The Bear King, page 15
part #3 of Dark Age Series
The youngest of the three witches crouched and levelled a finger at Amarina.
‘We have an agreement, sister. This boy is ours now. And you will see that our will is done.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Spiral Path
‘THREE DEAD. TWO SLAIN BY A BLADE.’
Bellicus splashed through the pool of rainwater from body to body in the thin grey light. He paused at the third fallen man and looked to Lucanus. ‘Arrows ended this one’s days.’
Lucanus nodded. Catia, it had to be. They’d been following her trail since they’d left Tintagel.
Wiping the rain from his face, he looked into the shadows clustering among the trees. Though the sun would be at its height, a bank of slate-coloured clouds had already turned the day to twilight. The ceaseless rain still sheeted down.
Mato crouched to examine the wounds on the corpse at the bottom of the incline. ‘A short sword, by the looks of it. Whoever is accompanying Catia knows how to handle himself in a fight.’
‘Who could it be?’ Apullius mused. ‘No one else left the fortress with her.’
Lucanus felt the eyes of the Grim Wolves swivel towards him as if he somehow held the answer. ‘If he keeps her safe, it doesn’t matter who it is.’
He tightened his jaw to hide a wince. His stump was aching. At times he felt pain as if his arm was still there, lines of fire scorching down to imaginary fingertips. The mushrooms the Attacotti had fed him had kept that agony at bay. Supplies of the sacred fungi remained in Myrrdin’s quarters, but he had resisted Mato’s attempts to numb him. He needed a clear head if he was to aid his wife.
‘These don’t look like your usual rogues,’ Solinus snarled. He rubbed the scar on his face as if that was aching too. Perhaps it was this miserable weather. ‘Why would seasoned fighting men be trying to hunt Catia down?’
‘A woman, on her own,’ Comitinus suggested, as if that was answer enough. Perhaps it was.
‘Move on,’ Lucanus commanded. ‘Catia’s half a day away, at best. We can’t afford to waste valuable time here.’ He squelched through the mud away from the others, up the incline, towards the east.
‘Look here,’ Apullius called. He was pointing to a track through long grass.
Bellicus loomed over him. ‘Others are pursuing her.’
‘Bollocks,’ Solinus said. ‘Looks like … five? They’re ahead of us. We need to pick up the pace. Someone seems determined to stop Catia getting to that treasure.’
The rain eased a little and the trail led out of the densely wooded valleys and back to the windswept spine of the west. The Grim Wolves marched through a countryside of twisted trees, clipped grass and bracken that reminded them of their homeland in the north. But this was still a haunted land, dotted here and there with standing stones where offerings were left to the old gods, and cairns, black against the wide skyline, and the graves of forgotten kings.
As he loped across the ridge, Lucanus glanced back from time to time. The Attacotti were out there somewhere, he knew, a cold shadow at his heels. He could never see them, but these days he felt them in his head, voices whispering in an unfamiliar tongue. A constant reminder of his ultimate fate.
They slowed their pace at a farm, a stone roundhouse with a turf roof surrounded by several smaller ones that were home to animals and stores of grain. While Apullius and Comitinus hauled fresh water from the well, Bellicus haggled for bread, eventually parting with a few coins. Lucanus saw suspicion in the eyes of the farmer and his wife, perhaps even contempt.
‘We were such plain folk, once, with the same simple desires.’ Mato pulled a stray strand of hair from his face.
‘Before we were dragged into these games of power.’
‘In the end, does it serve any of the plotters well? The wood-priests, the witches, the emperors of Rome, Corvus and his mother. They spend precious hours of their lives to buy a little advantage, and the moment they have their hands upon the prize someone else comes along to fight them for it.’
‘And men like us are forced to give up our own lives to keep that endless circle going.’ Lucanus flinched as a vision of the dragon eating its own tail burned into his mind.
‘You can always walk away, my brother.’
Mato had delivered his words calmly, but Lucanus felt as if he’d been slapped. ‘Walk away?’ This idea was so strange to him he could barely understand it.
