by James Wilde
Catia felt a flicker of cold rage at the enemies who had stolen their father from their lives, but that was better than grief, and despair. ‘You’re right, brother. Tonight we are remade.’
A voice echoed behind them and she glanced back to where Lucanus and the other Grim Wolves waited on the street leading to the river gate, giving them the space they needed to say their goodbyes. Lucanus was worried that he couldn’t protect her, or their unborn son, she knew. If only he understood it was not his responsibility – she could protect herself.
A small figure pushed through them and ran into the circle of light from the lamp above the gate. Tears glistened on the Mouse’s cheeks as he flung himself at Catia, wrapping his arms around her legs. She dropped down, hugging him.
Apullius strode up and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Home now,’ he murmured. ‘Tomorrow we will train harder.’
As Morirex trudged away, Apullius looked from Catia to Aelius. ‘I will call you sister, and brother.’
Catia furrowed a brow.
‘In the west, by a campfire as I mourned my father and mother, you showed me a great kindness,’ Apullius said to Aelius. ‘Death changes us, you said, from lead to gold. “Once the pain you feel ebbs away, and it will, you’ll find that you’ve been given a gift.” There is hope in hardship. We share a bond – brothers and sister in the Age of Orphans.’
Catia felt her heart swell. ‘Now you show us a kindness. I will be proud to call you brother.’
Aelius seemed lost for words, but he gave Apullius’ arm a squeeze.
‘This night I’ve looked inside myself,’ the lad said. ‘I know I have a part to play, and that it will mean sacrifice, perhaps even my own life. I’m ready for that. I’ll learn how to fight, and I’ll teach Morirex too. To help bring light out of this darkness, that is a life well lived.’
As he nodded and strode away, Catia thought how grown-up he now seemed, not the boy she had first encountered when she entered Londinium.
‘Tonight we are all remade,’ Aelius murmured.
Catia looked over the heads of the Grim Wolves and into the dark of the town. She felt a sense of unknown threats moving beyond the light, drawing closer. They would need each other more than ever if they were to survive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The New House of Wishes
‘WHY DO WE need to look after Catia as if she were a babe?’ Comitinus grumbled as Mato strode on ahead through the emptying streets. ‘I’m scared of her. Even with child, she could bring down any enemy who ventured near.’
Mato glanced back past the other man to where Catia stepped out of the night and into a halo of light from a torch guttering beside a door. Lucanus was huddled away with the wood-priest, no doubt trying to draw some jewels of truth from the druid’s twisting words, but Bellicus and Solinus flanked her, swords drawn. Her hood was pulled up, her face lost to shadow, but he thought how regal she seemed, her back straight, her head slightly raised, her pace elegant. He could see no sign of grief.
‘You saw what happened when we were on the road from Vercovicium. Those hungering for power sprang up like flowers in the spring fields. A fever seems to have gripped this world. We can’t take any risks.’
Comitinus sniffed and looked up at the amphitheatre towering above them. ‘One night of freedom, that’s all I ask.’
‘It will come, in time. Perhaps even this night.’
Mato whisked one hand towards a plain door in a plain house in the shadow of the amphitheatre’s soaring walls. The only distinguishing feature was a red rose roughly painted on the door jamb.
‘What is this …?’ Comitinus’ voice trailed off.
Mato rapped on the wood. When the door swung open, a waft of lavender-scented air rolled out. In the glow from the lamps, a familiar silhouette hove into view.
‘Welcome to the House of Wishes,’ Amarina said, her tone wry.
Mato shoved Comitinus inside. ‘Just … just the three of you?’ the younger man stuttered.
‘There is something for every taste.’ She nodded towards an open door and Comitinus saw several women displaying themselves, hands on hips, lips pouting.
‘You lost no time finding friends,’ Mato said.
‘I know how to keep a good house.’
You know how to survive, Mato thought.
Amarina looked past him and he saw her brow knot. There was no love lost between her and Catia.
‘Again?’ she said, remembering, no doubt, how she had sheltered Catia once before, at the House of Wishes she had managed in Vercovicium.
