Out on the hills to the north of the Wall, the Venicones had restarted their long march to their homeland at first light. By mid-morning their pace across the barren hillsides was little better than a walk, despite the likelihood that the Roman cavalry would find them and recommence the deadly game that had played out the previous day. Many of Drust’s men had not eaten anything since the previous morning. The day had dawned bright and clear, and was now warm enough to make the marching barbarians sweat heavily in the absence of any breeze to cool their labouring bodies.
‘Come on, my lads, we’ll all just have to keep marching if we’re going to avoid being speared by those horse-shagging bastards! Another few miles will see us safe!’
The Venicone king’s voice was hoarse with bellowing his commands, but there was still a hard edge to his shouted encouragement that compelled Calgus to open his legs and stride out, despite his own experience in the art of cajoling his own men to greater efforts. He had watched Drust fighting off the Roman cavalry the previous day, pulling a horseman from his mount’s back with his war hammer’s spike and cutting the stunned horseman’s throat with a hunting knife the size of a short sword before he could recover from the fall, putting his head back in a savage howl of triumph as the soldier had spasmed out his death throes at his feet. More than once he had led the brief attacks that had punished those riders who had ridden too close to the warband, swinging his heavy pole-arm to fell their horses and leave the Romans easy meat for the men of his bodyguard clustered about him. Even the discovery that his body slave was missing, along with the gold torc that was the king’s badge of authority, had failed to put the man off his stride, although for all of Drust’s bravado, Calgus doubted that the loss was anything like as trivial as the Venicone was making out. Smiling wryly at his own acceptance of the need for pragmatism in defeat, when less than a week before he had been the leader of ten thousand warriors and on the verge of a victory to upset the balance of power across the entire province, Calgus put his head back and dragged down a lungful of air into his burning chest, forcing his feet to even greater speed despite the burning pains in his legs from the previous day’s exertions.
‘Are you enjoying this yet, Calgus?’ He glanced wearily sideways to find that the Venicone king had fallen in alongside him, a grim smile on his face as he regarded his captive’s gritted teeth. It’s a long time since you walked so far or so fast, I’d imagine? I could always lend you a blade, of course, and let you make a run for it. We can’t be all that far from your own land, so you might make it to safety.’
Calgus snorted, waving a hand at the treeless hills across which the warband was making its laboured progress.
‘You know as well as I do that their cavalry will be close at hand now, trotting happily along the trail we’re leaving with their spears ready for use. One man alone in country this open wouldn’t last any time at all.’
He coughed and spat phlegm on to the thin grass at his feet, and Drust laughed.
‘This little march is doing you wonders, Calgus, we’re working you harder than you’ve managed in years. And to think you could have been no more than a head on a pole by now if not for the Venicones.’
Calgus shook his head in disbelief.
‘I imagine you’re still planning to see me decorating some Roman’s spear, unless by some good fortune they get to you first. So where are you taking me, my most unwelcome host?’
Drust leaned towards him conspiratorially, looking round to ensure that his people were all sufficiently engrossed in their own struggle to keep moving before speaking, his voice lowered to avoid it carrying.
‘You know what, Calgus? I don’t have the first idea. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in land I’ve not trodden before in my life with a pack of Roman cavalrymen on our tail and nowhere to seek shelter from them. All I can do is keep my people moving, and hope that we’ll reach some feature that we can defend against the Romans before they find some means of bringing us to bay on ground that suits them.’
The rebellion’s former leader nodded, lowering his own voice in turn.
‘Well, I know where we are, Drust, and I know where we need to go if you want a chance to hold these bastards at arm’s length for long enough that they’ll lose interest in…’
A tired shout of warning sounded from the rear of the column, and both men craned their necks to stare back down the wide track of flattened grass the warband was leaving in its wake. A body of horsemen had crested the rise over which the Venicones had laboured less than half an hour before, no more than a thousand paces behind them. Drust spat on to the ground, hefting his hammer, which, Calgus noted, still had a few hairs clinging to its flat face.
‘It was too good to last. I’ll leave you to contemplate your fate, and how you might want to buy yourself a little extra time rather than dying out here on their spears, while I make sure that our rearguard have their wits about them.’
Tribune Licinius had ridden hard, overtaking his leading squadrons minutes before their first sight of the enemy. Reining his sweating horse in alongside the leading squadron’s decurion, he quickly sized up the sprawling mass of barbarians with a grim glance at his first spear.
‘Still just as many of them as there were when we left them to it yesterday, I see. All we seem to have achieved is to have thinned them out a little, and even that small gain cost us over ten per cent of our strength. I suppose the best we can hope to achieve today is to harry them from their flanks, and keep them from any shelter so that they keep running all day. We need to herd them, like a flock of particularly vicious cattle, until they break from lack of food and shelter. Once they reach the River Tuidius we’ll see how well they cope with an impassable obstacle to their front and hostile spears to the rear. Pass my orders to each squadron as they join the chase, no man is to go any closer to the barbarians than one hundred paces, other than to clean up the stragglers as they fall behind. We’ll lose no more men unnecessarily today. I’m going for a look at them close up.’
He spurred his magnificent grey stallion forward, flanked to either side by the men of his bodyguard, and cantered up the length of the warband, keeping a sensible distance between himself and any bowmen lurking in their ranks. Spotting a small hillock a short distance from the barbarians’ path he rode to its summit, using the elevation to look down into the Venicones. Licinius muttered quietly to himself as he watched the barbarians streaming past, straining his eyes to make out the finer details.
‘That will be their king marching there, I can see his men clustered around him.’ He squinted intently, a frown creasing his forehead as he caught sight of something that held his attention. ‘And who’s that marching alongside him in such a fine purple cloak, I wonder? I seem to recall my good friend Legatus Equitius mentioning something similar in connection with another tribal leader of our recent acquaintance…’
Marcus and his small escort rode north-east in the wake of the rest of the squadron, following their tracks in the grass until they found their colleagues taking their lunch on the open plain, with lookouts posted to all sides. Marcus dismounted, summoning Double-Pay Silus with a quick gesture. The cavalryman walked briskly over to him and saluted crisply, his face expressionless, and Marcus took a deep breath before speaking.
‘My apologies, Double-Pay, I’ve been in a foul mood ever since my closest friend in all the world was killed yesterday, and I’ve been taking it out on you. We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to get along if this strange situation is going to work, so let’s forget this morning and see how the afternoon shapes up, shall we?’
Silus nodded, his face relaxing a fraction.
‘Agreed, Centurion.’
Marcus pulled off his helmet, scratching his head as he spoke, and the double-pay took a bite of the piece of hard bread in his hand, chewing vigorously as he listened.
‘The barbarian we captured back there was a man I knew from another fight, in another place. He told us everything he’d seen in the last day, and part of what he told us was that there’s a large tribal group heading east in front of us. They’re making for a fort on the road to the north.’
Silus looked hard at the centurion, chewing on the bread for a moment before swallowing it.
‘That’d be Alauna. I’ve been there a few times, it’s a big place, built to house several cohorts, so that if the Votadini ever got stroppy with us we could use it as a base from which to put them back in their place. More of a trading centre now, though. It’s got a decent-sized vicus too…’ The two men shared a knowing look. ‘… which would make it the perfect place for them to find food, and take their frustrations out on any civilians who haven’t already run for the hills. I’d imagine that a quick attack might find the blue-noses distracted enough to let us get at them before they even realise we’re in the neighbourhood.’
