Adana awoke feeling unusually sore and disoriented. What had he been drinking last night? He tried to reach up to touch his sore head and realised something was dreadfully wrong with the world. His surroundings slowly swam into focus and it took a moment to realise he was upside down and swinging gently back and forth. He squinted at the figures in front of him. Ah, yes…
Varro grasped the stick he’d been idly tapping his leg with and held it out to stop the man swinging.
“I’m afraid you might be in a little trouble here, my friend.”
Next to him, Salonius smiled nastily.
“Care to tell us a little about yourself?” Varro asked in a friendly, sing-sing voice as though speaking to a difficult child.
“Who are you people?” the dangling man asked innocently.
Varro smiled happily and swung the stout, young, green stick he’d been holding at the man’s head. The impact made him yelp and left a long red line across his cheek and temple.
“Some bad things have happened to me recently,” said Varro in his happy tone, “and this is really beginning to lighten my day. In fact, I daresay the longer you hold out, the happier I’ll get!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” The man hanging from the tree finally became aware that he was cold and struggled to lift his head enough to see his body. He was naked. “What are you doing with me?”
“Oh, the naked part? That’s entirely unnecessary and gratuitous, I’m afraid” Varro laughed. “I just wanted to humiliate you a little. Now tell me who you are.”
“My name’s Marco. I’m a smith from…”
He was interrupted with another sharp thwack from Varro’s switch and yelped again. A sore red line crossed his chest. Varro leaned forward grinning.
“You can skip the most blindingly obvious lies. I can’t remember your name but I think it starts with an ‘a’. I know you’re in the prefect’s guard and I know you have appalling luck at dice. How’s about you come clean, or do I get to have more fun?”
The man coughed, shaking on his tether.
“Ok, I’m one of Cristus’ guard. And yes, my name’s Adana. We were sent by the prefect to keep an eye on you. Rumours have reached him that you’re on to something important and he sent us to protect you.”
“Indeed.” Varro grinned and gave a sharp flick of his switch, leaving a nasty line across the man’s hip. “Damn. I was aiming for somewhere delicate there but you moved.”
“Hey!” the man shouted in pained panic.
“Come on” cajoled Varro. “You haven’t even asked about your provost companion who you know damn well I left dead back in that barn. We’re not stupid, Adana. Just irritable and armed!”
He gave another swipe, this time across the buttocks and much harder than before. The switch came back down by his side glistening and a drip of blood dropped from the end to the dirt. The man shrieked.
“I’ve got so much more energy in my arm,” grinned Varro, “I could go on like this for hours.”
Catilina stepped into view.
“Varro, you may be having fun, but that’s all. He’s a professional soldier, like you. And a good one, if he made it to the prefect’s guard. You need to step this up.”
Varro raised an eyebrow. Catilina cleared her throat.
“Adana, tell us where the other two are.”
The dangling man frowned. “Other two?”
With a sigh, Catilina crouched down by the undergrowth at the side of the road and broke off a length of sharp, woody plant stem. With a look of concentration, she gritted her teeth and broke the foot-long stem into three pieces. Reaching down under the bemused gaze of Varro and Salonius, she retrieved Varro’s belt knife and used it to cut the ends of the three pieces at an angle. As she sheathed the knife again, she shrugged.
“My father made it a rule at Vengen that all ladies needed to be taught how to defend themselves, given the fact that there are such a large number of off-duty soldiers there at any given time, and not all of them are gentlemen. I watched the first class and decided that being able to trip someone up and bite them wasn’t good enough. I asked my father’s adjutant, Captain Cialo, and he and Mercurias came up with a diagram of what they called pressure points. It’s quite fascinating, really.”
Catilina held two of the sticks in her left hand and grasped the other tightly in her right. Slowly, she turned the hanging man so that he was facing away from then and crouched down. With one slender, immaculately manicured finger, she traced the line of muscle running from below his ear to his shoulder. Almost teasingly, she stopped half way along and drew a line inwards towards his spine with her nail. A couple of inches in, she stopped, and with a forceful thrust, pushed the sharpened end of stem into the man’s muscle. He screamed and jerked around on his rope like a fish on a line.
