Pendragon

by James Wilde

  ‘If we are to survive these dark days, we must stand together.’ Lucanus’ voice grew harder, louder. ‘That is the only way. The only way. We must be brave. Fearless in the face of the enemy. That is the only way we can hope to take back what has been stolen from us. If we are cowards, when the army comes and drives the barbarians back beyond the wall, we may gain back our homes, and our work. We may have enough food to mean we never go hungry, and enough wine to restore our spirits. But when we look in our hearts, we will know that something has gone which can never be replaced. That emptiness will nag at us until we are on our deathbeds. We will never be able to forget that we were found wanting. There will be no peace for us.’

  Bellicus watched a few heads bow. Shame. Good.

  ‘We can barely hold back the ones who already attack us,’ someone said. ‘What hope do we have when a war-band arrives?’

  ‘Here is what I offer you,’ Lucanus replied. ‘We do not give up the boy. We will stand here tonight and fight as we have always done. And tomorrow, we will wait until the war-band is close enough to smell our sweat upon the wind. Then my men will ride out of here. We will lead the barbarians far away. And we will keep leading them, until their legs are so weary they cannot stand and they’ve been turned around so many times that they couldn’t find the way back to you even if their strength allowed them to try.’

  Bellicus grunted. The risks in this plan were too great. They could never afford to be so far ahead of their enemies that the trail would be lost and the war-band would turn back here. Yet if the barbarians were close on their heels so many things could go wrong – a track that led nowhere, a horse breaking a leg, another war-band cutting off their escape. This was a wager that might well result in disaster.

  He saw Solinus frowning – he too knew the dangers they faced and that their chance of escape was slim. But Comitinus was smiling, relieved that they would be doing everything they could to help these people.

  Bellicus watched realization dawn on the refugees’ faces, and worry and doubt turn to warmth, then honest gratitude. Cheers rang out, catching fire as they ran round the circle.

  He grinned at the surprise sparking in Lucanus’ face, and then his discomfort as he squirmed and tried to leave the circle before Kunaris brought him back to shower him with thanks.

  ‘Sometimes I wish we had a leader who was a bastard,’ Solinus said with a sigh. ‘Our lives would be easier by far.’

  The dawn light crept through the trees, driving the dark away. Mist drifted across the lake. The woods were still and peaceful and only the first few larks had started their song.

  Bellicus stretched and cracked his bones. For the first night since they’d arrived at the camp, no attack had come. Motius and his treacherous band were biding their time, knowing they didn’t have to risk any more lives with reinforcements on the way.

  He watched Myrrdin moving through the camp, a spectre in the dawn light, waking people from their slumbers, whispering soothing words as heads emerged from shelters. Bleary eyes looked around, glanced towards the lake when they understood what the wood-priest was saying. One by one they crawled out into the half-light.

  Lucanus was walking up with Catia, heads bowed together, brows furrowed. Bellicus knew the difficult conversation they were having.

  ‘Tell him,’ Catia beseeched when she stepped up. ‘You can’t abandon us. We must travel with you.’

  ‘You will. But not now,’ Bellicus replied, trying to keep his voice low and calm to soothe her. ‘If you come with us now, you’ll risk all our lives. We must be ready to ride hard, to fight if necessary. You will slow us down.’

  Catia clenched her fists at her sides. ‘And who is supposed to protect Marcus?’

  Bellicus smiled. ‘I saw a woman with a bow who made fair work of slaying a few barbarians,’ he said.

  She turned to Lucanus, jabbing a finger towards his face. ‘You would keep him safe. You. That’s what you vowed.’

  ‘We’ll lead away the ones who want to steal him.’ The Wolf’s voice was calm. ‘You’ll be free to ride on and we’ll meet further down the road.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Myrrdin will show you.’

  ‘And what if we meet cut-throats and robbers first? What then? What if we meet more of the people who want to get their hands on Marcus … the many, many people, as you told me?’

  Lucanus hesitated, choosing his words. Bellicus knew this was the hardest thing his friend would have to say.

