the wall. Have you found anything … out of kilter?’
‘The land is empty.’
‘No signs of war-bands?’
Motius shook his head. ‘The land is empty,’ he repeated. ‘We saw nothing for four days’ march north.’
‘Is that not strange?’ Bellicus pressed. ‘The barbarians are never far from the wall. Even if you can’t see them, you can hear them or smell them.’
‘They’ll be back soon enough. We’ll always be needed.’
Bellicus wanted to say that was the least of his worries, but he could see the Carrion Crows were ready to move on to the world of men. With heads low and eyes searching the shadows on every side, they loped away into the growing gloom.
‘Such a sour band,’ Mato mused. ‘Even if their purses were full, they’d still complain.’
In the shadow of the bath-house, they hurried up to a sprawling line of linked huts that seemed to be growing each time they visited it. New extensions flourished on the sides and back. Carved in the door jamb, a red-dyed budding rose shone in the flickering light of a torch.
Bellicus closed his eyes and breathed in a sweet scent of spices and lavender.
‘The House of Wishes,’ Comitinus slurred. ‘The house of wonders.’
Before Bellicus could hammer on the wood, the door swung open and he reeled back in surprise. A soft golden glow formed a halo around the red hair of the woman who faced him. Her emerald eyes matched the colour of her dress, but it was her familiar smile that warmed Bellicus’ heart.
‘You think we’re deaf?’ she said. ‘It was as if all Rome’s enemies were marching to our door.’
‘Take us in,’ Bellicus said. ‘I’ve had my fill of the world out here.’
Amarina crooked a finger to beckon the Grim Wolves inside. Bellicus had known her for four summers now, but she was still a mystery to him. As mistress of the House of Wishes, she chose only the best girls. They were well fed and always smiling, not like some of the scrawny, miserable whores he’d met along the wall. But Amarina was never available to guests. Those who regularly visited had learned not to ask.
Appearances were deceptive; he’d seen her slit a customer’s throat after the man had taken his hand to one of the beauties there. The girls themselves had disposed of the body in the swamp beyond the vicus, with rocks fastened to drag the remains down to the depths. Bellicus wondered how many corpses lay there, all the men who had wronged Amarina and her girls.
‘You’ve got rooms for all of us?’ he asked.
Amarina smiled. ‘We always have rooms for the ones who keep us safe. You’re our defenders, Bellicus. You are emperors here, each one of you.’ She shrugged. ‘Besides, it’s been quiet these past days. Few travellers on the Stanegate. Perhaps it’s the cold.’
‘And news?’ he asked. ‘You hear everything.’
‘No news worth speaking of. All is quiet.’ Her expression shifted in the torchlight, so quickly that few would have noticed. But Bellicus caught it. She was lying, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t guess why.
‘Come,’ she said, beckoning them into a large room, snug and warm from the fire blazing in the hearth.
The women were already gathered, no doubt at Amarina’s order when she heard the approaching commotion. They were a comely bunch, Bellicus had to admit: different shapes, sizes, skin colours, hair; something to please every man. Feigning shyness, they smiled and fluttered their eyelashes, as Amarina had taught them, for all men were children and easily swayed in the presence of women.
But sometimes he caught glimpses of flint in those eyes that chilled him. The younger Grim Wolves no doubt believed these women were here to be adored, but for the girls this was work, and at times grim work. Only a fool would forget that.
As his brothers made their choices, Bellicus looked across the faces, trying to hide his disappointment. When he moved to select one of the girls, Amarina took his hand and gently tugged him back.
‘Forgive me,’ she breathed in his ear. ‘I’m guilty of teasing you.’
She pulled him to a chamber on the far side of the house. Inside, candlelight danced over the naked form of a woman on the bed. Black curls, now starting to streak with silver, tumbled across the pillow.
‘Did you think I would not save Galantha for you?’ Amarina whispered. Her tone was warm and as kindly as he had ever heard. She slipped out, closing the door behind her.
Bellicus stood at the end of the bed, looking down on the woman he’d known for so long, the only woman he would ever lie with, were it left to him. He tried to feign an aloof expression – he knew he would lose his power if she was aware of the depth of his fondness – but it was impossible.
Galantha patted the bed beside her. ‘Lie next to me. It’
s been too long since we’ve been together.’