Salonius’ eyes widened and Varro grinned, as the blood started to run in a slow stream down along his neck and into his hair, Catilina gave the end of the stem, sticking out of the flesh, a little tap and then turned him back to face them. The man’s eyes were scrunched up tight, tears streaming up his face.
The elegant lady smiled at him.
“Adana, I would very highly recommend you start answering Varro’s questions. There are more than a hundred pressure points. I can only remember thirty or so, and we’ll run out of points before we run out of sticks, but you really don’t want to get that far.”
The man shook his head defiantly, his mouth clamped shut and his eyes closed tight.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, soldier.”
She turned to Varro. “Care to have a go?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he replied lightly. “Where next?”
She spun the dangling figure round again and pointed to a spot on the back of the man’s leg, just above the knee. “That’s a good one.”
Varro nodded, stepped forward and drove the stick in to that spot, point first. The man screamed again.
As Varro turned him around once more and stepped back, he held out the third stick.
“Salonius?”
“Thank you, but I won’t. Fascinating to watch though.”
Catilina grasped it.
“Time to stop giving him time to breathe and recover. Salonius, cut some more sticks.”
She stepped forward and used her fingers to locate a point next to the tendon above the man’s heel. Pausing only long enough to take a breath, she drove the stick in, accompanied by new shrieks of pain.
As she returned to Varro’s side, she smiled at the weeping soldier.
“Salonius: hurry up with those sticks, I’m getting bored.”
Varro gave her a sidelong glance.
“You can be a frightening woman, Catilina.”
She shrugged. “No one stirs up trouble for my father. And no one hurts my friends.”
She grasped the switch and ripped it out of his hand. Varro momentarily saw the tear trickle down her cheek before she stepped forward and began lashing the man repeatedly with the green rod, causing lines and welts and streams of blood to pour down the man’s chest and into his face. It took a few moments to realise that the man was babbling in a panicked voice, amid sobs and the repeated smacks of the rapidly-disintegrating cane.
“Salonius!”
The young man looked up at Varro and saw Catilina thrashing wildly at the man. As Varro stepped forward, grasped the switch and gently, but forcefully removed it from her hand, he turned and led her away, across the grass. Salonius walked over to the babbling man and, crouching down, began to talk to him, all the while grasping a few more sharpened sticks as incentive.
Varro turned Catilina to face him and threw his arms around her shoulders. She buried her face in his chest and began to cry, clutching him so tight he tilted his face upwards and took a deep breath.
“It’s alright Catilina. I sent two separate riders back to Crow Hill this morning telling your father he’s not safe and that he needs to head back to Vengen.”
She shook her head without pulling away from him.
“And I told him you were with me and safe,” he added.
“No…” she said, muffled from within the folds of his tunic.
“Don’t worry” he replied. “They were well paid and promised a lot more when they deliver. And there’s two of them. They’ll make it.”
“But that won’t help you” she shouted, her voice thick with a mix of anger and despair, still muffled by his tunic.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to find the words he felt he really needed, and finally closed his eyes and held her as tight as he could, as though he’d squeeze the hurt from her. Slowly her sobbing subsided and he loosened his arms. He smiled down at her; a strange smile.
“That was most unlike you.”
She gave him a weak smile in return.
“Sometimes you just have to get it out of your system, Varro. Sometimes if you hold yourself together tight you crack like a new pot that cooled too quickly. Soldiers let their emotions out through violent behaviour and debauchery, both of which are frowned upon in a lady.”
Varro laughed.
“Whoever said that never saw you with a pointy stick!”
He became aware that Salonius was standing patiently some distance from them, facing tactfully away and apparently studying some point on the horizon. Gently pushing Catilina away from him, he pointed at his young companion. Catilina nodded and, as she wiped he eyes and pinched her cheeks, the two of them wandered over to Salonius.
“So what’d he have to say?” the captain asked casually.
“Nothing too good,” the young man turned to face them. He looked troubled. “He says the four of them were sent after us by Cristus. Their orders were to observe us and report back until we reached the way station. After that their orders were to ‘deal with us’. The way he said it suggested to me that this is very much ‘off the books’. Kill us and dump the bodies somewhere they’d never be found; that kind of thing.”