  ‘You will have to tell Amatius of Marcus’ destiny.’

  ‘Never!’ Catia’s eyes blazed.

  ‘Hear me out,’ Lucanus continued. ‘Put aside what lies between the two of you. As I have put aside my feelings about your husband. For Marcus’ sake.’

  Bellicus watched her shoulders sag.

  ‘Even if Amatius doesn’t understand, Marcus is still his son. There’s no better man to protect a boy than his father.’

  ‘Heed him,’ Bellicus said. ‘In this he speaks true. This is the best way to keep Marcus, and you, and all of you, safe. If we don’t do this—’

  ‘Enough,’ she snapped. ‘If I don’t agree you will all set on me with your words, words, words.’

  ‘That is what we do when we cannot use our swords,’ Bellicus said with a nod.

  ‘You have to promise me that you’ll do all in your power to come back to me … to us … all of you.’ Bellicus saw her acknowledge him, but he knew her words were meant for Lucanus.

  ‘You have my word,’ the Wolf said.

  Myrrdin strode up and wagged the tip of his staff in their direction. ‘It’s time.’ Before they could respond, he turned and walked down the slope towards the lakeside.

  ‘What is this?’ Lucanus asked.

  ‘Follow him, brother. Let’s get this over with,’ Bellicus said. He spun away before Lucanus could say any more and followed the druid down the slope.

  At the lakeside, Myrrdin lifted his head and looked down his nose at the Grim Wolves, and Amarina, Decima and Galantha, and the refugees drifting down from the camp to gather in silence in a crescent around him. As Lucanus walked up, they parted. Bellicus held out a hand to guide his friend to the wood-priest.

  The Wolf looked around, baffled.

  A low wall of white rolled across the placid waters, tinged pink upon the top. So peaceful was it that even Bellicus felt the hairs on his neck prickle.

  Then Myrrdin stamped his staff upon the stones and a flock of gulls took wing, their cries soaring with them.

  Once the mournful sound had died away, the druid looked round at the crowd again. ‘Some of you know of the wood-priests. What we once were to the people of this land. Guardians. Wise men. The voice of the gods and the shapers of all things. And what we once were, we shall be again. The season has turned, brothers and sisters. The old world falls away. A new world is dawning, a new world that is older by far. A better world.’

  Myrrdin commanded attention, Bellicus saw. For the first time the Bear thought he could glimpse a hint of this man’s true nature.

  ‘You cannot see this golden dawn yet,’ the wood-priest continued. ‘For we are in the dark, before the sun rises. There is suffering, and there is blood, and there will be war, as there always is when the circle turns.’ He beckoned to the Wolf.

  When Lucanus shook his head and took a step back, Bellicus went to him as he had promised the druid he would. ‘Do all that he says, and do it without complaining,’ he breathed in his friend’s ear. ‘I will explain later. But for now, much rides on this.’ With relief, he saw the trust in the Wolf’s eyes. Lucanus stepped forward.

  ‘In those days, long gone, the wood-priests were kingmakers,’ Myrrdin said. ‘And in times like these, we had another task too. To crown the war leader who would defeat all enemies, one chosen by the gods themselves to guide the people towards the light of that new dawn.’ His voice rose, plucking at the hearts of those who watched him. ‘This great war leader is called Pendragon – the Dragon’s Head.’

/>   Bellicus watched realization dawn on Lucanus’ face. The Wolf narrowed his eyes at his friend, mouthing an epithet. Bellicus grinned and nodded, turning the blade, as friends do.

  ‘It is time for the Dragon to rise. The circle must be completed once again,’ the druid boomed. From inside his cloak, he pulled something that flashed in the dawn light. A sigh of amazement rippled through the crowd. Even Bellicus was surprised. Myrrdin had caught him off-guard with this.

  The wood-priest held up his prize so that the light continued to glint off it: a circlet of gold, a crown by any other name, Bellicus thought, a sinuous winged serpent eating its own tail, ruby eyes glinting as if it were alive. And the Bear surprised himself once again as he felt a wave of pride when the druid set the crown on Lucanus’ head.