Bellicus stripped off his furs and his leather and clambered beside her. Enveloped in her sweet scent, he wrapped his large, scarred arms around her and held her close. ‘Too long,’ he breathed. ‘But know this, in all the time I crawl through that hard, cold land, with death close at my heels, there’s never a moment when you’re not in my thoughts.’
Galantha kissed him long and soft, and for a moment he thought he sensed a fondness in her too. Or perhaps he was just a fool.
After their love-making, they basked in the warmth of the room while the sweat dried on their bodies. At peace, for once, Bellicus’ gaze drifted around that familiar room. He’d lost count of how many happy times he’d been there. But then he found himself staring at a carving on a beam on the far wall. He’d never noticed it before, but this night the candle had been placed at such a point that it picked out the details in relief. It was the face of a man, staring at the bed, but instead of hair and beard it had a tangle of branches and leaves, as if the figure itself was peering out of the dense greenwood.
‘What is that?’
Galantha followed his gaze. ‘Nothing.’
‘Has it always been there?’
‘It has.’ She pressed the tip of one finger against his nose. ‘You didn’t notice it because you were lost in … something else. As well you should be.’
Bellicus frowned. ‘My drunken wits tell me I’ve seen it somewhere before, but I can’t place where.’
‘Shh.’ Galantha kissed him into silence.
For a while, he floated in the dark behind his eyes. But then the sour thoughts began to crawl up from the deep parts of his head and he stiffened, hating the fact that even there he couldn’t escape them.
Galantha felt the tightness in his muscles. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, concerned.
‘You hear tales from across the empire here.’
‘Men speak of things they wouldn’t utter outside. Important things, things that matter not at all. Lies, stories.’
‘Tell me … what have you heard about the Eaters of the Dead?’
Galantha furrowed her brow. ‘I’ve heard some tales. A sailor, whose ship was wrecked in a storm. The gods looked kindly on him and sent great waves to wash him on to a beach in the far north. He spoke of them.’
‘They’re real, then? Not tales to frighten children?’
‘Men like to spin stories that will make a woman think more highly of them, but I could hear the truth in this one.’ Galantha ran her fingers through his hair while she remembered. ‘He was given shelter by people who spoke a strange tongue. When darkness fell, he crept out of his hut and explored the edges of the village, and what he found there all but drove him mad, so he swore, and this was a hard man who had sailed the sea-roads for many years and seen many terrible things. On spikes around the boundary were human heads, or what was left of them. And close to them was a pile of bones, a mountain, soaring up higher than his head. Human bones. These had the marks of butchery on them, and all around were leather pouches, and coin, and combs, and rings. He ran for his life, with the whole village at his heels, and only escaped by throwing himself off a cliff, back into the sea. This is how he told it to me.’
The room fell silent. Through the walls, the moans of the other girls echoed.
Bellicus closed his eyes, weighing what he had heard. ‘This sounds like a tale told to frighten children.’
‘It’s true. He swore. You wouldn’t doubt if you could have seen the terror in his eyes. As he spoke, he was back there, in that village.’
‘And these Eaters of the Dead—’
‘He called them the Attacotti.’
‘The Attacotti.’ Bellicus thought on this for a long moment. Half-remembered stories slowly surfaced. It seemed that he had heard of this tribe before, long ago, in a different place. ‘But their land is far away. They would never have ventured here, so close to the wall.’
Bellicus felt Galantha stiffen at his side and he realized he’d said too much.
‘You’ve seen them? Here?’
‘No. But a good scout must always be prepared.’ Before she could ask any more questions, he rolled on top of her again, and soon her body was singing to his touch. But the peace he’d felt had long since drifted away. Behind his eyes, once again he was standing in that clearing, looking at the swinging bodies of his fellow arcani. On the breeze he could taste ashes.
The wind had dropped and a stillness had descended across the dark grassland. Along the wall, the wavering light of the torches washed over the line of men staring out into the Wilds. For a while, nobody spoke. They only watched.
Lucanus tried to read Falx’s features, but they were like stone, his brow throwing pools of shadow around his eyes.
‘Where are you?’ the centurion muttered.
Lucanus looked to Atellus beside him. If there was any hope of reassurance it would be there. But the commandant’s brow was furrowed. No doubt he was beginning to conjure up explanations for the lateness of the cavalry. None of them would ring true. The auxiliaries had not ridden out with the necessary supplies to spend a freezing night in the Wilds – tents, greased furs, basic provisions. It was supposed to be a simple expedition, out and back, both a show of strength to any roaming barbarian band and a way to collect new information.
