Pendragon

by James Wilde

  Lucanus watched the Attacotti drop their shoulders and lean forward on to the balls of their feet. He was reminded of nothing more than a wolf pack preparing to set upon a cornered lamb.

  ‘Aye, they are Eaters of the Dead.’ Erca’s voice floated somewhere behind him. ‘Yet they are more than that. They are the Eaters of the Living too.’

  The nearest warrior lunged, the left hand snarling in Lucanus’ hair and yanking his head to one side. The Wolf glimpsed the flash of a blade, a long knife, the edge badly chipped.

  His vision filled with that ash-white face. Black-ringed eyes wide. Black lips pulling back from yellowing teeth. He smelt a gust of foul, meaty breath.

  And then the gaunt spectre began to saw.

  Lucanus howled until his throat was raw, but his ears only rang with the roaring of the crowd. Blood sprayed across his vision and filled his eye sockets. Agony punched through his skull.

  He reeled. When his vision cleared, he was looking at a blurry red vision of the Attacotti warrior stepping back and holding his prize aloft.

  Lucanus blinked away the blood. That prize. Pale. Clutched between thumb and forefinger.

  His left ear.

  The Attacotti warrior slipped the morsel into his mouth and chewed on cartilage and flesh, chewed hard, and swallowed. The roaring thundered anew, the barbarians leaping to their feet and punching the air.

  And that was the last Lucanus saw.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Blood Pit

  Rome

  SHARDS OF GOLD glittered on the surface of the water. As Corvus closed the door, the torch on the wall guttered and those flecks of light swept in a constellation across the vaulted ceiling of the baths of Caracalla high over his head. The vast thermae, the second largest in all Rome, were deserted at that time of night, the shops along the north wall still, the libraries on the east and west sides silent.

  ‘Where is the sentinel?’ he breathed.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’ Pavo crooked one eyebrow. ‘I swear you’re scared of your own shadow these days.’

  ‘There’s only one thing I’m scared of, and that’s listening to more jabbering from a small man with a big mouth.’

  With a chuckle, Pavo flapped his cloak around him and swept out one arm to usher his friend ahead.

  Corvus led the way along the edge of the frigidarium. Through the doors in front of him, he could see the moon floating on water. The natatio was open to the skies, and during the day bronze mirrors above reflected the sunlight down to the pool area.

  His footsteps raced up the walls to the shadowy high spaces where they pattered for a while.

  ‘In times past we wouldn’t have been skulking in like thieves,’ he sighed.

  At a door, he paused. It had been a while since he had been here, but he seemed to remember this was the way. He swept past the palaestrae, the courts still reeking of sweat from the day’s boxing and wrestling bouts, to another door that opened on to a narrow flight of steps. At the bottom, they found themselves in the maze of tunnels where repairs could be carried out to the hypocaust that heated the baths, and the complex network of pipes that carried the water from the Aqua Antoniniana aqueduct.

  ‘There,’ Pavo breathed at his back.

  The door was smaller than all the others they had passed, the wood faded and cracked with age. Corvus hammered his fist three times and heard a low grunt in reply on the other side.

  Moistening his lips, he said, ‘I come with head bowed and eyes lowered, in awe of Sol Invictus.’

  The door swung open.

  The beast was already there.

  Corvus tasted the heavy musk hanging in the air, and when the thrum of voices died away he was sure he could hear the snort of hot breath.

  For a moment, he stood on the threshold of the underworld, settling in to the heat and the gloom. Two torches flickered on opposite walls, but the shadows seemed to have the power to swallow the light. Only a small circle glowed around the blood pit.

  As he entered, his heels clattered on the bedrock, still bearing the marks where his predecessors had carved the vault out of the stone. Though the walls here had been dressed, some of the adjoining chambers resembled little more than caves, and that was right, for from the earth they all were born, and to the heavens they reached.

  He pushed his head back, as if he could see through the ceiling, through the baths above and up to the night sky where the constellation of Perseus glowed, Perseus who slew the bull, Taurus, as the stars shifted. This site had been carefully chosen for that very reason; lines drawn, angles calculated, mapped and divined.

