The sun was now well past its zenith. Varro clicked his tongue irritably and stared up into the sky trying to estimate the time. Salonius sat astride his horse, stoic as usual.
“No amount of getting irritated is going to bring her here any sooner.”
“Shut up.”
Varro shaded his eyes and stared off down the wide vale to the distant tortoise-shaped lump that was Vengen.
“Someone’s coming.”
Salonius shaded his own eyes and followed the captain’s gaze.
“Dust,” he agreed, “but that could be her or someone else; or even several someone elses. If she’s been stopped, the marshal’s likely to send some of his men after us. He’s going to be pissed at you. I think we should get out of sight.”
Varro made growling noises, but nodded and turned his horse.
The two men walked their mounts slowly and quietly between the trees that stood above the river bank. The sound of water rushing over the stones and cobbles of the ford would mask any inadvertent noises the horses or their riders might make. Once they were safely back among the foliage, they halted the two beasts and sat, breathing shallow breaths and waiting tensely for any sounds.
After a couple of minutes, Varro turned to Salonius and cupped his ear dramatically and held up one finger. Salonius strained to hear and then nodded.
“Varro?”
Catilina’s voice called out from the road, amid the pattering of hooves on compacted mud as her horse pranced impatiently. The two men looked at one another for a moment and then slowly walked their horses back out into the open.
“You took your bloody time!”
Catilina gave the captain an infuriatingly calm smile.
“Captain Iasus came to find me. He’d been asked by my father to check up on me. You know Iasus: he’s efficient and thorough. He followed me for half an hour while I tried to think of things to do. In the end I had to go to the baths to get rid of him.”
Salonius smiled.
“I can imagine he thought twice about following you in there…”
Varro gave him a sharp look and then the three of them walked their horses slowly down the slope and into the shallow water. Catilina heaved a satisfied sigh.
“So what’s the plan then?”
Varro frowned. He’d been thinking about this for some time and, though many conflicting ideas rattled around in his head about how he could handle this, there was a flaw in every plan he came up with.
“I’m not entirely sure. I need to get to Cristus, but there’s more than that. I need to face off against him in a fair and level situation, where I’m not at risk from his men and where there are reliable witnesses. That’s not going to be easy.”
Salonius furrowed his brow in thought.
“What ideas have you had?”
“Riding straight to the fort was my first thought. He can’t have the entire Fourth Army in his pocket. But the problems with that are: getting to Cristus past his personal guard and unreliable witnesses.”
Salonius nodded. ”Placing your head in the lion’s mouth. Always a little on the risky side.”
“Then there’s luring him out somewhere. We could probably manufacture a situation that would get Cristus to come out, say, to one of the local towns. Plenty of witnesses. No problem there. The problem there is that he’ll still be surrounded by his guard.”
“True.” Salonius sighed. “I’m not sure that Cristus is going to be the type of man who will subject himself to danger without his guards, though.”
“So…” Varro growled, as they reached the far side and climbed out of the water onto the dry, dusty road. “That leaves me with the best option of the three: find a way to sneak into his personal quarters and do away with him there. Won’t be easy though.”
Salonius shook his head.
“Not just that, but also there’d be no witnesses. No one would see him confess and beg, which I presume is your intention.”
Varro nodded.
“Perhaps we just can’t have everything, eh?” the captain grumbled.
Salonius glanced past him at Catilina. The two of them stared at each other for a moment and then nodded.
“We’ll find a way. Let’s just concentrate on getting there with you in one piece. How are your wounds now?”
Varro glared at him.
“I’m fine, thank you, mother.”
Catilina laughed out loud.
Daylight was beginning to wane as the three riders crested a low hill. Ahead the sky had already turned a deep mauve and only the tops of the trees before them reflected the quickly diminishing rays of the sun.
“We should find somewhere comfortable to camp,” Salonius noted, “or perhaps an inn for the lady?”
Varro shook his head.
“Two villages and one town on this road before we get to Crow Hill, but it’ll be long after midnight before we reach the nearest one. We’ll definitely have to camp.”
Salonius frowned.
“There are Imperial courier stations? We’ve only passed one quite a way back, so there must be another close ahead.”
Varro shook his head.
“There are, but at courier stations, all guests must log in and out and non-military or administrative personnel have to provide proof of identity. Sabian would hear about it long before we were safely out of the way, I can assure you of that!”
Catilina sighed and pointed off some way to their left.
“How about there?”
Salonius looked across at Varro and shrugged. Varro pursed his lips.
