Dark Age

by James Wilde

  ‘Those Christian cats have sharp claws, don’t forget,’ Pavo murmured.

  The guard leaned in to peer into Corvus’ face. ‘Glory to Sol Invictus. You are alone?’ he added, looking round.

  ‘I am.’ Corvus flashed a sly glance at Pavo, who grinned in return.

  ‘Then enter, Heliodromus,’ the guard said.

  Wavering candlelight gleamed off slick stone walls as Corvus squeezed into a narrow natural tunnel in the bedrock. Behind him, he could sense Pavo’s shade, always with him. Ahead he could hear the low rumble of voices. The crevice opened out into a cavern, the ceiling high enough to be lost to shadows above the orange glow of the torches on the walls. Corvus nodded approvingly. A temple in the earth’s womb, perfect for the worship of Mithras who was birthed from the rock. The others had worked hard to find such a place at short notice.

  ‘The Heliodromus has arrived.’ A low voice reverberated from the far end of the temple. ‘Let the Sun Runner step forward.’

  The soldiers eased aside and Corvus marched forward to the makeshift altar. Behind it, the Hanged Man, Gnaeus Calidus Severus, peered down his nose, his head twisted at an odd angle from that long-ago failed attempt upon his life.

  ‘Honoured Father,’ Corvus said to the priest.

  ‘The Invincible Sun has shone down on you this day. A great victory.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be standing here now if not for my brothers under Mithras.’

  ‘Your brothers would lay down their lives for you, you know that. You are our great, perhaps last, hope as the Christians seek to crush us at every turn. The Dragon. It is your blood that will lead to the rebirth of our saviour upon this earth, great Mithras incarnated in the body of an undying man, who will lead us all out of this darkness in which we find ourselves.’

  Corvus didn’t know if the Hanged Man believed any of this, but he sold his story well to the gathered soldiers. They were simple folk. They didn’t question that the Christians had the same prophecy of a saviour who would return, and the Egyptians with their strange beast-gods, and no doubt every other sect and cult whose followers raised their eyes up to the heavens in hope of salvation.

  Whoever finally and completely laid claim to that story would own the power that accompanied it.

  Corvus slipped off his tunic to stand naked, head bowed with suitable supplication, he hoped. He knew all eyes would be on the brand of the Ouroboros upon his shoulder, the serpent eating its own tail, the symbol of that eternal bloodline.

  ‘I am only your poor servant, Father, and the servant of Sol Invictus.’

  He stooped his shoulders and let the ritual wash over him. The chanting, the drone of Severus’ voice as he spoke of the slaying of bulls, and the passage of the soul, and the great serpents who would fly from this world to the heavens to herald the king of kings made flesh.

  Afterwards, there was no bull to slaughter and consume so he hunched with the others along the dank walls, gnawing on dry biscuit washed down by cheap wine. The sacrifices he had to make never ended.

  As weariness settled on all of them, Severus beckoned Corvus to the dark behind the altar. ‘I meant what I said,’ the Hanged Man whispered. ‘All our faith is in you. The situation in Rome is intolerable now for any follower of Mithras. They will have us crucified outside the city walls if they have their way. The emperor is too distracted by this business with the barbarians … not that he would care one way or the other what happened to us.’

  ‘I value your guidance, Father.’

  ‘You’re ready for what lies ahead?’

  ‘I will ensure any other pretenders to the saviour’s bloodline will be swiftly dealt with.’ Particularly my half-sister Catia and any progeny she may have spat out.

  ‘You do not fear this news coming out of Britannia?’

  ‘A few mud-crawlers with a grudge against Rome? You saw how quickly their resistance faded today.’ He shrugged. ‘We will be on our way soon enough. Jovinus is only waiting for his scouts to return from across the channel so he can prepare his strategy, which, I’m sure, will be nothing more than stab and thrust and shout loudly.’

  Severus grunted. ‘Don’t expect any help from the emperor. Valentinian is still on his sickbed, I hear. News reaches me that yesterday his son Gratian was acclaimed Augustus by the troops at Amiens.’

  ‘The emperor fears he might die?’

