by James Wilde
‘And what does all this mean for us?’ Mato said, looking from one face to another.
‘As of this moment, Londinium is once again under imperial control.’ Flavius Julius Theodosius’ voice was like his face, as hard as a winter field.
In the chamber in the principia, his commanders stood in a crescent around him. Lucanus studied them, all so different from the shabby, exhausted men who faced them across the room. There was steel in their spines, their shoulders were pushed back, eyes glittering with cold determination. Their cloaks were pristine, their armour gleaming.
The motley collection of Londinium’s defenders slumped, round-shouldered, unshaven, hollow-cheeked, their clothes still sodden from the previous night’s deluge. Only Theodosius the Younger stood proud before his father’s gaze.
‘No one will ever forget the courage you have all shown,’ the older man continued. ‘The names of everyone in this room will be dispatched to the emperor immediately. Rome will honour all of you.’ He flexed his fingers and an aide stepped forward with an armful of charts. He set them on a trestle that had been brought in from somewhere else in the fort. ‘Yes, your fight has been hard, but it is not over. Indeed, it’s only just beginning. I’ve already sent messengers out across Britannia, to spread word to what remains of our army here. Pardons will be offered to deserters. Any other man who is able will be ordered to make their way to Londinium. This will be our base of operations now, as we drive out these barbarians. Speed will be paramount. These enemies are slow-witted. They won’t realize the peril they face until it strikes them.’
‘What they lack in wits they make up for in numbers,’ Lucanus said. ‘And cunning.’
Theodosius the Elder eyed him. ‘And who are you?’
‘Lucanus. I was one of the arcani in the north when the barbarians crossed the wall.’
‘He’s the one the people here crowned the Pendragon. I told you of him,’ Theodosius the Younger interjected. His father nodded. ‘It’s an old title, from the days before Britannia was part of the empire. War-leader, so I’m told. He raised an army of farmers to fight alongside us. Without them, Londinium might never have survived.’
‘Arcani, eh?’ the commander said. ‘War finds leaders in the strangest places.’
‘If I learned one thing, it was not to underestimate the barbarians,’ the Wolf said.
‘Understood. Our scouts tell us some of the horde has already broken up into smaller war-bands. They’re seeking to plunder what they can while times are good. We’ll divide our troops into smaller forces to harry them. The bulk of the barbarians know they have a fight on their hands. They’re retreating and trying to regroup. We will attack, again and again, ambushing and forcing them back. And as we advance across Britannia, we’ll restore the chief towns. The light of civilization will return, have no fear of that.’
‘The people here are broken, and starving,’ Lucanus said.
‘They will not be left to fend for themselves. I’ve already sent word to the emperor, requesting that Civilis be sent here to become the new vicarius. With Dulcitus offering military support, we’ll organize relief. Any booty or cattle we retake will be returned to their owners, if they still live. Captives will be released.’
Lucanus nodded approvingly. Perhaps the age of darkness that Myrrdin had prophesied would never come to pass. Perhaps there would be no need for a king who would not die.
Perhaps he would finally be free.
‘The fight will be hard, but have no doubt – these invaders will be defeated,’ Theodosius the Elder continued. ‘Valentinian will never cede any part of the empire. And then our priority will be to ensure this disaster can never happen again.’
‘It’s clear now that our commanders here were too weak, too inexperienced,’ his son said.
Theodosius the Elder nodded. ‘Many mistakes were made. Military command should not have been divided across three provinces. When the barbarians rose against us, lines of communication collapsed. All that must change. Watchtowers must be built along all borders and along the coasts to guard against any future incursion. For now, we are not in a position of strength, but our strategy is clear. Once the rest of our troops have marched from Rutupiae, we will begin the fight immediately. Victory will be ours.’
Theodosius the Elder was confident, that much was clear. But Lucanus had heard enough about the commander’s abilities, even in Vercovicium, to have no doubt that if anyone could repel this invasion, it would be he.