“And the other two?” Catilina queried.
“Already ahead of us and waiting at the post, ma’am.”
“That does it then” Varro snorted. “We can’t get too close to the place. If the two of them have orders to take us, then they’re going to have the garrison of the way station on their side.”
“Why’s that?” Salonius frowned.
The captain sighed.
“We’re on personal business. I currently hold no active rank, you’re not officially on the cohort’s command guard lists, and the garrison won’t be able to identify Catilina. Those men, even if they’re perfectly innocent, have absolutely no need to take orders from us or even trust us. You can be pretty sure the two men waiting for us there have letters from Cristus giving them complete authority over the local garrisons. That’s what I would do if I were the prefect.”
“Then we find another way around” stated Catilina.
“I’m afraid not, my lady,” Salonius shook his head and Varro nodded his agreement. “The only reason for an outpost here is because it controls the only viable route.”
The captain turned to his companion.
“Unless, that is, you know of anything, being a local…”
Salonius shook his head,
“My home’s a good forty miles from here. I don’t know these valleys.”
“Then there’s four choices,” Catilina held up her hand and counted off with her fingers as she spoke.
“One: You attack the way station. I don’t know how many men they hold, but I presume you do. Very dangerous, but at least you have the initiative and surprise on your side.”
She folded down her first finger.
“Two: we ride like the Gods of the underworld are after us and try and just get through on pure speed.”
Her second finger folded.
“Three: We sneak up there and just try and get round. We could wait for nightfall for extra cover. The safest way, certainly, but also the slowest.”
Folding down the third finger, she tapped the fourth.
“Lastly: we ride up there as bold as iron and try and bluff our way through. If it fails then we either have to fight our way through or ride as fast as the winds will carry us. Either way, the chances aren’t good.”
Salonius and Varro looked at each other for a long moment and the younger man shrugged. “That’s about the size of it, sir. Little or no chance any which way.”
Varro’s brow furrowed in thought.
“I have number five though.” He smiled and tapped her remaining finger. “I can’t put you at risk on some mad charge or crazy chase, but we can’t afford to waste an entire day here. I’m on a limited time frame. Catilina, I want you to stay here with the horses. Get them well away from the road, completely out of sight over by those trees and stay there until Salonius and I get back.”
She frowned, but nodded her agreement. Salonius kicked at an errant pebble.
“What will we be doing?”
“Distracting. Come on.”
Salonius followed him back to the dangling soldier, now silent, blessedly unconscious, though still breathing. Varro pointed at him.
“Cut him down and bring him along.”
With a look of uncertainty, Salonius drew his knife, cut the man down and threw him across a shoulder before turning and following the captain away. Varro stopped for a moment and smiled at Catilina.
“We’ll be back in less than an hour. Stay out of sight.”
“Be careful” she stated flatly.
Answering with just a smile, the two soldiers with their prisoner strode across the grass and away from the secluded knoll. As they made their way to the road and the village came back into sight, Salonius stopped.
“We’re going back to the village?”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
“After all the trouble we had getting him out without being seen?”
“Yes.”
Salonius stared in amazement at the captain, continuing on ahead, and then hurried to catch up.
“But why?”
Varro smiled grimly.
“He’s going to be useful. We need to give his friends a reason to leave the way station.”
Salonius frowned. He had a horrible suspicion about what was about to happen but, try as he might, he just couldn’t think of a better alternative. He started to feel increasingly uncomfortable as they entered the village, passing the outlying houses at the opposite end to where they’d first arrived. But the discomfort he felt heightened as he noticed villagers staring at him lugging a body along the road. The fact that the two men were clearly well armed would deter most ordinary folk from questioning these frightening strangers, but whatever Varro was up to, he’d have to hurry or things could turn ugly very fast.
The captain pointed at the small grassy area beneath the three beech trees in the centre of the village.
“Drop him there and then go pick up his friend and anything of theirs you can find in the barn. Be quick.”