‘Keep her safe. Her father has been murdered, and Lucanus fears that’s only the beginning. We have enemies here in Londinium who will come for us all sooner or later.’ Mato looked into her face, wishing he could be more sure. ‘We trust you, Amarina,’ he said softly. ‘You’re one of us, whether you like it or not. You have duties now. But you should know that the Grim Wolves are fiercely loyal to their friends.’
‘Enough of your talk,’ she chided him. ‘Do you think I’m a child?’ She eased him aside and crooked a finger to beckon Catia inside. The two women eyed each other for what Mato felt was an unsettlingly long time. Finally Amarina said, ‘One of my girls will find you a room. I’ll come to you there.’ She summoned one of the women from the inner room, and Catia nodded and disappeared into the back of the house with her.
When Amarina faced him again, Mato flicked her a coin.
‘What’s that for?’
‘One night of freedom.’ From the corner of his eye, he saw Comitinus frown. ‘Even wolves grow weary without comfort. Lucanus has requested you find a way to put some fire back in their bellies.’
Amarina smiled. She slipped an arm around Comitinus’ shoulders and ushered him in to where the women waited. Bellicus and Solinus followed, closing the door behind them.
When they’d disappeared to the bedrooms, Amarina whispered to Mato, ‘Decima waits for you.’ He felt his heart leap, though he knew he was a fool. Decima was fond of him, but women like her could never love; that part was missing. But he could love her, and that would have to be enough. The world was a dark place, and every candle counted.
After they’d finished their lovemaking, Mato lay on his back and watched the shadows dance across the ceiling from the guttering lamp-flame. Decima traced a finger along his jawline. Her ebony skin seemed to glow with an inner light.
‘You have too many thoughts in your head. Too many for a fighting man,’ she said.
‘Aye. Lucanus always said I should have been a priest. But life leads us down strange paths.’
She gently rapped a knuckle on his forehead. ‘And what burns in there this night?’
‘I’m remembering my sister.’
‘Oh.’ Decima shifted. ‘Are you still sad? She died so long ago, yes? When you were very young?’
‘Yes. And no. The first time we encounter death, it changes us for all time. Lead into gold; for some, a magical transformation. Others are shattered into pieces that they can never put back again.’
‘And which are you?’
He brushed her lips with a kiss. ‘I learned to find every crumb of joy in this life, however miserable it got.’
She laughed silently. ‘You should have been a priest.’
After a long silence, he asked, ‘Can we trust Amarina?’
Decima pushed herself back from him. ‘Don’t ask me to betray her. She’s like an elder sister. Amarina cares for me, for Galantha, for all who shelter under her roof. I would be long dead if not for her.’
‘Reassurance, that’s all I want.’
‘Have faith. That should be easy for a priest-in-waiting.’ She popped a kiss on his nose, then let her hand stray down to his groin, a distraction and no doubt a much used one.
Mato closed his eyes, but he felt as if he had an iron rod in his spine. He remembered how Amarina had stolen the boy Marcus from under their noses and delivered him to their enemies. She had done it to try to save all their ne
cks, or so she professed. Perhaps it was only her own neck she was interested in, or her own advantage. He had seen enough evidence of that.
What if they had delivered Catia into even greater danger?
Amarina wrinkled her nose at the candle smoke as she strode along the corridor, lighting her way before her. This place was cramped and damp, but it would suffice, for now. It was certainly larger than the House of Wishes she had built in Vercovicium. She’d fought hard to secure this place in a town as spilling with bodies as Londinium, and the merchant who owned the villa had driven a hard bargain. But he was like any man, a chariot of lust, and like any man he was easy to twist around her finger. Once he’d been promised full use of her girls, at any time, with his own peculiar tastes well catered for, he’d become remarkably compliant. But if he ever hurt one of them, she’d still cut off his cock and feed it to him.
The thump of beds and low moans echoed through the walls. Amarina breathed in the heavy scent of lavender and rose drifting on the air to mask the sour stink of sweat and spilled seed.
