by James Wilde
‘Why should I trust you?’ she hissed.
Bucco glanced at his master’s legs, and she saw a shadow fall across his face. He scowled, a look filled with hate, she thought, and then a knife flashed into his hand from somewhere in his tunic and he lashed out.
The blade carved through the tendons at the back of Varro’s ankles. No longer able to support his own weight, the merchant crashed face down on to the track, his screams tearing through the still morning.
Amarina was horrified by the speed and viciousness of the attack, but only for an instant. Bucco was already wriggling into the undergrowth at the side of the wagon and crawling away. Amarina pushed Marcus ahead of her and followed behind them.
In the dark of the woods, she glanced back. Ten or more barbarians were sitting their mounts in front of the wagons. These were not Attacotti, she could see. One of them looked like the leader of the Scoti with whom she had planned to bargain, the one Lucanus had called Erca. But what gripped her attention was the man standing beside him. Clearly, Falx had sold Marcus to Varro, and now he had sold Varro and Marcus to Erca.
As the merchant tried to heave himself up, still howling, the Attacotti flew out of the woods and fell upon him. His squeals rang out so loud and raw that Amarina couldn’t bear to hear them.
She ran on. Her movement must have caught the eye of one of the raiders for a yell echoed, but she didn’t look back.
Behind her, the sound of running feet crashed into the undergrowth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Short As Any Dream
THE MEWLING ROLLED through the still morning. Lucanus held up one hand to bring the others to a halt and listened.
‘I’ve heard no beast or bird make a sound like that,’ Bellicus said.
The Wolf looked along the sunlit track to where it curved to the left and disappeared among the trees. Nothing moved in the spring heat.
He felt his neck prickle, though his senses had been on fire since he’d led the Grim Wolves and Catia away from Lud’s temple. The trail had been clear – Amarina had obviously been more concerned with speed than hiding her path. But then they had reached a spot where several feet had walked – heavy, men – and there had been a scuffle of some kind.
Whether Amarina had meant to bring the boy to these people, he couldn’t know. Perhaps she’d been surprised by thieves or cut-throats. But he’d felt a wave of pity when he’d seen Catia’s face drain of blood in the torchlight. To her credit, she’d given no voice to her worries, only lowering her head and keeping pace with them as they loped into the dawn.
Lucanus drew his sword. The others unsheathed their weapons too, and Catia pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it.
As they rounded the bend in the track, Lucanus dropped low, waiting. Three rhedae blocked the way ahead, whatever horses had pulled them long gone.
Mato pointed to where bodies littered the edge of the trail, five of them.
For a moment Lucanus watched the trees. Then, creeping past the puddles of blood drying in the sun, he crouched beside the remains. All of them hacked down with swords.
Solinus darted round the wagons. When he returned, he said, ‘No sign of the boy, or of Amarina.’
Lucanus looked to Catia and was pleased to see the relief in her face, but it was fleeting.
‘Where, then?’ she asked. ‘Are these the men that Amarina and Marcus met?’
The mewling rose up again, high-pitched, undulating, and ended with a drawn-out chattering.
The Grim Wolves looked at one another, and then Lucanus tracked the sound into the woods.
A corpulent man swung from the low branch of a spreading oak on an oiled rope tied around his chest and under his arms. Fat flies droned around him, landing in clouds upon his head, then swirling away when the mewling began. The sound was creeping from his lips, or where his lips had been.
His head and chest had been flayed, his ragged, dripping tunic hanging from his waist. Lucanus watched white eyes roll in that crimson mask with a madness born of agony.
‘That … that is the merchant Varro,’ Comitinus uttered.
Now Lucanus could see he was right. His thoughts raced, piecing together the information he had. ‘Amarina and Marcus were brought here, by choice or against their will, I don’t know. Varro was prepared to pay any price to get his hands on the boy.’
‘And then he and his band were attacked,’ Bellicus growled.
‘There are many hungry people roaming the land,’ Mato suggested.
Lucanus reached out a hand towards the hanging man. ‘Would starving folk do this?’ He turned to Bellicus and said, ‘Put him out of his misery.’
