Dark Age

by James Wilde

  Soldiers scrambled from all corners of the fort. Whatever orders had been barked drowned in the eruption of panic across the entire town, and from the vicus beyond.

  ‘Do what you can to get the men together,’ Lucanus barked to Bellicus. But then he was slamming his way through the churning bodies, crashing into the teeming streets, past the terrified men and screaming women.

  ‘Open the gates!’ he bellowed when he reached the Ludgate.

  Faces twisted with fear looked down at him from the walls. Lucanus cursed, knowing full well what would have rushed through their minds when they heard the throoming on the gate.

  A hand grabbed his arm and wrenched him back.

  ‘Leave them,’ Falx demanded. ‘We can’t cope with the number we have inside the walls as it is.’

  ‘And see them slaughtered?’ Lucanus threw the centurion off.

  As he ran to the gates, he heard a command barked. When he glanced back, he saw six soldiers running to stand with Falx. ‘Don’t do it, Lucanus,’ the centurion warned, half drawing his sword.

  The Wolf snatched out Caledfwlch and levelled it as he backed towards the gates. A moment later he sensed Bellicus loom up beside him. Lucanus waved his blade as his friend slotted in next to him.

  ‘The enemy is out there,’ Falx raged.

  Hands pounded on the gates, the desperate pleas spiralling up. Lucanus felt a pang in his heart. How could anyone ignore those cries?

  ‘Lift the bar!’

  Lucanus glanced up to see Mato on the wall. Whatever he had said, the guards on the wall seemed ready to help. His work done there, Mato scrambled down the steps. With Bellicus on the other end, he hefted the great oak beam that barred the gates and a moment later they creaked open.

  The torrent flooded in. Cursing, Falx and his men dived to one side and were lost behind the flow of bodies.

  ‘What now?’ Bellicus bellowed, his raw voice almost lost in the tumult.

  ‘Get set to close the gates when the enemy nears,’ Lucanus ordered.

  ‘And if there are still folk outside?’

  The Wolf knew his friend had seen the answer in his eyes, but he replied, ‘We can’t allow the enemy to get a foothold inside. It’ll be Vercovicium once more.’

  He couldn’t bear the look in those eyes. He jerked his head towards the walkway round the walls.

  Once they’d clambered back on to the rampart, they looked down on a sea of flame and death. Lucanus choked on a mouthful of black smoke swirling up from the inferno rushing through the makeshift camp towards the vicus. Bodies littered the narrow tracks leading to the swell around the gate.

  Bellicus stabbed a finger. A line of barbarians was pounding over the sole bridge across the Fleet. As they moved into the sprawling settlement, he watched axes rise and fall, cutting down those who had chosen to hide or who were too weak to flee.

  ‘The river has stopped their army attacking as one. That’s good,’ Bellicus grunted, trying to find some thin hope.

  Lucanus felt his heart pounding as the horde swept through the wall of flame. Leaning back, he looked down into the madness of the jostling crowd stumbling through the gate into the narrow street.

  ‘Get them in!’ he yelled.

  Mato held out both hands. What could he do?

  Across the vicus the barbarians marched, cutting down every unfortunate in their path. Beyond the edge of the settlement, the grassland stretching out along the bank of the river was black with seething bodies. Had the entire horde descended on them?

  ‘How do we fight that?’ Bellicus said as if he could read his friend’s thoughts.

  His heart pounding, Lucanus threw himself down the stone steps with Bellicus at his heels. Apullius had joined Mato and the two of them pressed against the gates, urging the refugees in with wild cries and waves of their arms. But they were not coming in quickly enough.

  The Wolf thrust himself against the flow along the edge, shouldering his way out of the gate. He heard Bellicus yell his name, but his heart was set. He pushed his way along the stone wall until he could get to the rear of the crowd.

  Among the houses of the vicus, a bewildered girl, abandoned by her parents, roamed back and forth, sobbing. There were others besides her: limping old men, shuffling women, more children.

  Lucanus swept the girl up in his arms and brought her to the edge of the crowd. ‘Take her in,’ he commanded a fearful woman. Something in his voice connected with her, for she took the girl’s hand. And then he was racing back among the workshops, dragging out anyone he could help.

