Dark Age

by James Wilde

  ‘Is she also the one who eats dirt because it enables her to see at night?’

  ‘Fair point.’

  Corvus urged his horse on, but slowly. He fixed his gaze on that brooding shadow lying in sullen silence just beyond the treeline. The hairs on his neck prickled. For some reason, he felt there were other eyes in there looking back at him. ‘I’m a superstitious fool,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve spent too long around men who see angels and devils behind every blade of grass.’

  He glanced back. Theodosius was riding along the column of men to see what the delay was.

  ‘Why worry?’ Pavo sighed. ‘We’ve met no resistance so far. If this is a land ruled by barbarians, all four of them are probably sitting round a fire in the cold north, picking their teeth with bones.’

  ‘Wise words again, old crow. No doubt they heard how we crushed the Alamanni in Gaul and are quaking in fear.’

  ‘Too true, old crow.’

  The journey from Rutupiae on the coast had been uneventful. They’d taken their time, travelling only a few miles each day, sending the scouts ahead and waiting for their return before they moved on. They’d not even smelled a barbarian, and Corvus knew how much those ditch-dwellers reeked.

  At one village they were surrounded by cheering country folk who saw their red cloaks and were convinced Rome had come to save the day. No one had the heart to tell them that they were all there were. But those simple beings seemed under no immediate threat. They’d heard rumours, of devastation and slaughter, but when pressed they could offer no more than whispers on the wind.

  Perhaps it was the talk of a few men in their cups which had got out of hand.

  ‘At this rate we’ll be at Londinium in two days,’ Pavo said. ‘And then …’

  ‘And then we can wake the dragon.’ Corvus nodded, pleased with himself. He’d agonized over sending word back with the ship returning to Gaul that all was well and Gaia and the others could join him. But it seemed his instincts had been right when the scouts had returned that first night. There would be safety behind the walls in Londinium, at least. He needed his mother and wife with him if he was to make his move. And Father Severus would keep some steel in the spine of his men with the promise of the glory of Sol Invictus if they began to waver.

  Once his sister Catia and her supporters were dead, the wood-priests would soon come round to Gaia’s claim upon the bloodline – they needed this king as much as he did. He wished he had a tame druid to argue his case. But his wife Hecate would do well enough, especially when she told how he had saved her from certain death, and then given her his love and protection.

  ‘You always look as if you’re talking to someone,’ Theodosius said as he rode up. He looked down his long nose, his face red from the heat.

  Corvus eyed Pavo, who raised one eyebrow. ‘No. Just me.’

  ‘How goes it?’

  ‘I’m not one to take risks, as you know.’

  ‘There’s no way around this forest. We have to follow the road through it.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘And if it’s rogues and cut-throats you’re wary of, they would be scared away by a column of Rome’s finest.’

  ‘True too.’

  Theodosius fixed an eye on him, and after a moment Corvus nodded. He urged his mount on, sensing Pavo doing the same. Side by side, as they had been since they were children.

  As the soldiers closed on the line of trees, Theodosius dropped in beside him again. ‘The winter will be cold here, but not as bad as along the northern wall. There, I’m told, the snot freezes on your face overnight when you sleep in the barracks.’

  Corvus shrugged. ‘I’ve never been troubled by a little cold.’ He’d have to get used to it if this was to be his home in the years to come. At least he’d have a fine villa to keep him warm. Perhaps even a palace. Somewhere fit for the head of a royal bloodline.

  ‘Now that Jovinus has successfully finished his campaign in Gaul, for now at least, preparations must surely be under way for the campaign next year,’ Theodosius mused.

  ‘Let’s hope the emperor can find enough troops. A war on two fronts, in Germania and in Britannia, will strain our capability.’

  ‘We must trust that Valentinian knows what he’s doing. He’s made the right choice putting my father in charge of the Britannia campaign. He’ll carve through these barbarians like a knife through a well-roasted ox.’

  The column pushed on into the gloom beneath the trees.

  ‘Birdsong,’ Theodosius said, listening. ‘These woods might be so dense that we can’t see far, but our ears will tell us if any barbarians venture close. I met an old soldier who spent his years in Vindolanda, once. He told me those Picts and Scoti couldn’t go five steps without screeching like death-hags.’