Bellicus raised his blade and stepped forward. At his back Catulus let out a low growl.
An arrow thumped into the merchant’s face and his quivering stopped. With graven features, Catia strode away from them towards the wagons.
‘Follow the trail.’ Her voice rang out, clear and strong and fearless.
At the wagons, she paused, thinking. Lucanus watched her walk along the line, hammering her palm on the side of each one. At the third, a muffled call rang out.
Lucanus ran forward and slashed the bonds fastening the rear door. Wrenching it open, he recoiled from a potent reek of shit and piss and sweat.
A figure lay on the boards on the far side. As when he had first seen Varro’s flayed form, the Wolf found his thoughts struggling to comprehend what lay before him.
It was a man … but not. His arms and legs were gone, cut off close to the torso, the stumps bound with filthy cloth. It was a wonder he’d not already succumbed to death, from blood loss or the slow rot. He was thin, his cheeks hollowed out, and his skin had the look of someone who had not seen the sun in many a day. His grey hair was wild and matted. As Lucanus gazed at him in horror, the poor soul raised his head and stared back with rheumy eyes.
Tattoos darkened the man’s neck, disappearing under his stained tunic. The Wolf heaved himself into the back of the wagon and asked, ‘You’re a wood-priest?’
‘I am. My name is Vercingetorix.’ His voice was like a knife scraping down wood, and Lucanus heard an accent he did not recognize.
‘Where’s your home?’
‘Once? Gaul. I am of the Celtae and always will be, whoever claims to rule the land. Now this is the only home I will ever know.’
‘Who did this to you?’
‘The merchant Varro. He thought it the best way to stop me escaping.’
Lucanus felt sickened by the barbarity. It was as bad as anything that Erca and his men inflicted upon their victims.
Mato clambered in beside them, cupped the man’s head and lifted a water-skin to his lips. When he was done, the druid croaked, ‘My home …’ His eyes rolled up so that Lucanus could only see the whites. ‘I lived deep in the great forest, close to a wide river. Unseen, unknown, by the Romans, as all wood-priests live. But I served the folk of the woods … guided … healed. The wood-priests always serve. That is our work, given to us by the gods. Our wisdom will not be lost. It is alive … a serpent … a serpent that never ends … and we will pass it on to our sons.’
The Wolf thought that perhaps his wits were drifting, but then the man stared with piercing grey eyes. ‘I was taken captive. A band of Roman bastards came looking for me. Twenty-five tortured … and dead … men and women … led them to my door. They were in the employ of others … who wanted all the secrets locked in my skull. I was taken to Rome and sealed in the dark with the rats. Beaten, every day, starved and beaten. But I did not give up all I knew … just enough to keep me alive.’ His voice broke and he choked down a sob. ‘And then Varro heard whispers about me, and one night he and his fool came and took me for themselves. And then he took my limbs, and this time I did speak … and I gave up all my secrets … I broke my vows …’
Tears brimmed in his eyes. Lucanus felt a rush of pity and he rested a hand on the wood-priest’s shoulder. ‘Anyone would have done the same. You are a brave man, Vercingetori
x.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Mato breathed. ‘The master is dead. The fool is gone, but we will find him—’
The druid’s eyes blazed. ‘No, you are wrong. Varro is not the master, the fool is. And he is a blood-soaked monster who will stop at nothing to gain power.’
‘I told the boy’s mother I would help if I could,’ Bucco said. ‘And now Mithras has placed this opportunity in my hands.’
Amarina watched the dwarf splash along the stream with Marcus skipping in his wake. ‘What do you have to gain?’ she asked. ‘Unless you sell us too.’
‘I’m a poor excuse for a man, but I have a good heart. Varro beat me every day. He tormented me and made my life a misery. I did his bidding only to save myself more bruises. But now I have the chance to make amends.’