  ‘All hail the Head of the Dragon,’ Myrrdin called. ‘All hail Lucanus. First and Last and Always. The Pendragon.’

  A cheer rose up. As Bellicus looked around the congregation, he saw how this ceremony had gripped everyone there. Shining eyes, bright faces.

  Hope.

  PART THREE

  The Dark

  Give me where to stand and I will move the earth.

  Archimedes

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The Morrigan

  A PALL OF black smoke drifted across the sun and the world grew dark.

  On the high ground, Lucanus pushed himself upright on his horse and looked out across a hellish landscape of blazing villages.

  ‘This is worse than any of us feared.’ The whine of the wind almost swallowed Mato’s voice.

  ‘The barbarians never stopped.’ Comitinus’ face crumpled. ‘We never knew … we never expected … They were not satisfied with breaching the wall.’

  ‘And why would they?’ Bellicus grunted. ‘That would have been small revenge for those long years with a bitter taste in their mouths, all those lost battles. And once they saw how easy that victory was, they knew they had an opening.’

  Solinus nodded. ‘Keep going. Keep going. South. But how far? All the way to Londinium? To the sea? To the walls of Rome?’

  ‘Their army was vast. But to take all of Britannia?’ Mato said.

  Lucanus felt a cold pit in his stomach. ‘This was their plan all along … the Saxon fleets striking along the east coast, perhaps even the west …’

  ‘A blacksmith’s tongs,’ Bellicus said. ‘Squeezing the life out of the army. You know as well as I how tired and lazy they’d grown, always moaning about worn candles and lice-ridden tunics and sour wine. Not looking to the horizon. Never paying attention. Too confident by far that no one would ever dare attack them.’

  For long moments, everyone fell silent, watching those fires burn.

  Lucanus dug his heels in and his horse heaved away, slow steps, not even breaking into a canter. What point was there? Running from hell, or into its mouth, it mattered little.

  For a while they had dared to hope.

  They’d left the camp at the lakeside when the thunder of hooves from the approaching war-band rumbled through the trees. Lucanus remembered the last look he’d exchanged with Catia as Myrrdin had led the rest of their group away along the water’s edge, wondering if he’d ever see her again. But then they were pounding through the trees, skirting just close enough to where the Attacotti and the Carrion Crows had made camp to entice them, but not close enough for them to see Marcus was not with them.

  And from then on, there had been little time to think, to sleep, to eat. They’d ridden hard up steep-sided valleys into that world of wind-lashed hills and shimmering lakes, making sure their trail was clear. Mato broke branches. They guided their horses through oceans of long grass so their path was like an arrow pointing to where they were going. They rode along the muddy banks of streams.

  Motius and his men would be suspicious of course that their trail was so obvious, but Lucanus hoped they would attribute it to desperation in their fear of being caught.

  It worked. At times they slowed enough to make sure they did not lose their pursuers, but the din of the warriors at their backs never ebbed.

  When they were certain Myrrdin and the others had had enough time to make good their escape, they charged on to rockier ground and rode along the leas of valleys so the smell of their sweat was not caught on the wind. Solinus and Mato galloped in opposite directions to set up false trails and then took their mounts along the shallows of water courses to leave no tracks at all.

  It would not be enough, not for arcani. The Carrion Crows were too skilled in the art of hiding trails as well as following them. But Lucanus had hoped it would buy them some time to find a well-manned fort or a legion marching to repel the invaders.

  Now, looking at the devastation on every side, he was not so sure.

  The body slumped on the spike at the side of the track, a warning for anyone approaching: here was the land of the dead.

  A crow perched on the head, feasting on one of the eyes. The other was already gone. It was a man, that much Lucanus could tell, but cheeks and lips had been pecked away, leaving only a bony grimace. One arm had been hacked off. The clothes were little more than rags, sodden from the last night’s rain. A poor man, then, one who would have posed little danger to the barbarians. That had not saved him.