‘God is on our side,’ the commander continued. ‘We were advised not to risk crossing the channel from Gaul. Winter still gripped, and the storms and the sea would destroy us if we dared attempt it, I was told. But I prayed, long and hard, and the Lord answered. Fair winds and sun shepherded us here. Now, as we begin this great campaign, we must ask for God’s help again. Pray with me, so that we might smite our enemies with the full force of his will.’
As Theodosius the Elder droned a solemn prayer and the other men there bowed their heads, Lucanus found his thoughts flying out across the fort to Catia, and Weylyn, and to a hope of a new life. When the council broke up, the commander beckoned to him.
‘We recognize all you have done here,’ he said, ‘but now that work is over. Send your men back to their homes and families, with the emperor’s thanks. Leave this battle to seasoned military men.’ He forced a smile that lacked any warmth. ‘We will no doubt have need for arcani, certainly men of your experience. Once we’ve established a proper command here in Londinium, come back. We will find work for you.’
He turned away before Lucanus could respond and joined his son. The two men walked away in conversation. The Wolf could see no warmth between them either.
Outside, in the chill spring morning, he breathed deeply and tried to imagine a life without responsibility. He could not go back to being an arcani, he knew that. He’d been changed, as Myrrdin had always said. But what could he do now? Be a farmer? That thought filled him with dread, as he knew it did the other Grim Wolves.
A shout interrupted his thoughts, and Falx hurried over, looking around. ‘That’s the end of making a little coin,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s all rules and nose to the grindstone with this lot, I can tell.’
‘You’ll find a way to turn a profit, I have no doubt.’
The centurion grinned, but it faded quickly as he remembered why he had come over. ‘You’ll be interested in this, I know. Follow me.’
Lucanus trudged behind the centurion across the fort.
‘No idea when it happened,’ Falx said. ‘Probably when we were fighting for our lives.’ He swung out a hand, directing Lucanus’ attention.
A soldier’s body lay on the rain-slick stones, a dark pool surrounding it.
Corvus’ cell door hung open.
‘Is it true? You’re no longer the Pendragon?’
Lucanus was surprised to hear the strain of anguish in Apullius’ voice. ‘This is a good thing. My part in this war is over.’
‘No … you have a destiny … and a responsibility.’ The lad’s voice hardened and Lucanus was shocked by what he heard there: was it betrayal?
‘Before we leave I’ll find you a place here … a way to make a living …’
‘How can I return to that life when there’s work still to do?’ Apullius snapped. ‘I want to be at your side, learning what you know. I want to be a Grim Wolf.’
Lucanus raised his eyes to the towering walls of the amphitheatre. ‘The decision has already been taken. Everyone in my army already knows. They’ve honoured their kin, and now they can return to their homes. They deserve that, for the sacrifices they made, and the risks they took in answering my call.’
Apullius had been almost like a son to him, but there was no point arguing further, he could see that. Yet as he turned away, he stiffened. Catia was racing towards him from the direction of the House of Wishes. Her face was twisted with worry, the braids of her blonde hair flying behind her as she ran.
He grabbed her shoulders. ‘What�
��s wrong?’
‘It’s Weylyn … he’s been taken.’
‘Amarina?’
Blood drained from Catia’s face, and in that moment he knew she could see every threat that might lie ahead. ‘Myrrdin.’
The Ludgate slowly ground open.
‘If the wood-priest has harmed the child, I’ll kill him.’ Lucanus heard his voice as if it were rising from a deep well.
Ahead of him, the burned-out remnants of the vicus gave way to the bridge over the Fleet, then to the lush green landscape reaching out to the west. It would be filled with endless peril. The barbarians were still roaming in their war-bands, and it was too early for Theodosius the Elder’s reinforcements to begin hounding them.
‘Weylyn can’t survive long.’ Catia’s face was as cold as her voice. She was keeping all her feelings crushed down inside her. ‘The babe still needs me to feed.’
Lucanus slipped an arm around her shoulders.
‘Myrrdin has fought hard to make sure this bloodline thrives,’ Mato said. ‘I can’t believe he would put it at risk.’
Once Catia had raised the alarm, they’d begun searching the streets around the House of Wishes. Amarina had raged, but Lucanus could smell her guilt. Like a thief in the night, the druid had snatched the child when her back had been turned. None of the women had seen or heard anything. Nor had anyone in the vicinity.