  ‘Would he take steps to secure his dynasty in this way if he did not? Let us hope this doesn’t interfere with our plans. For the love of Sol Invictus, we cannot continue much longer in this manner. The worship of Mithras is dying by the day.’

  ‘Don’t worry. All I require is that you watch over my mother.’

  ‘Gaia and her child will be protected at all costs.’

  Corvus saw the glimmer in the other man’s eye and knew the priest wanted to say your child, but this was another of those matters which they had both chosen to allow to remain unspoken. His incestuous union with his mother was not born of carnal urges, only a desire to keep the bloodline pure so their claim to be the progenitors of the great saviour would carry more weight. But few would comprehend that, he knew.

  Once they had finished their feast, if it could be described as that, the soldiers crept out into the night. Pavo was loitering among the trees. They stumbled down the slope together, but the twigs cracked under only one set of feet.

  ‘I’m not sure how I’ll survive in Britannia if the barbarians have looted all the good wine,’ his friend said.

  ‘There’ll be more than enough for us. Besides, soon we’ll have all the power and the gold that flows from it. We’ll be able to buy enough drink to swim in. Did you not hear Severus? The Dragon will fly up from the earth to the heavens.’

  ‘I forget you are a Dragon now. I bow my head to you.’

  ‘No respect,’ Corvus sniffed. ‘Perhaps I should ally myself with someone who knows my true worth.’

  ‘You’d be lost without me,’ Pavo said, with truth.

  Jubilant songs were still ringing out through the night as Corvus slipped into the camp. He skirted the fires where the men gathered, cups raised high. But as he flung back the flaps of his tent he sensed a presence waiting inside. His heart pounded when he saw Theodosius the Younger.

  ‘Old friend,’ Corvus gushed. ‘You’re missing the celebrations.’

  He tried to read the other man’s face to see any sign of threat, but the shadows masked it. He knew full well what would happen to him if a Christian as devout as Theodosius had learned he was a follower of Mithras, friendship or not.

  ‘You know I have no time for drinking and carousing.’

  ‘Of course. I was, myself, coming to prayer. Perhaps we could bend our knees together?’

  ‘There’s no time.’

  Corvus flinched as Theodosius stepped forward, but the light dancing through the open flap showed only worry lines on his face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘We must ride tonight, on my father’s orders—’

  ‘Where?’ Corvus blurted, unable to hide his relief.

  ‘Now the coast is secure, the emperor is bringing the court to Trier to oversee the campaign from his sickbed. We must intercept them. Storm clouds are gathering, or so my father says, but he hasn’t yet revealed the nature of his fears to me. I’m tasked with finding out what I can and bringing this news back to him.’

  ‘The two of us?’

  Theodosius nodded. ‘My father trusts me, and I, of course, trust you.’

  ‘Good. There is no one more loyal.’

  Corvus damped down his frustration – he had hoped to be sailing for Britannia within days – but Severus had placed his mother and his bride, Hecate, with the court, for safety. If there was any threat to them, and his unborn child, then he should be there to protect them.

  ‘Though it pains my heart, I will set aside my prayers for now,’ he said. ‘Let us ride so hard our arses hurt. I am at your command.’

  His arse did hurt. Another sacrifice. Oh, for wh
en he could sit at his own court, with his mother on one side and his bride on the other, with Gnaeus Calidus Severus standing behind him to advise, and all the heads bowed before him, offering fealty to this prophesied saviour. Then no one would make him ride for days and nights with only dry crusts to fill his growling stomach.

  Theodosius kept his spirits up with his prayers, of course. They had time to pause for devotions at the side of the track through the baking countryside, but not to grab a little sleep in the shade.

  Every now and then Corvus glanced back into the wavering heat haze. Once or twice he thought he saw Pavo following. He would be there somewhere, a ghost haunting their trail. His friend would not abandon him, whatever the risk.

  They took the road south of Trier and a day later found the court camped for the night, a tent city surrounded by carts and wagons with the horses whinnying in their pens. When Theodosius led their own mounts to water, Corvus slipped away through the drifting smoke of the fires.

  Following directions, he hurried to a sapphire tent on the edge of the camp. Inside, he felt his skin bloom from the heat. A brazier hissed in one corner, quite unnecessary for that time of year, but his mother felt the cold here in the west, away from the stifling Roman summer.