  ‘They’ll all be drunk now and enjoying their victory,’ Pavo muttered.

  ‘They’ll all be drunk now and enjoying their victory,’ Corvus said.

  ‘True. If there’s one thing barbarians are good at, it’s falling deep into their cups and thinking they’ve won a war when it’s only been a battle.’ Theodosius laughed at his own words. ‘I’m glad you’re with me on this journey, my friend. It would be a far more dismal time without you.’

  ‘We know each other well, you and I. Who works together better?’

  ‘When we make camp, we’ll thank God for our good friendship,’ Theodosius said.

  Corvus forced a smile. ‘Oh, deep joy.’

  Corvus stared into the endless dark. A few orange spots floated in the gloaming, the last embers of the fire they’d built when they’d broken the journey.

  The forest was as silent as a tomb. He couldn’t even hear the watchman farting.

  Under his back, the ground was soft and he felt pleased he’d picked the perfect spot, nestled in the twisting roots of a venerable oak. Knowing Theodosius, his friend had probably found somewhere harder and more uncomfortable. He seemed to think his god would love him more if he embraced suffering.

  The road had plunged like a dagger into the heart of the forest. At first they’d progressed cautiously, eyes darting at every creature scurrying in the undergrowth. Once they realized they could see clearly what awaited them, they’d all relaxed. By the time they’d made camp on either side of the way, laughter rang out and the conversation was cheery.

  Corvus rolled on to his side, but whatever had woken him from his slumber – the hoot of an owl, a badger’s snufflings – had set him as alert as if it were dawn.

  ‘I suppose you’re deep in dreams of good wine, Pavo,’ he murmured. At the thought he decided he had a taste for some drink. A couple of cups would not go amiss and it would help him sleep.

  He lay for a moment, weighing his options, then decided the lure of the wine was too strong. With a sigh, he crawled away from the oak tree, feeling his way among the sleeping soldiers until he reached those few hot coals. Grasping one of the pitch-soaked torches stacked beside the fire for any night-time emergency, he plunged the tip into the hot ashes.

  A patch of red glowed. The torch hissed and sizzled into life.

  As the flames licked up, Corvus raised the brand high. He looked round and frowned. Something was twitching just beyond the edge of the circle of light where the watchman hunched at his post.

  And then he realized he was seeing not one figure, but two, wrapped in an embrace. When the second figure raised its head to look at the trembling torch, the light washed over it.

  ‘Mithras,’ Corvus gasped.

  Against the bone-white skin, one splash of colour stood out: the crimson smeared around its mouth where it had been feeding on the dead watchman. Corvus felt those unblinking eyes on him for a moment, as if the thing was marking his face in its mind. As he shuddered, it flitted away into the night.

  ‘Awake!’ he yelled. ‘Awake!’

  The soldiers around him leapt to their feet, swords already in hands. Corvus jabbed a shaking finger to where the watchman slumped at his post.

  ‘Murdered!�
� someone shouted. ‘His throat slit.’

  ‘What did you see?’ Theodosius grabbed his arm.

  ‘I … I don’t know,’ Corvus stammered.

  Torches burst into flame. Soldiers hurried with the brands to the camp perimeter, their levelled blades now aglow.

  Corvus swallowed. He looked out to where the circle of light was spreading out into the dark among the trees. The forest seethed with movement.

  ‘Stand your ground,’ Theodosius barked.

  ‘No,’ Corvus croaked. ‘We can’t fight those things.’

  Ghastly shapes darted so fast that he couldn’t count their number. But there must be an army of them. An army. For the first time in his life, he felt terror drive a spike into his heart.

  ‘What are they?’ he heard Theodosius yell.

  Daemons, he thought.

  As the soldiers stared into the night, their swords quivering, one of the creatures rushed into the circle of light. Naked to the waist, it leapt like a savage beast and Corvus waited for its maw to stretch wide. Instead a blade thrust into a petrified soldier’s chest. The attacker wrenched the weapon free and disappeared into the dark before his victim keeled over, dead.

