We left our horses with the rest of the troop, and headed for Tavaside on foot, forded the river at the first shallows, and followed down the further side, striking inland after a while, and making good use of every scrap of cover. Suddenly Curithir dived into a bramble thicket and went to work on a tangle of dead bracken and thorn branches, like a dog digging up a bone.
The man he uncovered with a satisfied grunt lay face down; it was growing dusk, but there was still light enough to see the dark stain between his shoulder blades where the spear had gone in.
‘Roll him over,’ the Decurian said.
I stooped, and heaved him on to his back. His body had had time to stiffen, and he came over all in one like a wooden figure. He was yellow-haired, with pale eyes. He wore the kind of rough, dark clothes that might have come from anywhere and would not show up against an autumn hillside, but on both his wrists were heavy gold arm-rings of a kind that were strange to me. And still clutched in one hand was a green hazel branch scarcely touched with yellow. It must have been quite a task to find one still so green at that time of year.
‘So-o, a herald,’ the Decurian said. ‘And Saxon, sure enough. Curithir, why did you kill him?’
‘Because of another thing I saw.’
‘And what thing was that?’
But Curithir was telling his story in his own way. ‘A thing! And I followed him, and he went toward the Hall of Bruide the High King, with a herald’s green branch in his hand, and in secret; and it came into my heart that it was maybe better he did not reach the High King.’
‘And so you made sure.’
‘And so I made sure, and came to tell you.’ Curithir showed his teeth like a dog.
‘How did you know where to find me?’ Decurian Rufus was not one to let loose ends lying.
Curithir raised one finger in the air and blew on it delicately. ‘Not a beetle crawls on a blade of grass, that the Little Dark People do not know.’
‘Mithras! Why do we trouble to patrol these hills at all?’ said the Decurian, and returned to his original question: ‘What is this other thing that you saw?’
This time Curithir was ready to answer. ‘A ship – two ships. Not Roman!’
‘Where?’
‘Come; I show.’
We covered the dead man over again, quickly but carefully, and set off on the heels of our little savage. It was the first time I’d been up into Pictish country, though it wasn’t the last. And I still sweat cold when I think of that long stalk down Tavaside in the windy autumn dusk! It was well into the night when we came at last over the crest of a low ridge of hazel woods; and Curithir checked and reached back a warning hand to the Decurian who passed the silent warning on to me. We froze for a few moments, then dropped on to all-fours and oozed forward again, bellies to the ground. The moon, swimming out from the clouds, showed us a narrow inlet, well shielded from the open river – hazel and alder scrub growing right down to a pebbly shore, and on the shore, pulled up clear of the tide-line, the dark shapes of two long slim warboats, high at stem and stern. Figures moved on the beach, and someone spoke in a guttural tongue, and there was a breath of laughter, and then all was quiet again save for the wind hushing through the hazel scrub.
We all knew of the sea-raiders in the south, and the great forts that were being built against their attacks, along what was already beginning to be called the Saxon Shore; so there was no need to wonder what it was that we were looking at, down there.
The Decurian whispered: ‘Get back a bit.’
And we backed on our tracks. You don’t last long as a Frontier Wolf if you can’t learn to move quickly and quietly in the wilderness, backwards as well as forwards, and Rufus and I could move almost as silently as Curithir himself. Not a dry grass stalk rustled, not a leaf stirred except in the wind as we melted back over the brow of the ridge. And in a small sheltered hollow on the far side, we checked again, and spoke together, quickly and at half-breath.
‘So the Sea Wolves are creeping north,’ I said.
‘Aye, seeking to join spears with the Picts – or the Picts with the Sea Wolves. Against us, either way,’ Decurian Rufus said. ‘And the question is, how long will they wait, down there, for their herald to return with the High King’s answer – or his summons – or whatever it is they wait for.’
Curithir spoke for the first time. ‘For all that they can know, the High King may be sick or on the hunting trail. Many things may delay a herald. It is in my mind that they will wait at least a night and a day, and then another night, before they do any other thing. And in that time they will not break cover, lest news of their coming should spread south of the river and reach the ears of the Red Crests.’
(‘Red Crests’ is the name the Little Dark Folk give to all the Roman army.)
‘If you are right, that should give us time enough,’ the Decurian said, ‘and we must just pray to all the Gods there be that the Painted People do not find them for themselves, meanwhile. Lucius, get back to the rest, quick as you can make it. Report to Bericus and give him my orders to send a man back to Credigone for reinforcements – all they can spare, I doubt it will be more than a couple of troops – and bring the rest of the patrol up to the fording place. Curithir shall be waiting there to bring them on to me here. For yourself, pick up your own horse and get down to Inveresk. Take this ring of mine to the Commander of the fort to vouch for you – and request a couple of scouting galleys to cut off any retreat from the seaward side. Understood?’
I said, ‘And, you, Sir?’
‘I stay here to keep an eye on the quarry. Understood?’
‘Understood, Sir,’ I said.
‘Away with you, then, and good luck!’
I needed it! If the outward stalk was bad, the return was worse. Gods! I’d not do it again for half a year’s pay! But I got back to the waiting patrol at last, and passed on the Decurian’s orders. I picked up my own horse, and, with the moon still high in the ragged sky, set off for the naval station at Inveresk.
