by James Wilde
‘These people need us,’ Lucanus said. ‘We can’t abandon them.’
Catulus was sniffing around a pile of waste at the back of a hut. Bellicus whistled and the dog ran over.
‘We’d have more food to go round if we weren’t having to fill that hound’s belly too,’ Solinus said.
‘He’s as deserving of a meal as you.’ Bellicus narrowed his eyes at the other man. ‘More so, I’d say.’
Solinus laughed. ‘Now I’m less than a dog. My life’s journey is complete.’
Mato felt his spirits raised by the sound of that laughter. There had been too little of it of late.
As they passed the last of the shelters, Lucanus stopped and looked each way along the perimeter of the camp. Before him, the wood reached up the valley side, deep and dark and green.
‘How can we defend this place?’ Comitinus said. ‘It sprawls for ever and there are only five of us.’
‘You could stand there and whine like you usually do,’ Solinus said. ‘That would keep most away.’
‘We need our own wall.’ Lucanus drew a line in the air with his index finger. ‘And ditches to slow the enemy’s advance.’
‘That will take days,’ Bellicus said.
‘And many are too weak to help,’ Comitinus pointed out.
‘True. But some are strong,’ Mato said. ‘Choose the best men. Working together we can solve this.’
Lucanus nodded. ‘Aye. Working together. The leader needs to lead. Everyone who comes here is looking out only for themselves. But if some worked on the defences, others were sent out to hunt, or fish, so that everyone could eat …’
Mato pointed up the slope. A figure was staggering out of the shadows, a soldier, by the looks of him, though his helm and shield were missing.
‘The army is coming?’ Mato said with hope once the man had trudged up.
The soldier’s dirt-streaked face crumpled. ‘Defeated, everywhere. Forts burning. Those who didn’t die have fled. No one was prepared for this.’
‘The barbarians are still marching south?’ Lucanus asked.
‘The whole of the wall was overwhelmed.’ The soldier leaned on a tree, catching his breath. ‘I ran before the onslaught, I’m not ashamed to say. That saved my neck. On the road, I’ve met others who did the same. They told of messengers riding between forts to warn of ships sweeping in along the coasts in the east and the west. Barbarians coming from across the sea, all of them joining forces to destroy us here.’
Comitinus looked to the other Grim Wolves. ‘No one is coming to save us.’
‘Tonight I may die. But I can think of no better way to spend the last hours of my life.’ Mato rolled on to his back and wiped the sweat from his brow.
‘The gods are not ready for you yet.’
From the cover of his palm, he eyed Decima, lying on her side, head propped up on her arm. Her lips twitched into a smile, but it was the knowing look in her eyes that set his heart thumping. He could never get enough of her.
Kissing the tips of his fingers, he touched them to her lips. ‘This life would be harder without you.’
Her smile broadened to a grin, her teeth white against her dark skin. She must have heard this from a hundred men, he knew. Still, that didn’t make it any less true.
Knowing what was to come when darkness fell, the Grim Wolves had gone their own way for a while, to make peace with their thoughts, to drink deep of what this life offered, perhaps, to see the reasons why they were risking their necks. Lucanus was a good leader. He knew they all needed this time.
‘This is a hard world we’re moving into. I can’t see many comforts in the days yet to come. And I worry for you.’
‘I am well versed in looking after myself.’
He laughed. ‘I have no doubt. But still, the laws of the land have gone now. There are only the laws of the strong.’ He paused, choosing his words. ‘If you want my sword in your service, it’s yours. We have to watch over the people we care for, now more than ever.’
Decima stroked the hair away from his face. ‘I’m fond of you, Mato. You’re a good man with a big heart. If I accept your offer, I’ll keep you warm at night in turn. That’s a fair exchange. But you must know that I could never love you. I can’t love anyone. I don’t have it in me. That part is missing.’
‘You’re certain?’
She nodded. ‘It is the whore’s affliction.’
‘Nevertheless, I didn’t ask for your love, or your services. I offer my sword without any expectation of reward.’
