by James Wilde
He came to a halt behind her. She didn’t look round, but she could feel his presence like the heat from a smith’s forge. His voice, low and resonant, hung over her head.
‘One day the Romans will be gone.’ Catia listened as his words took on the dreamy cadence of something remembered. ‘And when their last ship has sailed and the last golden eagle has fallen, there will be a time of war and blood and madness as all in this island try to lay claim to the mantle of power. But only one will lead the people out of the darkness. Only one. A king. The Bear-King. And those who stand beside him will be showered with riches beyond imagining and their lives will reach far beyond the span of men. And those who stand against him will be drowned in a sea of their own blood.’
For a moment, only the crackle of the fire filled the silence.
‘This story is an old one, and I have learned that old stories have truth in them.’ His voice had hardened once more. ‘Lies do not survive the test of years. The Bear-King is coming. And where would you stand? At his back? Or at the end of his sword?’
Catia let the words wash over her. She could see how this story meant something to men like Erca. But not to her. No, she was not afraid. She had resigned herself to her own death long ago. All that mattered was that Marcus lived. And Lucanus.
‘You will not get your hands on my son.’
‘They will come for him in waves, you know that. From all the four corners of the land. We are the only ones who can keep him safe.’
Erca paced around her and squatted so he could look her in the eyes. She saw a sharp intelligence there. No brute this, for all his appearance.
‘We have long been planning this attack,’ he continued. ‘We have talked until our jaws ached and our throats were like dust. But in the end we reached agreement. All the tribes. Aye, even the Attacotti, who have never agreed with any and keep themselves to themselves in their dark land. Our plot was born in the heat of anger and the cold lust for vengeance. All we wanted was to crush those who had tormented us for so long.’ He shrugged. ‘Though a little gold would never have gone amiss. But then we saw how easily the Roman army fell apart, and we knew that so much more was ours for the taking. All this land, from sea to sea, under the rule of the tribes. And then, and then …’ he moistened his lips as he warmed to his story, ‘we heard tell of your son, and his great destiny, and the kings of all the tribes knew that here was our chance to hold on to all we had won, for all time. The Bear-King will be our king, answering to our call. He will be raised and guided by our teachers, and it will be our tongues whispering in his ear, telling him what to do. Who then will hold the power, eh?’
Erca reached out to take her jaw in his hand. She wrenched her head away, spitting at him like a wildcat. ‘Do you value your women?’ she spat.
‘We value our women.’
‘Are you a good man, who can hold his head up to the gods?’
Erca frowned at this unexpected question.
‘Your men have raped women, and killed them,’ she continued. ‘I know this to be true. I saw what happened in Vercovicium with my own eyes. But are you so much of a beast that you would see harm come to a woman with child?’
‘You?’
She pushed her hands behind her and leaned back, thrusting out her belly. For a moment he hesitated, then he cupped his hand against the curve, slowly, half expecting her to recoil, she could tell. Her belly was still small but it was possible to tell she was speaking the truth. Her blood had not come after she had lain with Lucanus on the slope by the lake. It was his child, there was no doubt of that. She hadn’t yet told him, had not known how to tell him. She feared what Amatius would do if he found out, and what Lucanus would do too.
What fools they all were. Lost to their own loves and jealousies while the world was catching fire around them. The mother of the royal blood? She didn’t deserve that accolade. She was as weak as any of them.
She looked deep into Erca’s unwavering stare as he rested his hand upon her, and then he nodded. Turning, he barked an order to his men in his guttural tongue.
‘No man here will try to take you, not while I am leader,’ he said.
She nodded without showing any thanks. It was a small victory, but she knew there were still many bad things ahead.
‘You are not done with Britannia?’ she asked.
‘Why would we be, when the victory has come so easily? To the north, our army rests. The men eat and drink and let the greatness of what they have achieved settle on them. And when they are done, they will know that only greater things lie ahead.’
‘Then you will march on … before the snows come?’
‘By the blood-month, all that you have known will be ours. From here to the southern sea, all will fall before us. The villages will be burned. Those who resist will be slaughtered. The rest will become slaves. The Romans will be driven from these shores, like the cowards we always knew they were. And then … who knows? Gaul? Rome itself?’ He paused, a faraway look in his eyes. When he glanced back at her, he said, ‘There is no hope for your kind now, you must know that? The Romans are deserting you. You have no other army.’ He gave a throaty laugh. ‘No army for your Head of the Dragon to lead. There is only blood and death ahead now. Make your peace with it.’
Listening to him, Catia could not disagree. Only misery and suffering lay before them. The barbarians had won. But there was hope, a thin one. That Marcus and Lucanus could escape.
Erca stood up, put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, three sharp bursts. Catia could hear movement at the back of the circle of warriors.
The barbarians parted as pale shapes pushed through them. Catia watched the Attacotti approach, trying to show defiance over the chill she was feeling. There were only five of them – the rest must have remained with the horde. Even so, they carried with them an otherworldly air that was as unsettling as their appearance.
