Jack of Ravens

7

Church wiped off Numerius’s blood on the drapes and set off to find Marcus. Outside, he watched legionnaires run past in step towards the main gate. Three of them clutched sizzling torches to light their way, the flames illuminating faces fixed with concern.

It took him forty-five minutes to locate the stockade where enemies of the Empire were imprisoned. It smelled of urine and damp. Church drew his sword to meet any resistance, but in the main guardroom, three men were slumped unconscious.

Further on, a hissing woman’s voice floated to him: ‘Hush! You lumber like a bull with gout!’

‘And you screech like a damnable owl!’

Church padded round a bend in the corridor to see the burly Dacian Decebalus holding an axe as big as a ten year old, ready to attack a heavy oak door. The olive-skinned Roman Lucia was attempting to restrain him with angry frustration. ‘Barbarian!’ she snapped.

‘Witch!’

‘Be still, for the sake of our Lord. Someone will hear.’ The North African seer Secullian steadied himself against the wall. Dried blood crusted around the edge of an eye patch covering the empty socket where he had plucked out an eyeball during the throes of his vision.

‘You’re looking for Marcus?’

They all started at Church’s question and Lucia rounded on Decebalus. ‘See! The entire Sixth Legion could have crept upon us under the cover of your thunderous noise!’

Decebalus raised a meaty hand to swipe her, but Lucia ducked out of the way and skipped towards Church. ‘A fine band of heroes we are. Fighting like children. Failing on every front.’

Church could see them all looking to him as if he had the power to turn the tide of events with one sweep of his sword. ‘This is the right place?’ he said.

‘I saw it in a vision,’ Secullian replied weakly. ‘But sometimes they lie outright, and often they seek to deceive.’

‘Just break the door down,’ Church said impatiently. ‘There’s nobody around — they’ve all gone to meet the Ninth Legion.’

‘Then the rumours are true.’ Lucia looked to Secullian uneasily.

Decebalus grinned and spat on his hands. Within moments the door hung from its hinges in splinters.

The room behind it was sparsely appointed, with straw on the floor and a latrine pit in one corner. A pile of sodden rags was heaped to one side. The room was empty.

Decebalus cursed loudly. ‘I have better visions after six flagons of wine,’ he snapped at Secullian.

‘Wait.’ Church hoped against hope, knew it was futile. Lucia followed his gaze to the bundle of rags. Her face revealed two things: that she knew exactly what Church had guessed, and that her heart was breaking in two. Church knew instantly that she loved Marcus.

Decebalus plucked up a small sack resting on top of the pile of rags. Blood dripped from the bottom. Decebalus peered inside for a moment. Then he replaced the sack in silence and bowed his head, muttering a prayer to the gods.

‘I’m sorry,’ Church said, but all he could think of was Niamh’s words at Carn Euny about the ravens following him.

‘We are no longer five,’ Secullian said. ‘Our power has been broken.’

‘I’ll make up your number,’ Church said.

‘Then we fight alongside a legend,’ Decebalus said confidently. ‘The King Beyond the Water has returned. Our victory is assured.’