Decima rolled next to him and embraced him. ‘If I could love any man it would be you, Mato,’ she breathed as she pulled away. ‘But to be friends like this, that is a jewel in itself.’
When Decima made her way back to the lake to wash, Mato searched around for the Wolf. They would need to plan this night’s business well if they were to see the dawn.
Bellicus was throwing a stick for Catulus and he pointed towards the shadowy reaches beyond the edge of the camp. As Mato prowled past oak and ash, he heard a faint sighing, and when he eased behind a hawthorn he glimpsed Lucanus lying with Catia, the rhythm of their love-making tender, restrained, no doubt, to avoid drawing attention. Mato pulled back and spun on his heel, pleased that the couple hadn’t seen him.
As he hurried back to the camp he realized that deep down he was unsurprised. There was not a man or woman in Vercovicium who didn’t secretly think that Lucanus and Catia should be together, he was sure. But still, he felt uneasy at this revelation.
His fears were confirmed when he caught sight of Amatius striding out of the camp with a face like thunder. ‘Have you seen my wife?’ he demanded.
‘Aye. By the lake, not moments ago.’
Amatius looked back, and after a brief hesitation he nodded and grunted, ‘Very well.’
Mato watched him set off back down the slope. Amatius sensed something amiss, he was sure. No good could come of this.
Fat and red, the sun slipped to the horizon and dusk crept through the woods. The birdsong ebbed and a stillness descended that did not bring peace.
Smoke drifted among the trees as the hearth-fires were stoked, and those who had foraged some food began to eat. Mato walked along the water’s edge, trying to enjoy the last of the peace. He found Lucanus staring into the growing dark among the trees.
‘Are you ready?’ the Wolf asked him.
‘Aye. But first a word.’ Mato looked round to make sure they would not be overheard. ‘There’s no easy way to say this. I saw you with Catia, brother.’
Lucanus looked away, either uncomfortable or annoyed, Mato couldn’t be sure which.
‘I came across you by accident,’ he continued, ‘and if I could, so could Amatius. You must do what you will, of course – I don’t judge. And it’s true that it’s far better for Catia that she is with you than a man who thinks with his fists. But I beg you, take care. This business could tear us apart, when we need to be standing shoulder to shoulder.’
‘You don’t need to say it.’ Mato heard the snap in those words and he knew his friend would regret it later. ‘I always take great care.’
‘If I could—’
‘No more. This is between Catia and me. Do you hear?’
Mato nodded.
Lucanus looked round, almost as if he expected Amatius to be watching him. When he turned back, Mato saw his brow furrow. He followed his friend’s stare and saw someone walking through the woods towards them, as the soldier had done earlier. But Lucanus seemed to recognize this new arrival.
The darkness unfurled around the striding figure, almost, Mato thought, as if he were forming out of the very air itself. As he neared he took on weight and shape, and Mato saw a cloaked man walking with the aid of a staff. Ringlets of black hair snaking out. A hooked nose and a thin face. At first he thought the left side of those features had been burned. But as the man neared, he saw it was a black tattoo, a spiral that became a winged snake as it curled under his jawline.
‘Myrrdi
n,’ Lucanus whispered.
Then this must be the wood-priest that their leader had told them about, the one who he could not be sure was friend or enemy.
‘How did you find me?’ Lucanus asked when the druid stood in front of them.
‘You are being watched, Wolf.’ A smile crept across the wood-priest’s lips. ‘You are always being watched.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
A Single Scream
ONE BY ONE, the torches along the camp’s perimeter flared into life and a wavering band of light marched between the jumble of shelters and the endless dark.
Lucanus smelled the tang of the boat-builder’s pitch curling up in the thick smoke as he looked along the faces of the few men who were strong or brave enough to hold that line. Yet the glow from the brands glimmered in eyes too wide, barely blinking, staring deep into the wood’s gloom. Afraid to miss even a hint of movement. The defenders seeing, perhaps, in their mind’s eye, horrors a thousand times worse than what waited for them.