Amarina glanced back through the trees, relieved that the sounds of the barbarians pursuing them had long since vanished. The fool was cunning, she would give him that. He’d led them on a meandering path as fast as their feet would fly. They’d crawled under a net of bramble, tearing at their hair and necks, scrambled around rocks where the land had slipped away after heavy rains, and for a while rested in the high branches of an oak.
They had not escaped, she knew that. The barbarians would keep coming and coming until they had what they wanted. And they wanted Marcus.
How she regretted her plan to give the boy to the barbarians in return for the safety of her friends. She thought she was so wise, but she was more of a fool than the dwarf. Desperation had done that to her, aye, and fear too, and it had been a long time since she’d been afraid. She hated herself for that. Erca would never have bargained. He would have taken the boy and his men would have raped her and killed her. She wiped away a tear, born of self-loathing. Years and years of being strong and cautious and now she had thrown it all away in a moment of stupidity. And it could cost her and the boy everything.
‘Where are you leading us?’ she asked.
‘There is no safety here, anywhere. Varro has his ship waiting, and a crew already well paid. We should not waste that. We must find some horses to steal, and food, and this will be over in no time.’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I must return the boy to his mother. I must make amends.’
Bucco flashed her a lopsided grin. ‘You would fall into the hands of the barbarians?’
‘They’ve halted their advance, for now. Varro said that himself. There’s only this war-band. With some wit, we can slip by them and return to Lud’s temple and the others.’
Bucco jumped out of the stream and began to claw his way up a steep bank topped with a ridge of hawthorn. He held out a hand to help Marcus up behind him.
‘Easier said than done. Let us get away, to the coast, and then when we’re safe we can think once more.’
Amarina grabbed the boy’s other wrist. ‘No,’ she said. ‘We must decide now.’
The fool held the boy for a moment as if he were about to wrench him free, and then he let him go. He slid back down the bank.
‘You have a fire in you,’ he said.
Amarina frowned. Something was troubling her. She thought for a moment and then she had it. ‘Your words … the way you speak. It’s changed.’
Bucco smiled. ‘We all wear many faces, and a fool wears more than most.’
‘Marcus, come here,’ she commanded. ‘My mind’s made up, Fool. The boy and I will take our chance alone. You go your own way.’
Bucco clutched at his heart. ‘You wound me. You would turn your back upon the hand of friendship?’
‘This is for the best.’
He doffed his cap to her. ‘Then this is where we part ways. One thing. A kiss upon the hand?’
He stepped forward and Amarina was surprised when he took her hand, but she could allow him this moment. The gods knew, she’d endured worse. He kissed the back of her hand, lingering for only a moment.
And then he drew himself up, and when she looked into his eyes she had a sudden vista into the abyss of his mind and the chasm of his heart. The knife was in his hand, as fast as when he’d struck down Varro.
And he was stabbing and stabbing, and in her shock she couldn’t utter a cry. Her blood flew, her arms flailed and she was falling backwards.
Darkness flooded into the edges of her vision.
She slammed down on to the mud beside the stream, feeling fire flood through her veins. And she could hear Marcus screaming, and the dwarf shouting, and she could see Bucco dragging the boy up the bank to a narrow path through the hawthorn and she knew everything was lost.
CHAPTER FORTY
Old Crows
Rome
‘WHAT’S WRONG?’
Corvus swept into the yard at the camp of the strangers. The summons from his friend had come less than an hour ago and it had sounded urgent. Under the hot midday sun by the barracks new faces greeted him, men sleeked with sweat and smeared with the dust of the road. As the boys led their exhausted horses to water, Theodosius walked among them, leaning in to conduct intense conversations.
When he saw Corvus, he came over. ‘Messengers from the emperor in Reims,’ he said, nodding to the new arrivals.
‘Trouble along the front?’
‘Some. The Alamanni are aware of our plans to attack. The tribal leaders have all sent envoys to Valentinian. They want a peace treaty. It’s desperation, nothing more. They must know they won’t be successful.’ Theodosius shrugged. ‘Except perhaps for Macrianus. He’s offered to recruit a military unit for us from among his own people. A wise move.’
Corvus studied the drawn faces of the weary messengers. ‘There’s something more.’
