by James Wilde
As they reached the top, Catia caught sight of a campfire flickering among the trees. ‘Wait,’ she cautioned, fearing they’d stumbled on the barbarian camp. But Amarina raced on headlong, her emerald cloak flapping behind her.
Throwing herself into the circle of firelight, she slammed into someone, knocking them to the ground. The figure, a child it seemed, bucked and heaved beneath her. Catia glimpsed the flash of Amarina’s knife and she cried out.
The blade hovered. Amarina’s lips pulled back from her teeth.
Catia looked from her to her captive, and gasped.
‘Please,’ Bucco whined. ‘I am a new man. Half a man. Humbled and broken.’
Amarina plunged the knife down, but Catia caught her wrist in mid-strike.
‘Leave me,’ Amarina spat. ‘This filthy cur left me for dead.’
‘This isn’t the time for vengeance.’
‘There’s no better time.’
‘Do not harm me!’ the dwarf squealed. ‘I did bad things. Many bad things. But I have learned. There is only good in my heart now. Let me show you.’
Catia felt Amarina stop straining against her grip. ‘Your days are numbered,’ Amarina growled, standing. ‘Make the most of them.’ She slammed her foot into the dwarf’s ribs. He howled again, rolling over on the ground.
‘Why are you here?’ Catia demanded.
‘He came with us.’ Beyond the fire, a woman hovered, young, with an earthy appeal. Her words were thick with an accent Catia didn’t recognize.
‘Who are you?’
‘Her name is Hecate,’ Amarina said.
‘One of the sisters?’
‘A sister with no sisters. They were stolen from me,’ Hecate said.
Catia glanced at Amarina, wondering how she knew this stranger. But the new arrival was beckoning furiously, her face drawn. ‘I need your help,’ she begged. ‘Leave the dwarf. He knows he is only safe with us. Come, quickly.’
‘Run as far as your little legs will take you. I’ll find you when it is time,’ Amarina snarled at Bucco.
In the trees beyond the fire, a pregnant woman writhed on a bier. Her hair was matted with sweat, her face twisted in agony. Catia could see she was much older than all of them, at the limit of her child-bearing days.
‘The babe is coming now,’ Hecate urged. ‘Help me deliver it.’
The woman howled. Catia dropped beside her, and Hecate too.
‘Who is she?’ Catia asked. ‘And why is she … why are you … here?’
‘We came with Corvus.’ Bucco was wringing his hands behind them. ‘He is a terrible master. He beat me. The barbarians have him now—’
Amarina glared at him and he fell silent.
‘Her name is Gaia,’ Hecate told them. ‘He is Corvus’ … mother.’
‘Gaia?’
Catia felt a rush of ice water. Her hands hung above the woman’s belly.
Corvus’ mother … her mother …
Gaia, who had abandoned her as a babe, stolen all that her family had and left her father broken by despair. She stared down at this woman who had haunted her thoughts for so long. She could see the resemblance now: the blonde hair, the straight nose, the high cheekbones. How long had she yearned for her mother to drift back into their home? How long had she burned with anger for what she had done? At times, those battling emotions had threatened to tear her apart.
Now, though, as she looked into that face glistening with sweat, she realized she felt nothing. Not hatred, not desire for revenge, and no, not even love. It might as well have been a stranger lying there.
Hecate leaned in and whispered, ‘This child … it is Corvus’ child.’
Catia felt a twist of revulsion and stared, disbelieving. The other woman only nodded slowly, her eyes filled with disgust.
‘Why …?’ Catia began.
‘To keep the bloodline as pure as possible, of course,’ Amarina said. Catia stiffened, understanding. Amarina tugged her back and leaned in to whisper. ‘This child will be a rival to Weylyn, you know that.’
‘What do you expect me to do? Let the babe die?’
Amarina glanced down at the moaning woman and took longer to reply than Catia would have liked.
‘You’re right,’ she said with a shrug. ‘But you should know that a good deed here could damn your own son in days yet to come, or his son’s son. This line will never back away from trying to seize power.’
‘I can’t do any other,’ Catia said.