  Gaia sat on a curved chair, hands clasped on her growing belly. A spiderweb of lines edged her eyes. She was not old, but this would be her final attempt to bear a child. And she was not used to travelling so far, or in the kinds of conditions endured by soldiers. Rutted roads, poor food, cheap wine. In Rome, she had only experienced a life of sumptuous ease, enjoying the wealth the family had made since they had fled Britannia when Corvus was barely formed.

  ‘My beautiful boy,’ she said, forcing a smile.

  ‘Mother. I trust I find you well.’

  ‘As well as can be expected in these hideous surroundings. Severus has made sure I’m well looked after.’ Her face crumpled. ‘My darling, why couldn’t I have stayed in Rome? Our child would be safe there.’

  Corvus sighed. ‘Mother, I’ve told you. Britannia is where our destiny lies. Our heir must be born there, where the King Who Will Not Die has some meaning. That is where the power lies. That is where you were chosen, yes?’

  She nodded, her head drooping.

  ‘And if this child is born in Rome where the Christians are rampant, I wouldn’t hold out much hope for it once they learn the followers of Mithras have a claim upon it too.’

  Gaia kneaded her hands together. ‘Are we doing the right thing? All these schemes and deceits—’

  ‘The prize is worth it.’ Corvus heard the snap in his voice and swallowed his irritation. Softening, he added, ‘You’ve suffered so much in your life, Mother. All that hardship and striving. When Father died …’ He winced, stifling the dream he had that he had pushed his father overboard in the storm that assailed their ship when they were fleeing Britannia. ‘You deserve all that awaits us.’

  ‘Corvus?’

  He winced again, this time at the way the guttural notes of the barbarian still inflected the mellifluous Roman tongue. Turning, Corvus smiled at his new bride, Hecate, as she stood in the entrance to the tent. He had thought how beautiful she looked in that filthy shack in the Alamanni territory when he had rescued (seized) her after her sisters had been killed (murdered at his command). Now she had been bathed and massaged with fragrant oils and unguents and civilized by life in Rome, she all but took his breath away.

  Corvus held out his arms and she stepped into his embrace. For a moment, he inhaled the perfume of her hair.

  ‘Come to my tent,’ she breathed.

  ‘Stay here.’ Gaia’s voice was wintry. ‘We have plans to make in preparation for Britannia.’

  Corvus watched Hecate pull back and flash a honeyed smile at his mother. If his bride suspected that it was his child Gaia was carrying, she gave no hint. But she was clever, this girl, for all she’d had no schooling. She’d quickly grasped what was at stake. She knew the prophecy of the King Who Will Not Die, as all the barbarians seemed to know it, and she was prepared to do all she could to see her husband achieve his destiny. The thought of power and riches had a way of turning the heads of even the most innocent of people.

  ‘Mother, you know I have spent little time with my wife since we were wed.’

  Gaia glared.

  Hecate leaned in and whispered, ‘I will give you a night you will never forget.’

  ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think she had you under a spell,’ his mother said with a snort. ‘Has she been slipping you some of those potions she conjures up in her cauldron when she thinks no one is watching? Yes, my dear, I’ve seen you at work.’

  Another smile from Hecate. She knew she had the upper hand.

  ‘We’re family now. Let’s not argue.’ Corvus took Hecate’s hand and reached out to Gaia. With a sullen girlishness, she grasped his fingers.

  ‘Corvus!’ His name echoed through the night.

  He sighed. ‘No rest for the wicked.’

  Stepping out into the balmy darkness, he searched the shadows until he saw Theodosius stumbling among the tents. ‘Over here.’

  His friend lurched up and grasped his arm. ‘Two riders have arrived. This is what my father anticipated. Bad news, I fear. Terrible news from the look of their faces. Come.’

  Corvus wrinkled his nose as he stepped into the lush interior of the tent. It was the largest one in the camp, a glorious purple, filled with sumptuous cushions, gold plate, tapestry, places to sit and even a low bed so the emperor didn’t have to sleep on the hard ground like the common herd. The air was perfumed, but he could smell the tang of sickness beneath it.