Salonius flashed a quick, worried glance at his companion and then nodded and allowed the unconscious man to fall unceremoniously to the turf. Whatever it was that Varro had in mind, Salonius was pretty sure the man wouldn’t be walking away at the end of it. As he walked off, he deliberately avoided looking at both the captain and their prisoner. He shut his eyes tight as he heard the captain’s next words, then opened them and picked up his pace as he crossed the bridge toward the outlying farm buildings.
“You!” Varro turned and pointed at a group of half a dozen concerned spectators gathered outside the front of the inn. In other circumstances it might have humorous the way the individuals in the crowd automatically shuffled away from the finger, leaving a startled man leaning on a cane in the centre of a widening circle. The man gave Varro a frightened look and spoke, his voice shaking.
“Yes, sir?”
Varro shook his head in irritation.
“Somewhere in this village there are ropes, nails and a hammer. Find me them.”
The man turned his head left and right briefly, casting helpless looks at the crowd around him, none of whom met his eye. Quivering slightly, he picked up his stick and turned toward the house next to the inn.
Varro moved his finger and pointed at a young woman nearby.
“You go with him and make sure he finds those things for me. I don’t like to be kept waiting, and I’m not the world’s most patient man.”
As the woman turned and rushed after the absent man, Varro turned to see a lone figure standing across the green. Where the deep, narrow river briefly widened out into a pool, probably used for washing clothes, a fence with a gate had been erected, presumably to prevent children and animals falling into the rushing water. Leaning on the fence was a large, heavy set man with a drooping red moustache and a shiny bald pate, dressed in a huge leather overall. A blacksmith, clearly. And watching Varro with something akin to anger and visibly no fear at all. The captain smiled. Could be trouble; could be useful.
He waved a hand to the smith and wandered over.
“I need a hand to take a rail off this fence. Top rail only; it’ll still stop children and animals drowning.”
The big man glared at him.
“I have no interest in helping you, brigand!”
Varro smiled unpleasantly.
“I’ll let that one pass. I’m no brigand and, as always, what I do is for the good of the Empire.” He reached the fence and stood next to the blacksmith, considerably shorter, gazing up at him with a flinty look. His voice dropped to a low growl. “You will help me. If you do it without comment, we’ll be on our way shortly. You wouldn’t want to cause an ‘incident’!”
The big man glared at him for a while and then nodded slowly.
“You give me your word you’ll move on quietly and not come back and I’ll do what I have to in order to speed you on your way.”
The two men locked eyes for a moment and then Varro nodded. He gripped one end of the fence rail preparing to heave and blinked in momentary surprise as the large smith casually tore the rail form the fence, accompanied by the tortured shriek of stressed iron nails. He turned with the long piece of wood and walked back across the green.
As the two of them walked, Varro noted with interest the way the smith’s grip on the rail changed momentarily. With a smile, he ducked down and drew his belt knife. Even as the smith swung the huge rail at head height, Varro was underneath it and stood once more with the tip of his blade pressing very gently into the big man’s side by his kidney.
“Last warning, friend. Go stand with your neighbours.” He pointed to the growing crowd outside the inn.
Grunting, the smith dropped the rail to the grass and walked angrily away to join the throng. Varro looked around, stretching his shoulders and neck. Shame about this. Good people these, and the captain disliked looking needlessly cruel. Still, there were greater issues here.
Across the bridge, he saw the stocky figure of Salonius emerge from the cow byre, a body slung over one shoulder and a bag over the other. Back near the inn, the man with the stick and the young woman had reappeared from the house and were milling around at the back of the crowd, blending in. Varro dropped his head and smiled to himself, but then put on a fierce visage as he raised it again and used the knife to gesture to the man.
“Nails! Rope! Hammer!”
The man came hurrying nervously and jerkily with his stick as a third leg around the edge of the crowd with a small bag. He reached the green, stepped nervously around the body on the floor and stopped a few yards from Varro, holding out the bag with a terrified look in his eye. Varro smiled at him, trying not to look too fierce.
“I’m not here to hurt you. Drop the bag and go away!”
