Dark Age

by James Wilde

  ‘There. See.’ Apullius was pointing over the wall. A low mist was drifting across the grassland beyond the Fleet, and a row of figures stood half obscured by the haziness next to a dark copse of ash trees.

  ‘The forest folk,’ Lucanus said, squinting. And at their heart, one who was clearly a warrior, taller than the rest. The Lord of the Greenwood.

  Apullius shook him and said, ‘No. There.’ He jabbed his finger down into the vicus.

  Lucanus searched through the long shadows until he saw four figures running among the huts with the steady gait the arcani reserved for crossing the Wilds. He felt his heart leap when he recognized Bellicus’ bear-like frame, and Solinus and Comitinus on either side.

  And then he saw the figure at the front and thought he might burst. He all but thrust Apullius to one side and scrambled down the steps.

  Once the gate had rattled open, he dashed out into the quiet of the vicus. His heart was thumping. He’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but still he was afraid that the figure he had seen would vanish into mist.

  But there she was, sun-browned face smeared with dirt from the road, dress ragged and streaked with green, blonde hair matted and straggly. But it was Catia, and he knew then that the gods and the Fates smiled on him and all would surely be right with the world.

  A moment as the hard stare formed by life as a captive melted away, and then she saw him, and believed it was truly him and not some barbarian waiting to kill her. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she threw her arms wide.

  Lucanus grabbed her and swept her up into an embrace. He fell into a kiss that seemed to last an age, and then he swung her round, laughing. Only when the euphoria had subsided did he feel the weight pressing against his stomach.

  Lowering her to the ground, he stared in amazement.

  ‘It’s yours, Lucanus,’ she breathed.

  ‘Marcus—’ he began.

  ‘I know.’ She blinked away a tear. ‘This is hope, here. Let us give thanks for that.’

  Bellicus, Solinus and Comitinus were grinning. ‘You saved her …’ He paused when he saw the odd look they shared.

  ‘Let’s not get into gratitude just yet,’ Solinus said.

  ‘We are humble folk,’ Comitinus added with a nod.

  ‘Just fetch us wine,’ Bellicus grunted. ‘My mouth is filled with dust.’

  ‘Wine, yes, and something to fill our bellies.’ Catia gripped Lucanus’ arms. ‘But let’s not dawdle. The barbarians are hard on our heels. From this moment on, there will be war.’

  The candle guttered. Shadows danced across the faces of the five people seated in the circle. The clamour of that overcrowded town thrummed through the walls, but in that gloomy room there was only silence.

  Lucanus looked around the faces: Catia, Bellicus, Mato, Amarina. Myrrdin had just entered, and now leaned on his staff in one corner. They could begin.

  ‘No Solinus, or Comitinus?’ Bellicus asked.

  ‘Five is the right number,’ Myrrdin intoned.

  The wood-priest’s words rushed back to Lucanus, from the time they had shared at the Heartstones: Numbers are important. Three, five, nine. When you see those numbers, you must pay special attention, for the gods are speaking through them.

  ‘You’d do well giving one of them my seat,’ Amarina said. ‘I have no part to play here. And, as far as I can see, there is no coin to be made either.’ She made to stand from her stool.

  ‘Sit down, moon-sister,’ Myrrdin said, not unkindly. That strange name seemed to cause a flicker on Amarina’s face, Lucanus noticed, and she lowered herself back down. But not without a sharp glance at the wood-priest. He smiled in return.

  ‘We gather here as equals,’ the Wolf began. ‘You, my most trusted friends. I will need your counsel more than ever in days to come.’

  ‘You’d do well to have some soldiers here,’ Mato said. ‘I see few great tacticians in our number.’

  ‘This is not about the coming war. We have plans abirthing there, formed by sharper minds than mine.’ The Wolf glanced at Catia, then at her swollen belly. ‘All has changed.’

  ‘The unborn child,’ Amarina said, understanding. ‘The royal bloodline renewed.’

  Lucanus shivered, remembering another child waiting to enter the world, the one in the belly of the witch, Hecate, that had come from the seed she had stolen from him. The thought unsettled him, and he pushed it aside.