‘I do not know the minds of the Attacotti,’ Erca said. ‘They are not like us. They speak to strange gods. They bury their dead in spaces beneath the floors of their homes, stripped of flesh by their own knives, and bring them out for feasts. And they eat the meat of men because they believe it brings them closer to their gods, and they gain the powers of great enemies who have fallen. It is a mark of respect, they say.’
She heard the note of disgust in his voice.
‘What they want, I cannot be certain. They have no interest in gold. We found only one man who could speak their tongue and he is not here. But they are the fiercest fighters I know. They seem to care not if they live or die. Their next world is as close and real as this one and they move from one to the next with barely a blink. Aye, and back, so they believe.’
The Attacotti came to a halt by the fire. Catia looked up into eyes as black as a moonless night. They stared at her, unblinking, unknowable.
‘We needed their battle-fury. There are times I wish we did not,’ Erca continued. ‘One day, the Romans … if they survive … will bring these ghosts into their army, as they have done with all the conquered. For now, I would rather have them at my side.’
Catia felt her breath tighten in her chest as she looked into those faces. ‘You said I would not be harmed.’
‘No man will rape you. I have given my word.’ Erca walked back into the ranks of his men. ‘But there is still much that can and must be done.’
‘Must?’ she repeated, her voice strangled.
‘First the Attacotti will have to taste you.’
Lucanus felt the first fat drops of rain splatter on his face. The storm would be a bad one. It had been building for days. Behind him, the others sheltered in Varro’s wagons. Bellicus had returned with the rest of Catia’s family and the wood-priest. But while he and Catia had been searching for Marcus, the merchant’s long-suffering captive, the druid Vercingetorix, had finally given in to his wounds, almost as if he had been set free by Varro’s monstrous death. Solinus and Comitinus had buried him in the woods. The two men now kept watch over Marcus a shor
t way away, in case anyone had followed Lucanus and the boy back here. They would think, he hoped, that the boy had been spirited away to some sanctuary and their group would be left alone. A small hope, but if it bought them some time to breathe and think it would be worth it.
The rain came down harder.
The Wolf tilted his head back, letting it drench him, pleased by the coolness after the stifling warmth of the day. If only he could wash away his grief at the loss of Catia so easily. He could feel it cutting deep into his heart, as sharp as the obsidian knives that the priests of Mithras carried, and at that moment he was sure he would never again find peace.
A low roar of thunder rolled out across the trees.
When it ebbed, Lucanus realized he was not alone. Through the beat of the raindrops, he thought he heard movement in the forest ahead of him, dim, but senses honed in the Wilds were strong in him again. He drew Caledfwlch.
In a flash of lightning, the blade seemed to glow with an inner fire. In the past, he would have found wonder in that. Now there was no wonder anywhere.
As he half turned to call his brothers, a voice rang out. ‘Peace. We are here to talk, not fight.’
Squinting against the worsening downpour, he made out five men emerging from the trees, barbarians all. Four of them were as big as bears, but they kept their blades sheathed. The fifth, smaller, he saw, was Logen of the Fire’s Heart, a sly look on his ratty face.
Lucanus searched the dark woods on either side, but he sensed no further movement.
‘There is no need to call your men.’ Logen held out two empty hands.
‘There is no need for talk,’ the Wolf said.
‘There is. If you would see the woman alive again.’
Lucanus stiffened.
‘Aye, Wolf, she yet lives. There is no gain for us in killing her. Not yet, at least.’
He knew what would come next.
‘We want the boy, that’s all. Give us the boy and we will return the woman to you, alive. And we will leave you all to go your own way. You have Erca’s word on this, and his word carries more weight than any gold.’
‘Never.’ Even as the word left his lips, Lucanus knew it did not sound as forthright as he intended.
Logen must have heard the hesitancy in it, for he smiled. ‘The boy will be well cared for. He will be the father of a king. Would we not shower kindness upon him?’
‘No.’
‘Choose your words carefully, Wolf. The wrong one will end the days of the woman as if you had thrust your blade through her yourself. The right one will save not only her life, but those of your brothers, and all that now shelter under your banner.’
Lucanus felt hot sweat trickle down his back. He wanted to save Catia’s life more than anything, but if he broke his vow to safeguard Marcus she would never forgive him. If he kept to it, she would die.
Logen must have seen his dilemma playing out on his face, for he said, ‘This is no easy choice, Wolf, we know that. Take your time to reach the answer that is best for her, for all of you. Erca has offered you three days and three nights. Our camp is to the east and the south. A scout like you will smell the smoke a morning’s march away. Come to us. Bring the boy. All will be well.’
Lucanus heard movement behind him. He looked back and saw that the others had emerged from the wagons at the sound of voices. Bellicus and Mato, Decima and Galantha, Amatius, Menius and Aelius. Only Amarina was missing, for she was still recovering from her wounds.
‘You will not get your hands on Marcus,’ he called, his resolve stiffening.
‘Are you so sure?’ Taking a step forward, Logen placed an object on the ground at his feet. ‘The woman’s death will not be easy, Wolf. That will lie on your soul too. She will be the plaything of the Attacotti and you know full well what games they like the most. Why, they have already begun.’
He turned on his heel and swept away into the woods, the four huge warriors beside him. The dark swallowed them up in an instant.