The man needed no second telling, scurrying across the grass, barely allowing his stick to touch the ground. Varro hid his smile as he removed the hammer and a long nail from the bag. Picking up the rail, he rested it against the tree at shoulder height and hammered the nail deep, driving it home until it protruded only half an inch and then bending the excess over. Collecting another nail, he grasped the other end of the rail and lifted it so that it rested at shoulder height on one of the other trees. With three efficient strokes of the hammer, he repeated the process. In short order he drove two more nails into each end for good measure and then tugged at and leant on the rail, testing the weight. Satisfied, he stepped back and examined his makeshift frame.
Behind him, panting with the effort, Salonius arrived with his burden.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?”
Varro grunted.
“These men accepted the risks when they signed up. As far as I’m concerned, and you too, they’re enemy combatants, spies and assassins. They deserved to die, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so, sir, but I can’t say I like it.”
“Neither do I, Salonius, but sometimes you have to do things you don’t like. Sometimes it’s our job as officers to be harsh and unyielding for the greater good. And we’re not hurting an innocent here.”
Salonius nodded and let the mangled corpse drop to the floor. Dropping their kitbag next to the captain, he wandered over to the unconscious prisoner and grasped his wrists. With a deep breath he hauled on them and dragged the body across to the new construction. He glanced briefly at the now surprisingly large crowd outside the inn.
“I realise you’re trying to create a distraction, but I’m not sure how this is going to work?”
Varro nodded. “They’ll need a little prod, but keep watching. Now lift them up so I can tie them on.”
Salonius hauled the body up to the level of the rail and the captain tied the wrists to the wood. As he let go, the faceless, visceral body dropped and sagged, the legs dangling at uncomfortable angles to the floor. Reaching into the bag at his feet, he drew out two more nails. Placing one between his teeth, he held another over the man’s wrist, between the two bones and hefted the hammer.
Salonius looked away and ground his teeth, wincing as he heard the first thud. With open sympathy, he began to heft the unconscious man. Another two bangs. He paused and waited without looking. He heard the second nail being positioned and three more bangs. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the grisly scene, lifting the unconscious prisoner to the bar. While the whole idea of what they were doing repulsed him, the captain was right and he knew it. These men deserved this; they deserved worse than this in truth, and Varro was doing nothing needlessly cruel.
He forced himself to watch as the captain tied the man’s wrists to the rail. With a glance at the crowd before the inn, he realised that he had to appear as invested in this as the captain. He reached down to the bag and withdrew two nails, grasping the hammer. Varro raised an eyebrow.
“My turn” Salonius rumbled, looking distinctly unhappy. “I assume you’ve got a speech ready?”
Varro nodded.
“Then go speak” the young man said, holding the nail in position over the wrist. Gritting his teeth, he swung the hammer. Of course, Varro’s victim had been dead for quite a few hours and had bled mostly dry. This was a whole different matter. He made sure he stood to one side, grateful that he’d taken the opportunity to give the man a heavy blow to the head on the way over to the tree. Though he wasn’t quite dead, the chances of even agony waking him now or ever again were very small. Continuing his grisly work with a professional concealment of his true feelings, he concentrated on Varro’s voice and allowed himself the bliss of detaching himself from his work.
“You think we are brigands or murderers. But even out here at the frontier, there is justice in the Empire.”
He waited a moment for his words to sink in and then continued.
“These two men are traitors. They have betrayed not only their own unit, but the army and the people of the Empire. I have seen first-hand evidence of their involvement in corruption, murder and intrigue and their fate is clear under Imperial law. As a captain in the fourth army it is my duty to carry out that punishment.”
He turned to see Salonius standing back, the blood-soaked hammer hanging in his blood-soaked hand, an unreadable expression on his face. Bending, he retrieved a sword from the kit. He turned, made sure the crowd was watching and then slowly, deliberately, and with great force, drove the blade through the chest of the hanging man. With a sigh he let go of the hilt and left the sword jutting out of the chest of its former owner.
Salonius shuddered and let the hammer drop, speaking in a quiet voice, unheard by the crowd at the inn.
“Are we done? Did we achieve anything?”
Varro nodded.