  Myrrdin prowled around the gathering. Lucanus’ nose wrinkled at the strange scents rising off him, unguents and incense from the mysterious rituals he carried out at night in the groves beyond the vicus. ‘When Marcus was stolen from us, it was easy to believe all hope was lost. But the gods would never let this gulf form. The King Who Will Not Die must come, as the sun must rise and the tides sweep in. And so it will be.’

  Lucanus watched Mato’s face harden. Of all of them, he seemed less than entranced by the wood-priest’s proclamations. ‘We have more pressing concerns than your games, wood-priest,’ he said.

  ‘This is not a game.’ Myrrdin hammered his staff on the floor for emphasis.

  Lucanus could see Mato wanted to say more, but his friend bit his tongue. Something lay between the two men, that was certain.

  ‘The child must be protected at all costs,’ Myrrdin continued. ‘There are enemies who will want the power that comes with the bloodline. You know that. You have seen it before, and how much misery it causes.’

  ‘We’re among friends here,’ Bellicus said.

  ‘Enemies lurk everywhere,’ Myrrdin replied.

  ‘Wise words,’ Lucanus said. ‘I’ve learned to trust few outside this room. Falx, for one, has always kept an eye on profit. He knows the value of any child of Catia’s, and if he can get a good price for it he will, whatever he might say.’

  ‘Then we watch him like a hawk.’ Bellicus unconsciously bunched his fists.

  ‘You spoke of a sanctuary, in the west,’ Mato said to the wood-priest.

  Catia rested her hands on her thighs. ‘The child will be here soon enough. This is not the time to be trying to pick a way through the barbarian horde, even if we could. Erca knows of the bloodline.’ She shrugged. ‘But he has no interest in gaining an advantage there.’

  ‘You’re sure of that?’ Lucanus said.

  She nodded without meeting his eye. ‘But there may be others. Wood-priests move among the barbarians too.’ Catia eyed Myrrdin. ‘Your kind do not always speak with one voice.’

  ‘All men have flaws,’ the druid said. ‘Except me.’

  ‘So we stay here, in Londinium, till Catia gives birth.’ Amarina stared into the shadows in the corner of the room, weighing what she had heard. ‘Till the child is strong enough to travel. The winter would not be a good time to set forth. The spring, then.’ She paused, then looked around the faces in the circle. ‘When Theodosius the Elder arrives with his army.’

  ‘In the middle of war, we run,’ Bellicus said with a nod. ‘The barbarians will have too much to concern them then. And no one here will care if a handful slip out like ghosts in the night. They will be too busy sharpening their blades.’

  ‘We run,’ Lucanus repeated. He looked to the wood-priest. ‘West?’

  ‘To Avalon,’ Myrrdin said. ‘Beyond the Isle of Apples, beyond the shining waters, there is a land where the men of Rome barely ventured. Untouched by their bloody hands, it still echoes with the voices of ancient times. The gods still walk among men there, and daemons too, and there is magic in the forests. After the slaughter at Ynys Môn, many druids took refuge in Avalon, sailing along the west coast in small boats.’ Lucanus watched him lean on his staff, eyes closed, no doubt remembering how the story was told to him.

  ‘Wood-priests,’ Bellicus snorted, ‘and no doubt witches too. Why would we want to visit a haunted place like that?’

  ‘Haunted, that is true.’ Myrrdin’s eyes flashed open, like beacons in the night. ‘Haunted by the promise of days long gone. The tribes still live there, as they always did. They rem
ember the old stories too, and they’ll help defend you, should any come searching for you.’

  ‘And what then?’ Mato asked.

  ‘There’s a place atop soaring cliffs by the shining sea that was once the home of the kings of the west. There you’ll build your fortress, a sanctuary that will survive the years, and there you’ll build your army. And over the years, the legend of the King Who Will Not Die will take root, and flourish, and all men and women in Britannia will know hope. And when he is needed most, the Bear-King will answer their call, and all in this land will be led out of the dark into a new age of light.’