“That place has been ruined since the civil wars. I used to ride past it on my way to and from Vengen. It’s got twenty years of decay about it. Could fall down on our heads.”
Salonius nodded.
“True, but it’s also got walls for warmth and protection.”
Varro continued to look unsure, but Catilina clicked her tongue irritably.
“You two are worse than a pair of old women.”
Shaking her reins she turned her horse and rode off toward the dark shell that rose eerily from its bed of scrub and bramble. Varro glared at her retreating form for a moment and then gave a sigh and followed her. Salonius smiled as he left the track himself.
As the ruined shell of the manor loomed closer, more details became apparent. It had been more than a manor house in its time; more even than a great villa. This place had been a fortress of considerable strength, protecting a sumptuous, palatial residence within. This place must have belonged to a strong lord, or perhaps even an Imperial councillor.
Catilina admired the shattered remnants of architectural grandeur as they approached, her eye picking out elegant curls and delicate tracery. The lord of this place must have belonged to a wealthy line. The decoration was old; not four or five decades old, from just before the civil wars, but centuries old, from the early days of Imperial settlement in these cold, northern provinces.
Varro and Salonius cast their own eyes over the ruins, though their assessment was more military in nature. The place had indeed been heavily fortified. The original early palace had been surrounded by stone walls with two gates at an early stage, presumably when the owner had realised how newly settled this area was, and had seen acts of barbarism perpetrated nearby. These defensive walls had been given towers and what Varro liked to call ‘decorative defence’ some time around a century ago, as was the fashion at the time. But the last defences had been added perhaps forty years ago, early in the civil wars, and these defences were far from decorative. The walls had risen by a further ten feet; the line of the original parapet was clearly visible three quarters of the way up. The bottom half of the towers had been given great, square encasements of tufa for extra strength. One of the double arches of the gate had been blocked to narrow down a point of attack. Finally, as they began to close on the crumbling walls, they could see that the walls had been revetted with a great bank of earth. The lord of this manor had been expecting attacks and had been prepared for them.
Not prepared enough.
The stone facing that remained on the shattered towers and extant stretches of wall showed shattered blocks and great cracks and rents where the defences had been pounded relentlessly by siege engines. Plainly the stretch of wall closest to the gate had been the first area to fall. Salonius shook his head sadly at clear oversights that had been made by the military architect; a wide stretch of wall with no buttressing and no support from towers. No amount of earth embankment was going to help there though. The thoughtful architect had added a ditch that was far to close to the wall to allow for the wall’s footings. The first half dozen blows on that wall had probably brought the stonework crashing out into the ditch, handily filling one obstacle whilst collapsing the other and leaving a sloping earth embankment as the only defence. Once inside that wall, the siege would be over in minutes.
Varro’s fears of the decayed condition of the building were only partially founded. The military defences of the place were thick and heavy and, though they had fallen to a clever enemy, were withstanding the ravages of time surprisingly intact. The palatial building within, however, had fared less well. Constructed for form rather than for function, the weak and delicate architecture had rotted and crumbled, leaving a mass of sad stone that was now largely held together by ivy and brambles.
“Best stay away from that central building” he called ahead to the others.
Varro turned in his saddle and nodded. As Salonius caught up with them, the three riders dismounted and led their horses to the great gatehouse that retained its strong walls and towers, though the portal itself had long since gone.
Salonius tethered the three horses on the grass nearby and padded off quietly among the ruins with his sling, while Varro began gathering dry sticks and building a fire and Catilina set about excavating food and various necessary items from the kit bags.
Within half an hour they had a pleasant little camp site formed beneath the massive, protective, arched roof of the gatehouse just as the last light of day faded over the horizon, leaving the scene in the shattered ruin dark and eerie. Various timbers that Varro had located had created a screen across both sides of the gatehouse, shielding them from the mounting evening wind and hiding their small fire from view for any passersby on the road. Salonius had returned with two rabbits and was currently turning them on a spit above the flames, watching hungrily as the juices dripped down with a hiss into the fire. A thought occurred to him and he looked up at the captain across the dancing flames.
“You need to take your medicine.”
Varro grumbled once more, but nodded. As he wandered off toward the horses, where his medicine bag was still hooked, Salonius turned to Catilina, who was staring off into the dark ruins.
“We need to find a way to get Varro to Cristus without the prefect’s guards. And in front of witnesses.”
Catilina nodded.
“We need to find a way to get my father there.”
“That’s a problem,” Salonius sighed. “Varro wants to send Cristus to the Gods personally. Your father wants it all done according to military law, with a trial and an execution, if necessary. He’s never going to let Varro have Cristus, and Varro’s never going to let your father have him.”
