Pendragon

by James Wilde

  ‘Towards the barbarians.’ Amatius’ voice was wintry.

  Lucanus snatched up one of the torches. ‘Marcus will slow her. If we’re quick, we can catch her before she reaches danger.’

  ‘Wait,’ Catia called. She ran down the stone steps into the cleft and emerged a moment later with her bow and quiver.

  None of the Grim Wolves protested at her decision to join them; she’d earned her place.

  Amatius showed no feeling. As he turned away and began to walk towards Lud’s temple, Bellicus caught his arm. ‘My friend is a good man, and too gentle at times. But I’m a bastard. I’ve killed better men than you without thinking twice. Raise your hand against any woman here, and I’ll snap you over my knee.’

  Amatius wrenched his arm free, but Bellicus could see that behind his defiance he was unsettled. That was good.

  Bellicus whistled and his dog scampered up. ‘Come, Catulus. We’re going hunting.’

  And then he was thundering after the others, into the trees, watching the torch dance in the distance, one lone light in the dark.

  Amarina crashed to the bottom of the hollow, her cheek burning where the fist had smacked against it. She looked up at the soldiers laughing at her and her fingers crooked into claws. If only she had her knife. They would not be laughing when blood was pouring down between their legs.

  Falx marched down the slope and offered her a hand. ‘I warned you,’ he said. ‘If you came along and slowed us down, you’d get the back of a hand to make your feet fly.’ He yanked her up. ‘I gave you the chance to run. You should have taken it.’

  ‘The boy’s safety is my responsibility.’

  The soldiers laughed again. As if she could do anything to keep Marcus safe. She simmered, but pushed down her feelings; only a cold mind would enable her to recognize an opportunity to escape.

  The centurion shrugged. ‘Do as you will, for now. But know that you will not be spared because he needs a mother.’

  She eyed Marcus, standing with a soldier’s hand on each of his shoulders. His face was haunted, but he was not old enough to judge her for what she’d done. That trust would be knocked out of him soon enough, she thought with bitterness.

  ‘Was it not enough to steal the wages of your men in Vercovicium? Now you have to fill your purse with the suffering of a boy.’

  The centurion glowered. ‘All I had was left behind when the fort fell.’

  Amarina was pleased that she had touched a raw nerve, if only a monetary one.

  Falx shoved her and they carried on along their way. Soon enough she saw a light flickering among the trees and immediately she frowned. Surely they were still far from where she’d last seen the horde?

  Three wagons stood in a crescent in the clearing, five sullen men sitting by the wheels in hushed conversation. Beside them was a large amber tent, the light she had seen glowing within.

  At the sound of their arrival, a vast silhouette loomed in the tent’s entrance. Varro the merchant.

  ‘You have served me well since Vercovicium, Falx, but this is where we part company.’

  Amarina watched Varro hand over a fat leather pouch of coin. The centurion jingled it, his eyes lighting, and then he looked round at his men and nodded. ‘Fair pay.’

  ‘You earned it.’ The merchant ruffled Marcus’ hair.

  Falx winked at her and she bit down on her desire to rake out his eyes. ‘I’ll be the first to say that you and your band of misfits led us a fine dance, whore, and there were times when we thought you’d slipped through our fingers. But those who saw you never forgot you, and tongues were easily loosened.’

  ‘Where to for you now, Falx?’ the merchant asked.

  The centurion glanced at his men. They were a motley group, Amarina thought: heavy-featured, slow-eyed, hard men who would thrive in any situation. ‘There’s always someone who will pay for swords and good right arms.’ He grinned. ‘Those barbarians may have done us a favour. I’ve earned more since the fall than I ever did under the Eagle.’ He jingled the coins again, and walked off to join his men. They all brayed with laughter at some muttered comment that Amarina couldn’t hear.

  As the centurion and his followers disappeared into the trees, Varro snapped his fingers and his men jumped to their feet. ‘Get ready. We will be away soon.’

  Amarina looked back the way they had come, praying that Lucanus and the others would have found her trail and be on their way by now. Of all the errors she’d made in her life, this had been by far the worst.