  Choking smoke drifted everywhere now. Through it he could hear the battle-cries of the barbarians above the roaring of the fire. Close, and closer by the moment.

  Bellicus appeared at his side, glowering.

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Lucanus said. ‘Get back inside.’

  ‘A fool knows a fool. And your father will haunt me until my last days if I let you die out here alone.’

  Together, they threw themselves into the vicus, pulling out any they could find until none seemed to remain. Only then did Lucanus step back to the edge of the crowd. Legs braced, he unsheathed Caledfwlch and waited. Bellicus loomed beside him, his blade levelled.

  ‘This isn’t the way I planned to go,’ he grunted.

  ‘I’d wager you wanted to breathe your last between Galantha’s thighs.’

  ‘Every man’s dream.’

  Lucanus stiffened. Catia floated into his thoughts, and he felt a pang of regret. Before it could take hold, voices barked at his back, accompanied by the clatter of metal and rumble of feet. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Falx and a stream of soldiers shouldering their way through the diminishing crowd at the gate.

  The men raced up, their shields clanging into a wall.

  ‘If you’ve killed me, I’ll make you suffer in the afterlife,’ Falx snarled as he slotted into position.

  Lucanus nodded his gratitude. He looked past the shield, through the drifting white cloud, and saw the first dark smudges appear. The barbarians stepped out of the vicus. They were more cautious now, sizing up the defences as they advanced. What they saw was enough to make them hesitate, and that was all the time the defenders needed.

  ‘Come now!’

  The Wolf recognized Mato’s voice. He glanced back and saw the last of the crowd filtering in through the gate.

  Keeping the shield wall intact, the soldiers edged backwards. All eyes remained fixed on the Scoti and Pictish warriors emerging from the smoke, waiting for the moment when the wave would break and they all rushed forward.

  Arrows thrummed out of the fug. One shaft clanged off the side of a helmet. Another rammed into a soldier’s shoulder and he spun backwards. On Falx’s command, the men dropped low, tilting their shields just in time. A hail of arrows clattered.

  ‘Back,’ Lucanus yelled, ‘before the next attack.’

  The line of soldiers swept backwards until Lucanus felt the shadow of the wall fall over him. And then they were inside, the gates grinding shut as another volley of arrows slammed into the wood.

  Without pausing to draw breath, Lucanus bounded up the stone steps with Bellicus and Falx behind him. On the walkway, he looked out through the billowing clouds. The barbarians stood like sentinels watching Londinium.

  Falx frowned. ‘Why aren’t they attacking?’

  ‘They don’t need to. This is all there is left of Britannia.’ Lucanus looked back into the town. The road from the gate was choked with bodies, perhaps two thousand more with no shelter, no possessions, nothing but the clothes on their backs. ‘Seal us up, with what little supplies we have and what little more we can get at the river gate. Wait for us to starve. Or fall to the sickness. Or start killing each other.’

  Bellicus splayed his fingers and stared at the back of his hand. Lucanus followed his gaze and then looked up at the lowering clouds.

  Large flakes of snow were drifting down.

  The season had turned.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


  Cold Season

  THE SNOW CAME harder in the night. Gusts of glittering flakes swirled through the wavering halo around every torch. Along the walls, the watchmen stamped their feet and blew into their hands, bowing their heads so their eyes didn’t sting. Soon they were crunching through ankle-deep drifts.

  The wind howled along the black river. Thicker and faster the blizzard blew, until billows of white rolled up from the banks and across the fields to the hills. The land glowed and the night fell back, and silence floated across everything.

  ‘They have snow here too.’ Solinus crunched along the street towards the Ludgate at first light. ‘I thought the south was all sun and flowers.’

  ‘Enough of your grumbling.’ Bellicus wiped away snot with the back of his hand. ‘Or I’ll send you back to stand guard at the House of Wishes. Mato never has a sour expression. A joy to be around, that one. All sunshine and light. Not a miserable bastard like you.’

  ‘I never thought I’d tire of a whorehouse,’ Solinus muttered. ‘But I’m losing my wits by the hour sitting there all day and night with only Comitinus for company.’