Lucanus knew Myrrdin would never have risked hiding out in Londinium, not when the Wolves would have torn the town apart trying to find him. And so they’d come here, and the watchmen on the gate had told them about a hooded man carrying a bundle under one arm, who had stridden out towards the west.
‘He won’t have much of a head start,’ Bellicus growled. ‘And when we find him, I’ll set Catulus to work on his bollocks.’
‘You know those wood-priests – they can’t be trusted.’ Solinus scowled, screwing up the scar that quartered his face. ‘He’ll find allies with the barbarian bastards, if it serves his purpose.’
‘His trail should be easy to follow,’ Lucanus said.
‘If you think you’re going alone into a land crawling with barbarians waiting to cut out your heart, you’re a jolt-head,’ Solinus said.
‘Lest you forget, you did that in the Wilds north of the wall and it almost killed you.’ Bellicus whistled and Catulus bounded up.
Lucanus began to protest, but Catia gripped his arm. ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘We’ll need as many blades … and bows … as we can muster to fight off the Picts and the Scoti.’
The Wolf felt sickened at drawing Catia into more danger, but he knew there was no point in arguing with her. ‘Six of us will make little difference—’
‘More than six.’
Aelius stood in front of about thirty warriors from the Pendragon’s old army, all men who’d fought long and hard for him on the retreat to Londinium. Apullius was with them, his face burning with defiance, and Morirex at his side.
‘We will not rest until we bring Weylyn back to you, sister,’ Aelius vowed. His eyes glittered like ice. ‘Don’t try to deter us, Lucanus.’
‘Listen to him, Wolf. He’s a good general,’ said Vindex, one of the more battle-hardened men there, with a face like a crag and piercing blue eyes. ‘Besides, you’ve ruined us for our old life. We can’t go back to our homes. Our wives won’t recognize us any more. They’ll wonder why we wake with bad dreams. Why we can’t rest when we should be watching our children play. You’ve ruined us, Lucanus, and now we’re your responsibility.’
Lucanus winced. Though the words were delivered lightly, he knew there was a hard truth behind them. Seeing death at first hand changed everyone, a truth he had come to understand more and more.
Bellicus clapped his hands together. ‘Well, they’re not many, but they’ll do. It’ll be a brave … or stupid … band of barbarians who’ll risk attacking us.’
Lucanus felt his heart swell. ‘You honour me, all of you. We’ll bring Weylyn back …’
‘And then?’ Apullius pressed.
‘And then … we shall see.’
The remnants of his army churned and Amarina burst out of the ranks, her green eyes flashing. Decima and Galantha were struggling to keep up.
Amarina nodded to Catia. ‘We have an agreement, do we not?’
‘We do,’ Catia said.
Lucanus looked from one woman to the other. ‘As long as I’ve known you, you’ve made sure you turn events to your advantage. Why put yourself in danger?’
Amarina shrugged. ‘You’ve surrounded yourself with cocks, Lucanus, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that cocks always lead men into trouble. You need wiser heads around you. And colder hearts.’ She smiled, and behind the hardness he saw some honesty.
He sensed there was more to it, but she spun back to the other two women. For a while they bowed their heads together in conversation. Tears pricked Decima’s and Galantha’s eyes and they gripped Amarina’s arms, clearly trying to dissuade her. Finally Amarina beckoned over Bellicus and Mato and they moved quickly to the two other women.
‘They’re saying their goodbyes,’ Amarina said when she came over. ‘The House of Wishes is now Decima and Galantha’s to do with as they will. They’ve earned it.’
‘But only for a day or two, until we return?’
Amarina pulled up the hood of her emerald cloak until shadows engulfed her face. ‘Once you leave Londinium’s walls, there’s no easy way back.’
PART THREE
Avalon
To have died once is enough.
Virgil
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Into the West
AD 368, 30 March
THE BLACK FIELD heaved like the sea in a storm. Ravens and crows stabbed down with their beaks, their shrieks ringing up to the blue heavens. Lucanus’ ears throbbed from the din. As he took three steps down from the ridge, the birds sensed him and took flight as one, the rolling thunder of their wings booming across the landscape.