Marcus nodded.
‘Perhaps a careful scout forward would be the best idea? The rest of the squadron could go north to find Decurion Felix, and tell him what we’ve discovered, and perhaps we should send a messenger party to warn the tribune. Shall we go scouting, Double-Pay? I’d imagine that your deputy can manage well enough in your absence?’
Silus smiled happily at the prospect.
‘Yes, sir. Perhaps you and I, Centurion, and a few picked men?’
Having overtaken the straggling Venicones, Tribune Licinius’s men were a good deal more circumspect than they’d been the previous day. Even without their explicit orders to avoid a straight fight, there wasn’t a man in the entire cohort who hadn’t witnessed the fate of those men who had been unwise enough to ride close enough to the tribe’s straggling mass and paid the price for doing so.
The cavalrymen had been horrified by the mutilated bodies of their fellow riders, and the horses that the tribesmen had swiftly and crudely butchered for their meat, and nobody was looking for the same fate either for himself or for the mount that was his closest companion. They rode alongside the warband at an easy pace, those men with bows loosing the occasional arrow in the hope of inflicting a wound that might cause the victim to fall out of the Venicones’ punishing march north, while the rest of the cavalrymen ranged up and down the huge body of men searching for any signs of weakness to exploit. As the morning progressed, and the ground started to slope upwards again, a steady trickle of barbarians lost their painful struggle to keep up with the warband’s main body, no longer able to cope with the pace being set for them, and were swiftly ridden down and speared. Their heads were unceremoniously hacked from their bodies and tied by their hair to the saddles of their killers as bloody trophies of the day’s running battle, before the victorious riders spurred their mounts to rejoin the hunt, driving the warband pitilessly before them. As the morning wore on even the weak autumn sun’s heat became torture for men denied any water since the previous dawn, and the number of tribesmen falling victim to their remorseless hunters grew steadily until most of the horsemen had at least a single head dangling by the hair to bump bloodily against their horses’ flanks.
Marching alongside Drust, his throat so dry that his breath was coming out in harsh panting rasps, Calgus looked across at the grinning horsemen walking their horses less than a hundred paces away on either side of the Venicones.
‘There’s desperation in the air, Drust, I can smell it. And so can you, I’d guess. Any ideas?’
The Venicone king ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground rising before them as they tracked slowly up a broad dry valley.
‘Your men need water, Drust. They’re at the end of their tether for the lack of it. Another hour like this and you’ll have another five hundred dead, and three times as many again before the sun sets. And in the morning you’ll struggle even to get them back on their feet for lack of food.’
Drust turned a baleful eye on his captive, one hand caressing the hilt of his sword.
‘Perhaps I should offer to trade the Romans your head for safe conduct.’
Calgus shrugged, watching a party of horsemen under a snapping dragon banner canter up the length of the warband.
‘There’s your chance, then. That’ll be their tribune, mounted on that grey horse with the rather fetching armour. Why don’t you call out and see if he’ll bargain with you? I’d imagine you’ll get a short reply, though. He’s got you by the balls, and I’m pretty sure he’s only wondering whether he can manage to have your head tied to his saddle horns without another night in the field.’ He ignored Drust’s tightly clamped jaw and continued. ‘See how there are twice as many horsemen to your left as to your right? There’s a reason for that, Drust, and that reason is that since those bastards know this ground like the back of their hands they want to keep you away from something.’
Drust raised an eyebrow, too weary to ask the question. Calgus grinned triumphantly, knowing that he held an advantage over the Venicone king.
‘Water, Drust. Water and, although they don’t know it, food too. Yes, I thought that might get your atten-’
His words were choked off as the Venicone leader took him by the throat, almost unable to draw breath past the pinching hold of Drust’s fingers on his windpipe.
‘Food, Drust… enough for… every man… still standing…’
The other man pulled him close, snarling into his face.
‘Where?!’
Calgus shook his head, a feral grin showing his teeth despite the burning pain in his lungs.
‘Fuck you… kill me… and you die too…’
Drust pushed him away, drawing his hunting knife and putting the point to Calgus’s throat. His voice was level again, the anger burned out by the truth of the other man’s words.
‘What food?’
Calgus shook his head, laughing despite the blade’s cold point pricking at the stubble lining his throat, and the coughs racking his body.
‘Put the sword away… If you were going to kill me… you would already have pinched my life out.’ He hacked up a lump of phlegm, spitting it on to the turf at the other man’s feet and sucking in a great draught of air before speaking again, his words acerbic in their new-found confidence. ‘I’m not quite the fool you take me for, Drust. I knew that I might have to fall back to the north, and so I concealed enough meat in a location close to here for ten thousand warriors to fill their bellies three times over. Whole oxen, Drust, dozens of them. Butchered, salted, and wrapped in enough cloth to keep the worms out, and that was less than ten days ago…’ He paused, looking at the expression on Drust’s face. ‘And so the question, great king of the Venicones, is just what a belly full of meat for every man of your warband might be worth to you? And while you’re thinking about that, just ponder what you’d give for a good strong stone wall between you and those horse-fucking bastards tonight.’
Drust stared at him without expression.
‘You’ve already given me enough to tell me that I should drive my men to the west, and that I’m looking for a Roman fort that you’ve already conquered. What more do I need?’
Calgus smiled quietly, concentrating on putting one leg in front of the other.
‘I’m sure you’re right. We’re only ten miles from the place I’ve got in mind, so why don’t you just blunder about the hills hoping to stumble across the exact spot, eh? I’ll tell you what, why don’t you just stop wasting time on me, and get on with leading your men to the right place. Feel free to come back for another chat if the need arises.’
He watched silently as the Venicone warlord turned away. Drust cursed quietly, looking about him at the cavalrymen walking their horses patiently on every side, their spearheads glinting in the sunshine. He shook his head, then turned back to his prisoner.
‘Very well! What do you want, Calgus? Stop playing with me before I lose my patience!’
Calgus met his angry glare with a level stare.
‘What do I want, in return for stone walls to allow your men to sleep without fear of sneak attacks, that and a belly full of meat? When your alternative is for those bastards to keep right on chopping your tribe up one man at a time, today, and tomorrow, and for as long as it takes them to run your last men into the ground? Let me think.’ He put a hand to his chin, pretending to consider the question for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what I want, Drust. I want to be a guest of the Venicones, an honoured ally, rather than a prisoner under threat of having my head handed to the Romans. That, and your sworn oath that my place with your people is safe for as long as I like. Either you guarantee my safety, and swear on something I can believe in, or I’ll leave you to blunder round this country until you’ve all succumbed to your hunger and their spears. Those cavalrymen won’t be going hungry tonight, they’ll already have riders out hunting down game and collecting water, and their field supplies will be following close behind. They’ll sleep a few miles away, where their camp fires won’t be visible to you, and in the morning they’ll find you again and keep on killing every man that falls out of the march. Best you choose now, Drust, while there’s still time to make it to my refuge before darkness.’