  Bucco the fool danced out of the tent, leaned in and tweaked Marcus’ nose.

  ‘Don’t torment him,’ Amarina snapped, pulling the lad to her and crossing her hands over his chest.

  Bucco raised an eyebrow. ‘A new mother. Filled with fire. Just like the old mother.’

  Amarina bared her teeth at him, but turned to Varro. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve seen you before, have I not?’ Varro furrowed his brow. ‘In Vercovicium.’

  ‘She is the whore,’ the fool said. ‘The queen of whores.’

  ‘I’ll be the queen of cutting off your balls.’

  Bucco clasped both hands to his cheeks and tumbled back.

  ‘Take the boy into the tent,’ Varro commanded. ‘Give him some bread. Some wine. Fill his belly. He must be hungry.’ When they had gone, he looked at Amarina. ‘I have no need of you. Leave.’

  Amarina found her favourite smile and poured some honey on her words. ‘You have no need of a woman?’

  Her practised look had lost none of its potency. Varro moistened his lips. ‘What do you offer?’

  ‘Why, I’ll care for Marcus. This boy needs a mother. Would you or the fool prefer that work?’

  Varro nodded, considering. ‘And you will be a good companion, of course. It is too long since I have been with a woman.’

  Amarina flashed a smile. ‘You will not be disappointed.’

  While she thought of all the ways she could make this loathsome slug suffer, she watched the men hitch the horses to the wagons. Then, when his guard was down, she asked, ‘But is anywhere safe for us?’

  ‘Not here, no.’ Varro rubbed his hands together, overcome with glee that he had finally got his heart’s desire. ‘Britannia is already lost. A land of the dead, I would say, from all I’ve seen. The age of light is gone and now there is only the dark. But beyond the sea?’ He grinned at her.

  ‘You can get us away from Britannia?’

  ‘I have a ship waiting. On the south coast, which the barbarian horde has not yet reached. They’ve halted their advance for now, I am told, on a line between Viroconium and Durobrivae … the east is lost, of course. They came in their ships by the thousand.’ He fluttered his fat fingers. ‘They are not fools, these barbarians. They know they need to gather their forces, to rest, to build supplies. That gives us time … not much, but enough. Falx has told me the road to take so we can avoid any attacks. We will be gone soon enough, with no trace of our passing.’

  Amarina slipped behind Varro as he walked into the tent, close enough for her breath to bloom on his neck. He was wheezing from even that mild exertion. She looked around, knowing it was futile to hope there would be a knife lying close by that she could palm to use later. Varro’s guards stumbled past, laden with bales and cushions and ornately carved boxes, and Marcus squatted beside the fool, chuckling at Bucco’s jokes as he gnawed on a strip of flatbread.

  ‘What will you do with him?’ she asked.

  Varro studied the boy. He smiled in a way that left Amarina feeling uneasy. ‘The Dragon will rise, sooner or later. The circle will be completed and renewed. But until then the boy must be kept from all harm. He will have no contact with any other until it is time for him to breed, and when he has provided a son his use is over. As a grown man, there would always be the danger that he would demand his independence, and there is no gain in risking his falling into the hands of another; rival claims to the bloodline, and all that.’ Amarina felt his lizard eyes upon
her. ‘Does that trouble you?’

  ‘That he will spend his childhood as a captive and then his life will be over?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m a whore.’ She smiled. ‘I have no heart.’

  He nodded, but she could tell he wasn’t convinced. She would have to work hard to ensure she roused no suspicions that would hamper her attempts to escape. Seeing an amphora and two goblets on a small square table, she poured out some wine, pressing one of the cups into Varro’s hand and keeping the other for herself.

  ‘But if Marcus is not the king himself, what do you gain?’ she said curiously. ‘You’ll be long dead by the time his offspring sits upon a throne.’

  Varro sipped his wine. ‘You are just a whore. I could not expect you to understand.’

  ‘Tell me, then.’ She smiled at him over the rim of her goblet.