‘If they don’t return?’ the Wolf asked.
‘We send more men out to bring them back.’ Atellus ground his teeth.
Lucanus felt his shoulders tighten. The auxiliaries were seasoned fighting men. There was not a threat among all the barbarian tribes they couldn’t defeat or ride away from. No, Atellus, Falx and the other men there were haunted by deeper fears. Visions of monsters consuming human flesh played in their minds, he knew, though they would never admit to such superstitious doubts. To them, what lurked out there in the ocean of night, in the heaving, endless wilderness, was no ordinary mortal threat.
As if he could read Lucanus’ thoughts, the commandant croaked, ‘There is no fouler crime than the consumption of human flesh. Those who can commit such an act are capable of any horror.’
‘Why have they come now?’ Falx grunted.
No one answered. Falx shifted from foot to foot.
‘Wait,’ one of the men called from further along the line. ‘Is that a torch?’
Lucanus leaned on the parapet. His eyes were not as good as Bellicus’, but he thought he could see something. He sensed the soldiers around him stiffen and hold their breath.
A light bobbed, a single star in that vast gulf. It was drawing nearer, the Wolf could see now.
‘They’re back,’ someone exclaimed. Along the line, murmured prayers rolled out.
‘Come on.’ Atellus pounded a fist into an open palm.
Lucanus found he couldn’t take his eyes off that approaching light. One torch. Only one, for twenty men? He felt his initial elation ebb.
Atellus must have considered the same thing. The Wolf watched his shoulders sag and his smile fall away. The other men looked towards him, but there were no answers.
Then there was only silence once more and that wavering flame sweeping towards them.
‘It is, at least, being carried on horseback,’ Falx growled, estimating the speed of approach.
Lucanus frowned. The nature of that light troubled him. Now it seemed too large to be a mere torch, although it was hard to be certain in the featureless, swimming dark.
The men on the wall jerked as one, as if they’d all had the same revelation, and the Wolf raced down the stone steps with them. At the gate, Atellus barked for it to be opened and they flooded out into the Wilds.
Lucanus only had eyes for that nearing light. It was a horse, only one. He could hear the pounding of hooves on the frozen ground, but it was the sounds of terror the beast was making that set his teeth on edge. And as the flame swept towards that knot of anxious men, he felt the blood drain from him. His fear, all their fears, were confirmed.
The rider wa
s ablaze.
Roaring flames surged in the wake, a thick, tarry smoke billowing out behind. The horse’s mane had also caught alight, the orange of the inferno shimmering in its wide, wild eyes. The soldier must have been strapped to his mount, for he didn’t fall however crazily the beast galloped.
‘Bring it down,’ Atellus commanded, his voice drained of all emotion. ‘Put it out of its misery.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Somewhere a Wolf Howls
THE SOLDIERS SWARMED around the flailing horse. Their swords flashed and hot blood gushed from its throat. It was a merciful killing. The Wolf knew each man there would feel that death as deeply as if they had lost a brother. The cavalry horses held a special place in all their hearts.
Once the steed had fallen, the soldiers ran forward, lashing their cloaks on their burning comrade to try to extinguish the flames. Lucanus choked down acid as he smelled the reek of burning flesh. All could surely see it was far too late, and the fire was burning too hot to be put out.
In silence, they stumbled together in a crescent, watching the bodies being consumed.
For a long while, no one moved. Twenty auxiliaries dead. Twenty of the finest soldiers the empire had, brought down by … he did not know. None of them did.
He turned and looked into the dark. Perhaps Amarina had been right after all. Beyond the wall daemons had been summoned by the gods to carry out their Great Plan, one that ended with the destruction of them all.
The hoar-frosted grass crunched underfoot as Lucanus trudged with the others back to the gate. ‘What is our next step?’ he asked.
‘We cannot let this attack go unchallenged,’ Atellus said. In the glow from the torches along the wall his mouth looked like a slash in stone. ‘We must ride back out, with more men next time. The whole army if necessary. These monsters must be wiped from the face of the earth.’ When the commandant turned to him, Lucanus could see he hoped for reassurance. ‘You saw no sign of any great force in the Wilds?’