After the midday meal Marcus’s scouting party rode steadily away from the rest of the squadron, heading east in the direction that Lugos had indicated as the path taken by the tribal band from which he’d managed to escape. Looking to his left from the height of his horse’s saddle, Marcus could see the distant figures of the rest of the squadron scouting away to the north, less the message riders he’d sent back to warn Decurion Felix of the warband’s likely presence in Alauna.
The half-dozen men trotted their mounts along with each man set to watch an arc of terrain to ensure continual vigilance in all directions, and they rode in silence for the most part, still conscious of the clash of wills between their officers earlier in the day. After an hour or so Double-Pay Silus whistled softly, pointing at the ground before them with his spear.
‘Tracks. Lots of boots.’
Marcus stopped his mount to look at the focus of his deputy’s attention. The ground before them was thick with the imprints of the tribesmen’s rough leather boots; every one pointed east.
‘Any idea how long ago they passed?’
Silus shook his head with a faint smile.
‘Could have been any time in the last few days, this ground’s been damp enough to hold a mark for weeks now…’
Arminius dropped his bulk from Colossus, squatting to poke an exploratory finger into one of the bootprints.
‘These prints are new, less than a day old. See the sharp edges? I’d say these are the men we’re looking for. They were in a hurry too, the stride length tells me that they were running.’
Marcus looked about him before turning back to Silus.
‘I think we should concentrate our attention on the front now. How far from the fort are we, do you think?’
‘No more than five miles. We could work our way round to the north-east, there’s a nice thick wood on a hill that’ll hide us from anyone watching from the fort’s walls. That’s where I told Decurion Felix that we should regroup.’
Another hour’s careful approach brought them within sight of the fortress town, its walls and gates apparently still intact. Leaving the rest of the party to wait in a thick copse of oaks, Marcus, Arminius and the double-pay slid quietly through the trees until they had a clear view of the settlement. Silus shook his head unhappily, staring at the fort’s thick stone wall that loomed over the vicus’s houses and shops, clustered around its sturdy main gate.
‘If they realise we’re out here, all they’ve got to do is stay in there with the gates shut, and we’ll be reduced to starving them out.’
Marcus stared intently at the walls, searching for any sign of life.
‘They might already have been and gone.’
Silus shook his head with the certainty of experience.
‘Not likely. There’d be some movement in the vicus if they’d already pushed off, even if it was only a few survivors. As it is I’d imagine that they’re busy drinking themselves stupid and screwing the arse off anyone who was stupid enough not to have run while the going was good. There’ll have been more than a few of those poor bastards that reckoned it was a better gamble to stay with their homes and businesses.’
Marcus looked up at the sky.
‘It’ll be dark before we can get the infantry here, but we could at least make sure that Tribune Scaurus knows what’s going on, and work out what to do tomorrow. You stay here, and make sure that Felix keeps his men out of sight when they turn up, and I’ll head back down the road until I find the detachment. Come on, Arminius.’
‘Gods below, what are they up to now?’
Tribune Licinius watched with disquiet as the Venicones veered from their steady march northwards, the warriors at the warband’s head turning their path almost to the west in the space of a few seconds. The decurion alongside him shook his head in disgust.
‘They’re making for the bridge over the River Tefi, sir! Either they’ve been biding their time, or someone inside that bloody nest of rats has grown a brain.’
Licinius stared at the mass of warriors, his mind racing.
‘Yesterday I wondered if I’d seen Calgus in their ranks. And today a body of men that has to date acted without any sign of understanding the ground they’re stamping under their feet is suddenly making moves that look suspiciously as if they know where they’re going. I wonder
…’ Shaking his head decisively, he turned to his first spear. ‘Well, we’re not just going to sit here and watch them dig their way out of this hole, not after all the effort we’ve spent pushing them into it. Send three squadrons forward to gather firewood and prepare the bridge over the Tefi for burning if they get within a mile of it. I’d rather have to rebuild the bloody thing than watch them make their escape over it and then put it to the torch to stop us from following.’
The decurion saluted and turned away to issue his tribune’s orders, and Licinius glanced over his shoulder, searching for the handful of men that were never far from his side, waiting their turn to carry his words across the empty landscape.
‘Messenger!’
The warband seemed to be moving faster than had been the case during the long weary morning, as if some fresh purpose were invigorating the warriors, urging them to accelerate their pace across the rolling ground between them and the river. They surged forward, passing the burned-out wreck of Yew Tree Fort and splashing through the stream that skirted its walls in their determination to reach the river. The Petriana’s riders paralleled their path, the leading decurions nervously calculating the distance between the leading tribesmen and the bridge for which they were driving until, with less than a mile left for the warband to run to the crossing, the lead squadron’s trumpeter blew three notes long and hard, the signal for the bridge to be fired. A moment later the first smoke rose into the clear sky above the crossing, quickly darkening into a black plume as the fire took a grip on the structure’s old timbers.
Licinius watched intently, muttering to himself as he waited for any sign that the Venicones understood the renewed depth of their predicament.
‘So, what will you do now, eh? You can’t go north, not with a river in the way, and south would be suicide, so it’s either east or west. Come on, let’s be…’
He fell silent as the warband, with a ragged cheer that was audible at a quarter of a mile distant, turned north and drove towards the river, seeming to slump into his saddle as he realised what had just happened, shaking his head as he turned to the senior decurion sitting alongside him.
‘Balls! Well, that settles one thing, there’s no doubt in my mind that Calgus has found some sort of home with the Venicones. First they make a lunge for the bridge and encourage us to burn the damned thing out, and now they’re running for the river like fifteen-year-olds on a promise.’
The decurion nodded with a wry smile.
‘Yesterday’s disaster hasn’t made the barbarian bastards any less sharp, then. Perhaps we should start running for another crossing place. I can’t see them allowing us to use whatever handy little ford he’s leading to them.’
The tribune sent ten squadrons, two-thirds of his remaining strength, away to the east to seek a point where they could ford the river and renew their pursuit of the Venicones, then led the remaining five in their close watch on the barbarians as they ran towards the point that had clearly been their objective since their initial change of direction earlier in the day. Eager to ford before the cavalry could get men across the river to resist their crossing, the tribesmen had their heads up and were running hard, the occasional man falling behind to be executed by the following cavalrymen, but the remainder covering the short distance to the river in a matter of minutes. Licinius watched with disgust as the tribesmen made their way across the ford, each man stopping to fill his water skin as the mass of barbarians made good their escape from the trap into which he had so carefully driven them. Something caught his eye, and he sat back, shaking his head in disgust.
‘And just to add insult to injury…’
He pointed at the last few dozen men crossing the shallow river, walking backwards and throwing glittering objects into the stream as they retreated towards the far bank. It was too far for him to be sure what the Venicones were scattering, but even the threat of what he was watching was enough to change the game they were playing once more, further tilting the balance of power back to the barbarians.
‘We have to assume that they’re seeding the river’s bed with tribuli, or something equally unpleasant, and there’s no way I can risk losing dozens of horses to those sharp little teeth by trying to force a crossing. This ford will be unusable until it’s been swept clean again, and that won’t be getting done any time soon.’
His deputy nodded.
‘East or west?’
Licinius shook his head.
‘East. Ten miles to the nearest ford, and ten miles back again, plus whatever distance they can run in that time. They’ll be tucked up nice and snug in whatever’s left of the Three Mountains fort by the time we get back on top of them.’
‘He looks like the sort of man we need.’