She paused at a door and gritted her teeth. There was no point delaying it any further.
Stepping inside, she raised the lamp so the shadows swooped away. Catia had been lying on the low bed in the dark.
‘This is becoming a habit,’ Amarina said.
The other woman dangled her legs over the side of the bed and eased herself up with awkward movements. In the unwavering stare and the cold features, Amarina could instantly see that Catia was not the same person she had sheltered in the north.
‘Do you think I would choose to be here, cowering like a whipped cur?’
‘Here with me, you mean?’ Amarina raised one eyebrow, smiling.
‘I don’t like to run from a fight.’
‘Sometimes running is for the best. Or at least walking away very quickly.’ Amarina edged around the end of the bed. Catia held her gaze. ‘It must be tiring, carrying that weight around with you.’
‘I’ve carried a bale of hay on my shoulders. This is no worse.’
‘A rich woman like you?’
‘I was not always rich. And a purse full of coin does not always buy a path out of hardship.’
Amarina nodded. That she understood.
‘I don’t wish to be here. I don’t enjoy being in your care. It’s not in my nature to hide. But there is more than my convenience at stake here. My life, my wishes, mean nothing.’
‘I can’t decide if you’re close to the gods, or a fool.’ Amarina crossed to a table in the corner of the room where an amphora stood with two goblets. She poured herself a cup of wine, then eyed Catia and sighed, pouring the second cup and thrusting it towards the other woman. ‘Life is short and filled with spite,’ she said after a deep draught. ‘Get out of it what little you can before the dirt claims you.’
‘You think nothing of those yet to come? Of leaving this world a better place?’
‘I’ll not be here to enjoy it. Why should I care if everything burns to the ground after I’m gone?’
Catia sipped on her wine in thought. ‘Once you have a child—’
Amarina snorted. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve been denied wisdom because I’ve chosen not to be a suckling sow. I could just as easily say you’re addled by that thing leeching the life from you.’
‘I see you, Amarina. You show many faces to the world. But I’d wager the real one is never seen. I know you have some strange kinship with the Hecatae. You speak to Lucanus about daemons in the Wilds. You understand more than your own mean-spirited life. You can see the weft and weave of all there is reaching into days yet to come.’
‘And perhaps I want no part of it. I would write my own story, not have it written for me by the wood-priests.’ Amarina swilled more wine into her goblet, to the brim. She could feel her blood pounding in her temple. ‘Or the witches, or the forest folk, or men … or women … who seek power, everywhere. Why are you so blind? They don’t care if you live or die. They spin their tales of magic swords and saviour kings, and fate and destiny and royal blood, but in the end this story is about one thing. Drawing power into their hands.’ In her annoyance, she waved her goblet towards Catia and wine slopped on to the floor.
Silence swelled in the room for a long time. ‘Then let us take power into our own hands,’ Catia said in a quiet yet strong voice.
Amarina allowed those words to settle on her.
‘Let us write our own story,’ Catia continued. ‘We can shape this world as well as any others. And if we can bring the light back into this long night at the same time, then all well and good.’
‘An alliance? You and me?’ Amarina choked back a laugh.
‘You and me.’
Amarina felt an ache in her side from her recent wounds. She remembered Bucco the dwarf’s knife plunging into her flesh, the sound of the steel chunking into her, the iron smell of her own blood. She winced at a spike of fear.
‘Drink your wine,’ she said. ‘One of the girls will bring you food soon enough. Stay as long as you will. There is room enough for Solinus and Comitinus if there is still need for dogs to guard the exalted mother of our future saviour.’
In her room, she pulled on her cloak and then swept out of the suffocating warmth of the House of Wishes and into the crisp night. The sky was clear and the stars glittered like ice. Her fingers closed on the knife she had carried for so long and she walked into the maze of strange streets, driven on by the thrum of her blood.
The town was deserted and silence for once lay over that stinking mass of humanity. She hadn’t gone far when the hairs at the nape of her neck prickled and she realized she could hear the faint clack-clack of footsteps somewhere at her back.