  In the dimness, silhouettes shifted. Clusters of men, some standing, some seated on the stone benches along the walls. Though he couldn’t see their faces, he knew who many of them were. The worshippers who bowed their heads in the churches above would be surprised if they ever learned the names of the ones who trudged down here under cover of night. Great men who still clung on to the certainties of the past, soldiers and butchers and blacksmiths unshaken in their belief that this place was a beacon lighting the way into days yet to come. All were equal in this brotherhood.

  The beast snorted more loudly, the rumbling exhalation rolling through the secret caverns reaching deep into the dark. Voices ebbed away into silence.

  Corvus held Pavo’s eyes. Outside in the world they swaggered and bragged, but here he could see his friend was as awed as he was.

  On the edge of the circle of light, he looked up at the ceiling, painted dark blue and spotted with stars to match the night sky above. Who could not be awed by the largest Mithraeum in Rome and the second largest in all the empire? Oaths had been made here, and sacrifices, that had shaped the face of the world.

  Those days had all but gone. The Christians had seen to that. Though his fellows here now had to keep their secrets well away from the light, he had the sense that some of them, perhaps his brother among them, still thought there was hope for one last chance to put things right.

  ‘All is well.’

  The voice boomed from the dark and Corvus felt his neck prickle. Around him, the silence swelled.

  Corvus squinted through the half-light to see the altar at the end of that claustrophobic space, a sarcophagus carved on the front with the image of Mithras slaying the bull. He could just make out the niches on either side, one containing the bust of Sol, the other the statue of Mithras petra generix, their god being born from the rock.

  ‘All is well,’ the voice rang out again, closer this time.

  A figure stepped in front of the altar and pulled back its hood.

  Gnaeus Calidus Severus, the Hanged Man, craned his twisted neck slowly so that he could let his gaze fall upon everyone there.

  ‘Greetings, Father,’ the congregation replied as one.

  Corvus thought how impressive this deformed man now looked. Severus was wearing the cloak of Mithras, as black as the night sky, with stars and the signs of the Zodiac glimmering in gold upon the back. On his head was the red cap, on his finger the ring that the initiate would kiss, and in his other hand the shepherd’s staff, for they were his flock and he guided them.

  ‘Here we map the passage of the soul,’ Severus intoned, ‘from this world to the afterlife, as the Invincible Sun travels the sky from horizon to endless horizon. Is there a penitent who would make this journey before me?’

  Corvus looked round until he saw his brother standing on the other side of the blood pit, swathed in a hood and a cloak.

  ‘There is,’ Corvus announced.

  ‘Name him.’

  ‘Servius Aurelius Ruga.’

  ‘Is there a faithful Soldier who will offer up the penitent for judgement?’

  ‘There is,’ Corvus said again.

  ‘Name him.’

  ‘Lucius Aurelius Corvus.’

  ‘Bring forth the penitent.’

  Corvus grasped his brother’s hand and tugged him in front of Severus. Once Ruga had shucked off his cloak to stand naked in fron
t of the priest, two torchbearers marched from either side and lit another flame upon the altar. The shadows swooped away.

  ‘Here we shall approach the great mystery, which only the most enlightened of us know in full,’ Severus continued. ‘Here, the soul of brother Ruga will descend into the dark, into the reaches of the underworld, and when he emerges from the earth he will be reborn.’

  The beast snorted so loudly that Corvus almost jerked round, fearing it was behind him. He felt his heart pound harder, though he knew what was to come.

  Severus raised his arms, so his hands hung above both their heads. ‘Brother Ruga has made known his wish to ascend the seven heavens and return to where the soul is born. Do we all bear witness?’

  The men swaddled in the stifling dark chanted, ‘We do.’

  Corvus saw that Severus had something in his hand which he pushed into Ruga’s mouth, under his tongue. This was part of the ritual, he knew, but what the thing was remained one of the great mysteries. Ruga chewed and swallowed.

  ‘Take the next step, brother.’

  Ruga knelt and bowed his head.