  ‘They are men after all,’ Theodosius shouted.

  And then the attack erupted in force. Corvus gaped, rooted. Reeking of loam, white faces that showed no emotion flashed into the circle of light. The things slashed and stabbed, and were gone before anyone could fight back.

  A Roman fell. Another. Another.

  Every time Corvus whirled, his quavering torch revealed too much.

  One soldier crashed forward, blood spurting from a neck wound. As he flailed on the ground, two of the things grabbed his arms and dragged him away from the light. Lost in the dark, his screams rose into a frenzy at whatever agonies were being inflicted on him, then were cut off.

  ‘They’re eating him,’ Corvus croaked.

  Theodosius spun towards him, his face savage in the torchlight. ‘They are men,’ he roared, ‘and no man born under God would do such a thing.’

  When another soldier was dragged into the dark, Corvus sensed the panic rush through the Romans around him.

  ‘Stand your ground,’ Theodosius bellowed again.

  ‘No,’ Corvus shouted. ‘Away! Away! This is a fight we cannot win!’

  Without waiting to see if Theodosius backed him, he was running through the camp to the road. He could hear the horses whinnying in fear, but all he sensed was frantic movement, and terrible screams, and flickering torchlight.

  ‘Pavo!’ he cried. ‘Pavo! Save me!’

  Shadows danced around him, drawing nearer.

  Corvus stumbled, caught himself, threw himself on. They were at his back. If he dared look round he would be lost.

  His horse loomed up in the dark. Clawing his way on to its back, he dug his heels in. The beast hammered on to the road and he wrapped his arms around its neck.

  Dark shapes raced on either side, keeping pace. The things wouldn’t relent until he was dead. He imagined their swords drawn, ready to cut him down, and he dug his heels harder into his steed’s flanks and roared aloud.

  Through the endless dark he flew, trusting in his mount’s keen sight to find its way on. But even then he felt sure he could sense those monstrous things surging through the trees on either side. Why had he been so complacent, so arrogant? What nightmare had he fallen into?

  Corvus whirled on, never looking back, not caring about his comrades. Only darkness lay ahead.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Queen of Fury

  West of Lactodorum

  ‘WHEN THE ATTACOTTI return, you will be their first meal.’

  Bellicus showed a defiant face, but Erca’s words drove ice into the pit of his stomach. His left eye was caked with blood, his lips were swollen, and his body sang with agonies from more beatings than he could count.

  ‘Only because you bastards would taste like a mouthful of shit.’ Solinus gave a gap-toothed grin; one of his teeth had been knocked out by Motius of the Carrion Crows two days ago.

  Erca scowled, then stepped away with a grunt.

  Bellicus felt proud that Solinus showed no fear. Comitinus too. The three of them had endured so much since the Carrion Crows had taken them by surprise while they prepared to scout the barbarian camp. His only joy was that Catulus had raced off into the night before they could kill him. That faithful hound would be out there somewhere, keeping pace.

  For the first part of the march south, they’d been tied to stakes, each one of them supported between the shoulders of two barbarians. Then Erca had set them to trudging beside the column, even though their injuries meant every step felt like walking across hot coals.

  But they’d endured that too.

  Now they’d broken the trek for the day, the barbarians sprawled in the grass beside the road, swilling wine from skins as they summoned up the strength to set up their shelters for the night. Erca had kept the pace hard. The horde must want to crush all resistance before the snows came. Only when Rome had no foothold in Britannia could they feel secure.

  ‘Call yourself a good man,’ Bellicus growled, ‘and you stand alongside the Eaters of the Dead.’

  Erca glowered at him. They were about the same size: two bears, one red, one black, each getting the measure of the other. ‘Save your breath, Roman. Enjoy what’s left of your miserable life.’ The war-leader prowled around the three captives. ‘You should never have ventured here. We rule this land now.’

  Comitinus moistened his lips. ‘All barbarians learn soon enough that when they invade any part of the empire they can hold on for a day, or a week, or a month. But Rome always crushes them.’ His voice was soft, but that seemed only to antagonize the Scot all the more.