Catilina frowned.
“So what we need to do is to make sure we get Cristus to a specific place, then Varro a few minutes later, and father a few minutes after that. Tricky…”
Salonius laughed. “Tricky? Impossible, I’d say.”
The elegant lady, wrapped up against the night air, pulled her cloak tighter.
“Nothing is impossible, Salonius. It’s all in the timing. Father will know we’re gone by now. It’ll take him perhaps half a day to put everything in order and follow on, and I doubt he’ll set forth at sunset, so we’ve got the best part of a day on him.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Well…”
Catilina stopped, mid-sentence, as Varro came hurtling out of the darkness, crouched almost double.
“Wha..?”
Before she managed to voice her thoughts, Varro clasped his hand over her mouth and, turning to Salonius, raised his eyebrows. Salonius frowned and, very slowly and very quietly, began to draw his sword from its sheath. Catilina pushed the captain’s hand away and pointed out into the darkness. Varro nodded and held up three fingers.
Salonius frowned again and tugged out part of his black tunic, pointing at it? Varro shook his head and pointed at the lush, green grass by his feet. Even in the flickering light of the fire, Varro caught the curse his companion silently mouthed. As he slowly drew his own blade, Catilina drew a narrow and wicked-looking dagger from her belt.
Varro held up his hand to indicate that she should stay by the fire and the two soldiers moved off into the darkness at a crouch. Salonius paused for a moment and looked into the darkness. Varro glanced at him and then used his free hand to motion around the back of the villa ruins. The young man nodded and they both moved off once again.
The terrain within the walls was rough and difficult, consisting of the rubble of collapsed or demolished ancillary buildings long overgrown with grass and weeds, all interspaced between hidden rabbit holes that lay in wait for unwary feet and thick brambles and thorns. Some care was required to pick a clear way through the ‘open’ ground.
Salonius stumbled among the rocks for a moment, almost losing his footing as he felt his ankle wrench, when Varro suddenly grasped his shoulder and hauled him to the ground where he landed painfully among ruined brickwork. The captain pointed ahead and Salonius raised his head to look over a fallen lintel. In the pale moonlight, two men were stepping slowly and deliberately among the tangle in their direction.
Salonius swallowed and held up two fingers. Varro nodded and made indicated that the third figure had likely taken the other direction and was moving around the back of the ruined mansion. All to their advantage, since it gave them even odds; better than even, given that their prey were not expecting them.
At a gesture from Varro, Salonius shuffled as quietly as possible down the mound of rubble, being sure to remain out of the enemy’s sight behind the jumbled stonework. The enemy were still around twenty yards away from them and all sounds of movement were somewhat disguised by the twittering of the bats and the shuffling of the ruin’s resident wildlife. At the base of the rubble heap, the young man looked up. They were now at the outer wall of the crumbled residence itself; the wall along which the two men were creeping and closing on them.
Here, the residence’s outer wall had collapsed in the centre, leaving a ‘v’ shaped breech. The room beyond had once been magnificent, a grand hall of some kind, colonnaded along both sides and with a decorated facade at the far end, with friezes and carvings above a pair of now long-tarnished bronze doors. The roof had fallen in many years ago and the moonlight playing among the columns of the colonnades created interesting patches of starkly lit faded glory among the stygian gloom.
Varro pointed up to the breech in the wall, back at his own chest, and nodded. Salonius’ eyes followed his finger up to the crumbling masonry and went wide. He returned his gaze to the captain, who grinned at him. He mouthed the word ‘seriously?’
Varro nodded and slipped over to the fallen wall, grasping the stonework and climbing with care and held breath. Salonius watched nervously as small flecks of plaster and showers of dust dropped to the grass. What the hell was he doing? Swallowing, he shrank back behind the protection of a huge piece of fallen lintel. The two men were getting tremendously close now and both he and Varro were aware that they had to dispose of these soldiers silently and quickly. Sighing gently, he drove his sword point-first into the grass.
He raised his eyes once more and saw Varro about twelve feet from the ground, leaning around the crumbled edge of the wall. He was levering a large, loose stone from the wall. As the stone came away in a small shower of mortar, he grinned in triumph and hefted the heavy block. Moments passed as the two men came ever closer and finally, after what seemed like an age passing in slow motion, they drew level. Salonius glanced up once more and, at a nod from Varro, tensed and leapt.
The captain released his grip on the heavy stone he held and with deadly accuracy, the missile plummeted around ten feet and hit the front most soldier square on the top of the head. There was a quiet but audibly sickening noise and the man’s skull exploded under the weight, shattering his spine in multiple locations and killing him instantly. The remains of the body collapsed to the ground with a gently thud.