‘When the witches stole Catia’s son and took him into the land of the barbarians, you could have walked away. When you first encountered the Attacotti, you could have walked away. When you led us south, when the crown of the Pendragon was placed upon your head, when you took charge of an army and defended all Britannia against the invaders, when you fled to Tintagel and accepted the wood-priests’ plan for the King Who Will Not Die, you could have walked away.’
Lucanus shook his head. ‘How could I?’
Mato chuckled. ‘And that is why you were chosen. You are not like other men.’
‘Not true.’
‘You can’t see. Men who serve others, who sacrifice and suffer, never can. Your honour is your curse, and everyone else’s hope.’
‘You could have walked away too.’
Mato only laughed at that. ‘You suffer, we all suffer, but we are blessed far more than those poor souls,’ he said after a moment, nodding towards the farmer and his wife as they disappeared into their roundhouse. ‘This lies at the heart of the teachings of the wood-priests. The Spiral Path.’
‘You’ve been listening to Myrrdin too much.’
‘I’ve been heeding him a great deal. For all his faults, and they were many, he had great wisdom. It’s good that what little I’ve learned will not be lost now he’s gone.’
‘What is this Spiral Path?’ the Wolf asked.
‘Life is a labyrinth, my friend, and those who walk it stand a chance of being turned from lead into gold. To have the candle lit in their heads. This is the message of all the religions, yes? The promise of Mithras, of the Christ. It’s a journey as old as time. Some turn away when called, some are forced to walk the path through the maze, and some choose.’
‘A labyrinth?’ Lucanus felt a coldness grip him. His thoughts flew back to that time on the island of the Attacotti when he had walked the labyrinth in his dreams to find the monster at the end.
‘The Spiral Path curls round and round. Some turns are blocked, and the one who walks it must double back to find a way through. This is the life of the seeker. Obstacles everywhere. But learn to overcome them, and keep on that mysterious road, and wisdom is gained. The journey is the lesson and at the end is enlightenment.’
‘Or a monster.’
‘Perhaps the monster is enlightenment.’
Lucanus grunted and looked up to watch a kite wheel across the grey sky. He was a simple man. He had no time for this talk.
‘The druids believe that those who walk the Spiral Path to the end, without being deflected by the obstacles they find on the way, are raised up,’ his friend continued. ‘Made great. Beacons in the dark night.’
Lucanus snorted. ‘You’ll be hammering out statues to us all soon.’
Mato laughed. ‘We’ll talk again at the end of this road, brother. Then we’ll see what truths we each have learned.’
Bellicus was striding over, glowering from the depths of his wild mane of hair and beard. ‘We’ve waited here long enough,’ he said when he reached them.
‘The farmer and his wife?’
‘Have seen no sign of Catia. Say they know nothing of this Fisher King and his great treasure.’
‘What did their eyes say?’ Mato asked.
‘Truth on the first, lying on the second. Solinus wants to persuade them to tell us what they know.’
Lucanus shook his head. ‘No threats.’
‘It would also be unwise,’ Mato added. ‘If they already favour the false king, how will we be seen if we start threatening the Dumnonii? Word will spread, as it always does, and we will be confirmed as the enemy.’
‘And we would be the enemy,’ Lucanus said. ‘Come. We’ll reach Catia soon enough.’
Lucanus breathed blood on the wind long before he saw the torches glaring through the trees. Dusk had come down hard, and the gale howled, whipping the roaring flames.
‘What do you think?’ Apullius whispered. ‘The band hunting Catia?’
Bellicus sniffed the air. ‘More men than five, I’d say.’
Lucanus raised his good arm and flexed his hand. The Grim Wolves dropped down and crept from oak to ash. As they neared, Lucanus heard the billowing of tents. A camp. He smelled smoke, sweat, and more blood.
Crouching behind a towering holly bush, he glimpsed a shimmer of armour and a familiar standard. Soldiers, about sixty of them, camped beside a stream. Some of the men were standing in the glow of the fire. He could see blood-smeared faces and tunics, others with tightly bound wounds.