  Erca thrust his face a finger’s width from Comitinus’ broken nose. ‘This time things are different. You’ve never faced an alliance of all the tribes before. We learned our lesson long ago. We are stronger together, and before our combined force the fabled might of Rome’s army melted away like an autumn mist. Send your legions to attack us. We welcome it. Fight us here in Britannia. In Gaul. Wherever the tribes gather. You’ll soon learn Rome’s time has passed. The season is turning. A new world is being forged.’

  ‘A darker one,’ Bellicus spat.

  Erca grinned. ‘But it will be ours.’

  ‘Is this how you treat your captives?’ Catia was observing them.

  Erca’s eyes flickered away from her. Was that fear he saw? Respect? Both at once?

  ‘Only what they deserve,’ the Scot said.

  ‘How he treats his defeated enemy is a mark of a civilized man.’ Her voice was low, but carried weight.

  Erca’s cheeks reddened. Bellicus stifled a chuckle. Catia knew how to sting, that was true.

  She pushed up her chin and strode among the warriors as if she were their queen. Comitinus gasped. None of them had seen her clearly until now – Erca kept them well apart – and Bellicus felt a pang of shock as he looked at the swell of her belly.

  ‘The time that has passed … the size of her … it can only be Lucanus’ child,’ he whispered. If the Wolf had known about this, he would have fought his way through waves of barbarians, to the very gates of death, to save the two of them.

  ‘That cuts even deeper,’ Comitinus croaked. ‘To fail—’

  ‘Silence,’ Bellicus snapped. He would hear no talk of failure, not till the moment his flame was extinguished.

  ‘Aye, silence, you whining cur,’ Solinus said to Comitinus. ‘We’ve been beaten within a whisper of our lives. We’re surrounded by a barbarian horde, about to be eaten alive, and there’s only three of us.’ He sniffed. ‘I’ve faced worse odds.’

  Catia looked Erca directly in the eye. ‘Three of them, chained and broken, and still you fear them.’

  ‘I fear no one.’ Erca’s eyes darted. Watching for the response of his men, Bellicus knew. Any hint of weakness would be punished.

  Leaning in, Catia whispered somet
hing in his ear.

  Erca shrugged. ‘Do what you will. I care not.’

  He nodded to the men guarding his prisoners, and Bellicus felt rough hands throw him down. He lounged on the grass, turning his face to the dying rays of the red sun, with Solinus and Comitinus sitting cross-legged beside him.

  Catia eased beside them, holding her belly. ‘You were right. This is a fine rescue.’ She forced a smile, but Bellicus saw only pity in her eyes.

  ‘These barbarian bastards have treated you well?’

  ‘As well as can be expected. I’m fed. No hands raised against me. No one has touched me at all, and for that I’m thankful.’ She sighed. ‘Why did you come?’

  ‘We couldn’t leave you here,’ Comitinus said.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to see any life risked to save me.’

  ‘And you think Lucanus would leave you to your fate?’ Bellicus asked.

  She winced. ‘This is his child.’

  ‘I always wondered if he had it in him,’ Solinus grunted.

  ‘Why did you come?’ Catia asked again. This time her voice cracked. She leaned forward, making sure she wasn’t overheard. ‘You know what will happen to you when the Attacotti return.’

  ‘I’ll choke them with my gristle,’ Solinus said.

  ‘Most of them have joined the other tribes in the south,’ she whispered. ‘They are the best scouts these barbarians have and they were needed for the final assault, so Erca said. But a small band still travels with us, and they’re expected back the day after tomorrow.’

  Bellicus nodded. He’d long expected he’d die in some miserable work for the arcani, but never like this.

  ‘Ah, it’ll only hurt for a bit,’ Solinus said.

  ‘Aye, could be worse,’ Comitinus added.

  ‘Stop it.’ Catia scrubbed away a stray tear.

  ‘If I could see a way to escape, we’d take it,’ Bellicus said. ‘They don’t let us out of their sight for a moment. No, make your peace with it. We have.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘I only wish we hadn’t failed you.’

  ‘Still your tongue,’ Catia said, a little harshly, he thought. ‘We are one and the same.’ She pushed herself to her feet and walked away without a backward glance.