His companion did not have time to register the impact, let alone scream. As the stone his the first man, so, from his perch among the rocks, Salonius landed on the back of the second man, his left hand going round the man’s head and muffling any sounds he might try to issue. The hand was, in the event, unnecessary, as the impact drove the man to the floor and knocked all breath and sense from him. Before the soldier could recover, he placed his right hand on the back of the man’s skull and repositioned his left on the jaw. Heaving with all the tremendous strength in his powerful arms, he twisted the man’s head through one hundred and eighty degrees with a nasty cracking noise, staring in disgust at the strange sight of the glazed eyes now settled on him accusingly. He dropped the body and, retrieving his blade, stood and walked over to the wall. Varro descended the first few feet slowly and then dropped the last distance to the ground, landing with his knees bent.
“We’ve got to get that other one before he gets round to Catilina” the young man said quietly, pointing through the ruins of the building to the imagined figure of the third soldier creeping through the undergrowth. Varro nodded and gestured along the wall.
“You go round; I’ll go through” he whispered. “Hopefully we can catch him by surprise.”
Salonius frowned.
“Do we need surprise all that much now?”
Varro gestured for him to lower his voice.
“There’s more out there. If Cristus sent men out to find us, there’ll be at least a squad out there; probably more.”
Salonius nodded. Of course, he was completely correct. With a last glance and Varro, he began to pick his way quietly along the ruined wall in the direction from which they’d come. Varro watched him go and then turned into the darkness of the ruins.
“You’ve stayed up for twenty years,” he addressed the mouldy walls of the great vestibule quietly. “Try not to fall on me tonight.”
With a deep breath, he set off through the wide, colonnaded room. Fragments of masonry and broken roofing tiles lay scattered here and there among the dark grass and shrubs. Picking his way as carefully as he could, he thanked the Gods for the moonlight that made this a less than life-threatening trip. At the far end a set of wide, shallow steps led up to the great bronze doors. Trying to picture the palace as it had once been, he realised that this must have been the grand entry way into the villa itself. The various doorways that led from this room to either side, beneath the arches of the colonnade would open onto waiting rooms, cloakrooms and other public spaces. The facade before him at the top of the steps heralded the entrance to the private areas of the villa.
Climbing the five steps, he was impressed at the quality of the marble used in their creation. The porphyry alone would be worth a year’s wage for a merchant of even above-average means. Sadly, many steps were now missing. Any place where marble was going to waste, some enterprising folk would remove it and burn it down for more useful lime.
The doors had, in their time, been magnificent. When burnished they must have shone in the sunlight from the high windows, situated above the colonnade, much like the golden gate of Vengen. Now, sadly, they were decayed and blue-green. One door miraculously remained in position, rusted shut many years ago. The other hung at an awkward angle, the central and lower hinges having long since given way.
Very carefully, Varro stepped between the doors, being certain not to touch the precariously-hanging portal.
The interior was almost pitch black. The roof above this small octagonal chamber had remained largely intact, though the stars were visible here and there in places. Squinting into the dark, he made out the glow of moonlight through the doorway ahead. Stepping as carefully as he could in the darkness, he made his slow way toward the light.
The next room was wide and long. Most of the roof was missing, allowing the moon to clearly light his path now. The grass and weeds here were patchy, leaving areas of rich mosaic faded but clearly visible. This must be a great reception area or dining room. Varro could imagine the parties that had been held in this great space. A shallow granite bowl had been a fountain, clearly once decorated with a number of statues. A peculiar sense of sadness and loss settled on him as he traversed the room, his eyes now locked on the great aperture at the far end that had once been an ornate window.
As he approached the outer wall at the far end, he began to tread lightly and quietly once more. Creeping up to the window, he carefully edged his head past the stonework and glanced left and right. The figure of a man was moving along the wall, almost invisible in the moon shadow.
With a frown, he realised that the man would likely reach the corner before Salonius. Racking his brains, he suddenly grinned. Reach down to the floor, he collected a small pebble and hefted it, testing the weight. Squinting along the wall at the retreating form of the soldier, he swung his arm back and cast the stone out into the undergrowth roughly halfway between them but further out away from the building. He held his breath.
The soldier stopped dead in his tracks and turned. The shadow in which he was standing obscured his face, though Varro could imagine his expression. Very, very slowly, the man began to move away from the walls in a half crouch, toward the source of the unexpected sound. Varro nodded to himself in satisfaction.