She dropped to her knees beside her mother. The child’s head was cresting.
For a while, they told Gaia to push when the time was right, and soothed her with honeyed words in the moments when the urge receded. Catia sank into the moment, her mind locked on to that emerging babe, every fibre of her afire with the knowledge that this was the time of greatest danger, for mother and child. All sense of the outside world fell away, the distant screams dimming and then fading beneath the throb of blood in her head, and all yearning for Lucanus and Weylyn too. The world became small, and smaller still, until there was only that innocent child.
‘Born in a battle,’ Hecate mumbled as she hunched over a bubbling pot on the fire, and Catia jerked from her reverie. Once again the terrible howls were ringing out in the distance, didn’t seem to be lessening.
After a moment, Hecate brought over a cloth soaked in the unguent from the pot and smeared it on Gaia’s lips. The woman scowled and spat, but then Catia saw her eyes clear.
‘Who are you?’ she croaked.
‘Your daughter.’ Catia heard her voice, as flat and emotionless as it had ever been.
‘My daughter?’ Gaia choked back a snort of laughter. ‘I have no daughter. Only a beautiful son.’ Her head lolled back, but Catia could tell her mother was scrutinizing her through slit eyes.
‘The child’s coming,’ Amarina said. ‘Push down, mother.’
‘Oh, joy! Oh, wonder!’ Bucco cried, stamping his feet and clapping his hands.
Gripped by the pain of the birth, Gaia hissed breath between clenched teeth. But Catia could still feel those chill eyes on her.
‘If only I’d succeeded in killing you as a babe.’ Though Gaia’s voice was little more than a croak, it burned with hatred.
‘You’re delirious …’
‘I’d wrung the necks of daughters before you, but you had the gods on your side.’ Gaia’s lips pulled back from her teeth.
Catia felt her stomach knot, and this time tears burned. Blinking them away, she focused instead on the child, fumbling alongside Amarina to help it into the world.
‘A boy,’ Amarina announced, as she took the babe into her arms. Hecate whisked a cloth around it. ‘Take my knife,’ Amarina continued, and as Catia glared at her she added, ‘and cut the cord. My hands are full.’
As Catia searched in the other woman’s cloak for her blade, a snarl rang out and Gaia lunged.
Her mother’s hands clenched around her neck.
Catia cried out as the filthy nails bit into her skin. The blood thundered in her head and her vision swam with Gaia’s twisted face. That mouth, torn wide in a silent shriek, eyes like ice.
Dimly she could hear Amarina and Hecate shouting. She grasped her mother’s wrists, trying to tear the hands free from her neck, but they felt like iron. So much loathing. Gaia had found in it an inhuman strength, even after the strain of birth.
A blade rammed into Gaia’s forearm. She yowled and flinched back.
Amarina snatched back her knife and loomed over the mewling woman. ‘Stay down,’ she said, ‘or the next one will end your days.’
Catia rubbed away the burning sensation in her neck and looked down at her mother still spitting and snarling like a wildcat.
‘This is what good deeds earn you,’ Amarina said to her. ‘Do you still hold by your word?’ She held out her knife.
Catia shook her head. ‘Let her take her child and go. I am not my mother.’
Amarina shrugged again. ‘Your mother is fortunate she has a daughte
r like you, and not one like me.’
Hecate pressed the newborn into the mother’s arms. Gaia continued to glower, her new prize little more than a distraction. Taking the knife, Hecate scoured the blade in the fire and cut the cord before tying off the ends.
Catia slumped back, exhausted. In that moment of clarity, she looked round and said, ‘The dwarf has gone.’
‘What he lacks in stature he makes up for in cunning. He knows I was ready to carve my name in his forehead.’ Amarina stood up and stretched.
Grasping a moment to recover her equilibrium, Catia wandered to the edge of the camp and listened to the sounds of battle. She felt powerless, and that angered her. All she could do was place her faith in Lucanus and trust that he would keep Weylyn safe and they would soon be reunited.