Rapax turned to examine the man that Excingus was indicating, running critical eyes over the prisoner’s face and body. The shackled legionary looked bored, standing in the weak afternoon sun and waiting to be told what to do next. His arms bulged with muscle, and a long knife scar ran down one cheek beneath close-cropped black hair. The praetorian strolled across to his place in the line of half a dozen men, tapping him on the shoulder with his vine stick.
‘What did you do? And try not to make it sound like it’s supposed to be funny.’
The disgraced soldier looked down his nose at the centurion, rolling his head as if to loosen stiffness before answering.
‘I took a centurion’s vine stick and put it up his ar-’
The praetorian struck with a speed that caught the prisoner completely unawares, ramming the stick into his solar plexus so hard that the breath exploded from his body, leaving him bent double and helpless.
‘You didn’t try hard enough.’ He turned to the centurion of the guard. ‘All right, what did he do?’
The centurion, recently come on duty and only too aware from the briefing from his predecessor of the heavily wielded authority of the praetorian’s colleague, answered without any of the bombast that might otherwise have been the case.
‘He stabbed another soldier to death in a bar fight. The dead man said something that upset him, apparently…’
‘First offence?’
‘Well, it was the first one where he got caught. He’s been a right pain in the arse to the men of his century, forever pushing them around for their rations and just to show what a big man he is. He’s also suspected of having given his watch officer a beating a couple of nights ago, but there wasn’t any proof that it was actually him.’
‘Name?’
The centurion of the guard shrugged without interest.
‘No idea. I make sure they’re fed and watered, and that they get a beating if they step out of line, but none of that means I have to pretend to be their mother.’
Rapax put his stick under the prisoner’s chin, lifting his face to reveal a grimace of pain.
‘Name?’
The soldier dragged in a breath before he answered.
‘Maximus…’ He held Rapax’s eye as the praetorian stared grimly at him. ‘… Centurion.’
‘I think I’ll just call you Smartarse for the time being. Keep the manners and you may get out of here today. Why did you kill the other man?’
‘He took the piss out of my century for getting cut to ribbons by the blue-noses when some idiot sent us south without any support, then pulled a blade when I gave him a spanking. So I took it off him and stuck it in his neck.’
Rapax nodded, calculating.
‘And do you want to be freed, or would you rather rot here until your legatus comes back to hear your story? At which point he’ll almost certainly order whatever there is left of your tent party to beat you to death for your crime. Something they’ll be happy enough to do if they’ve seen battle while you’ve been tossing it off back here.’
The prisoner was clearly unconvinced.
‘And in return, I have to do what? At least here I’m not risking a barbarian spear in my guts.’
‘And in return, Legionary Smartarse, you have to join my party, and do whatever I tell you to do, whenever and wherever that may be. As it happens, we’re going north, not south, north of the Wall to hunt for a fugitive from justice. I hear tell the rebellion north of the Wall is over, so you’ll probably be safer out there than sat in here waiting for the Brigantes to break in and make you their new girlfriend. Choose now.’
He turned away, looking at the rest of the prisoners. Maximus stared at his back for a moment before speaking.
‘All right.’
‘All right what, Smartarse? Answer carefully, or I’ll leave you here with the skin hanging off your back.’
‘Sorry. Centurion. I’d like the chance to join your party.’
‘Good choice. Let’s have Smartarse here out of these irons, Centurion, he’s got some soldiering to do.’ He turned away, focusing on the next man in the line. ‘Now, what else do we have here…?’
The centurion of the guard nodded to his deputy, who busied himself releasing the prisoner from his shackles, then stepped forward and tapped each man’s chest with his vine stick.
‘Thief, thief, attempted murder… not very successfully from the look of him… rapist, and my special favourite, sleeping on guard.’
Rapax stopped at the rapist.
‘Attempted murder doesn’t look like he could pick a successful fight with my old mother, never mind collar a traitor. I don’t like thieves, and the only thing I like less than a thief is the sort of weak-chinned fool that lets his mates down by falling asleep on duty. Eh, Sleepy? Your mates will make very short work of you when they’re given the chance, and good luck to them.’ He pointed at the rapist.’ I’ll take this one, though.’
The centurion of the guard raised an eyebrow.
‘I suppose you know what you’re doing, but he’s a nasty case. Put it to a woman old enough to be his grandmother by force and then killed her, and nobody would have been any the wiser as to who the sick bastard that did it was if his good-luck amulet hadn’t been found by the body. Even now he keeps denying it. Shut it!’
Having opened his mouth to contest the centurion’s story, the rapist closed it again, his face a picture of misery.
‘See, all he does is piss and moan about how it wasn’t him, despite the fact that he left the evidence and has no alibi worth a toss. You’re sure you want him?’
Rapax smiled back at him imperturbably.
‘Yes, I think I’ll be able to find a use for him. We’ll have to call him Granny Fucker.’ He beckoned one of his men forward, indicating the two reprieved prisoners. ‘Take Smartarse and Granny Fucker to the stores and get them kitted up. Make sure they look like soldiers, and not the ragged-arsed jailbirds they so clearly are. And if the stores officer gives you any trouble, just give him the usual “you really don’t want to meet my centurion and his mate the corn officer” speech. Meet me at the north gate in an hour. And now, Varius Excingus, we’d best go and see how our wounded are doing.’
In the fort’s hospital they found a single doctor on duty, a woman who seemed utterly untroubled by their combination of muscle and bluntly wielded power.
‘I can’t release either of your wounded, Centurion, because neither of them is in any condition to be released. You can see them now, if you like, but they’ll all need at least ten days’ rest if their wounds are to heal cleanly. Now if you’ll excuse me…’
The two men exchanged glances. Excingus raised an eyebrow at the doctor’s departing back, nudging his comrade in the ribs.
‘Just the way you like ’em, eh? High spirited and ripe for breaking in?’
The praetorian shook his head with a wry expression, and waved a dismissive hand.
‘Not that one. There’d be a dozen nearly recovered soldiers in our faces if I so much as laid a finger on her. She’d be more trouble than she could ever be worth.’
His partner nodded sagely.
‘I’m sure you’re right. You’d better go and have a few words with your men, then, hadn’t you? Tell them we’ll collect them on the way south once we’ve dealt with the Aquila boy. I’ll go and do some research on the quality of the wine in the officers’ mess.’
Rapax waved him away in mock disgust and strolled down the hospital building’s narrow corridor, peering into each small ward in turn until he saw a face he recognised. The guardsman in question smiled wanly at his centurion, saluting despite the fact that he was sitting in bed with heavy bandages swathing his right thigh. The centurion looked around the four beds, finding two of them vacant and the last one inhabited by a heavyset bearded man who was fast asleep, a thin line of drool staining his pillow. Rapax squatted by his soldier’s bed, keeping his voice low to avoid waking the sleeping man.
‘How are you, then, my lad? Got the arrow out in one piece, did they?’
The guardsman nodded, holding up the iron arrowhead that had been buried deep in the muscle of his thigh earlier that day.