  Already flyblown, the corpse reeked of rot. Comitinus covered his mouth and nose as he looked up at it. ‘Soon there’ll be nothing worth fighting for.’

  Along the track, other victims waited to greet guests. The Grim Wolves rode on, looking straight ahead. Everywhere they went they saw slaughter. They reined in on the outskirts of a small village, no more than ten homes set around a green where two hens pecked. It was as still as they’d expected.

  Rather than shout above the shrieking din of crows, driven to a frenzy by the carrion left for them, Lucanus flicked one hand towards the settlement. Mato slipped from his horse and crept to the nearest shack. He reeled back, barely before he even had a chance to peer inside, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth.

  Each dwelling brought a similar response, and at the end he trudged back to the horses, shaking his head. ‘All dead,’ he croaked. ‘Women raped. Children put to the sword. A baby cut in two. Men with their hands and their feet cut off … no eyes … butchered while they were still alive, from the look of the blood smeared around the walls.’

  ‘Where are we going to go?’ Comitinus said, asking the question none of them had dared voice until now. ‘Where will we find sanctuary?’

  ‘The army will have retreated … somewhere,’ Solinus replied. ‘We only have to find them.’

  Once the village was far behind, they gnawed on some knobs of dry bread Bellicus had found in one of the huts. Along the horizon, a squall blew up and lightning flashed above the burning villages. The wind blasted, cold for that time of year, and they bowed their heads into it. But no rain came, and for that they were thankful.

  When the sun again punched through the lowering clouds and drifting smoke, Lucanus could see how fortunate they had been. They rode the high ground towards the place where they had arranged to meet the others, a spine of brown rock and scrubby grass that ran south, cold and with little cover, but still the best place for them.

  ‘Myrrdin was right to say this was the road to safety,’ Bellicus said, following Lucanus’ stare.

  Where the hills reached down to the plains on every side of the ridge of rock, they could see war-bands riding south. The trail of burning villages stretched out in their wake.

  ‘He knows this land well,’ the Wolf said. ‘For all his faults, he has wisdom and knowledge that reaches across the years.’

  ‘Some of the barbarians must have ventured up here. The slaughter in that village tells us that. But I’d wager they found so little to kill or plunder in the hills that most of them returned to where there were richer pickings.’

  ‘Anyone fleeing the north is likely to follow this same path, if they have any sense.’ Lucanus looked into the distance, but he couldn’t estimat
e how far this high land went before they would find themselves in the midst of the invaders.

  ‘The army is going to have a fight on its hands to drive them back beyond the wall,’ Mato said.

  ‘Aye, well, the Britons have a war leader now, Mato.’ Solinus grinned. ‘The great Pendragon will be at the head of the army sending these barbarians to hell.’

  ‘Where’s your crown, Lucanus?’ Without looking round, the Wolf could hear that Comitinus was smirking. ‘Show us your crown. That fine gold crown.’

  Lucanus eyed Bellicus. His friend was grinning at him. ‘You’re all bastards,’ the Wolf said. ‘I’ll try to forget your mockery when you’re on your knees pleading for mercy from the Head of the Dragon.’

  Thunder rumbled across the heathland. Grey clouds lowered and the wind bit, yet there was no sign of any storm.

  ‘This is a dismal place,’ Bellicus grumbled, looking round at the featureless landscape.

  Behind them, to the north, lay the high moors. All around, rough yellow grass reached across the plateau with barely a tree to break the view, the land as empty as any they had passed through in that wind-blasted place. But ahead Lucanus could see a charcoal line of gritstone, the cliffs he had been told to expect.

  ‘It doesn’t suit men well,’ he replied. ‘That’s why Myrrdin chose it for our meet. Little chance of prying eyes, or robber bands.’

  The thunder grew louder. Now the Wolf could see a sheet of white spray rising up from the line of rock, the edge of cliffs where the land fell away in a dizzying drop.

  He lifted his weary head to look out across the grassland rolling into the misty south. No fires blazed. No pall of smoke. He felt a wave of relief.

  ‘The barbarians may have reached the end of their ambition,’ Mato said.