  ‘With the boy in my charge, I will be able to demand anything. For he is key to all that is to come. Thus, he is as valuable as the king himself.’ He waved his cup, slopping wine. ‘To wield power, one does not need to have it. Only to guide the hand of the one who does.’

  Amarina thought of the miseries that were planned for Marcus and felt pity, but she showed none of it on her face. ‘I know little,’ she said with a shrug, ‘but in my experience, when someone has something another wants they must spend their life defending it. Are you prepared for a lifetime of battle?’

  ‘There are many looking for this boy now, that’s true. Word of a saviour is spreading by the day, among those who are aware of these things. When people yearn for a god-given king to lead them out of earthly misery, it is only natural that such tales will spring from lips to lips.’ He nodded. ‘Many will wish to seize him, yes. But I will not stand alone.’

  ‘You have allies?’

  Varro grinned. ‘In every town, in every village, from the northern reaches of the empire to the east, and beyond. You have heard of Mithras, even in that cold, benighted place you call home?’

  She furrowed her brow, feigning ignorance. But she had, of course: the religion the soldiers followed, or some of them. But it was dying, so they all said. ‘What does Marcus have to do with Mithras? This prophecy of a saviour … I have heard tell of it … it is not a saviour born of Mithras?’

  Varro drained his wine and set his cup aside. His glee at finding what he had searched for for so long had loosened his tongue.

  ‘With every god there comes a story of a king who will lead the followers to joy everlasting. And even if there were not, such followers would believe it none the less. Especially the followers of Mithras. Our emperor is a Christian now, though this was not always the case. Once a man could worship any god he saw fit. Soon we will be told that any deity but the emperor’s own is false, and must be denied. The Christians already smell victory after long years of persecution, and like all those who have suffered they want victory, not equality. They destroy the temples. Punish the followers, drive them into hiding, as we drove the wood-priests once. But these things do not die. Not a belief in a god that has burned bright for an age. Sol Invictus. The Invincible Sun. They are angry, the worshippers of Mithras, bitter. Their heads are down and they see all they believed in slipping away. For now, they will continue their practices in secret. They cannot see any way to fight back, not when the emperor is against them. But if they had a king to lead them … if they had belief in a king …’ His eyes gleamed.

  Amarina looked at Marcus, laughing so innocently, and saw the hard road of the rest of his days laid out before him. This time it must have shown in her face, for she heard Varro say, ‘The wood-priests want your boy. So do the worshippers of Mithras, and any man who seeks power. These prophecies have a habit of capturing hearts and minds, if a man is desperate enough. But that’s not all. If the Christians find him, do you think they will suffer a rival Messiah to live? No, better he is kept alive with me, if only for a few more years, than to see his days ended now.’

  Bucco hurried forward. ‘Tell him,’ he implored, his voice filled with glee. ‘Tell him now.’

  Amarina frowned, not sure who the dwarf meant.

  ‘Yes.’ Varro hammered one fist into the palm of his hand. ‘He should know. Let it eat away at him. That bastard has made me work hard enough for this victory.’

  The merchant lurched out of the tent, as fast as he had probably moved in an age, Amarina thought. She skipped after him as he made his way across the camp and hammered his fist on the side of the third wagon.

  ‘I have him, do you hear? I have him, as I said I would.’ His voice dripped with triumphalism.

  Curious, Amarina leaned in. She heard a croaking voice reply, but she was not close enough to make out the words.

  And then Varro wheeled away. ‘Come,’ he yelled to his guards. ‘Faster. Faster. I would be on the road by first light.’

  Amarina jerked from a dream of deep water. She had found herself far beneath the waves, in the cold dark, the sunlight shimmering above her head, always out of reach.

  For a moment, she struggled to remember where she was, until she heard Varro’s rumbling snores and saw the silhouette of his bulk at the far end of the wagon. The fool was curled up beside him, like a dog. Dawn had come, the thin light filtering in through the flaps at the rear.