  ‘You’ve got your break. Enjoy it.’ Bellicus watched Catulus snuffling through the snow, a trail of pawprints weaving behind him. ‘It’s good work you’re doing, keeping Catia and her child safe. Lucanus won’t forget your sacrifice.’

  Solinus grunted and slapped his hands for warmth.

  Bellicus led the way up the sparkling steps to the high walkway. The cold north wind sliced deep. He leaned on the parapet and looked out to the west, remembering standing on a different wall looking out into a wild land filled with daemons.

  The vicus was little more than charred bones protruding from frozen earth. Ransacked and destroyed. Beyond the Fleet, the horde’s camp shadowed the white expanse. Trails of smoke drifted up from their fires.

  ‘There’s no getting out for us, is there?’ Solinus said, leaning next to him.

  ‘Miserable bastard.’ Solinus was right, though. This felt like an ending. Bellicus searched the white landscape. The barbarians stopped any boat coming from the west, not that there was much trade arriving from the rest of Britannia now they’d laid waste to it. Their war-bands ranged around the town to the north and east, riding down anyone who dared venture out. The only route left free was through the river gate. A boat with a handful of men to the south bank, for all the use that was.

  The barbarians could afford to sit and wait while winter sunk its teeth into them.

  A cry rang out somewhere deep in the town, followed by another, and then another, until a tumult was ringing across the rooftops. The Grey Wolves straightened up.

  ‘The barbarian bastards don’t need to do anything,’ Solinus said, looking over his shoulder as he turned. ‘Just sit back and let us throttle each other to death.’

  Bellicus stalked down the steps. At the foot, he whistled for Catulus, and the hound scampered up with an old bone he’d found. They plunged into the icy streets, following the sounds of the clamour.

  Outside the gates to the forum a crowd was gathering. Folk were stumbling up from all directions, dragged from their slumber by the din. Bellicus shoved his way through the wall of bodies, a glare silencing anyone who protested.

  At the centre, four men wrestled to hold a thin, sallow-faced fellow whose yells were more like the howls of a wounded animal than any human sound. At their feet lay another man, dead by the look of him, a loaf of bread lying in the snow by his outstretched hand.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Bellicus barked.

  ‘He killed the poor bastard,’ one of the four men shouted as he kicked the captive’s legs from under him. With a scream, the sallow-faced man slammed down on to the frozen ground. ‘Killed him for a slab of mouldy bread. Give us a hand here, will you?’

  ‘Not my job.’ Bellicus relaxed his grip on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Some sense at last,’ Solinus whispered.

  Bellicus nodded. The water was already high over their heads. They were scouts, ditch-crawlers, drunks and fornicators, and somehow they’d been twisted by the words of the wood-priest to lead a ramshackle army. Keeping order in that town was not a burden he wanted.

  He looked around at the faces in the swelling crowd. Some were filled with fury at the crime that had been committed. Other eyes flickered hungrily to that loaf of bread. The mood he sensed there was repeated right across the town. A wave waiting to break.

  The clatter of many feet rattled up. A voice barked. The crowd parted and ten soldiers swept in with Falx at their head. ‘Get him,’ he snarled. No need to ask questions or weigh guilt. The centurion knew this fire had to be stamped out fast.

  Once his men had dragged the murderer away, Falx came over. Bellicus read his darting eyes.

  ‘Third murder in as many hours. This is all going to hell,’ the centurion whispered, leaning in close.

  ‘The mood swung quickly.’ Solinus narrowed his eyes at the crowd, as if he thought they would turn on him next.

  ‘We shouldn’t have let those bastards in from the vicus,’ Falx spat. ‘Before that we had a hard road to walk to get to spring. Now …’

  ‘One trade route to the south. That might be all we need. There’re still boats coming up the river from the east.’ Bellicus tapped his thigh to bring Catulus in close. The churning emotions in the crowd were upsetting the dog.

