Dark Age

by James Wilde

  Lucanus raised the lamp and the gloom fell away. Corvus was sitting in a corner of the cell, his legs stretched out. He looked as if he were lounging in a tavern, though his tunic was filthy, his hair greasy and bedraggled, and a new beard now edged his jawline.

  ‘Lucanus Pendragon,’ he said, forming each syllable as if he had a mouth filled with stones.

  ‘I’d wager you didn’t expect to see me again.’

  ‘I never doubted it for a moment. We’re locked together until the end, two dragons slithering around each other until one wins. And one dies.’

  ‘We’ll both die soon enough. The barbarians are massing. The final attack is coming.’

  ‘Time to get out of Londinium, then. A boat across the river with your woman and child. Flee across the water, to Gaul, to Rome, to the hot lands.’

  Lucanus stiffened. He couldn’t say he hadn’t fantasized about just such an escape. ‘I won’t abandon the people relying on me. Men answered my call for an army to defend Britannia, and put their lives in my hands.’

  ‘That gold crown has gone to your head.’ Corvus nodded, pleased with himself at the wordplay.

  ‘You could fight alongside us. Beg your friend Theodosius for mercy.’

  ‘Oh, Theodosius hates me for more than any professed belief, and he hates me enough for that alone. He sees me as Judas – the one from those teachings that fill his head with nonsense. The betrayer, the great devil, who seeks only to bring down the true and righteous protector of the faith.’

  ‘I understand. You are dedicated to Mithras—’

  ‘Gods come and go, depending on what men want from them. I’m no more wedded to following the path of Sol Invictus than I am to Jupiter or the Christ.’

  The Wolf frowned. ‘You’d rather die here alone?’

  Corvus smiled. ‘But I’m not alone.’

  Lucanus ignored him. ‘I’m giving you a chance to unburden yourself. You have many crimes to answer for.’

  ‘True. I’m guilty of a great many things in my life. But the one I regret the most is underestimating my friend’s stupidity.’

  The Wolf set the lamp down and shadows pooled in Corvus’ eyes. ‘Everything you said in the House of Wishes was true?’

  ‘About your beloved Catia, and her mother, and my mother? Oh, yes.’

  ‘And what about the King Who Will Not Die – this prophecy of a saviour that people are talking about? This royal bloodline, chosen by the gods. Is it true?’

  Corvus furrowed his brow in thought. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘How could it not?’

  He sighed. ‘Surely you must have heard this a thousand times? There will come a Bear-King regardless, because men have deemed that they need one. A beacon in the night. A standard around which the poor folk can rally in their darkest hour. Something to believe in, Lucanus. Without that, what gets us all out of our beds in the morning? Gold? Lust? Perhaps, for a while. But that never quite fills the yearning, does it?’ He bunched his fist and tapped it above his heart.

  ‘And lives are sacrificed, and dreams destroyed, because the wood-priests play their games of power?’ Lucanus heard his voice hardening.

  Corvus laughed, his eyes brightening. ‘I see! You come to me for reassurance? You are a simple fellow, Lucanus. Well, in the spirit of your gracious request, I’ll give you an honest answer. Look into your heart. The only truth you’ll find in this world is there. What you want. What your will demands. In the end, that’s all we have.’

  The Wolf snatched up the lamp and hammered on the door to signal to Falx. He couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with Corvus or with himself for coming there. As he stepped out into the chill morning, he heard the other man’s final words floating at his back.

  ‘We all die, Lucanus. What we do in the few short years granted us is all that counts.’

  Along the walls, the sentinels stood, watching, waiting. What else could they do? The fort sang with the sound of whetstones on the edges of blades. Only the cries of babes drifted along the deserted streets. Men hunched around their hearths in silence, staring at the embers, lost to their thoughts until the call came to defend the walls. Women crooned laments, their cheeks wet with tears.

  Hunger was forgotten. Want was forgotten.

  The world was ending.