When she turned back, Hecate was leaning in to Amarina’s ear. For a while, the two women seemed caught in an intense debate, about what she had no idea. But then Amarina held up her hand to signal the discussion was over, and walked over to Catia.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Like anyone with even half a wit, she’s questioning the folly of trying to survive out here while dragging a mother and babe along behind. Especially a mother like your mother.’ Amarina wagged a finger. ‘And before the rest of your own wits depart, don’t think about suggesting we take them with us.’
‘I wasn’t.’
Amarina wandered off, but Catia frowned, not sure she was hearing the whole story.
‘Here, here. See!’
Catia whirled as Bucco bounded in to the camp. This time he was not alone.
Her cry of alarm had barely left her lips when four Scoti warriors stalked into the camp. Their swords were drawn.
Two other men strode up behind them and Catia felt a pang of shock to see that the first was Erca. She had never expected to look upon him again. As she locked eyes with him in silent communication, she felt surprised by the warm emotions bubbling up in her. How could that be?
Before she could answer the question, the second man stepped forward. It was Arrist, towering above the others, his eyes like cold fire in the rags that bound his face. He loomed over Catia, one hand reaching out for her chin to raise her head. ‘We have been searching for you, and your child.’
Then Weylyn had not been taken. Catia felt a surge of joy. Now she could endure anything.
Arrist spun her round and yanked at the sleeve of her dress, exposing her shoulder blade. She felt the calloused tip of his finger trace the distorted scar where she had been branded with the mark of the dragon eating its own tail.
‘You were right, dwarf. You have earned your freedom.’
Bucco danced around with glee, until he saw Amarina glaring at him. ‘I should have killed you while I had the chance,’ she hissed. The dwarf scampered away into the night.
Rough hands yanked Catia back and the Pictish king studied her face. ‘Until we find your child, you will do well enough. One chance to hold on to what we have won here in Britannia. Once word has spread that this royal bloodline is now allied with us, the tribes will rally and the people of Britannia will see us as the rightful rulers, not the Roman bastards.’
Catia heard the acid in his voice. So Theodosius the Elder’s strategy must have already destroyed the dreams of the invading horde. ‘You know I will never ally with you.’ She held his gaze.
‘You will. When you have been tamed.’ His heavy hand fell on her shoulder. Slowly he slid it down her arm.
‘You are nothing. I’ve endured worse in my life.’
Arrist lashed out.
Catia reeled from the blow and tasted blood in her mouth. Wiping it away with the back of her hand, she narrowed her eyes, still defiant.
Yet as she looked past the king’s shoulder, she was gripped by the sight of Erca. His face was impassive, but his eyes seemed to burn with rage. He batted a hand towards the men who had accompanied them, and they nodded and slipped away into the night.
Arrist leaned over her, fingers flexing. ‘We win because we tolerate no opposition,’ he said.
The tip of the sword burst from his belly.
Catia gasped.
As the king staggered back, Erca wrenched his sword free, allowing the fatally wounded man to sag to his knees. The blade swung. Once, twice, three times, Erca hacked at Arrist’s neck. When the head came free, he kicked it down the slope.
Catia could only gape as he dragged the body by the back of the tunic, then flung it after the head, out of sight. When Erca turned back, she could see that his left hand was trembling, with rage perhaps, or realization of the enormity of the crime he’d committed.
But when his gaze settled on her, she saw it was calm. ‘We are done here in Britannia,’ he said. ‘Our loathing of Rome was too great, our dreams too big. Arrist was a fool. There’s no gain in fighting a battle we can only lose. We’ll take what booty we can and return to the north, and tell stories to our children and our children’s children of the great victories we had here in the south. We’ve shown Rome that we are not to be swatted away. That is enough, for now.’
Erca paused as if waiting for her to ask to come with him. When she only held his eyes, signalling her thanks, he nodded and walked away into the night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
After the Battle, Silence
LUCANUS WRENCHED HIS blade out of the quivering body of the Pict and whirled. Madness still reigned in the stone circle. In the orange glow of the fire, the forest folk raced back and forth, herded by the circling barbarians. But now he could see the plan in action.