His nostrils flared at the stink of rot on the breeze. A carrion feast littered the churned-up mud and blood and shit of the battlefield. Barbarians in the main, by the look of it, but enough Roman soldiers to suggest the horde had put up a fierce resistance.
‘No end to the slaughter,’ Bellicus grunted.
‘And likely not for a good time yet. No one doubted the tribes would refuse to return to their homes with only a whimper.’
Lucanus watched Mato bound down the slope to the edge of the carnage. He’d seen something.
A soldier slumped against a pile of bodies. His head lolled back and he squinted at the sound of voices. Mato knelt beside the man and leaned in, no doubt offering compassion. When he joined them, Lucanus could see the man’s face was streaked with dried blood and mud, and his tunic was soaked through too.
Mato looked up and nodded. ‘He’ll live.’
The Wolf squatted. ‘Your brothers left you?’
‘They’ll be back soon enough. Collect the wounded, and the dead.’ The soldier hacked and spat. ‘This was a big war-band. One of the barbarian kings. Not going to end the chase when there’s a prize like that.’
Lucanus raised his skin and sluiced water into the man’s mouth. He licked his dry lips and nodded his thanks.
‘The fighting goes well?’
‘We’re carving them up like a roasted ox. They don’t want to give up the land they’ve taken. But they’re no match for the general’s strategy. They’re breaking up into smaller war-bands for speed, but they’re being pushed back everywhere.’
‘When you marched here, did you see anyone else?’
‘Other than the barbarians, you mean?’ He shook his head. ‘Any farmers round here, they’re wise enough to keep their heads down.’
Lucanus nodded. He expected no other answer.
Amarina had been right to say this quest would be harder than any of them had hoped. Once they’d crossed the Fleet, barely at the beginning of their search, Solinus and Comitinus returned from their scouting
with dark expressions. They’d been tracking the mark made by Myrrdin’s staff in the rain-soaked earth. On the edge of a copse, they’d found the fresh prints of many other feet.
Someone had been waiting for the wood-priest. The Lord of the Greenwood and the forest folk? Lucanus expected that was so, though he couldn’t be sure. But Myrrdin’s footprints joined that mass and together they’d set off towards the north-west.
Had this been a plan long in the making, and the druid deceiving them all the while? Could a wet nurse have been waiting with the forest folk to keep the child alive? The questions came thick and fast. But his heart had been hardened by the murder of Marcus. A bloody reckoning awaited the wood-priest if Lucanus discovered he had betrayed them.
Now he and his brother Grim Wolves were arcani once again, the secret people, hiding, scouting, living off the country as they led their war-band in pursuit. But their prey moved faster than Myrrdin could ever have done on his own. And there were times when the trail disappeared completely, as if the wood-priest and his allies were taunting them. Of course, Myrrdin knew Lucanus would not let this rest. He must also know that there would be a confrontation, sooner or later.
Was the druid leading them all on to their deaths?
The charm of ash and holly, bone and feather, swung in the low branches.
‘Witch country,’ Comitinus breathed, looking up at it.
‘Don’t be getting all frit again.’ Solinus peered into the dark depths of the forest stretching out ahead and Lucanus could see from their faces that both men were troubled.
Bellicus tugged on his beard in thought. ‘Two war-bands skirted this area. It would have been easier to escape by ploughing straight on through. What does that tell you?’
‘The trail goes in here.’ Lucanus pointed to the grass crushed by multiple feet.
Since they’d left the battlefield, they’d continued heading west for three days. The land was rife with roaming bands of barbarians, and they’d left the west road and detoured through lush valleys and along the edges of woods to avoid being seen. From a distance, they spied on the burned-out buildings of the town of Cunetio and then continued in the direction of Verlucio. The countryside was all fertile farmland. But this forest looked as if it had not been touched. Ancient oaks with trunks as wide as four men clasping hands. Towering ash and walls of holly. So choked with growth there was barely room for two men to walk abreast.