“While you were busy, I saw three men disappear off up the road toward the way station on horseback. I suspect in an hour or more this village will be filled with panicked guardsmen and two very angry conspirators. We need to get back to Catilina and get ourselves hidden.”
The young man nodded and, leaning down, wiped his hands on the grass, taking the opportunity to look up subtly and observe the crowd around the inn. There was a tense silence as the population of the village hovered nervously between the dangers of confrontation and the consequences of inaction.
“Which way?”
Varro nodded toward the road and, stretching, began to walk.
“Same way we came in, bold as iron. Nobody’s going to follow us after that. They’ll just be glad we left.”
Salonius fell in alongside him and tried to keep his face impassive and stare straight ahead as they passed the villagers. As they passed the last house he felt a little of the tension drain from his back and, despite willing himself not to, his pace picked up a little until the pair of them had rounded the first bend in the road and the village had disappeared from view.
“We’d best get off the road,” he said, glancing ahead with some trepidation, expecting to see riders bearing down on them round the next corner.
Varro shrugged. “Should have at least a quarter of an hour yet, even if they tried to break their horses.”
The pair walked on. Despite Varro’s casual comments, Salonius noted that their pace picked up considerably as they rounded the corner. After perhaps half a mile of dusty road, they recognised the small village boundary stone that marked their departure point. Taking a deep breath and a nervous glance up the road, Salonius stepped on to the grass and held up his hand to ward off the thin branches snapping back at his face in the captain’s wake.
On springy grass without the constant crunch of gravel beneath their boots, all the sounds of a summer morning flooded in and filled their ears. Birdsong, the buzzing of bees, the splashing of the fast, narrow river in the middle distance and the occasional scurrying noise in the undergrowth all combined to send a flood of calming relief through the two men as Varro finally pushed through the last branches and broke out into the clearing where Catilina sat on a rock. The reins of the three horses were tied to a branch behind her, while she, herself, sat with a hefty Imperial blade between her fingers, point-down on the grass. Salonius raised his eyebrows as he recognised the blade from his saddle. For some odd reason, the lady seemed perfectly natural and happy bearing a heavy military blade.
Varro smiled at her and turned to Salonius, pointing up the slope at the side of the valley.
“Can you climb up there as quietly as you can and find somewhere to hide? As soon as you see horses, get back down here fast.”
Salonius nodded and strode across the clearing.
“But for Gods’ sake don’t get seen coming back down!”
The young man made an affirmative noise and began to clamber up the bank beyond the small knot of trees. Varro wandered across the clearing and sat on a stone near Catilina.
“Shouldn’t be long; then we can get going up toward Saravis Fork.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking; it’s dangerous to come back this way, but I really can’t see an alternative. There’s no Imperial road other than this. I believe there are native trails but even then it could take weeks to get back down. Are you sure you want to risk this? Going to the very border of the Empire and maybe even getting trapped there?”
Catilina nodded and patted him on the wrist in a soothing manner, idly spinning the blade on its point with her other hand.
“I’m quite sure, Varro.”
“But…”
“You don’t understand” she stated, cutting him off. “It’s been a long time since we were together, but you knew I’d wait, surely? I knew you would. There’d always be time for us to be together again, but now…”
Varro lowered his head and Catilina smiled sadly.
“I don’t know whether we’ve got six months or two days. If Scortius is the genius they say he is, we may even have many years. However long you’ve got, you’re spending it with me. On that point there’s no give!”
Varro looked across at her and grinned.
“Who does know how long they’ve got eh?”
Salonius burst through the leaves and ran out into the clearing, trying to arrest his momentum. Coming to a halt in the centre, he put his hands on his knees and breathed deeply, looking up at Varro and Catilina. The two were sitting close together with their hands on their knees. Catilina was smiling a genuine warm smile, while the captain appeared flushed and looked away momentarily.
Salonius grinned at Catilina.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything my lady?” he muttered very quietly.
“Of course not, Salonius” she replied, almost in a whisper, her smile taking on a mischievous edge. “I take it we’re moving?”
The young soldier nodded.
“They should be passing us any moment now.”