Waiting until the man was at a good distance and facing away, Varro quickly and quietly climbed onto the ruined windowsill and dropped lightly to the soft, springy grass in the shadows outside. Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he glanced sharply along the wall to see Salonius echoing his steps from the corner. He nodded toward his companion and pointed at the figure now lurking by the undergrowth and Salonius returned the nod, drawing something from his belt and waving it at the captain.
Varro frowned. What the hell was the lad up to now?
He stopped in the shadows and tried to discern what Salonius was doing as the young man rummaged and fumbled until suddenly he lifted his arm above his head and began to swing it. Varro jumped. What the hell did he think he was doing? He waved his arms frantically, trying to get Salonius’ attention. The building ‘whoop, whoop’ sound of the sling as it completed each circuit would easily attract the attention of the lone figure.
And yet, while he was still trying desperately to get the young man to stop his noisy attack, Salonius let go of the strap and the stone flew with a gentle whistling sound. Sure enough, the man by the undergrowth turned at this new sound, but not fast enough. Before he ever saw the two darker shapes lurking in the shadows by the wall, the lead shot took him in the side of the head and knocked him clean from his feet.
Varro blinked, impressed despite himself.
With a quick glance at the young marksman, he jogged across to the prone soldier. The side of his head had been staved in and was oozing dark matter onto the grass. He wouldn’t be crying for help any time soon. The captain jumped at Salonius’ quiet voice by his shoulder.
“Bigger than a coney and considerably slower moving.”
Varro turned and grinned at him.
“That’s some bloody aim you’ve got there.”
“Almost a year assembling and dismantling catapults, bolt throwers and so on. That was my principle job. Every time you do it you have to check the aim and adjust to new conditions. After three months, it’s second nature. I could hit a sparrow with a siege engine, given a couple of minutes to sight.”
Varro laughed quietly.
“Come on. Let’s check the lie of the land.”
Catilina sat hunched up against the wall of the gatehouse, staring off into the gloom in the direction Varro and Salonius had taken. Her night vision was being seriously hampered by the dancing flames of their small fire and, after a few moments, she shuffled along the wall so that the fire was behind her. If she really strained her eyes, she could just about make out the shapes of her two companions moving like ghosts among the rubble and ruin near the centre of the complex.
She smiled. The noble women and the other girls she’d grown up with at Vengen and at the Imperial court in Velutio had always treated her with an aloof and distant attitude. It was, of course, no mystery why that was the case. Her brother was studious and interested in politics, history and rhetoric; her mother had been a fascinating woman, though. Catilina was always saddened when she thought of that beautiful, mysterious figure that had passed away when she was still a young girl. She knew what her mother had been like though: a genteel court lady, with hobbies and habits as befitted her station, but with a hidden side that only came out with her husband and children. Her mother had loved to ride and to explore; she had travelled with her husband on campaign in those early days of the Imperial restoration. She was no wilting flower, and neither was her daughter.
That was why the court ladies were never sure what to make of her: she had never settled into the sedate court life. Indeed, the only time she had spent any real length of time in a courtly situation was at Vengen those few years ago, and that had been when she’d met Varro and her life had changed forever. Her father had pleaded and cajoled, then demanded and shouted and finally, in the end, gave up and let her be who she wanted to be. He would never change her and, since he’d obviously come to realise that, she was sure he was just that smallest part more proud of her for it.
She had never been happier that at times like these, living roughly by a campfire with a constant threat of danger and puzzles to solve. Except for the ever-present knowledge that Varro was going to be taken from her. As soon as the thought occurred to her again, she pushed it back out of her mind. Every time she let her guard down, she risked being washed away by the turbulent emotions that pounded her. She was too strong for that. And Varro was refusing to let it get in his way, so she had to be all the more strong to keep him from despair.
The man behind all this…
Something behind her made a snapping sound. Her mind raced for a fraction of a second. Twigs popped and crackled in the flames, but there was something different about this sound. This was not a burning twig.
Gritting her teeth, she held her breath and listened as hard as she could.
Very, very quietly, she heard a footfall. Good. Between the crack and the quiet step, she had enough information to see it all in her mind’s eye. The man was directly behind her, and perhaps two paces away. She held her breath a moment longer and heard the next footstep, slow and soft. This one was close enough that she felt the faintest vibration on the ground.
Her eyes hardened as, without moving any other part of her, she swung the needle-pointed knife up with her right arm straight behind her until her arm reached back as far as it could, but not before it met resistance. There was a horrible noise and a trickle of warm liquid down her hand and wrist as she immediately released her grip on the knife handle and, turning, leapt to her feet.