  Corvus pushed aside a pang of frustration. It should be him there. Pavo told him that very thing after every one of these rituals. Sighing, he counted through the seven degrees of initiation, one for each of the steps through the seven heavens. This was Ruga’s sixth, the Heliodromus, the Sun Runner.

  To be a Sun Runner, one who has seen the sun and has grown close to it … Corvus sighed again. Ruga would be on the brink of true enlightenment while he had still only attained the lowly rank of Soldier.

  Severus raised his hands to those painted stars and Corvus heard his voice tremble with emotion. ‘We call upon all-powerful Mithras, born of the Virgin Mother. Mithras, who will be incarnated into the body of a man, a saviour who will lead us all out of the dark. Mithras who will live on in the blood of men.’

  On the stone floor at his side, Ruga convulsed. Corvus watched his brother’s head crane back and was shocked to see the eyes drained of all colour, so enlarged were the pupils.

  ‘Around the Mother, we are told, the winged serpents coiled,’ Severus continued, his voice beginning to boil. ‘The great serpents, born of the earth, born of fire, who bring with them wisdom. The great serpents who fly from this world to the heavens. Who herald the king of kings, great Mithras made flesh. The Dragon.’

  Corvus shivered.

  Ruga thrashed around at his feet, clawing at his body, raising welts and drawing lines of blood.

  Corvus began to feel queasy now. The rising and falling timbre of the Hanged Man’s voice, the words, the heat, the dark. His head was spinning. He hadn’t expected to be so affected.

  Severus stamped his crook upon the floor. ‘Our teachings must remain secret, only revealed to the initiates. But here, we know. We know. We must die before we can be reborn. But once reborn, under Mithras, we can rise up to reach the final secret.’

  Corvus opened his eyes. His brother was on his hands and knees, vomiting. He swallowed and dry-retched as the acid stench filled his nose.

  When his head cleared, he heard the sound of wings, or perhaps it was just in his mind.

  ‘The raven, the messenger of the sun, has come,’ Severus boomed. ‘It is time.’

  Corvus shook himself. This was his moment. He heaved his brother to his feet and dragged him to one side, though Ruga’s head lolled and vomit still trickled from his mouth.

  That heady musk filled the air. He heard the beast, snorting and stamping its hooves, drawing closer, and then finally he glimpsed its huge bulk in the shadows.

  Two Soldiers dragged the great bull out of the adjoining cavern. They had brought it down the secret way to the temple, Corvus knew, and had given it the preparation of herbs that would make it docile, at least for a while.

  ‘All things have two faces. The bull here is our lower self, and must be slain before we can rise to the heights.’ The priest nodded to Corvus. ‘This is the ordeal that must be faced upon the road to enlightenment.’

  His brother was limp, his legs buckling, but somehow Corvus managed to drag him forward and press him down into the blood pit. All he could think was that it looked like a grave. Ruga dying … gone.

  He watched, and thought, and tried to find his feelings.

  The two Soldiers heaved the bull to the edge of the pit. Severus stepped forward and rammed a knife into the side of the beast’s neck.

  The hot blood gushed out, showering into the pit, swilling around Ruga, soaking him. He lay there, still now, as the thick crimson liquid flooded the hole, splashed across his face, filled his eyes.

  Half drowned in the beast’s life essence, he began to splutter and choke.

  ‘In the tongue that was passed down to us from the east, Sun and Love are the same,’ Severus all but bellowed above the beast’s groans. ‘And here we learn the greatest mystery – that Love moves all that there is under the heavens, and beyond. Love is all. The Invincible Sun, invincible love.’

  The bull crumpled as its legs grew too weak to support it. Dying, dying, even as Ruga was gaining a new life.

  Corvus watched, and wondered.

  Corvus slumped on to one of the benches, swamped in the iron reek of blood and the suffocating heat from the braziers and the dying echoes of the bull’s rumbling breath. He felt sick, but he knew something about this night had changed him, though he wasn’t sure what.