  For a moment, silence lay across the room. Lucanus knew the druid’s skill with words – that was his magic, to create something from nothing with that spell – but still he felt hope rising inside him at the story. It summoned up a world he yearned for, one where peace and prosperity once again ruled. He could see from the faces of the others that the tale had stirred something in them too, even Mato.

  Myrrdin was smiling, but he quickly pushed it aside. ‘Until then, we do not let Catia out of our sight. She needs a guard, like any queen.’

  Bellicus drew his sword and pointed it into the centre of the circle. ‘I’ll take that job. And I’ll have Solinus and Comitinus too. We owe Catia our lives, and we will give them to protect her.’

  Catia shifted with discomfort, but Lucanus grinned. ‘I’d trust no men more, wolf-brother. If there are enemies here, they’ll not come close.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cheapside

  THE BLACK PALL of smoke from the burning bodies hung over Londinium. Catia wrinkled her nose at the reek. ‘What is this hell?’

  ‘True, it’s not the perfumed paradise you no doubt expected,’ Aelius said, ‘but we are beggars and have to take what we’re given.’

  Catia felt sickened as she pushed through the packed streets with Bellicus trailing along behind. His eyes were searching every face, his fingers never far from his sword-hilt. Her ears ached from the deafening roar of thousands of voices. Her heart ached, too, when she saw children in filthy rags as thin as needles, bawling, hands outstretched in a plea for food.

  On every corner, desperate men beat each other until blood flowed into the rutted streets. Women drifted like shades, heads bowed low and shoulders slumped, greasy hair falling across their faces, so listless with despair she half expected them to crumple to their knees.

  And everywhere the bodies were brought out of houses on makeshift biers, so many of them the corpse-carriers seemed to have been worn down by the task, not even having the decency to bind their cargo in shrouds or close the white eyes that stared up to that black cloud. Victims of sickness or hunger or pathetic arguments that whipped sparks of hopelessness into fires of rage.

  Life, it seemed, meant little in Londinium.

  ‘A city of the dead,’ she murmured.

  ‘Hush.’ Her brother grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the throng, down a narrow alley. She heard Bellicus curse as he heaved himself into the tight space. ‘Think only good thoughts.’

  ‘I’ve seen enough misery beyond these walls,’ she replied. ‘Must it corrupt this sanctuary too?’

  Aelius dragged her to the banks of a stream, the Walbrook, which bisected the town. It was clogged with filth and stank worse than the corpse-fires. Soon, she was looking up at the gleaming walls of a bath-house and breathing in the sweet aroma of oils. In the warmth of the Cheapside baths, she glanced around and saw only soldiers and members of Lucanus’ army. That was why there was some space to breathe there.

  Her brother seemed unusually light on his feet and filled with a surprising joy that was far from the surly youth who had trudged around Vercovicium spitting venom at everyone he encountered.

  ‘Why are you so happy,’ she asked, ‘in the middle of this stinking mass of suffering?’

  Aelius tugged her behind a column, out of sight of Bellicus, and hugged her to him. She laughed at this unusual show of affection until she realized that his shoulders were heaving. When she pushed him back, she saw his eyes were wet.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked, incredulous.

  ‘I thought I’d never see you again.’ He dragged his good hand across his eyes.

  ‘You should know me better than that,’ she replied, trying to make light of it. ‘I’ve survived worse than a few barbarians.’

  ‘So much joy has been stolen from our lives. I couldn’t bear to lose you …’ He choked down his emotion, and hugged her again.

  Her arms went round him gingerly as if he would crumble under her touch. She struggled to understand how she felt.

  ‘You grew a skin of stone to survive your days with Amatius, I know,’ he continued, as if he could understand her confusion. ‘But don’t let that keep out the ones who love you, Catia. And you are loved. By me, by Father … by Lucanus, who would sacrifice his life for you. By everyone who has known you.’

  She felt bewildered. It seemed so long since she had allowed herself to think of such things.

  Aelius pulled back, smiling. ‘We’re a family again … you, me, Father. Together we can overcome anything. And now I have new friends for you to meet.’