“How many?” Varro enquired, professionalism once more taking over.
“I counted eight.”
Varro nodded with satisfaction.
“Assuming they’re a normal outpost garrison, there’s only going to be two left up there.” He reached up and started to untie his reins from the branch. “And I’m guessing that our two friends are among the riders coming down here we’ll just have two lightly armed guards to deal with there.”
Salonius reached out and grasped his own reins. He stopped for a moment and then put a finger to his mouth and cupped his hand around his ear. The others fell silent and listened intently. The drumming of hooves was deadened somewhat by the undergrowth between the open clearing and the road around six hundred yards away, but there were clearly several riders pushing their horses as hard as they dare.
Once the sound of the hooves began to recede and the riders were out of sight in the direction of the village, the three slowly made their way out of the bushes and onto the road. There was no sign of the horsemen passing bar the slowly settling dust kicked up by their passage. As they mounted and began to move at a brisk pace up the valley Salonius, with a troubled look on his face, cleared his throat and looked across at Varro.
“I can’t do that again, sir.”
“What?” Varro replied in confusion.
“I’m a soldier” he said flatly. “It’s not fear. I’ll fight the enemies of the Empire. I’ll go into battle with no regrets, sir. But…”
“What?” the captain repeated, with a trace of irritation.
“I’ll fight the Empire’s enemies, sir, but I won’t execute any more of its men.”
Catilina raised an eyebrow and leaned across.
“I know Varro, Salonius. He won’t have liked this any more than you, but those men were no longer soldiers of the Empire. They were prepared to kill us. That makes them fair game.”
“Yes ma’am, I know. It’s just… well I don’t think a soldier should be required to torture or execute. That’s why we have provosts.”
Varro looked down for a moment and then fixed his young companion with a hard look.
“Sometimes you have to be everything from the accuser to the executioner. It’s not a nice thing, but it’s necessary. If you ever intend to make it as a sergeant or even an officer you have to understand that. It’s not easy, and everything about you tells you it’s wrong, but you have to push yourself past that and do what needs doing.”
“You’ve done that before, sir?” Salonius asked.
Varro nodded sullenly.
“A couple of years ago we had a problem with supplies. We were campaigning in the mountains about thirty miles west of here and had to drop to half rations for a week or so, to eke out our stores. But the supply trains never came. So we had to drop further, to quarter rations. I sent a request to Vengen for extra supplies but things were almost as bad there.”
The young man nodded and risked an interruption.
“I remember the time. Crop failures all over the north. The tribes were starving too.”
The Captain smiled sympathetically. “It was a hard time for everyone. Finally we were on emergency rations for more than a week; not really enough to feed a dog, let alone a human being. The men were beginning to lose their fighting strength, but we couldn’t afford to leave our position.”
He grasped the reins tighter and shared a look with Catilina that Salonius couldn’t see.
“Things just kept getting worse and the mood of the men got ugly. We started having to break up fights over food. We even had the occasional desertion, though why’s beyond me. If the army had no food, why would a man think he could do better for himself? And then one night the camp guards caught three men stealing food from the commander’s supply; from my supplies, you see. Well, it’s not as though I had any more spare food than any other man; I was living on the same rations as them, but some men will always think their officers feast on a roast hog while they starve. The thieves attacked the guards when they were spotted and almost killed one of them before they were overcome.”
He squared his shoulders.
“Well, what could I do? I know there were extenuating circumstances, but there comes a point when discipline has to be maintained, even at the expense of personal preference.”
“What did you do, Sir?”
“We found out who the ringleader was; a promising young soldier called Terentius. He took responsibility straight away. Good man really. It meant he saved his companions.”
Varro glanced across at his young audience and let out an explosive sigh.
“I had the other two beat him to death on the parade ground in front of the entire cohort.”
Salonius lowered his eyes.
“It’s all about discipline, Salonius” the captain added. “You sometimes have to make hard choices and do unpleasant things because, if you don’t, you lose control and without control an army turns into a wolf pack.”
Salonius nodded.
“I understand that sir; I’m just not sure whether I’d be able to do that.”