The Wolf waved his hand downwards, signalling to his men to stay out of sight. When all were hidden, he called a greeting and walked towards the camp. Cries of alarm rang out as he stepped into the light from the fire, and men rushed towards him. Blades whipped to his throat.
‘Who are you?’ one of the soldiers snarled.
Before Lucanus could answer, rough hands gripped him and he was dragged to a large tent. Inside, he was thrown to his knees. He could feel the prick of blades at his back.
A centurion was pouring himself a cup of wine. He was swarthy-skinned, his hair jet black. A fresh cut raked across his cheek.
‘Found him skulking outside the camp,’ one of the men said.
‘Are you a scout?’ the centurion asked as he looked Lucanus over. He turned up his nose when he saw his captive had only one arm.
‘I am,’ Lucanus replied. The blades bit deeper into his back. ‘Once I took the coin of Rome, like you,’ he continued. ‘I am arcani. I scouted out of Vercovicium, beyond the great wall, among the barbarian tribes.’
The centurion studied him for a moment, then nodded to his men. ‘Leave us,’ he said. ‘Return to the watch.’ Lucanus heard the sound of swords being sheathed, and pushed himself up. The centurion poured another cup of wine and held it out. The Wolf took it, nodding his thanks. When the drink touched his lips, he felt his head swim with memories.
‘Arcani,’ the centurion said. ‘The hidden ones. I’ve heard tell of the work you did in the north. They said you were disbanded after the barbarians invaded.’
‘We are our own masters now. But we served the emperor well in our day.’
The centurion smiled, sensing a kindred spirit. ‘My name is Herminus.’
‘Lucanus, the Wolf. My band were the Grim Wolves. We’re still together. Most of the other arcani are long since gone.’
‘What brings you to this forsaken place? No civilization here to tell of. No book has ever crossed the Tamar, I would wager.’
‘We fled here when the horde invaded.’ Lucanus sipped his wine. ‘It’s peaceful enough. After the years we’ve had, that’s not to be sneered at.’
‘Peaceful!’ Herminus scowled. ‘I’ve lost thirty good men today, and as many wounded.’
Lucanus frowned. ‘The Dumnonii? They’re farmers and merchants.’
‘A war-band of barbarians. Picts, some Scoti by the look of them.’ Herminus swilled back his wine, barely containing his anger.
‘Here? Theodosius the Elder drove the horde out of Britannia.’
‘So we thought. But they’re back, and that doesn’t bode well. We never thought to be attacked, not here. We were returning to the south, to board a ship back to Rome. The barbarians came from nowhere and descended on us. We hadn’t expected … we weren’t ready.’ Herminus poured himself another cup and for a moment stared into its depths, no doubt reliving the shock he had felt earlier in the day. ‘They were like wild beasts. They couldn’t contain their blood-lust. Driven near mad by the desire for vengeance, some of them, demanding death in payment for how they’d been treated during Theodosius’ campaign.’
‘We’ve seen no sign of barbarians here. This is the land of the Dumnonii—’ Lucanus caught himself. If Gaia and her bastard offspring were looking to build their army, what better way than to buy mercenaries from the tribes? The Picts and the Scoti would still be smarting from their defeat, which had come tantalizingly close to an overwhelming victory, when they had had almost all of Britannia in their grasp. They would seize any chance to strike back at the architects of their rout, especially if they were well paid.
‘I’ll be filled with joy to see the last of this land. Too much rain, too cold.’ Herminus shook his head. ‘Though truth be told, Gaul is little better.’
‘Why have you been summoned away?’
‘No one will say it, but Britannia will be abandoned soon enough. It may be within fifty years.’ He shrugged. ‘The truth is, Rome has had its fill of this island. Trouble is spreading everywhere, like a dose of the pox from a whore. Better to concentrate our force on protecting the areas that are most valuable, eh?’ He sipped his wine again, his face darkening. ‘Some say the empire is fading. But who would believe that?’ He forced a cheery grin. ‘Mere stories told by hungry men who haven’t been paid for a long time.’
‘What trouble?’
‘What news do you get here?’
‘A little.’