Lucanus raced forward and dropped to his haunches where he had seen Logen deposit his gift. His heart rose up into his throat and he wanted to roar into the night.
One slender finger lay there, like a pale slug in the grass. Catia’s finger. And at one end, below the knuckle, were teethmarks where the flesh had been gnawed away.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Song of the Lark
THE NIGHT STAYED and stayed. Lucanus hunched inside one of the wagons, listening to the rain drum on the roof. His brothers squatted around him, ready to offer what thoughts they had if they were called upon, but they knew this decision must be their leader’s alone.
After a while, Bellicus asked, ‘Do you see any way forward?’
‘I can’t leave Catia to suffer at the hands of those beasts.’ Lucanus thought how hollow his voice sounded.
‘And the boy?’
‘I can’t give the boy up to the barbarians.’
A long moment followed, filled only with the sound of the rolling storm.
‘You know we stand with you, whatever you decide.’ Bellicus scratched the fur on Catulus’ head. ‘No man should have to make a choice like this alone.’
‘Your choice will be our choice,’ Mato added. ‘The burden will fall across all our shoulders, so it will be easier to carry into days yet to come.’
Lucanus looked around his men, their faces pale in the wavering light of a candle they’d found in the wagon that transported Varro’s supplies. Every day he gave thanks that they were his brothers. He couldn’t have asked for better.
‘Unless your choice leads us into danger,’ Solinus said. ‘Then you’re on your own.’
When first light came, the rain gave way to a fine mist that soaked through their breeches and plastered their hair to their heads. Comitinus managed to light a fire in the woods under the shelter of a broad oak, and once the flames flickered up Lucanus saw that the warmth gave their band some comfort.
They feasted on cheese and flatbread from the merchant’s stores and he carried some of it to the wagon where Amarina was recuperating. She was propped up on sumptuous cushions and swathed in blankets as if it were the middle of winter. Galantha knelt beside her, wiping the sweat from her brow, while Decima changed the dressing on her wounds. The queen and her attendants.
Amarina raised one eyebrow at him, ready to deflect any criticism.
‘You’re much improved already,’ he said.
‘I’m hard to kill.’
‘Or the witches worked their magic on you.’
‘Or I am merely blessed by the gods for my beauty, wit and charm.’
He crouched beside her. ‘I wanted to tell you … you’re forgiven.’
‘You think I care?’
‘And you think I don’t know you well?’
He watched her eyes narrow. ‘Why tell me this now?’ She paused, calculating. ‘You’re making peace. Why? What are you planning?’
She knew him well too. ‘I’ve made no plans,’ he lied.
Amarina would not be placated. She thrust Galantha’s hand away from her forehead and shouted, ‘Marcus. Marcus.’
Lucanus looked round as the boy popped up at the rear of the wagon.
‘Fetch the Grim Wolves,’ Amarina commanded. ‘Now.’
When the Wolf climbed out of the wagon, he saw his brothers waiting for him on the edge of the trees, the others gathered behind them.
Grimacing from the pain, Amarina eased herself on to the ground with the help of Galantha and Decima. ‘Your leader has plans,’ she said. ‘Ones, no doubt, only fit for a fool.’
‘You wouldn’t be thinking of risking only your own neck, would you?’ Solinus asked.
‘That would be fit for a fool,’ Bellicus added, nodding.
‘That gold crown must be too tight, squeezing all the blood from his brain,’ Solinus continued.
‘One man might be able to creep into their camp and free Catia.’ Lucanus looked round at the faces of his friends. This was a moment he had tr
ied to avoid.
Myrrdin stepped in front of the Grim Wolves and leaned on his staff. ‘There’s too much at stake here for a wild wager.’
‘I won’t sacrifice Catia or Marcus.’
The boy ran up to him. ‘Let me go. I’ll do it to save Mother.’
The Wolf ruffled his hair. ‘You’re a good and loyal lad. But we can’t let you sacrifice yourself.’
‘Quite right.’ This time it was Amatius who spoke.
For much of their time on the road, Lucanus had kept one eye on him, worried by the jealousy that came in fiery bursts. But Catia’s husband had only brooded, rarely joining in the others’ conversation. He did his chores, fetched wood, tended the fire, and at night he slept beside Catia. But his face was always turned away from her.
Now Lucanus could see that his features were like flint.
‘You talk as if you’ve not heard anything the wood-priest has been saying,’ Amatius continued. ‘The boy is everything. Worth more than any riches. It’s clear we should protect him at all costs.’
‘You would abandon your wife?’ Lucanus couldn’t hide the incredulity in his voice.
Amatius’ eyes glowed with a fierce awareness and every muscle stiffened as if he was about to attack. ‘At least I would be done with that whore lying with you behind my back.’
The words were frosted with the chill of deepest winter and for a moment only silence lay across the gathering. Then Lucanus said, ‘Marcus, go to Amarina.’ He watched the three women help the boy into the back of the wagon, and then he growled, ‘You can say such things in front of your son?’
‘He should hear the truth about the sow that bore him.’
‘That is my daughter you speak of.’ Menius’ face was like thunder.