Glancing back, she caught sight of a silhouette against the golden glow of a torch.
No town was safe, not for women. Nowhere was safe. But she would go where she wanted and she would do as she pleased. Setting her jaw, she turned off the broad street into a narrow track leading south, towards the river wall. As she picked up her step, she heard whoever was at her back do the same.
Darkness swallowed her. Looking back again, she saw the patch of wavering torchlight briefly obscured. It seemed she was being hunted.
A few steps further on, she ducked behind the wall of a workshop. Her feet crunched on broken shards of pottery and her heart pattered in fear that she had given herself away.
The footsteps rattled nearer, slowed. Doubt. Perhaps listening.
As she watched the dark shape of her pursuer pass by her hiding place, she lunged. Her fingers snagged in a woollen cloak and she dragged it back, slamming the stranger against the wall of the workshop. Her left arm crushed against her captive’s chest, and her knife flashed to the throat.
‘It’s not wise to be abroad after dark,’ Amarina hissed.
‘Please. I wish you no harm.’
A woman. The words were laced with a thick accent that she didn’t recognize, and the voice had the slow, guttural cadence of a country-dweller. She eased the pressure on the woman’s chest, but kept her blade poised.
‘Following me at night is the best way to get yourself harmed. What do you want?’
With a hesitant movement, the woman reached up and pulled her hood back. Blonde hair tumbled out.
Amarina dragged her back on to the track and twisted her into the faint moonlight. A pretty face, but not the delicate bone structure of a refined woman. Still, she would have earned good coin in the House of Wishes.
‘You keep the house of women by the amphitheatre. I heard talk of you among the soldiers. I watched you earlier—’
‘Spying on me?’ Amarina jabbed the blade a notch closer to the pale skin.
‘I wish you no harm,’ the woman repeated. She forced a smile, warm enough.
‘Who are you?’
‘I am a stranger in this place. A traveller. A refugee, seeking friendship.’ She paused briefly, and added, ‘My name is Hecate.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Chaos is Come
Again
FIRST THERE WERE black wings and then there was fire.
Lucanus gripped the cold stone of the parapet as the cloud blackened the western sky. Crows thundered up from the trees lining the snaking river. Their shrieks swallowed even the din of a town sixty thousand strong.
‘What’s disturbed them?’ Bellicus grunted.
They’d been wandering along the walls, discussing plans for the escape to Avalon. Here above the town the air was at least a little fresher, and they could escape the crush of churning bodies and the choking stench of filth and rot.
The Wolf watched the arc of panicked birds and felt his heart begin to pound. ‘No warning from the scouts.’
The words had barely left his lips when the burning arrows lit the sky. A hundred of them, more, arcing in unison.
‘Hell’s teeth,’ Bellicus hissed.
The fire rained down. Lucanus heard the pounding of that deluge on the edge of the vicus. With a roar, the shacks and the tents erupted into a wall of flame. Shrieks rang out, became one terrible, piercing cry. Bodies flooded away from the inferno. Makeshift homes collapsed, women, children, and the elderly falling before the surging tide, all of them crushed underfoot.
The Wolf looked up. Squinting, he peered beyond the flames, and when the billowing smoke shifted he glimpsed a charcoal smudge moving towards Londinium. It was lost in an instant, but by then he was bounding down the steps into the fort.
‘How did they get past the scouts?’ Bellicus raged behind him.
But they both knew the truth. An attack, long in planning. Scouts picked off, one by one, so that word never got back.
As Lucanus felt his feet touch the ground, he heard the rumble rise up. Londinium had seemed to be holding its breath, the hammers set aside, the voices stilled, an entire town of rabbits hearing a distant footfall. Far beyond the Fleet, a susurration became a roar became the sound of the heavens opening. A battle-cry caught by hundreds of voices.
‘To arms!’ he yelled. ‘We are under attack.’ His words were all but drowned out by the alarm ringing from the watchmen on the walls. They’d been caught sleeping, and they would pay the price.