The invading warriors had cut down some of the pagans to create terror, but they were not trying to slaughter them all. They were searching, for Catia, or Weylyn, or both. That could be the only answer.
His own search now even more urgent, he thrust his way through the roiling mass towards the pillar of flame rising from the remains of the burning man. It was the last place he had seen the druid.
His face seared as he lurched into the wave of heat from the conflagration. In the glare of the inferno, he glimpsed Myrrdin clutching Weylyn to his chest.
For once the wood-priest seemed relieved to see him. ‘We’ll need more than that sword,’ he shouted above the roaring of the fire. ‘Where are your men?’
‘Lost in this madness.’
‘Then we must make do.’ The druid threw himself away from the fire towards the edge of the circle. ‘The barbarians would not have ventured into this sacred place unless they were driven to capture a prize worthy of risking the wrath of the gods,’ he said as they ran.
‘They’re here for Weylyn, I know that. And I’ll die before I let them get near him.’
‘That is your purpose, Pendragon.’
Lucanus looked past the frantic forest folk. There had been a change in tactics, but he didn’t know why. Bands of the barbarians were racing away from the circle. Had the retreat been sounded? He couldn’t believe that was the case, not when they were so close to gaining what they wanted.
But a gap had opened up beyond the circle. ‘There,’ he yelled, pointing. They plunged towards it.
As they passed the line of megaliths, Lucanus felt a surge of relief. Open grassland lay ahead, running up to the treeline. Yet as they ran, he sensed movement in the dark. Grey shapes moving closer.
‘No,’ Myrrdin gasped.
Weylyn began to bawl as if he could sense the fear in the man holding him. His cry rang out as clear as a tolling bell.
Out of the night, the ghosts danced. Mud-caked skin glowed white in the moonlight, turning ruddy as the Attacotti neared the blazing wicker man.
A warrior loped towards them, twirling a stone in a sling. Lucanus cried out, too late. The stone flew, straight and true.
Grey light crept through the trees. The dark fled before it. For a moment there was silence: no screams, no battle cries, only an abiding quiet.
Amarina rested against an elm, listening for the crunch of foot on dry branch, any sign that the barbarians
were coming for them.
Catia eased beside her, searching among the trees. ‘If they were looking for us, we’d hear them.’
‘Never hurts to take care.’
‘It was Arrist who wanted me. Erca knew of my value, but he didn’t care. And the other barbarians …’ Catia shrugged. ‘They do as they’re told without a thought to call their own.’
Amarina eyed the other woman. She’d seen the look Catia and the Scoti leader had shared. For now, she saw no gain in mentioning it. Perhaps it would be of use in some time yet to come, when she might need to bargain.
Since Erca had left them by the campfire, they’d eased through the dark on a meandering route, crawling under hawthorns or into pools of bracken whenever bands of barbarians tramped past. They seemed to be answering intermittent blasts from a horn. Perhaps it was Erca, calling them home. For a while now, they’d not seen a soul.
Neither of them had spoken about the fate which may have claimed those who had travelled with them into the west.
Catia slumped against a trunk. Her face was smudged with dirt and wood-green. Beneath it, Amarina thought she could see worry etched there. Catia would never give voice to it. She had steel in her, Amarina had to give her that.
‘You don’t regret your decision to leave your mother behind?’
‘I would have liked to have heard her explain herself for the misery she wreaked on our family, and for Aelius to have seen the woman she truly was. But she would only have slowed us down, she and the child.’ Catia paused, no doubt thinking of her own babe. ‘My only regret is that we left Hecate behind.’
Amarina thought back to Gaia’s parting words to her daughter. ‘May you be raped and cut into pieces on your journey into the west,’ she had said, making sure to hold her gaze so she could see Catia’s reaction. She was a vile beast and no mistake.
‘Hecate has her duty. If her husband lives, he’ll make his way back to her, and his mother, and the babe who is both son and brother.’ Catia heard the scorn in her voice. ‘My only regret is that I didn’t gut that dwarf.’
Amarina took a step forward and a figure dropped from the branches above her head. Crying out in shock, she whipped out her knife.