  Not long after they had packed up the camp and left, the rolling of the wagon had lulled her into sleep. She had been bone-tired and burdened by worries and she’d slipped away gratefully. But now she felt irritated by the lumbering rhythm. It was too slow and every bump rang through her. The track through the forest was rutted and uneven, not like the arrow-straight army roads. They rolled forward at barely any pace, for fear of breaking an axle or shattering one of the iron-clad wheels.

  Marcus was slumped beside her. At first she thought he was asleep, but when she shifted he looked up at her. His cheeks gleamed in the half-light, wet with tears. She realized what an ordeal this must be for him, even though he had no idea of the fate that was planned for him. Stolen from the arms of his mother – stolen by her, and how guilty she felt now – and then transported by strangers to an unknown destination with no explanation.

  Despite herself, she slipped an arm round his shoulder. ‘You have what it takes to be a hero. I can see that now.’

  The boy’s eyes brightened.

  ‘We are not going gently with this slug, but we must bide our time,’ she whispered. ‘When the moment comes, I will give you a sign. Do you understand?’

  Marcus nodded, then surprised her with a hug.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her arms hanging in the air, unsure what she should do. After a moment, she prised him off her.

  Brighter now, he crawled across the rolling floor of the rheda and peered out of the flaps. Amarina caught a glimpse of dense woods, thick with shadow, and the muddy track silvered in the first light.

  After a moment, Marcus turned back to her and whispered, ‘Someone is following us.’

  Her heart thumped and she felt a surge of relief. Lucanus, of course. She crawled beside Marcus and looked out, plans already forming in her head. They were trundling along at the rear of the line of wagons, and travelling slowly enough for her to drop the boy out of the back and jump after him when the time came.

  She peered among the trees and sure enough she could see movement. A pale shape, fleet of foot, easily keeping pace with the lumbering wagon. Mato.

  Squinting, she was certain she could see the other wolves following him. Biding their time for the right moment to strike.

  Smiling, she turned to Marcus and pressed her finger to her lips. He nodded.

  Varro and the fool still twitched and snored. The time was right. Easing behind Marcus, she slipped her hands under his armpits ready to ditch him over the side when the wolf-brothers made their move.

  She followed the progress of the shadowy man in the woods, and when he seemed ready to rush out she lifted Marcus up.

  The figure swept from the trees just behind the rear of the rheda.

  Ama
rina recoiled and dropped the boy on to the boards. When he cried out, she heard the merchant and his fool wake with shock, but now that was the least of her worries.

  The Attacotti warrior loped with the easy grace and power of a wolf at hunt. The ash-encrusted face and torso glowed white in the early light, charcoal-ringed eyes fixed on her.

  There would be no mercy, she could see that.

  With each step he drew closer. A short-bladed knife glinted in his right hand. The wagons rattled on, the drivers oblivious.

  Amarina yelled a warning, but her voice was lost beneath the clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels.

  ‘Do something,’ she heard Varro cry, his keening voice breaking.

  Bucco scrambled beside her and she felt him shaking.

  Turning, she grasped one of the chests in which the merchant stored his valuables and in one fluid movement heaved it out of the back. The casket smashed the warrior full in the chest, laying him flat.

  A gruff command to stop rang out from somewhere along the road ahead and the three wagons slowed.

  ‘Keep going!’ the fool squealed.

  Varro tried to claw his way to the rear, but the rolling of the boards threw his huge bulk off balance and he flailed around, howling.

  When they lurched to a halt, the wagon slewed, and Amarina felt it half slide off the edge of the track into the undergrowth. The horses stamped and whinnied, sensing some kind of threat.

  ‘We cannot stay here,’ the fool whispered in her ear. ‘Quickly. Under the rheda.’

  Futile, she thought. But as Bucco dropped over the edge, she lowered Marcus to the ground and threw herself after them. All three crawled into the shadows beneath the wagon, while Varro continued to wail above their heads.

  Peering under the wagons, she could see that the way ahead was blocked by horsemen. Then the floor of the cart above her began to shake, and a pair of trembling legs appeared over the edge as Varro lowered his bulk on to the muddy track. The fool grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear, ‘We cannot stay here. Come.’