  Lucanus leaned on the parapet, not far from the Aldgate. To his left, the vast cemetery sprawled. Ahead spread the marshes, carved up by the swords of lengthening shadow as the sun slipped down to the west. A cold wind whipped at his cloak. Winter had not yet gone.

  For a while, he searched the muddy browns and mossy greens of the landscape until Bellicus lifted his arm and pointed. ‘See?’

  Black blurred the terrain in a wide arc from the river round to where he lost sight of it beyond the northern wall. The line had risen from nowhere and was growing wider, a black wave, gaining height and power as it rushed towards the shore.

  ‘Surrounded, if not for the river,’ Solinus muttered.

  ‘How many are there?’ Comitinus gasped.

  ‘Don’t bother counting. It only takes one.’ Solinus half drew his sword, stared at it for a moment, then let it slide back into its sheath.

  Lucanus cupped his mouth and yelled ‘Ho!’, but the word was already leaping from the lips of soldiers along the length of the wall, a rippling exhalation, almost a prayer.

  The Wolf watched Theodosius climb the steps and stride towards the wide platform at the foot of one of the crescent-shaped towers. Since his arrival, he’d grown into his role as one of the commanders in the depleted ranks. His judgement was strong and he never wavered in any of his orders once a choice had been made. If he’d still been in Rome, he could have gone far.

  Theodosius boomed a command, and soldiers wrenched a sailcloth back. The ballista fell into view. Lucanus imagined the same scene unfolding on all the twenty-two platforms around the walls. He’d heard tell of these war machines, but he’d never seen any at Vercovicium. The metal weapon had two large springs that could fling a bolt even across the breadth of the Tamesis, so he’d been told in one of the many tactical meetings. But against such a vast army the supply of darts was limited, and Theodosius had overseen the constructing of skeins that would allow the ballistae to launch rubble, as they had in days long gone.

  Along the walkway, soldiers trundled the one-man scorpios, smaller spring-powered war machines that could catapult a single bolt. There were several of those, but still too few to make a difference.

  The black wave was sweeping towards Londinium, the line becoming a dark sea reaching out to the silvery horizon. Now Lucanus could hear a low rumble. He thought how it sounded like some great beast, slowly waking, and he realized it was the full-throated battle cries of the barbarians merging into one growing roar.

  The soldier standing next to him leaned over the side and vomited.

  ‘Where’s Mato?’ Bellicus muttered.

  ‘On the south bank, hiding in the reeds, if he’s got any sense,’ Solinus replied.

  None of them looked at each other. Lucanus knew why. Each one was afraid another might suggest the likely truth – that their friend was already dead. They couldn’t entertain that thought, not now.

  On the edges of the marshlands, the barbarians slowed their pace as they picked their way through the treacherous bog.

  ‘Drown, you bastards,’ Solinus growled.

  On they came.

  When they were close enough for Lucanus to pick pale faces out of the mass, he heard Theodosius bellow, ‘Let go!’

  The command rolled around the walls.

  The nearest ballista cracked. The iron dart smashed into the advancing line. Bodies whirled through the air, and Lucanus imagined he felt the land shake.

  Before the barbarians could recover, more bolts crashed down, splintering trees and crushing bone. Warriors staggered away, plunging into the sucking marsh. The battle-cries ebbed and in the stillness that followed only screams rang out.

  Lucanus could sense their terror. To f
ace such mighty weapons would make any man’s blood run cold. Perhaps they thought this was the judgement of the gods.

  But though their lines became more ragged, still they advanced.

  ‘Look,’ Comitinus cried, stabbing a finger over the ramparts.

  Following his direction, Lucanus peered into the gathering gloom. At first he thought he was seeing a deer bounding through that empty land between the horde and Londinium’s walls, and then, as he squinted, he realized it was a man racing as fast as his legs would carry him.

  ‘Mato,’ Bellicus breathed.

  Solinus gripped the stone wall. ‘Stupid bastard. Left it to the last.’

  Lucanus looked past that weaving figure and saw an advance band of barbarians hunting him down. Ten of them, perhaps more. Mato stumbled, threw himself on. Ragged after two days of hiding and spying.