‘Nice job she made of it, gave me some sort of honey mixture and I hardly felt a thing. Hurts a lot now, though…’ He bent closer to the centurion, beckoning with his hand to bring his officer’s head closer to his mouth, whispering despite the lack of anyone else in the room to hear his words. ‘There’s some right chatty lads in here with us. Tungrians. Wounded at some big fight in the hills a few days ago, just starting to get their wits back about them and happy to talk the day away, if a man’s willing to listen.’ Rapax nodded silently. Having enough intelligence to know when to keep his mouth shut had been part of the reason he had recruited the wounded guardsman in the first place. ‘Anyway, it seems that the lady doctor is a very close friend of one of their centurions and has been all summer, ever since he arrived from Rome. A centurion by the name of Corvus.’
Rapax raised an eyebrow in appreciation of the news, patting his man on the shoulder.
‘Very good work. I’ll make a point of coming back for you once we’ve found this “Corvus” and put him where he belongs. For now you just concentrate on getting that wound healed. You’re no use to me if you’re not fit for battle.’
The praetorian nodded proudly, happy to have his officer’s favour.
‘I heard you were having a look at their prisoners. Found anyone worth recruiting?’
The centurion shrugged.
‘I might have, it’s too early to tell. There’s one big lad that might have the makings, if I can be sure he’ll do what he’s told. He’s quick enough with a blade from the sound of it…’
‘And you’ll have fun finding out?’
Rapax met his man’s knowing look with a slight smile.
‘Don’t I always?’
Marcus and Arminius rode south at a brisk trot once they were out of sight of Alauna’s walls, and able to use the road again. After an hour’s riding they reached the spot where they had taken lunch, and Marcus reined his horse in, struck by a sudden impulse.
‘Let’s ride over to the spot where we captured Lugos.’
Arminius raised an eyebrow.
‘You have a soft spot for the man, it seems.’
‘I respect the man’s courage…’
The barbarian shrugged his agreement, and the pair turned their horses off the road and cantered out to the copse where they had destroyed the desperate Selgovae remnant earlier that day. After fifteen minutes’ riding into the late afternoon sun’s glare Marcus spotted the lone warrior, and altered his horse’s direction slightly.
‘There he is. He doesn’t seem to have moved since we left him, though…’
Lugos looked up as the riders cantered up to where he stood, then returned his gaze to the rough grave he had dug for his brother in the intervening period. Marcus and Arminius dismounted and stood facing him in silence, both men unwilling to break the grieving warrior’s intent focus on his brother’s last resting place.
‘Was younger brother. Was five summers younger. No family left now
…’ Marcus watched in grim silence as a single tear ran down the barbarian’s cheek. ‘Nothing left now. Death come soon.’
Arminius snorted, shaking his head.
‘Very true. There are several thousand soldiers not far away over there…’ He pointed at the setting sun. ‘… any one of whom will be delighted to claim your head, but that’s only if you get lucky. Worse than that, they might not kill you, they might just take a big lad like you for a slave. If you stay here you’re likely to end up cutting down trees or digging for silver on starvation rations for the rest of your life.’
Marcus stepped round the grave’s earth mound and stood face to face with the grieving warrior.
‘He’s right. If you stay here you will end up in a work gang, that or you’ll be transported so far from your homeland that this place will be no more than a distant memory for the rest of your days. Come with us. We have other men like you serving with us, men who have been betrayed by Calgus. We can find a place for you, I’m sure of it.’
Lugos lifted his head and looked at the Roman with disbelief.
‘Fight for Rome?’
Marcus shook his head.
‘No, for yourself, and for others like you. We have one more job to do, before the winter sets in. We have to free the Dinpaladyr from Calgus’s men.’
‘Men like Harn?’
‘Yes.’
The barbarian was silent for a long moment.
‘And Alauna? Tell you, Harn insult goddess. You fight for Alauna?’
Arminius laughed again, a deep chuckle this time.
‘Already he’s bargaining with you. I like this man!’
Marcus smiled wryly at the warrior, raising an eyebrow.
‘I expect my tribune is going to want to deal with Harn and his men before we march north. Although just how we’re going to get inside those walls is beyond me.’
To his surprise, Lugos snorted derisively.
‘You forget lesson from Carvetii fort. Get inside not the problem.’
Tribune Licinius stood on the slopes of the hill overlooking the former Roman fortress of Three Mountains, his horse happily cropping the lush grass while he gazed down at the abandoned fort below.
‘The buildings have all been burned out all right, but the walls still look stout enough. I suppose Calgus was in too much of a hurry to get south to do anything other than torch the place and keep moving, which has played well enough for him now that he’s forced to fall back on…’
He stopped in mid-sentence, pointing down at a huddle of men toiling at something outside the fort’s walls.
‘You’ve got better eyes than me. What in Hades do you think they’re doing?’
The decurion at his side squinted down at the warriors on the flat ground five hundred feet below them.
‘It looks like they’re… digging? Yes, they’re definitely trying to unearth something. There, that group are dragging something up from their pit. It looks like… like…’
‘Like a sack full of salted meat, perhaps?’ Licinius’s voice was rich with irony. The decurion looked round at him, uncertain of his meaning. ‘And there was me thinking that Calgus had met his match, that he’d lost his edge in the face of our overwhelming force. Just one day later I discover that not only does he have enough wits left about him to guide a Venicone warband clean out of the trap we’ve laid for them, but he also had the foresight not very long ago to have food stored here, just in case he was forced to retreat this way. King Drust had best be very careful that he hasn’t got a snake by the tail.’
Rapax strolled up to the north gate to find his man waiting with the two released prisoners, both men fully equipped with arms and armour and sporting pensive looks.
‘Well, well, Smartarse and Granny Fucker, don’t you both look pretty.’ He nodded to the guardsman. ‘Very good. The stores didn’t give you any problems, then?’
The guardsman grimaced, shaking his head dismissively.
‘If you’ve met one storeman, you’ve met them all. A touch of the whip always has them running.’
Rapax smiled knowingly.
‘Good, well done. Right, you two, let’s go for a little walk, shall we?’
He led the three men through the gate, ignoring the surprised looks from the soldiers on guard at the sight of such a small party walking out on to what was, for the time being, tribal ground, and opened out his stride once the wicket gate was closed behind them.
‘Come along, then, the pair of you, let’s see how fit you are.’
Half an hour later, marching to the east after the long climb from Noisy Valley to meet the military road that ran along the line of the Wall, and with both men panting horribly under the unaccustomed load of their weapons and armour, he allowed their pace to fall back to a normal march, enjoying the burning sensation in his calves after so long without proper exercise.
‘Feeling a bit tired, are we, gentlemen? Perhaps we ought to take a breather. Follow me!’ He led them away from the road, and through the trees until he found a small clearing that would suit his purpose perfectly. ‘Let’s stop here for a little while, shall we? Relax. Take the load off your feet. There’s no need for ceremony now, you’ve shown that you can drive along at the forced march with a full load, so just take it easy for a moment or two.’
He watched the two soldiers out of the corner of his eye as they slumped to the ground, both allowing their shields and helmets to lie on the grass, while the guardsman stayed on his feet and with a hand on his spear, knowing what was coming. The rapist lay back on the ground, dragging his breath in noisily with his eyes closed, while the murderer sat with his back against a fallen tree and his eyes searching the clearing, clearly equally exhausted but retaining enough awareness of his surroundings to have a curious eye on the centurion stood before him.
‘So, soldiers, a rude reintroduction to the military pace, eh? Feeling nicely exercised, are we? Ready for your next test?’