The Grim Wolves patrolled the ranks, trying to keep spirits up. These men were farmers or merchants or smiths and they only brandished rough-carved spears. Beyond the sole soldier, there was not a seasoned fighter among them.
But Lucanus watched Mato’s brightness sparking relief wherever he went. The message was clear: we have fought these bastards before and we have defeated them. A well-told lie was a powerful weapon in itself.
Lucanus felt unease spark pinpricks of sweat along his back. These folk were more than unprepared. They were ignorant of what might be demanded of them. And he was equally unprepared to lead such innocents towards their own deaths. Any life lost here would be a stain on him.
Bellicus strode over. ‘This is as good as it gets.’
‘Aelius is there?’
‘Aye, though he has only one good arm to wield his spear. Brave lad.’
‘Amatius?’
The Bear turned up his nose. ‘He’s chosen to stay by the lake with the women and the boy and the old man. To be the last line of defence, to protect them come the worst. He says.’
Lucanus shrugged. ‘Better there than half-hearted when the enemy comes at us.’
‘You still believe this is the right course?’
‘What do you believe?’ He tried to read his friend’s face, but the dancing shadows hid more than they revealed.
‘I think you are wiser than me, despite your years. And I think you have a good heart. I’m a sour bastard who should never be trusted to do the right thing.’ He hesitated. ‘Your father would be proud.’
Lucanus winced to hear that. He was not sure it was true.
Bellicus paused, seemingly searching for the right thing to say. ‘When this is done, I would have words with you. About days long gone.’
There was a look in his eye, of worry, perhaps, or sadness. Lucanus felt even more uneasy at the thought of what was lying there. ‘Don’t trouble me with things done. I only want to hear of the now or the days yet to come.’
Bellicus held his gaze for a moment, then nodded his assent.
‘Keep watch,’ Lucanus said. ‘I can’t settle until I’ve given that bastard wood-priest the side of my tongue.’
He found Myrrdin warming his hands by one of the campfires, watching the preparations.
‘You are on the side of the barbarians,’ he snapped as he walked up.
‘And greetings to you too.’
‘Don’t anger me, wood-priest. This is a warning. I’m close to taking my blade to you.’
Myrrdin shrugged, unbowed. ‘The Scoti and the Picts sheltered us. As many tribes have, the world over. We walk our own path.’
‘I saw one of your breed in the camp where the war-moot was taking place. He told them about Marcus and his worth.’ Lucanus grimaced, trying to choke down his rage, but after all the miseries he had endured … all caused by his encounter with this man and his allies … he felt on the brink of being overwhelmed.
‘I’d be lying if I said we didn’t know their minds, or guide them. But we are not their kings. We are priests. They march upon their own road.’ Myrrdin held out a hand, a gesture of conciliation. ‘And between the two of us, they cannot see beyond the ends of their noses. Attack. Kill. Loot. Rape.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘A moment’s thought, and listening to good advice, would not go amiss.’
‘You make light. But now these bastards are hunting the boy down so they can claim a prize that will seal their victory. You did this. You and your talk of prophecies and kings.’
‘Your words are like a knife to my heart,’ Myrrdin taunted, pressing his right hand on his breast. ‘Hear me, now. I am an ally, and, if you will, a friend. And if it were not Erca and his warlords, it would be someone else. You see only what’s in front of your nose. But these stories about the prophecy and the king who will not die have been like a fish swimming in the deep for long years, slowly, slowly rising until it breaks the surface. From Caledonia to Rome and beyond, whispers are reaching ears, eyes are being raised and looking here, to the edge of the empire. Today … tomorrow … in days yet to come, they will come for him. The boy’s time of peace is all behind him now.’
Lucanus weighed the words, feeling some of the edge leave his anger as he recognized the magnitude of what he was being told.
‘There are many people who need a new saviour, Wolf,’ Myrrdin continued, his voice softening. ‘The Christians have had theirs and they are seizing power everywhere. All have seen how the words of the Christ, the voice and hand of their god, have bent emperors and kings to their will. There is a war being fought, one that uses no swords or spears. Long-held power is shifting. The sun goes down on dreams and hopes. And desperate men will do anything to keep … or reclaim … power.’