  ‘He doesn’t know they’re at his heels,’ Comitinus said. ‘They’ll be on him before he reaches the gate.’

  ‘Jolt-head. What a time to stop killing,’ Solinus said.

  Lucanus felt the heavy gaze of his brothers on him. He nodded.

  Down the steps he flung himself, having no doubt that the others were close behind. At the Aldgate, he argued with a knot of soldiers to convince them he should be let out. They thought him mad, he could tell, but the enemy was still far enough away to pose no risk to them.

  At a gentle touch on his arm, he turned to see Catia, her bow across her back and her quiver hanging from her shoulder.

  ‘We all must do what we can,’ she said.

  Behind her, a column of men trooped from the streets. Their heads were bowed, their step leaden, but they carried cudgels and hammers and adzes.

  He felt a surge of pride at her courage. ‘Always our wolf-sister,’ he said. ‘But Weylyn …?’

  ‘Amarina’s caring for him. Until we return.’ They exchanged a look, remembering how Amarina had taken Marcus as they fled south. ‘I trust her,’ Catia added, and that was enough.

  She kissed him on the cheek. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand. So much crackled between them in those simple contacts. Without another word, she clambered up the stone steps to the wall.

  The thunder of the ballistae echoed all around. Along the walls, soldiers roared their defiance, whipping up the new recruits.

  ‘It’ll only make his head swell if he sees all four of us coming out to rescue him. One should be enough,’ Solinus shouted, not meeting anyone’s eye.

  ‘Two,’ Comitinus insisted.

  They shared a silent look and for once there was no bickering.

  ‘We all go,’ Bellicus said. ‘I’ll not have you two claiming all the glory.’

  Lucanus turned and looked back across the darkening town. The red sun was almost gone and now fat droplets of rain were falling.

  ‘Words, words, words,’ he said, turning back. ‘Never have I known men who liked the sound of their own voices more. You’d think you didn’t want to go out and face a horde of barbarians.’

  He raised his arm. The gate rumbled open.

  Lucanus pushed past the others and bounded out.

  Now there was only a sea of night stretching out from the walls. But they were arcani – they’d learned to see in even the darkest places. In his mind’s eye, he pictured Mato weaving his erratic path towards Londinium and then he plunged along the road for a while. Where it dog-legged towards the river, he stepped off into the grasslands that ran up to the edge of the marshlands.

  The rain drummed on the ground. He gritted his teeth. In that deluge, they wouldn’t hear anyone approaching. But the crack of the ballistae and the thump of the darts driving into the ground cut through even this storm.

  Over his head, a star blazed to earth. The earth shuddered and flames soared up.

  As a copse of elders blazed, some of the dark flooded away and Lucanus saw silhouettes moving. The enemy, so close.

  Another light arced down, a pitch-filled amphora with an oil-soaked wick. This one crashed into the line of barbarians. Screams cut through the din, and the Wolf watched warriors raging around as flames surged up them.

  As the burning hell rained down, Lucanus saw it was driving back some of the barbarians, and slowing the advance of the others. He felt a surge of relief.

  Keeping low, he glanced back and saw his brother Wolves bathed in the orange glow of one of the fires, their faces in shadow from the snouts of their pelts pulled low. He flexed his fingers and they crouched in behind him.

  Weaving around the edges of the marsh-pools, they slipped into the coppice he judged to be closest to Mato’s line of approach. The stark branches offered little shelter from the pounding rain, and beyond the trees dark shapes moved against the bursts of fire and the red glow reflecting off the brackish water. Soon enough they would be surrounded.

  The thought had barely passed through his mind when a figure crashed into the copse, and Solinus lurched up and dragged Mato down into the mud. ‘Good scouting there, brother. Did you find out if there are any barbarians?’

  Mato sagged with relief, but only for a moment. ‘They’re close behind,’ he gasped.

  ‘Away,’ Lucanus urged. ‘Back the way we came.’

  Making sure they weren’t standing tall enough to be lit by the fires, they crept out of the coppice. A shout cracked at their backs and Lucanus whirled. Three Picts crashed out of the trees.