The murderer’s eyes narrowed, while his fellow convict lifted his head slightly to look up at the officer. Rapax smiled broadly, enjoying himself for the first time in several days.
‘Your next test, gentlemen, is very simple. It is a test of your stamina, your skill at arms, but most of all it is a test of how well you listen and how well you respond to orders. The instructions for the test are very simple, but you’re only going to hear them once so fucking listen!’ The murderer tensed his body, ready to jump to his feet, while the rapist propped himself up on his elbows, looking puzzled at the sudden change in Rapax’s demeanour.
‘I’ve brought you both here for a reason, you maggots. For your next test there is only one instruction, and that is that very soon one of you is going to be the last man standing, while the other one is going to be a bleeding corpse. Go to it!’
He stepped back from them, watching the comprehension forming on the rapist’s face even as the murderer pulled the sword from his belt and threw himself full length across the clearing to punch the blade through his rival’s armour, and deep into his guts. He smiled quietly with the doomed man’s first scream of outraged agony, watching as the victorious soldier ripped the blade free and thrust it into the rapist’s throat to finish him off, a thick stream of blood bubbling in the dying man’s windpipe. The victor stood up and turned to face him, his face fixed in the snarl that he had worn from the second that the meaning of Rapax’s instructions had sunk into his brain. The centurion stepped forward into sword-reach without a hint of concern and took the bloody weapon out of his hands, patting him on his blood-spattered cheek.
‘Good boy! Maximus, wasn’t it? I think you’re going to be rather good at this.’
Calgus smiled quietly to himself as the first load of meat was carried in through the shattered fort’s empty gate arches. Drust was standing alongside him, with a look on his face that combined irritation and relief.
‘Well, Drust, there’s my end of the bargain satisfied. I took the cavalry off your back for long enough to get into the shelter of these walls without any further attacks, I led you to the one place for fifty miles where you can hold off an army, never mind a few hundred tired horsemen, and I’ve provided you with enough meat to put your men back on their feet ready to deal with anything those fools can throw at you tomorrow. I trust I can now depend on you to keep to your word, and that I’ll be safe with your tribe for as long as I seek shelter with you?’
The Venicone leader nodded his assent, watching as his men lugged their heavy burdens into the fort and dropped them in front of the waiting warriors.
‘You’ll have a place with us for as long as you wish, provided you keep yourself to yourself. If I get any hint that you’re making the slightest attempt to undermine me, however, I’ll have you nailed up for the Romans to find when we leave this place. Do we have an understanding?’
Calgus nodded slowly.
‘Yes, Drust, I think we understand each other perfectly. And when will we be leaving?’
The Venicone king looked about him, as if taking stock of the fort’s stout stone walls.
‘You buried enough meat to feed every man here for days, and the river will provide for our water needs, so I see no need to break camp until the day after tomorrow at the earliest. Those cavalry fools can stand on that hill and stare down at us all they like, they’ll never dare to try forcing their way in here with so few men. Perhaps they’ll get bored and leave us in peace…’ He paused, looking quizzically at Calgus’s face. ‘What?’
The other man shrugged.
‘Nothing really, I was just wondering if there might be some value in sending out a few of your sharper men after dark to have a quiet look at their encampment. With a little bit of luck they might even take a captive.’
Drust nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows in appreciation of the idea.
‘A Roman prisoner. Information and sport for my men, something to take their minds off their surroundings. You might have something there.’
The sun was well below the western horizon by the time Marcus and his companions had found the detachment’s overnight camp, and another hour passed while he made sure that his horse was fed and watered and sought out Martos.
‘Prince Martos, there is a man I would have you meet. I found him wandering on the plain today, and took him into my custody rather than leave him to his fate, and in return he gave me news that I believe you’ll want to hear.’
The Votadini nodded his agreement, and Marcus waved a hand at Arminius, who was lurking near by with Lugos, and the German escorted the reluctant Selgovae to Marcus’s side. He nodded gravely to Martos.
‘Greetings, Prince Martos. I trust that Two Knives here has told you the story of our hunt today, and how we ended up adopting this stray warrior to save him from sitting out on the plain until some undeserving soldier either took his head or sold him into slavery?’
Martos looked at Marcus, tipping his head to one side, then looked up at the silent Lugos, taking stock of the massive warrior’s bloodstained clothing.
‘I have the feeling that there is more to this story than you’ve told me so far…’
Marcus took hold of the Selgovae’s right arm and turned it over to display his legion prisoner brand.
‘We came across a party of men this morning on the plain, and rode them down, all bar Lugos here. I recognised him at the last moment as a man I fought with some weeks ago, while he was a captive of the Sixth Legion, and put my spear up. He tells me that he was forced into a warband by Calgus’s men, and that he managed to escape in the confusion last night. The rest of the…’
He stopped, realising that Martos’s face had taken on a hostile cast.
‘This man is Selgovae?’
‘Yes, but…’
The Votadini prince bridled with anger, putting a hand to his sword.
‘You bring a warrior from the sworn enemies of my tribe to me, and expect him to be welcome at my fire? When his fellow warriors are busy plundering my tribe’s home, and destroying my life!?’
Lugos took a step back, and for a moment Marcus tensed ready to unsheathe his own weapons, but Arminius put a heavy hand out and clamped it over the prince’s sword hand.
‘I suggest you listen to what the man has to say. Then judge how you should act.’
Martos stared into his eyes for a long moment before shrugging off his grip, and placing both hands on his hips.
‘Very well. Speak, Selgovae, but do not expect to find me sympathetic to your tale. Your tribe has done more hurt to me and mine than a lifetime of retribution will put right.’
Lugos looked at Marcus and then shrugged, speaking in the language shared by the tribes.
‘I understand. The Selgovae tribe has done many wrongs in one short summer. This man has every right to be angry for it is true, Calgus did murder his king.’ He bowed to the bristling Votadini prince. ‘Prince Martos, I went to war the first time of my own choosing, happy to fight the Romans and force them to leave our land, but I saw things in the first few days of our war that made me sad for my brothers. Death without reason, and things that would make our goddess turn her head away. Now a Selgovae warband has marched into Alauna, a holy place. They can only bring more disgrace on the Selgovae people, and I want nothing to do with this. More than that, I will do whatever I must to rid the shrine of their defilement.’
‘Alauna?’ Martos closed his eyes in despair, then opened them and turned to Marcus with fire in his eyes. ‘Alauna is a sacred place, and long accustomed to the protection of your soldiers. A warband of any size will rip into the inhabitants and find no resistance worthy of the name. We must march on them tomorrow, and put an end to whatever suffering they are inflicting on my people!’
Marcus nodded.
‘Agreed, but easier said than done. The fort at Alauna is intact, and it appears that they are strong enough to mount an effective defence. Tribune Scaurus will want the threat removed before he passes north, but he won’t be able to ignore the fact that the time he can give to doing so is limited. Lugos here, however, has an idea as to how we might be able to resolve this problem in a swift and suitably bloody manner – if you’re willing to play a part that might not come naturally to you and your men.’
The detachment’s command conference was in full swing, and Tribune Scaurus’s tent filled with officers by the time Marcus managed to disengage himself from the discussion between Martos, Arminius and Lugos. He stopped inside the doorway, saluted and turned to leave, intending to return at a quieter time to explain his proposal to his tribune, but Scaurus waved him into the gathering, calling for a chair.