She had only a moment to take in the scene. Her aim had been precise and unfortunate, the height of her seated form having driven the blade as far as the hilt into the man’s crotch and up through his bladder. His eyes were wide with shock and his mouth formed an ‘O’ as he fought to find his voice. The arm out to his side that held his sword twitched and the blade dropped from his fingers.
Panic hit her momentarily. Varro and Salonius had been so careful to remain quiet and this man was about to scream and ruin it all. Instinct took over and, pulling her arm back at the shoulder, she threw a solid punch directly at the man’s face. The low groan as he began to howl was cut short and ended in a crunch as the blow broke the man’s nose and two of Catilina’s fingers simultaneously.
He spun, his eyes rolling up into his head, and collapsed heavily to the ground.
She stared down at him for a long moment, stunned by the sudden violence and then, slowly, the pain in her fingers began to make itself known. Shaking her head to clear it, she stared out into the darkness past the fire. Even with her hampered night vision, she could see the gap where the attacker had removed a single board in their fire shield. He had been alone.
Grimacing, she stepped out of the gatehouse and edged round the corner into the darkness where she would be less visible and scanned the gloom for a further sign of her two friends. After a long moment, she saw Salonius creeping along the wall of the central building and then he disappeared around the far corner and into the darkness. She heaved a slow breath and then settled down to wait, her ears pricked for any sign of movement.
Varro and Salonius clambered to the top of the wall walk. The flight of steps they had found was missing a number of stones and covered with creeping undergrowth, rubble and dust. Slowly and carefully they approached the battlements and peered cautiously around the merlon.
“Shit!”
Instantly, the pair ducked back into the protection of the walls. Below and perhaps fifty yards from the walls scattered soldiers sat astride their horses.
“How many d’you reckon?” Salonius whispered.
Varro shook his head.
“I’d say about ten down there, but you can bet we’re surrounded, so we’re looking at forty or so. Shit, shit, shit!”
Salonius nodded.
“Shit indeed.”
They stood crouched for a moment, deep in thought, and then raised their heads in unison.
“Catilina!” they both whispered.
Moments later they were scrambling down the stairs and running across the rough grass towards the gatehouse, all concerns over being observed forgotten.
As they approached the great defensive structure, Varro’s heart leapt into his throat. The archway, lit by the flickering flames, was empty. He and Salonius slid to a halt just as Catilina stepped out from the shadows by the gate.
Varro visibly jumped at her sudden appearance.
“Shit, don’t do that!”
Salonius flexed his shoulders.
“Varro…”
The captain turned to find his companion pointing at the blood-soaked body lying next to the fire. He turned to Catilina and raised his eyebrows.
“Lucky.” She said, flatly, cradling her sore fingers in her other hand.
“I think our luck might be running out” Varro replied. “Looks like there’s several dozen men out there, waiting for us.”
Catilina frowned.
“Do you suppose Cristus is there with them?”
“I doubt it,” Varro grumbled. “This is dirty work. His sort doesn’t do dirty work.”
Salonius nodded.
“Then we’ve got to get away from here” Catilina replied, scratching her neck carefully and noticing once again the blood trails across her hand. “I think we can distract them.”
She crouched near the fire and found a patch of dry, dusty ground. Retrieving a stick from the grass with her good hand, she drew a rough square on the floor and marked their location with an ‘x’.
“We’re here, yes?”
Varro nodded.
She used the stick to draw a line of dots around the square, marking the presumed location of the soldiers.
“I assume they’re all round us?”
Salonius sighed. “We haven’t actually checked, but they’d be stupid to concentrate on one side and leave the others empty.”
“Alright then.“ Catilina cleared her throat. “Before we do this, you need to check all four walls. We’ll need to know all possible ways out, and where their cordon is weakest.”
“What’s the plan?” Salonius muttered quietly.
“They sent men in here to get us. We need to distract them. I suggest we dress three of them in our clothes, strap them to horses and send them running out of one of the exits.”
Varro frowned.
“And what happens if they manage to stop the three ‘riders’ just outside the walls?”
Catilina shrugged.
“Then we’re in the same amount of trouble as we are now.”
Varro stared at her and then shrugged.
“I suppose it’s better than just fighting our way out. Salonius? We need to check the lay of the land from each wall.”
He paused for a moment.
“Salonius?”
Turning at the continued silence, he regarded the young soldier with a raised eyebrow. Salonius was staring off into the distance thoughtfully, his index finger pressed against his chin.
“Salonius?” he repeated, slightly louder.