‘I hear you,’ the Wolf said. ‘A boy, an innocent boy, is a tool in a fight between those who have no regard for him, or his life, or the lives of those who love him. So tell me why you are here now. To cause more trouble? To steal Marcus away? To lay your own grubby hands on this great prize?’
‘I am here to save the boy’s life. And the mother’s, and yours, if I can.’
‘I have the feeling that you’re leading me by the nose to something else.’
‘True.’
Lucanus bristled at the wood-priest’s baldness.
‘Who is to say my plan is not in your best interests too?’ Myrrdin added.
‘Tell me. Then I’ll be the judge.’
‘Wisdom learned by a man following his own path is better than knowledge told by a teacher. There are times when you have to see with your eyes to know what is right. And if you are determined to keep your eyes shut, that will never happen. So, you must be guided along the way. Until you are ready to see.’
Lucanus prowled around the fire, scrutinizing the other man like a hawk. ‘You say you’re always watching me. How can this be so? How many of you are there … your kind … druids … witches …?’
‘My kind? We are not all the same, Wolf. There is not some vast, hidden army. There are allies … friends … enemies who want the same thing. But we have eyes and ears everywhere. In towns thick with people as well as in the forests. The wood-folk have been hiding for a long time. They’ve learned to be stealthy, to listen and watch. Their lives have depended upon never being seen for many years now, since the Romans drenched the shores of Ynys Môn in blood. You have had someone at your back since you left the Isle of Yews.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve proved yourself to be our road into days yet to come, and all our dreams re-made.’ Lucanus heard the light tone in those words and once again couldn’t tell if he was being mocked.
‘Go to your work,’ Myrrdin said. ‘Let Caledfwlch be true and filled with all the power of the gods. Hear the howl of Cernunnos in the forest. Feel the light of Lugh shine upon you. Smite your enemies and live to see the dawn. For all the people of this land now count upon you.’
At the vigil by the torches, no man spoke. All heads were turned towards
the wall of dark. At their backs echoed the cries of babes and the moans of the sick, a constant reminder of why they were fighting.
Lucanus walked the line. He saw from the eyes flickering his way that his presence seemed to do some good, as if those there had faith in him to lead and lead well. He nodded in turn, trying to stop his doubts playing out on his face.
Aelius held his spear loosely in his good hand. He’d not been drunk for days, and for a while it had left him like a hungry dog. Now his eyes were clear and he seemed a better man for it. If he felt any fear, he didn’t show it. That was good.
Bellicus loomed at the centre of the defence, his long shadow reaching down the slope. ‘Perhaps they will not come,’ he said in a low, rumbling voice. ‘Perhaps they’ve already moved on to torment some other poor bastards.’
‘Perhaps.’
The night drew on.
As eyes were growing heavy and shoulders beginning to droop, Lucanus saw Bellicus stiffen. The Bear had heard a sound, or smelled an unusual trace on the cool breeze. He leaned forward, shielding his eyes from the glare of the torches.
‘What do you see?’ Lucanus whispered.
‘We are not alone.’
The Wolf felt the hairs on his neck prickle. At first there was only the endless dark. As he stared into that void, he felt his vision swim, and then he realized he was seeing movement within it.
Keening whines rang out, rising and falling, like a baby crying or the shriek of mating foxes. Moans echoed along the defensive line. Lucanus understood his men’s fear. This was a sound that could have come from beyond the grave, a haunting lament for what lay on the other side of death.
He drew Caledfwlch. Bellicus unsheathed his own blade.
Out of the night they came, spectral skin, skull-like heads, pale eyes glowing in pools of black.
‘They are men,’ the Wolf called to his sorry band of defenders. ‘Only men.’ To those faced with the sight of them, it sounded a feeble lie.
As the Attacotti neared, he could see that the deathly pallor came from crusted ashes, the impression of rot from the charcoal smeared around their eyes and along their cheekbones. But would even his own men see through their fears?
