Church and the others had slipped outside the city walls as the Sixth Legion marched out of the main gates to meet the Ninth head-on.
Secullian crossed himself. Decebalus’s eyes flitted nervously back and forth. ‘We should not be here after dark,’ he hissed. ‘The dead will take us into their homes.’
Only Lucia moved with confidence. ‘Hurry,’ she urged, splashing through the puddles. ‘Time is short.’
In the centre of the cemetery was a paved square where a single tree grew. Sheltering under it was Aula, her hard features almost hidden in an oversized cowl. ‘I was beginning to think I would have to wait until winter set in.’
Lucia went to her, and the tears she had managed to hold back for so long finally streamed down her cheeks. ‘Marcus is dead,’ she said simply.
Church had felt that Aula was the coldest of the group, but she hugged Lucia fiercely without a second thought. Her face revealed that the loss cut her just as deeply.
Aula broke free after a moment and said gently, ‘There will be time for grieving later. We have much to do.’
‘You have summoned him?’ Secullian asked.
‘Not yet. I await Joseph …’ Aula spied Church and said, less than deferentially, ‘We are truly honoured.’
They were distracted by a loud splashing as the shrouded figure of Joseph weaved through the tombs and graves. When he saw Church, Joseph grabbed his hand with an almost pathetic gratitude. ‘Thank Jesu. Then we have a chance.’
‘You have the information?’ Decebalus asked gruffly.
‘The Ninth Legion approach along the Great North Road. They are dead … all of them dead, yet alive. I have this from the mouth of a centurion who took a blessing from me before he set off for battle.’
‘Christians in the Roman army,’ Aula said, shaking her head. ‘Truly it is the end of the world.’
‘Now you must ask your gods for aid, or all is lost,’ Jospeh insisted.
Aula nodded with a hint of apprehension. ‘All of you stand back, then. There is no way to tell how he will react to your presence. He can be as wild as the storm that is brewing, or as calm as a summer’s day.’
Church and the others sheltered in the lea of the surrounding tombs while Aula conducted some ritual around the tree. For a long while there was nothing except the chill of wet cloth against skin and the drumming of rain on stone, and the comforting smell of the wet grasslands and woods that surrounded Eboracum. But then came a sound that Church first thought was the wind over the hills, long, low and chilling. The hairs on the back of his neck stood erect, and gooseflesh ran up and down his arms. When the sound came again, he was convinced it was the cry of a wolf or one of the birds from the moors, or a bear’s roar, distorted by the storm.
A shape loomed up amongst the tombs on the edge of the cemetery and loped towards the central tree. Even when it arrived, Church was none the wiser. Antlers sprouted from its head, and bestial eyes glowed with a ruddy light. Church saw animal fur and ivy, hoofs and intertwining branches and leaves all jumbled together, making it impossible to tell if it was an animal disguised by vegetation, or a tree-like being with a hide draped over it.
‘You called me, Daughter of the Green.’ The voice was part-human, partly a low, rumbling roar filled with notes that made Church unsure whether or not it was on the brink of attacking.
Aula bowed before it. ‘Thank you for answering, great Cernunnos.’
That single name told Church what he was seeing: the Celtic nature god whose reach spread throughout the known world, and who became the template for the archetypal, vegetative figure of the Green Man. The air was electric, as if Cernunnos was discharging energy into the atmosphere, and there was a majesty to him that Church had not felt from any of the other gods.
‘I beg for your help,’ Aula said. ‘My lord, as in times past we face a great danger that threatens us all. We cannot meet it alone.’
‘You do not trust in yourself, little sister,’ Cernunnos growled. ‘Help will be given. But first …’ He put his head back and sniffed the air. ‘There is a scent of more of your kind, and of one who is greater still. Come forth.’
Cernunnos’s baleful glare fell on Church as he edged from the shelter of a tomb. ‘Yes, you are the one,’ Cernunnos rumbled. ‘I heard tell of you in the Far Lands — a Fragile Creature with the power to shake the very pillars of Existence.’
In the god’s buzzing energy field, Church found it difficult to comprehend what he was being told.
‘One of my little sisters presumes to consider you her pet. Surely she must smell the Blue Fire in you? I will watch your progress, little one, for I sense you will grow to shake all the lands — for good or ill, I cannot yet tell.’
Cernunnos brought his face down level with Church’s. The vegetation moved across his body as if it was alive, and soon Church could only see a pair of gleaming eyes looking out of a field of green. As Church stared into their depths, they stared into him, and as the static fizzed across his mind he lost all touch with reality.
9
Church woke on horseback, his arms secured around a warm body in front of him and a woman’s musk in his nose. At first Church thought it was Ruth, then Etain, and finally the chill brought him round fully and he saw he had his arms around Lucia’s waist. They were riding slowly through woodland with the rain dripping down through the canopy, the wind blowing all around, awash with the noises of nature. He could just make out the others on horseback ahead, dark shapes bobbing in the darker wood.
‘What happened?’
‘Ah, so you are awake at last.’ Lucia’s voice was laced with sadness, and Church thought she had been crying. ‘You flew too close to Aula’s god. We are Fragile Creatures, after all — our minds and bodies can only take so much.’
‘Did the Green Man say he was going to help us?’
‘Aula says that of all the gods he loves us as though we are his own children. He has requested aid, from whom I do not know. But he will not abandon us.’
‘Gods,’ Church said, still dazed. ‘They manipulate us, and torment us, and twist us out of shape. Roll on the day when we’re our own masters.’
‘A revolutionary,’ Lucia said humorously. She sounded better for it.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To greet the Ninth,’ she replied with irony, ‘and celebrate their joyous return home.’
At that they both fell silent. The horses continued at a measured tread. They carried no torch to keep themselves hidden, and the going was slow and dangerous in the pitch dark. They were on one of the old, straight tracks the Celts and the people who preceded them had carved into the landscape. It cut straight through the wood, roots twisting up and branches hanging down to make their passage even more precarious.
Briefly, Church had the impression of a figure in the trees watching their passing, but he sensed no threat, only curiosity. There was something familiar in its sleek, lithe appearance, and he remembered seeing something similar outside Carn Euny, just after the gathering that had mourned the stillbirth of the young girl Ailidh’s baby. But whatever it was vanished within seconds, and in the tense atmosphere was just as quickly forgotten.
After half an hour they broke out onto moorland where there was nothing to protect them from the full force of the elements.
‘This god-forsaken country,’ Lucia cursed quietly. ‘In fair Rome the rain is like velvet.’
‘Why did you come here?’ Church asked.
‘I was called by the Pendragon Spirit — it takes us to where we are needed. You know we cannot resist it. I hope to return home, one day.’
Church understood the plangent tone in her voice.
They came to a halt on a ridge. In the valley below, the full complement of a Roman legion marched in strict time. The thunder of their regimented step and the clank of their shields and armour gave the impression of a single giant machine of destruction moving relentlessly. Church could see why the Roman army was so feared across the known world, but even beyond that there was an unquantifiable menace about the Ninth Legion that chilled him all the more.