‘Trouble never ends for our emperor Valentinian, it seems. The Moors rebelled in north Africa. They blamed us for failing to protect them from the desert nomads. Sent Theodosius in to quell the troubles. Took him two years. Two years! Along the Danube, the Quadi have started attacking, like the Alemanni before them. Didn’t help that Marcellianus murdered their king at a banquet arranged for negotiations. Two legions were routed by the Sarmatians. Another band of Sarmatians invaded Moesia. Theodosius the Younger drove them back.’
Lucanus thought back to when he had met the general in Londinium, shortly before the army repelled the barbarian horde. ‘He’s a hard man.’
‘Aye, and driven half mad by his love of the Christ. His father is grooming him for big things. Mithras—’ Herminus caught himself and forced a smile. ‘God help us.’ He raised his goblet. ‘Time to leave this miserable land, friend. Think on that. Go to Rome. There’ll be work for a man with your skills. And the sun on your face, and good wine and food for your belly.’
‘I have a family here now,’ Lucanus said. ‘That’s why I’m on the road. My wife was riding east …’
‘Alone?’ The centurion furrowed his brow, but didn’t give voice to whatever doubts he had.
‘I need to find her, and soon. There are too many dangers, as you know. Have you seen any sign of a woman on a white stallion?’
Herminus shook his head. ‘Be sure we will give her good protection if we come across her on the road. Until then, I wish you well with your search. You’re welcome to stay here for the night if you wish.’
‘My thanks, but my men are waiting for me.’
Lucanus handed back the cup and, with a nod, left Herminus to his dreams of a better life. As he made his way back among the tents, he watched the men tending to their wounds and felt his mood darken. Danger was drawing closer faster than he had imagined. Back in Tintagel, he had presumed there would be time to rally the Dumnonii to the house of Pendragon, and build their army, and construct a strategy that would drive the false king away from Britannia. But if the enemy had already drawn in the remnants of the barbarian horde, if they were already sending their war-bands deep into the west, he had no time left at all.
The Grim Wolves were invisible in the dark beyond the lights from the camp. Lucanus whistled through his teeth, and one by one his men separated from the shadows, dropping from the branches of an ash tree or unfurling from the tangled roots of an oak, or easing out from behind a bank of blackthorn.
‘What happened to them?’ Bellicus asked.
‘Picts and Scoti.’
‘Here?’
His brothers stiffened. Lucanus could see they were all leaping to the same conclusions he had.
‘The quicker we get on the road, the better it will be,’ Solinus grunted. ‘For us, and for Catia.’
‘If she knew there were war-bands roaming so close to home, she would never have ventured out alone,’ Mato added. ‘And if she’s unaware that they’re there, she could easily ride into the middle of them.’
Apullius clenched his fists, his face drawn. ‘We know what they’re capable of. We’ve seen the misery they inflict on good people. We’ll find Catia soon enough, and if we have to drain the blood of a few barbarians on the way, all the better.’
Lucanus clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder. How could he not understand Apullius’ hatred? The barbarians had made him an orphan and destroyed the life he once knew.
Without another word, the Wolf turned and pushed into a loping run. He heard the pad of feet start up behind him. Skirting the camp, he whipped his hand and his men fanned out among the trees, disappearing once again into the dark. Less likely to draw unwanted attention that way.
The lights of the camp were still twinkling when an owl-hoot cut through the whine of the wind. A warning, from Solinus.
The Grim Wolf was hunched over a dark shape. As Lucanus neared, his nostrils flared at the reek of blood again and he saw a dead soldier lying on the edge of a sea of bracken. The slash across his throat was fresh. A guard.
‘Bollocks,’ Solinus said.
Barely had the word left his lips when the night seethed with life. War-cries boomed. Shapes crashed through the undergrowth on all sides, emerging from where they had been hiding ready for the attack.
Lucanus snatched Caledfwlch from its sheath.
The moon must have broken through the clouds for a grey light suffused the woods. Amid the din and the frantic activity, a towering figure lurched in front of him: a Pict, his head shaven, his face twisted by black, spiral tattoos. He snarled something in his guttural tongue and swung up his short sword.