  He dragged her back into the ringing echoes. Bellicus eyed them as if they were troublesome children. Aelius beckoned and two lads hurried across the flagstones towards them, one small, the other tall and gangly with a mop of unruly hair.

  The older one knelt before her and bowed his head. ‘I am at your service, Lady Catia. I would lay down my life in your defence.’

  ‘Apullius,’ Aelius said, ‘and his brother Morirex.’

  The younger one gaped at her as if she were some messenger from the gods, and then he too dropped to his knees. ‘Your service,’ he stuttered.

  Catia stifled a smile. ‘Arise,’ she said. ‘I am honoured.’

  ‘Lucanus has taken them under his wing,’ Aelius said, ‘and is training them to be—’

  ‘Arcani,’ Apullius said.

  ‘Warriors,’ Morirex said.

  Apullius’ eyes dropped to her swollen belly. ‘You are the mother who will bring forth the King Who Will Not Die.’

  ‘And if you train hard,’ she replied, playing the game for their sake, ‘you will be my child’s protectors.’

  They seemed to swell with such awe, she thought they would explode there and then.

  ‘Back to your training,’ Aelius ordered, putting on a cold face, ‘and if you do well, I’ll take you out for the hunt with the men from the vicus tomorrow.’

  The two lads scampered off.

  ‘They’re caught up in the wonder of the tale Myrrdin weaves,’ Aelius said. ‘It helps them to forget the deaths of their parents, so …’ He shrugged.

  ‘And you,’ she said. ‘A general in the army now.’

  ‘We are all changed.’

  She felt her smile grow tight at that. Shaking off her unease, she looked around the soaring arches of the bath-house and allowed herself to sink into memories of the life that had once been. ‘Myrrdin is right to be cautious,’ she said, ‘but after living every moment with death at my elbow, I feel safe here.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Shadow

  A GOLDEN LEAF whisked across the clear blue sky.

  Corvus craned his neck up to watch its passage. ‘The cold days will be here soon enough,’ he said. ‘But then you’ll be used to those.’

  Hecate nodded. ‘My sisters and I endured long winters. But the Alamanni are a hard breed.’

  Corvus glanced at his wife and thought once again how she looked nothing like the filthy witch he’d dragged away from her hovel after he’d had her sisters murdered. Now her hair was well combed, not a tangled mess of rat’s tails, the blonde wisps twirling from the depths of the hood of the expensive emerald cloak his mother had given her. He breathed in the perfumed unguents she’d learned to rub into the creamy skin of her pale face, and as she reached out to stroke his cheek, he noticed that there was no mud crusted under her nail
s.

  It seemed a little civilization could transform even the lowliest barbarian.

  There, on the walkway around the walls, looking down on the fort, Corvus felt a chill wind whistle around his ears. Below them, the horses were being led out of their stables between the barracks, stamping their hooves and whinnying as if they knew what was to come. Perhaps they did. He’d always felt horses had more wits than half the men he’d encountered. He could hear orders being barked and the thunder of feet in step as the soldiers marched towards the Cripplegate.

  ‘You must take care, husband,’ she said. ‘I would not lose you. You have done so much for me.’

  ‘I’ve only tried to fill the emptiness you felt after your sisters so tragically died,’ he replied. ‘But now our destinies are entwined. A shining future awaits us.’

  She smiled sweetly. Pretty, if none too bright, he thought. She would have made someone a good wife. Unfortunately, she was his, but he would make do, as he always did. Her purpose overruled all other matters.

  ‘As soon as these barbarians are driven back, we’ll see about arranging a meeting with your other sisters, here in Britannia,’ he said. ‘Then you can make my case to them. And they in turn will make it to the wood-priests.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. ‘You are a good man. You deserve all that will come your way.’

  He glanced along the walkway to where Pavo lounged against the parapet, arms folded. They exchanged a secret grin. He glanced away just as quickly when he saw Hecate frown, wondering what he was looking at along the empty walkway.

  ‘I still miss my sisters, my love.’ Hecate’s voice creaked. Corvus winced when he heard those heavy barbarian notes on the Roman tongue she’d muddled through learning. ‘If only you could have saved them that day. Not that I’m not grateful—’