His friend nodded. ‘The emperor has lost touch with Britannia.’
‘Lost touch? Has that whole godforsaken place sunk beneath the waves?’
‘Messengers meant to arrive did not. Messengers sent did not return.’
‘But what does that mean?’
‘For now, none of the advisers who have the emperor’s ear can reach any agreement, my father among them. Valentinian has sent a group of trusted men to learn the truth.’ Theodosius glanced back at the messengers. ‘But we need to make preparations to return to Gaul and wait for that news to arrive. If it’s bad, we’re all going to be needed.’ Corvus realized his face must have fallen, for his friend clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘We’ve had a good stay in Rome, away from the miseries of the front, the cold and the damp. But we have our duty.’
‘I know. And I’ll thank your father for letting us stay here in comfort while you made arrangements for the supply routes.’ Corvus paused, choosing his words. ‘Besides, I think I’m ready to return to Gaul. It’ll be safer for me there.’
Theodosius furrowed his brow. ‘That doesn’t sound like you. Something’s wrong here?’
‘I can’t say. This is my burden.’
‘Tell me,’ Theodosius pressed. ‘I’m worried for you, my friend.’
‘I can trust you, of course I can. But you’re the only one,’ Corvus lied. ‘It takes a lot to get me looking over my shoulder, you know that, but I’m worried too, I admit it.’ He was trying to choose words which would work without giving too much away. ‘It seems I’ve made some enemies. Hard to believe, I know.’ He forced a smile which he knew would be unconvincing. ‘I’ve found out too much, by chance mostly. About … plots. Secrets. And there are some who’d go to any lengths to make sure I didn’t open my big mouth.’
‘You think your life is in danger?’ Corvus saw Theodosius’ face darken. For all his many flaws, the other man was loyal.
‘Rome was founded on blood, my friend,’ he replied, knowing how cryptic it would sound. ‘Romulus killed Remus in an argument over where the city should stand. Romulus learned the way of the wolf. Remus didn’t, and paid the price.’
He walked away while Theodosius was still trying to make sense of what he had said.
The sun was setting and the Tiber was a river of blood as Corvus strode purposefully along the Via Flaminia. Pavo was
waiting for him outside the house. His friend looked furtive, peering up and down the road as if he expected an attack to come at any second.
‘You seem calm,’ he said, almost irritated.
‘I’ve reached an accommodation with myself.’
‘Good work for a man with a mother who lavishes all her love and attention upon his brother, and a brother who would steal everything from him, including the woman who dazzles him.’
Corvus felt his chest tighten. ‘We have had this conversation, old crow.’
‘Just making sure your resolve is not weakening.’
‘You’d never forgive me if it did.’
Pavo nodded, a flash of a grin. ‘I only have your best interests at heart, old crow. You know that. We’ve been together for a lifetime near enough, two as one, side by side against adversity.’
Corvus thought he saw a gleam of sadness in the other man’s face. ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured him. ‘We might have enemies on every side, but we always come out ahead.’
‘We do at that. No need to be scared.’ Pavo shrugged. ‘I’m a coward.’
‘You’re the strong one.’
Pavo laughed. ‘Ever had the feeling that everyone is out to get you?’ He glanced over his shoulder again, uneasy. ‘But sometimes I see the shadows moving …’
‘All will be well. Say it after me.’
‘All will be well.’
Corvus nodded. ‘Then it’s time to catch our dragon.’
Ruga was pacing his room like a caged wolf. He glared when he saw Corvus at the door. So much hatred there. Could his brother really loathe him so much?
‘Where is Hecate?’
‘Somewhere you won’t find her.’
Ruga came at him with fists bunched. Corvus stood his ground, pressing his arms to his sides, his hands open, showing he was no threat, but still he wasn’t sure his brother wouldn’t knock him to the floor.
‘You will not ruin things,’ Ruga hissed, ‘as you always ruin them. Not this time.’
‘I know you think there’s much at stake, so much that you’d go to lengths that I can’t begin to imagine—’