  Theodosius tugged him on past the waiting guards. The tent had been divided by a sheet of gauzy material and beyond it Corvus could just make out a small crowd. He felt Theodosius’ hand between his shoulders, pushing him towards the rear of the group.

  Valentinian lay on his sickbed. He was a tall man, and his bony feet hung over the end. A mass of premature wrinkles crawled across the yellowy skin of his face, and his eyes were rheumy. His head was turned towards two men, the new arrivals, no doubt. One feeble hand fluttered towards them.

  ‘Speak,’ the emperor croaked.

  ‘We have a tale of horror,’ one of the men said, bowing his head.

  ‘The moment we set foot back in Gaul and told General Jovinus what we’d found, he sent us straight here,’ the other soldier continued. He had the bluest eyes Corvus had ever seen, the lamplight flickering within them.

  ‘Britannia is lost,’ the first man said, his voice strained. ‘The slaughter … it’s beyond anything I’ve seen before. Heads on spikes … women … children! And rats, so many rats, whole fields of them, heaving.’

  The one with the blue eyes rested a hand on his comrade’s shoulder to silence him. When he spoke, he kept his gaze level and his voice clear as best he could. ‘Our army has been defeated.’ He paused for the intake of breath that rustled through the gathered council. ‘As far as we could tell, the men saw the horde advancing upon them and refused to fight. All our forts are empty. Those who remain, the loyal few, are gathered in Londinium. Without reinforcements there’s little hope of mounting any kind of campaign to retake the isle.’

  ‘It may not be worth retaking,’ the first man muttered. ‘We wouldn’t get far from the south coast without meeting resistance. The tribes own all Britannia now. But from what we could see, the towns, the villages, the villas, are all burned to the ground. The people who thrived under our rule slaves or dead.’

  ‘We do not give up a part of the empire.’ Corvus nodded in appreciation at the steel he heard in Valentinian’s voice. Perhaps he was not half gone after all.

  ‘The horde is advancing on Londinium,’ the blue-eyed soldier said. ‘If they take that – if they reach the coast – then it will be … difficult for any force to drive them back. They are better organized than I could ever have imagined. Infinitely stronger in total than any of the tribes standing alone.’ />
  Corvus felt a chill in the pit of his stomach. This was worse by far than anything he had expected. But he couldn’t abandon his plans now, not when he was so close.

  ‘A strong commander is needed if Britannia is to be returned to the empire. A strong commander, and an overwhelming force,’ the soldier continued. ‘General Jovinus is ready—’

  Valentinian shook his head. ‘Not Jovinus.’ He wheezed in a juddering breath, but Corvus could see his gaze harden. ‘And not now. Not so late in the year. The channel is treacherous. A disastrous storm at sea could wipe out most of the men we send. You know well the history of what happened when we first invaded Britannia. We must leave any attack to the spring.’

  ‘But if Londinium falls—’ The soldier bit down on his words.

  Now Corvus felt his stomach knot so tightly he almost clutched at it. He couldn’t afford to wait until the following year.

  ‘Not Jovinus, no,’ Valentinian continued as if he had not heard the other man. ‘We will be fighting two campaigns – in Germania and Britannia. Jovinus must finish his work here in Gaul.’ Corvus watched the emperor muse for a moment, but his own thoughts were racing and he almost didn’t hear when Valentinian muttered, ‘Theodosius the Elder. He will oversee the campaign. My trusted general.’

  Corvus felt Theodosius the Younger stiffen beside him at the mention of his father’s name. He glanced over and saw a soft smile lighting his friend’s face. No doubt dreaming of family glory. Perhaps even greater things.

  Outside in the night, Theodosius clapped his hands together. ‘A victory in Britannia will ring down the years, my friend. And we will be there in that great battle, you and I, at my father’s side.’

  ‘But not until next year.’

  ‘You heard the emperor. We need time to plan, to amass the troops that we will need—’

  ‘I think it would be wise to prepare the ground, don’t you? To let what remains of our army know that help is coming, put some steel into their spine. And to scout out the land and the barbarian forces so that when the time comes we can move like lightning.’