‘You’ve arrived at just the right time, Centurion Corvus! Perhaps you can tell us what’s happening on the other side of the hill?’
Taking the offered seat, the weary centurion told the assembled officers the story of the day’s events with a swift economy, watching the faces of the men around him as he outlined the likely fate of those of Alauna’s inhabitants who had failed to flee. First Spear Canutius seemed unconcerned, unlike Frontinius and Neuto, who had both clearly served in the fort at some time or other to judge from the sick expressions both took on as the point of his story became clear. Unexpectedly, the first man to speak was Tribune Laenas.
‘We should bypass this insignificant band and leave them to their own devices, Scaurus. Our duty is clearly to push on to the north and storm this “Dinpaladyr” place. Any delay or detour might be construed as a failure to do that duty.’
Scaurus turned his head to look at his colleague, realising with amazed anger that the man was serious.
‘Any man that accused me of any shyness with regard to my duty would stand need of both a sword and the skill to use it, Tribune Laenas. I’ve got ten years of service on the frontier with Germania, and my scars are all on the front of my body.’
The legion officer reddened and looked down at the floor after barely a second’s withering stare from his temporary superior. His first spear smirked slightly, and Marcus found himself scowling at the centurion in disgust.
‘My, ah, apologies, Scaur… Tribune Scaurus, I sought in no way to impugn either your record or your willingness to do your duty.’
Scaurus waved the apology away, looking slightly guilty at having browbeaten his colleague in the presence of their respective subordinates.
‘Forget it, colleague, I know the spirit in which you spoke and I agree, we can’t afford to spend any time camped out round five hundred barbarians when there’s a tribal capital we’re under orders to free. But I will not simply pass by and leave the inhabitants of Alauna to their fate. Nor can I leave five hundred Selgovae warriors loose in our rear, for that matter. You’ve seen the fort, Centurion Corvus, was there anything that sprang to mind with regard to getting in without a long siege?’
Marcus shook his head.
‘No, sir, there’s no quick way in without the legion’s artillery to bang a hole in the walls. If the warband chooses to stand and fight, it could take us days to get men on the walls, and we already know that the Selgovae will fight like cornered rats. But somebody said something to me during the ride here that’s making more sense every time I think the problem over. Perhaps getting in isn’t the real problem?’
An hour or so later, with the last details of their plan for the following day agreed, Scaurus wearily dismissed the officers to their cohorts. As he’d half guessed would be the case, Laenas waited in his place while the others filed out, a penitent expression on his face. Raising a hand to forestall any apology, Scaurus shook his head.
‘No, colleague, it’s me that should be apologising. I was hasty and overbearing with you in front of our brother officers, and I should have reacted differently. I know you meant no harm by what you said… although you might reflect on a better way to have made the point?’
Laenas nodded glumly.
‘I know I was wrong, Rutilius Scaurus, and truly it’s me that must make amends. You had every right to be angry. I all but accused you of cowardice. Being the son of a powerful and outspoken man doesn’t make for the best training in diplomacy.’
Scaurus shrugged, putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
‘Well said, and best we just both forget the whole thing. Our men will be looking to us to show a united command, given the risks we’re going to be taking over the next few days. Let’s try to give them what they need, eh?’
With the sun beneath the horizon, and the warband’s watch fires burning brightly at all corners of the fort’s walls, half a dozen men slipped quietly through the fort’s north gate, on the side facing away from the Roman camp. Their faces were darkened with mud, and their swords were strapped to their backs to leave both hands free without the risk of a scabbard catching on a rock or tree, and betraying them with unexpected noise. Moving slowly and silently, they eased around the fort’s walls until they reached the southwest corner, pausing for a moment to get their bearings under the night sky’s diamond-strewn vault before loping away towards the nearest of the three massive hills that stood guard over the Roman outpost.
Calgus ran with them, dragging the cold night air into his lungs with the delight of a man who had stood close to death only a day before. Drust had acceded to his suggestion that his local knowledge would be invaluable to the raiders with some reluctance, but had seen little choice once he realised the importance to Calgus’s tribe of the mountains towering over their refuge.
‘The hill closest to these walls was the Selgovae’s tribal capital, Drust, before the Romans ever set foot on this land, and I know it as well as I know the lines on the back of my own hand. Allow me to guide the raiding party and I will take them around to the far side of the enemy camp, where the cavalrymen will walk without fear of attack behind the wall of their spears. I am your best hope of this night resulting in the capture of a suitable subject for our questions, rather than the loss of half a dozen of your men to no effect.’
The small party crossed the open space between the shattered fort and the hill’s ancient and deserted settlement at a steady pace, every man alert to any sign of a Roman patrol, or for any hint that they might be the hunted rather than the hunters, but they reached the slopes of the northernmost of the three hills without either incident or alarm. Calgus took the lead, keeping their path close to the settlement’s rotting wooden palisade in order to make the best use of its looming moon shadow, padding carefully through the darkness with one eye to the east where the Petriana wing’s camp had been thrown up that afternoon. The Roman watch fires lit the camp’s earth walls perfectly when seen from the hill’s elevated perspective, and Calgus stopped the raiding party to point out in whispered tones the side from which he intended making their approach.
‘You see, to their north they have men patrolling every fifty paces, all watching the men to either side? To attempt abduction there is to cut our own throats, they’ll have a hundred men on top of us in no time. To the south, though…’
The Venicone warriors gathered around him followed his pointing arm. The camp’s southern face was far less well guarded, with only the occasional patrolling soldier to be seen.
‘We circle round to the place where the shadows lie deepest, and then we set up a lure and wait for a Roman to take the bait that we offer. I know these men, and the way they think, and I know how to bring one of them to us in complete silence for the sake of his own greed. Follow me.’
Centurion Cyrus stood in the knot of men facing Tribune Licinius as the Petriana’s commander addressed them in the torchlit area in front of his command tent.
‘It may be time to face the facts, gentlemen. The Venicones have wriggled out of the trap we set for them, with the aid of that devious bugger Calgus, and now they sit pretty behind walls that used to be our stronghold, with food and water enough to see them through tomorrow from the looks of it. They could hold Three Mountains against a force three times our strength without breaking sweat, and they may well be capable of outlasting us here. So, we can stay camped here and keep them bottled up in the fort, until the time comes for them to drive for the north again, or we can leave them to it and head south to join the rest of the army in putting down the Brigantes. I suspect that the latter choice might well be a good deal more satisfying than sitting here waiting for the buggers to do something.’ He looked around the twenty or so decurions gathered about him, spreading his hands in invitation. ‘Any views, gentlemen, before I make the decision?’
One of the more headstrong decurions spoke out quickly, hardly waiting for the sound of his tribune’s voice to die away.
‘They’ve killed more than enough of our men. I say we stay with the bastards to the end, until they fall to their knees with hunger and pray for a quick death!’
A few other members of the group nodded, although Licinius could see a larger number whose faces were creased in frowns. He raised a hand to the most influential of them, inviting him to speak.
‘Titus?’
The decurion in question, a good ten years older than the first speaker, stepped forward a pace and looked about his brother officers with a hard stare.