  For a while, he closed his eyes, listening to Severus’ soothing voice, talking of Mithras, and the hope of days yet to come. When he opened them again, the beast had been dragged away and Ruga too was gone.

  Plunging into the ranks of ecstatic men, he found Pavo at the back, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

  ‘Thank Mithras you are still here.’ He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and saw that it was trembling.

  ‘Old Severus puts on a good show, I’ll give him that.’

  ‘You’re not moved?’

  ‘I don’t have much in the way of ambition, but that …’ Pavo wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes trailing towards the blood pit gleaming in the torchlight. ‘I felt something inside me. I felt … Mithras.’

  ‘Yes. I did too.’

  ‘That should have been you, brother. You’re more deserving. Too many people are conspiring against you.’

  Corvus took a step back, shaking his head. ‘You say that … you’ve always said it, but—’

  ‘Imagine if you were a Sun Runner,’ Pavo said, cutting him off. ‘You think your brother can do a better job than you?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Liar.’

  The sound of wooden tables being dragged in front of the benches echoed through the temple, followed by a loud cheer. Corvus turned to see Ruga walking back past the altar, grinning. He had washed off the gore, and was dressed in a pristine crimson tunic, the colour of the sun, and fire, and blood.

  Corvus gripped his friend’s shoulder again, leaning in to whisper, ‘I have to sit with Ruga at the feast. I’m his right hand. But I need your advice, my friend. Can we talk later?’

  Pavo nodded. He grabbed Corvus’ wrist and held it for a long moment, a bond of trust that transcended the years.

  Taking his seat at the long table, Corvus basked in the good humour of the worshippers. Ruga sat beside him, and for once his brother seemed to look on him in a kindly manner. He laughed long and loud, and clapped his arm round Corvus’ shoulders.

  In one of the other caverns, the bull had been butchered, and the aroma of roasting beef wafted through the temple. When the chunks of glistening meat were served up for the sacred meal, Corvus felt some of his doubts ebbing away.

  Severus carried an amphora to the table. Setting a silver cup in front of Ruga, he poured the wine, then broke knobs off a loaf of bread. ‘This wine is love,’ he said. ‘Drink deeply of it. Then take this bread, for it is not only bread. It is the flesh of Mithras. Eat it and you will be cleansed and transformed.’

  As Ruga re
ached for the bread, a sound like thunder reverberated through the chambers. Boom, boom, boom. Shouts rang out, muffled by the walls, and all around the acolytes leapt to their feet, faces drawn.

  Corvus gasped, stunned by the sudden milling crowd and the noise.

  As he jumped up, Severus grabbed his shoulder and croaked, ‘We are undone.’

  As one, the worshippers rushed to the door. ‘Hold it shut,’ someone bellowed. In the spaces between the tremendous pounding from the other side, Corvus could hear the drone of angry voices. He caught sight of Pavo through the milling bodies. His friend was mouthing something through the rising din.

  Before he could make it out, Ruga grabbed his arm, his face twisted by rising panic. ‘The Christians have found us,’ he hissed.

  ‘We’re doing nothing wrong.’

  ‘You’re a fool.’ Ruga bounded past Severus, almost knocking the priest over, and disappeared into the shadows behind the altar.

  A crack echoed, then another, and then that ancient door burst into shards. A mob forced the defenders back, jabbing cudgels into faces. Through the maelstrom of fighting men, Corvus glimpsed a familiar face, his friend, Theodosius, wielding a club, his face as cold as the grave. He’d always been as devout a Christian as any Corvus had encountered, but this?

  Pavo was at his side. ‘If he sees you, it’s all over … for you … your mother, your brother. And Hecate … You know Theodosius well. What would he do if he found out your family harbours a witch?’

  For a moment, Corvus hesitated, unsure if he should risk everything by aiding his brothers in the temple. But then his gaze settled on Severus, drained of blood and filled with horror, and he knew what he had to do.

  Throwing himself over the table, he caught the priest’s arm. ‘We have to get you away from here, Father.’

  ‘We must—’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do, you know that. But you must be saved, for the good of us all.’

  Severus nodded, understanding.