“Then I hope you’re never given the situation.”
The young man continued to nod, grimly. “So what do we do when we get to the outpost? Those two men are probably entirely innocent.”
“Relax” Varro smiled. “Catilina and I worked that out while you were keeping watch.”
The way station was more of a small fortress than a simple outpost. Four walls roughly two hundred feet long enclosed two barracks, a commander’s room, garrison office, a small granary and storeroom and a small house to provide accommodation for passing dignitaries, Imperial couriers or men of rank. The single, heavy gate was surmounted by a higher parapet. And yet this small fort seemed strangely quiet and empty as Catilina approached, the gentle breeze that flowed down the valley rippling the rough and basic cloak wrapped around her.
As she walked, she carefully kicked up as much dust as she could, to dirty her clothing and make herself appear more mean and poor than her clothes would normally suggest. Her arm was beginning to ache from the heavy bundle of sticks she carried awkwardly. The gate of the way station stood open, surprisingly. She narrowed her eyes and squinted through the dust she’d created. Two figures stood deep in conversation in the gate’s interior.
Salonius and Varro had been careful to stay far enough back that there was no chance of being spotted from the station but, given the soldiers’ lack of attention, they could likely have walked up to the gate before being seen. Still, while her father would have the men hauled over the coals for their ineptitude, she had no complaints since it all served their cause so well.
Finally, as she was little more than ten yards away, one of the men spotted her and held his spear point toward her menacingly.
“Who’s that?” he barked.
“Sir…” she called back, hurrying, but giving herself a slight shuffling gait.
“I said who goes there?”
Catilina smiled inwardly. Varro had insisted that they’d need a signal, but she’d been sure he’d be able to tell when she’d arrived. She shuffled to a halt and waved her sticks as best she could.”
“Magda… from the farm, sir!”
The spear wavered for a moment and the second man stepped out of the gate’s shadow and into the sunlight.
“What do you want, woman!”
“Your men…” she broke into a grating cough that positively reeked of serious illness. Her mother had always said that if the family lost their wealth and privilege Catilina had a future on the stage. It was important to both create the right impression and to drag this encounter out as long as she could.
“What!”
The man was quickly getting angry. Balance was required. She couldn’t afford to lose his attention, but she also could not have him run and fetch his horse.
“Your men… down to the village.”
“What about them!” As the first man grounded his spear, Catilina tried not to smile. The other, more senior, guard reached out and grasped her by the upper arms. Over his shoulder, she watched Varro step like a cat from the bushes beside the fort and creep along the wall toward the relaxing guard’s back. She looked up into the commander’s eyes.
“Your men are in danger!”
“Why?” He swung his arm up to bring it down in a ringing slap, but at the apex it would not descend. He looked round in surprise and Salonius’ face split into a wide grin.
“Morning.”
The guard started to open his mouth, but the pommel of Salonius’ sword thunked into the back of his head with some force and his eyes glazed over as he slowly collapsed. Salonius caught him by the arm before he could slump too far and lifted him, slinging him over a shoulder. The young man smiled at Catilina and turned with his burden to see Varro dragging the other man, unconscious, toward the gate.
As the two soldiers dropped their prisoners unceremoniously in the first building they found, Catilina searched the store and reappeared with a roll of twine. As she and Salonius busily set about binding the wrists and ankles of the two men, Varro stuffed bundles of cloth into their mouths and gagged them.
Finally the three stepped back to admire their handiwork and Catilina smiled.
“You do realise we’ve probably only an hour or so before those riders come back. We need to get a good head start.”
Varro nodded.
“Leave that to me” he smiled as he ushered them out of the building and closed the door. “You go out and get the horses ready.”
As his companions left the fort, Varro stopped behind them and closed and barred the heavy gate. Happy with the result, he ascended the staircase to the wall. Looking down the twenty five feet from the wall walk to the dust, he took a deep breath and swung his legs out over the drop. He heard Catilina draw a sharp breath and, smiling, lowered himself until only his fingertips clutched the wall and let himself drop.
“Let’s get going. If we ride hard and through the night, we should be at Saravis Fork by sunset tomorrow.”