“Huh?” The young man shook his head and focussed on the captain.
“Sorry… Thinking. There might be a better way.”
The other two waited expectantly and after a moment, Salonius removed his finger from his chin and used it to point at the ruins at the centre of the complex.
“What we need is a distraction.”
“And?” Varro was becoming frustrated.
Salonius shrugged.
“We need to get them to come here. If most of them are inside, they’ll be thinly spread out there and it’ll be easier to slip past them.”
“Granted,” Varro nodded, “but they’ll try and cover the perimeter anyway, and with so many of them milling about within the walls, how would we get outside? And what are you planning for your distraction?”
Salonius frowned in concentration.
“It’s all nice and logical. There are large sections of the central villa that are on the verge of collapse. A good tug with a rope and we could start around a quarter of the structure imploding, I reckon. That should bring them running. In the meantime, we need to head over to the section of walls near where I used the sling. I checked the wall out while we were over there and there’s a postern gate that’s caved in. Just off to the side is a section of fallen wall that collapsed inwards. We can hide in the overhang of the postern while they come to investigate. Then, while they’re busy, we nip out, over the fallen wall, and off into the countryside.”
Varro growled. “And what if we cross the wall and they’re covering that spot?”
Salonius shrugged.
“I don’t believe they will be. If they’re spread thinly, they’ll be concentrating on the gateways and the holes in the walls. That section will still have a drop at the other side maybe as high as ten feet. They’ll likely assume the inside is equally vertical. We’d be crazy to try leaving there, so they’ll write that off.”
“You mean we’ll have to jump the horses down a ten foot drop?” Catilina queried, staring at him. “You’re quite right we’d be crazy!”
“I’m afraid so; maybe even more. But within the next ten feet there’s what’s left of the defensive ditch too, so if we do it right we can land on the ditch slope and save the horses. It’s a long shot, but then that’s why I don’t think it’ll be watched.”
Varro and Catilina exchanged glances and their shoulders sagged. Varro cleared his throat. “You really think it’s feasible?”
Salonius shrugged. “I believe it’s a better option than faking our escape. Whether it’ll work depends a little on skill and mostly on luck or whether the Stag Lord is really watching over us.”
Varro nodded and the two men focused their thoughts on the task ahead, failing to notice the curious expression that crossed their companion’s face as she regarded the young engineer. Catilina allowed her smile to pass and then cleared her throat.
“Alright then. Salonius, you and Varro go and get this ‘distraction’ of yours organised. I’ll pack up and get everything ready then I’ll find you.”
“We’ll take the bodies and leave them among the ruins.” Salonius agreed. “They should get a proper burial if all this works. When you’ve packed away, could you bring the horses over to the ruins?”
Catilina nodded and, as the two men untied their horses, surreptitiously tore a strip from the hem of her dress and broke her drawing stick in half so fashion a splint for her two damaged fingers. Tying the material off tightly with two of her fingers held uncomfortably straight, she set about the task of collecting their gear, carefully and wincing regularly. Damn it. She was still suffering general aches and pains from the wound in her shoulder and even the odd sharp pain when she turned wrong. Chuckling to herself, she realised she was beginning to sound suspiciously a little like Varro.
Varro grasped the reins of his horse and led it away into the darkness alongside Salonius, who checked over the strength and quality of a coil of rope as they walked.
“I hope you know what you’re doing” muttered Varro, giving the young man a sidelong glance.
“So do I” muttered Salonius fervently.
A little more than five minutes of frenzied activity later, three figures moved slowly and quietly away from the jagged broken mass of the central range toward the outer wall, leading their horses and stepping carefully to avoid unexpected hazards among the long grass. Catilina and Varro’s horses stepped lightly and quietly; Salonius’ moved slowly, its rider spending much of his time walking backwards and facing in the direction from which they’d come. Behind him a length of rope snaked out among the grass, one end knotted tightly around the horn of the young man’s saddle, the other anchored among the ruins with the precision of a career engineer. The curtain walls were now only twenty yards distant, and the three of them could just make out the shadowy arc that denoted the presence of the postern gate. Varro glanced back once more to check their progress, hoping his young companion’s calculations were correct.
Finally, very slowly, the waves of rope on the ground behind them began to straighten. Salonius gestured to Varro and then pointed back down behind them. The two men watched, Varro in relief, Salonius in satisfaction, as the rope gradually pulled tight and started to lift from the grass.
Salonius coaxed his steed onwards as the strain began to show in the horse’s manner, stamping its feet in frustration. The rope, having reached shoulder height, strained and creaked and the horse snorted its irritation.