  ‘One man was bludgeoned to death with a cudgel yesterday. Two stabbed near Cheapside baths this morning. Rows about women, rows about food, it doesn’t matter. Hunger drives men mad. Once they start killing each other, it’s only going to get worse, and in a town sealed up like this it’ll get bad fast.’ Falx stamped the snow off his feet. ‘The barbarians won’t let us out to bury the dead. We’re having to burn the bodies by the Aldgate. Can’t breathe there for smoke. The bodies are piling up. How in the name of Mithras are we ever going to keep order?’

  Solinus grinned. ‘Sounds to me like the gods know what they’re doing. Fitting punishment for what you did in Vercovicium.’

  ‘I made a mistake,’ the centurion muttered. ‘Am I to pay for it for ever?’

  ‘Aye, I would think so. Robbing your own men and all.’

  ‘God will set you free from this suffering,’ a voice boomed, and Theodosius strode up with a knot of his men around him. When he took off his helmet, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled with a preacher’s fervour. ‘Come to the church,’ he continued loudly. ‘Prayers will be offered. Only through God will we all be delivered from this hardship.’

  Bellicus couldn’t tell if anyone was calmed by the soldier’s words, but eyes fluttered down and angry voices ebbed. Slowly the crowd broke up, and Theodosius came over to the little group.

  ‘Londinium is a pit of sin,’ he told them. ‘There are men here as pagan in their beliefs as those barbarians beyond the walls.’

  ‘I am a good Christian,’ Falx lied with a devout bow of his head.

  ‘Of course. Of course.’ Bellicus watched Theodosius eye him and Solinus with suspicion, but he didn’t press them. ‘I have wandered along these streets talking to the citizens and many have come to the Lord. They deserve our protection. We must ensure the will of the emperor Valentinian is enforced here and Londinium is rid of those who will not follow the Christ. Only then will we stand any chance of surviving until the spring. What say you, Falx?’

  ‘Aye, aye. Makes sense,’ the centurion replied, nodding too much.

  ‘Good. I will meet with the governor later to make arrangements. If the coward ever emerges from his chambers.’ He spun on his heel and marched away.

  ‘That’s all we need, someone like him stirring the pot,’ Solinus muttered.

  ‘He’s right about one thing,’ Bellicus said as he watched Theodosius and his men disappear. ‘Prayers might be all we have.’

  Lucanus bowed his head across his horse’s neck. His eyebrows were frosted with snow and his face was numb, but his shoulders felt lighter for being away from the town. He r
emembered how his spirits had lifted when he scouted north of the wall. Perhaps Mato was right and the Wilds were his temple.

  Though there was not much wild about this countryside, he thought, as he looked across the snow-blanketed fields, dotted here and there with farms and villas.

  ‘You didn’t have to bring so many of your men. My own would have sufficed.’ Corvus urged his mount up beside him and nodded his head to the column of men riding at their backs. The soldier was good company: a sharp wit, always bubbling with stories and sardonic humour.

  Lucanus glanced at the other man and thought of Catia; something in his companion’s features, in the almond eyes perhaps, or the shape of the mouth, he wasn’t sure what. ‘They’re still learning. It does them no good to sit around Londinium sharpening their swords. If we’re ever to drive these barbarians back, they need to be ready when the time is right. And prepared to defend Britannia should the army fail us again.’

  They’d rowed across the Tamesis from the river gate under cover of darkness and tramped through the bitter night to where Theodosius had hidden the horses on his arrival. The family who kept them on their farm seemed grateful that the army hadn’t abandoned them and offered fresh bread as they mounted and prepared to ride south. Every man, woman and child they’d encountered on the way was the same. A desperate hope burning. The warm expectation of spring tainted by the fear of what would happen when the snows melted.

  Corvus shivered from the cold and pulled his cloak tighter around him. ‘At least we’ll see any stray barbarians early against this white. Unless it’s the Attacotti, I suppose.’

  Lucanus heard the timbre alter in the other man’s voice. He was brave enough, but any man who met the Attacotti was changed by the experience.

  ‘I can’t speak for the Eaters of the Dead – they follow their own rules. But when I travelled through the Wilds, the Scoti and the Picts retreated to their villages during the cold months. They were seasoned warriors, but they were no fools. They knew how quickly the winter could steal a man’s life if he was caught out away from a fire. They’ll be biding their time in their camp, I’d wager. They can afford to.’