‘I say we leave these dunghill vermin to fester in their own shit. They are too many for us to take unaided, they mean nothing now that they seek only to run for the safety of their own land, and we can only throw more men after those we’ve already lost if we seek to pursue them further. To the south our own people may be in peril from the Brigantes, and my choice would be to ride to their aid, rather than to sit here watching these tattooed animals thumb their noses at us.’
He stepped back, his face flushed red with the unaccustomed attention, and a number of the older officers nodded and spoke quiet encouragement to him. Licinius opened his mouth to speak, but the words died as a third officer raised his hand to speak, waiting until his tribune had gestured for him to continue.
‘Cyrus?’
The man stepped forward, pushing through the throng of his brother officers into the torchlight.
‘Tribune, I say we have a third choice. Yes, we can ride to the south and war with the Brigantes, or stay here and ride herd on this rabble a while longer. Or we could, should we choose to do so, head to the north-east, and provide support to our brothers who have ridden with the Tungrians…’ Licinius’s eyes widened slightly with surprise, unclear as to what motivation the officer speaking might possibly have. ‘… After all, they’ve been sent north to liberate the Votadini tribal capital with barely sufficient strength for the task, and our speed and spears would doubtless be highly valued by their officers.’
The men around him were clearly equally as surprised as their tribune, and a moment of astonished silence hung over the group before Licinius spoke again, a faint smile gracing his face.
‘So, gentlemen, we could stay here and hope to catch the Venicones in some error, or we could go south to a fight we know is even now raging across the northern frontier. And yes, we could even ride to aid the Tungrians in the liberation of the Dinpaladyr. Since there’s no clear opinion in the room to which we can all cleave, I will consider the question overnight and tell you my opinion in the morning. Thank you and dismissed. Decurion Cyrus, a word, if you will?’
The tribune waited until the other officers had all left before speaking again, walking across to stand close to Cyrus, his voice kept low to ensure that his words remained between them.
‘I would have found the words “Support our brothers the Tungrians” a little hard to swallow coming from almost any of my officers, but to hear them coming from you was downright amazing. Have you been at the Falernian? Or is there some other piece of information you might like to share with me?’
The decurion kept his face imperturbable, shaking his head in response to the question. His answer was delivered in stiff, formal tones, his gaze locked on the tent’s canvas wall.
‘No, sir. I’m simply aware that there’s a third of our strength out there to the north-east with the infantry, and since we’re here anyway…’
Licinius held his questioning gaze for several seconds before turning away.
‘And you’d be sure to tell me if there were anything you felt I needed to know?’
His subordinate nodded firmly.
‘Of course, sir.’
The tribune walked around him slowly, his eyes fixed on the other man.
‘Good. It’s just that I still have the feeling that there’s something I’m missing here, some reason why you’d want me to march the wing to join the Tungrians. And with your reputation for being a man of substance, a man with an eye to the main chance…’
He stopped in front of Cyrus, looking him up and down.
‘One last chance, Decurion, and with no disrespect to your previous answers which I will happily overlook on this occasion should you choose to change your story. You really have nothing more to tell me?’
The decurion simply shook his head, never meeting his superior’s gaze.
‘Very well, off you go. Just bear in mind the way I’m likely to react if I discover that you’ve been keeping anything from me.’
Calgus led the Venicone warriors silently round to the Petriana camp’s southern side, keeping to the darkest shadows and moving with a slow, cautious stealth calculated to avoid their being detected by any listening patrols the Romans might have out in the scrubland that surrounded their turf walls. When he judged that they had reached the optimum spot for their purposes, less than fifty paces from the patrolling sentry closest to them, he halted the group wordlessly and indicated that they were to spread out a few paces and take cover. Taking a silver pendant from his neck, he swiftly tied its leather cord to a tree branch, and silently stripped away any vegetation that would obstruct its line of sight to the men patrolling the camp’s walls. He outlined his plan to the Venicones in a harsh whisper.
‘When one of them comes to take this trinket, we will wait until he is in the act of removing it from the branch, then hit him from all sides. You,’ he pointed to the warrior Maon, whose blow had flattened him during the Roman attack on his camp, ‘you knock him senseless and put him over your shoulder, and then you all follow me away from here. We should be well away by the time they even notice that there’s anyone missing, and by then it’ll be far too late.’
Maon frowned.
‘What if more than one of them comes for your bait?’
Calgus simply shrugged, tapping the hilt of his sword.
‘Take whichever of them goes for the pendant, and put anyone else to your iron. We only need one.’
He reached up and spun the silver disc on its cord until the leather had a dozen or more turns to unwind, feeling the tension fighting his fingers.
‘Ready?’
The men around him all nodded somberly, realising that they were about to lure a dangerous prey to them, and Calgus released the disc and allowed it to spin freely, the polished metal flickering as the moon’s pale light reflected from its whirring surfaces. Sliding into the cover of a bush, he stared through its foliage at the Roman he could see standing guard on the camp’s western entry, willing him to look up and see the disc’s silver twinkle in the darkness that surrounded them.
Cyrus strode from the tent with his face set stone hard, seething inwardly at the tribune’s words and fearful of the potential consequences of his own failure to confess the prize that he still hoped would be his, despite the urge to tell his superior officer the full story. That fool Octavius had no idea of what he was capable of doing, or he would never have allowed him within a hundred miles of the deal, whether he was short of ready coin or not. Ignoring the sentry standing solitary guard on the camp’s western gate, he pulled off his helmet and its felt liner in order to allow the night’s cold air to take the itch from his sweat-sodden hair. No, he would find whatever idiot soldier was willing to sell the torc to the stores officer for a pittance and double the offer Octavius had made him, cutting the halfwit storeman out of the deal at a stroke. There would be no intermediaries between the frontier and Rome, just a two-year wait for his discharge and then a leisurely journey to the heart of the empire. He would have plenty of time to find the right man to broker the sale of the Venicone king’s badge of authority to a wealthy collector on his behalf, and his presence and the story that he was the man who had hacked the barbarian king’s head from his shoulders would help to ensure that the price paid would be a steep one. He could comfortably expect a hundred thousand from the sale, he estimated, enough money to… He snapped out of his reverie as the flicker of something shiny in the bushes to his right caught his eye and turned back to the sentry, ignoring the fact that the man looked half asleep.
‘Stay here, keep your mouth shut and keep your fucking eyes peeled. There’s something in the undergrowth and I’m going for a look.’
Pulling his helmet back on, he strode towards the spot where he’d seen the momentary flash of light, drawing his sword and scanning the ground around him suspiciously before returning his gaze to whatever it was that was hanging from the tree, now less than ten paces from where he paused to look around and sniff the air. He could see it now, a disc of metal hanging from a low branch.
‘Must have snagged when the bastards came through, or been left as a marker and got forgotten. Their loss…’
The decurion sidled forward with his sword ready to strike and his other hand outstretched to take the object from its resting place, his attention fixed on the trinket. He didn’t see the massive Venicone warrior who rose silently from the ground to his rear, an axe handle gripped in one huge fist, or even suspect the trap until the last second, with the rush of air as the stave’s heavy shaft swept round in a vicious arc that ended with a thunderous impact with his helmet, smashing him to the ground despite the protection of its iron plate. Scrabbling disjointedly at the ground beneath him, shakily attempting to get back to his feet in defiance of his reeling senses, he felt another pulverising impact land on the helmet, and then knew nothing more.