Salonius looked up to find Varro giving him a concerned glare.
“Nothing else I can do now but trust to luck and judgement.”
“Huh.” Varro turned away and moved ahead, catching up with Catilina. The dark arch of the gateway loomed ahead and, grasping the steed’s bridle, he urged her on. The groaning and creaking behind him grew in pitch and volume and for long moments, as he plodded slowly forward one step at a time, he wondered whether he had misjudged the breaking strain of the rope or the condition of the walls.
The result when it came was so sudden and surprising, even for the one who planned it, that Salonius suddenly found himself jogging forward to try and restrain the horse. For a moment, he truly believed he had failed and that the rope had snapped somewhere along the line. The horse had shot forward and the rope whipped away in coils behind it.
He hurriedly brought the horse to a worried stop and turned just in time to see the tallest section of interior wall begin to move. A high section that would have supported the dormer windows at the very centre of the complex, replete with cornice and moulding, swayed for a moment towards him. Very slowly it rocked back to upright and, as Salonius held his breath, he watched it continue on past the vertical and rock out away from him. Once more, the tall spire of shattered wall reached a critical point and swung back with enough momentum that it continued on past the apex, picking up speed and falling with ponderous grace against the lower wall opposite. The domino effect began and, with a grin of sheer satisfaction, Salonius turned his back on the cacophony and jogged with his horse to catch up with the other two, just as they reached the dark archway.
Varro was grinning from ear to ear in the shadows as he turned to face his young companion.
“Nicely done. They probably heard that all the way back at Vengen!”
Salonius nodded. “Now keep your eyes peeled. As soon as they start to gather we need to be up and away.”
The three of them mounted ready and lurked in the shadows, keeping their horses as quiet and still as possible while they watched the dust begin to settle in moonlight, a strange and otherworldly sight. Almost unbearably slowly the cloud began to clear and almost immediately they became aware of figures moving around and of dulled conversation.
“Come on.” Varro whispered, and very slowly and quietly they walked their horses out of the shadows and into the bright moonlight. It was a gamble, certainly. Three mounted figures would be plainly visible in the moonlight and the wall cast no shadow on this side. Likely, however, the men would be too busy examining the collapsing central range and that, combined with the confusion, the settling dust, and the fact that the three of them only had to cross around twenty yards of open ground, meant discovery was at least not a foregone conclusion.
Nervously, Salonius rode alongside Catilina at a steady walk, with Varro in front, almost at the point where the fallen wall created a steep bank. He held his breath, his eyes locked on the figures moving around at the centre. After what seemed an eternity, they reached the embankment and began to guide their horses slowly and painstakingly up the slope.
Once again, Salonius found himself wondering what in the heavens had given him this idea. The fact that they’d survived even the last ten minutes astounded him. That they might survive the long drop into a ditch, evade a small army and get away seemed such a farfetched proposition that it almost made him laugh.
“Hey!”
A sudden commotion behind them announced that they had finally been spotted.
Varro looked back over his shoulder.
“Run for it!”
The captain kicked his horse into action and ran up the steep slope as fast as the beast could manage. As he reached the top he disappeared from sight with a last cry that tailed off:
“Cernus!”
Racing now for his life, Salonius glanced across at Catilina. A confident rider, she bounded on ahead and over the crest. Swallowing nervously and painfully aware of his own lack of equestrian skill, he followed on, his heart racing. As he reached the top of the embankment of fallen wall, he had to fight the urge to haul on their reins and stop the beast. To stay here would be a death sentence. Forcing himself forwards, instead of slowing he picked up speed and charged ahead into the unknown.
The ground disappeared sharply before him and as he launched into his jump, he unintentionally clamped his eyes tightly shut. His heart skipped a beat and he was almost unhorsed as the beast landed heavily and awkwardly on the slope. His eyes shot open as he panicked, but as he glanced about wide-eyed, he realised that the beast was slowly walking in the shallow ditch. Varro and Catilina sat astride their horses at the top of the other side.
Salonius gave them a shaky smile and, turning, stared in amazement at the wall behind him, at least eight feet tall.
Varro returned the grin, trying not to laugh out loud.
“I hope you don’t use that language in front of your mother!”
The young man blushed furiously, grateful for the fact that his colour would not be visible in the darkness.
“No guards nearby, but they’ll be here soon enough now we’ve been seen.” He looked up at Varro. “What now?”
Varro set his jaw and rolled his shoulders.
“Now we ride like merry hell for the wood of Phaianis. They’ll not follow us in there.”He