  Lucanus heard their cries ring out to alert their comrades, and then their swords were flashing down.

  Bellicus lunged, fast as a snake for a man his size. His sword rammed into the gut of one of the warriors as the Wolf hurled himself at another, slamming his shoulder into the man’s stomach. They splashed into the mud, rolling as they fought until they pitched into the reeds. Forcing himself on top, Lucanus thrust the Pict’s head down into the marsh water. The warrior thrashed, but the Wolf gripped tighter, holding him under until his limbs twitched and then stilled completely. When he let go, the body slipped beneath the oily surface and was gone.

  When he turned back, the last Pict lay dead, but men were surging all around.

  They were too late.

  The five Wolves raced back into the coppice. It would not keep them hidden for long, Lucanus knew, pressing himself down into the sodden earth. The rain thumped on his back. He looked around at the others, held each man’s eyes for an instant.

  ‘I’ll die with a sword in my hand,’ Bellicus growled.

  The Wolf nodded. He thought his old friend was going to say something more – his face seemed to grow sad – but then Bellicus’ gaze flashed past him.

  Lucanus rolled over, half drawing Caledfwlch, as a figure towered over him. For a moment he fought to comprehend what he was seeing, and then an exploding amphora lit up the copse. A Roman soldier looked down at him, frowning.

  ‘We’re arcani,’ the Wolf shouted before the man could stab with his spatha blade.

  The soldier nodded. Now Lucanus could see that the men flooding past the trees were all soldiers, their helms burnished by the orange glow of the fires.

  Theodosius the Elder’s reinforcements. The battle to retake Britannia had begun.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The Beginning

  SAILS BILLOWED IN the dawn light. Along the Tamesis, two more ships swept from the estuary towards the line of vessels already heaving at anchor along the bank at Londinium.

  The storm had blown itself out and rose and silver pools gleamed beyond the eastern wall. Around them, the soldiers of the legion tramped in a show of strength that had already achieved results.

  The barbarian horde had faded away into the landscape.

  A retreat? Regrouping? Who knew? For now, at least, they had space to breathe, and that was enough.

  Mato squatted outside the Aldgate, watching Theodosius the Elder’s force take their first steps to reclaim the empire. The few ships here were only a fraction of it. Most of the fleet had moored at Rutupiae and the army was now marching north.

  His heart felt l
ight, though every bone ached from weariness. So long running and hiding to stay ahead of the rapidly advancing horde. He’d convinced himself he was a dead man, and he’d made peace with that. He’d be with his sister again, in the Summerlands. All the hardships would be over. All mysteries would be revealed. He almost yearned for it.

  But his friends, his brave friends who had become more like kin, had risked their own lives to save his. And now it felt as though he was seeing all with new eyes.

  Pushing himself to his feet, he walked back through the gate. Despite the early hour, the crowds milled. Laughter echoed, the first he had heard there in too long. There was still want, and need, sickness and hunger and suffering. But now there were dreams too.

  Mato felt his heart swell to hear the joy throbbing through the town. He closed his eyes and pushed his head back, listening. So much despair, so much misery, for so long, and now, in the blink of an eye, this.

  ‘Almost gets his friends killed and now resting like a babe.’

  He snapped his eyes open at Solinus’ sardonic voice and grinned. ‘And what else did you have to do with your time?’

  Solinus was gnawing on a chunk of venison, the grease dribbling down his chin. Bellicus towered over him with another handful of meat, and Comitinus was tearing knobs off a flatbread.

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘One of those ships out there? Packed with rations. And there’s more on the way,’ Comitinus said through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘They’ve already opened posts across the town, handing out food to all comers.’

  Mato felt a flood of relief that the suffering was finally over. ‘Where’s Lucanus?’

  ‘Theodosius the Elder has called a war council at the fort,’ Bellicus said. ‘Because he’s got a shiny golden crown, Lucanus gets to listen to all that talk.’

  ‘That’ll teach him to do some good,’ Solinus said. He swallowed down the last of his venison and wiped his hands on his cloak.