I’d the best part of forty miles ahead of me, down to the Bodotria crossing, more than thirty on to Inveresk, and it was setting in for a night of wind and rain, the kind that doesn’t make for speed. Soon we were travelling half-blind into the bared teeth of the storm; and after the moon went down, the night was as black as the inside of a wolf’s belly. But Phaedrus and I both knew those hills as though they were part of us, and he never slackened speed up hill or down. Aye, he was the best horse I ever had, and I came near to breaking him that night.
He was sobbing for breath as we headed down at last into the level country north of the Firth and was beginning to reel in his tracks. I fondled his neck and made much of him, shouted to him above the wind and rain, ‘Hold up, boy, not long now! Warm stable soon and hot mash! Hold on, old hero!’ And he flicked back his ears for the sound of my voice and plunged valiantly on.
We turned westward, keeping the faint paleness of the Bodotria Firth on our left – water shows pale, even on the darkest night – and after that it was somewhat easier going, with the wind behind us; and well before the end of the third watch, we came down to the military ferry, and saw the glimmer of firelight through the guard-hut doorway.
I slipped from Phaedrus’ back, shouting before my feet were on the ground: ‘Ferry! Guard ho!’
They tumbled out, sleepy and cursing. I never knew the ferry guard yet that didn’t regard it as a personal affront if anyone wished to use the ferry. But I’d no time for their grumbles. I thrust Phaedrus upon the first corner: ‘Here, take my horse and see to him. Give him a hot mash, he’s about done. Boatman, quickly, man! I must be in Inveresk by dawn!’
The boatman came, and the light, skin-clad corough was run down into the water. I climbed aboard, and the boatman bent to the paddle. It was a choppy crossing, and a slow one. But we made it at last, and I got a fresh horse on the further side – they kept a few there, for it was a posting station in those days – and was on my way again. Again the loneliness of night and st
orm and horse’s hooves, but now at least there was a road to guide me, which was as well, for I was almost past finding the way for myself, if the post horse hadn’t known it.
I got another remount at the Cramond fort; and with the first sullen streaks of a low dawn showing yellow over the firth, I was beating on the gates of the naval fort.
‘Open, in Caesar’s name!’
Inside, I heard the sounds of the Gate Guard turning out, and from overhead, the sentry’s challenge: ‘Who comes?’
I shouted back: ‘Frontier Scout from Credigone garrison, with urgent word for the Commander.’
Inside there was a barked order. The gates swung open just wide enough to let a horse and rider through, and the Optio of the Gate Guard stood in my path.
‘What word for the Commander? Not being a night owl nor yet a wolf, the Commander doesn’t hold with being hauled out of bed this early without a good reason.’
‘There’s reason enough,’ I said, dismounting. ‘I’ve not come down from Tavaside through the night and half killed a good horse under me to tell him it’s a foul morning.’
‘The reason first,’ he said.
So I gave it him, and watched his eyes widen in the light of the paling torches. ‘Saxon war-boats, beached where they’ve no business to be.’
There was a moment of silence; then he said to the man nearest to him: ‘Go and fetch the Duty Centurion.’
The Duty Centurion came, hitching at his sword belt, and a very short while later, I was in the Fort Commander’s quarters, standing before the Fort Commander himself with his hair on end and a cloak hastily flung on over his under-tunic.
I showed him Rufus’ ring, and made my report in as few words as possible. He looked at the ring closely, by the smoky light of the freshly lit oil-lamp, then nodded, and returned it.
‘So, the Sea Wolves have turned to Northern waters. Two ships, you say? And an envoy with a green branch?’
‘Reinforcements will be on their way from Credigone by now, Sir,’ I said urgently. ‘But I doubt there’ll be enough to handle two full fighting crews, and unless the Saxons can be cut off from the sea. . . .’
‘Yes, I do understand the situation.’ The Commander thrust his chair back screeching on the tiled floor, and got up. ‘Centurion Galba, the Thetis and Thunderer are ready for sea?’
The tall Centurion who had come in after me said, ‘And Orion, Sir.’
‘So, then we’ll send up the three of them. Notify their Trierarchs and the Centurions of Marines – Brother Wolf, could you recognize this inlet from the seaward side?’
‘Yes, Sir, I think so.’
‘Good! Then you will go with the Thunderer.’
I shook off somehow the leaden weight of weariness that had begun to settle down on me, making everything vaguely unreal, and managed a reasonable salute as I turned to follow Centurion Galba.
The next thing I knew at all clearly was the live feel of a galley’s deck under my feet. And after that there was a time of orderly confusion, of men hurrying, as it seemed to me, all ways at once, and trumpet calls, and shouted orders to cast off and out oars. The navy don’t waste time, I’ll say that for them, and before full daylight, Thunderer, Thetis and Orion were heading down the firth, the rowers swinging to their oars in time to the clack of the Hortator’s hammer. The galleys rose and dipped like gulls into the short choppy seas. I’d had no breakfast, and I wasn’t sorry.
The marine next to me said, cheeringly: ‘Wait till we meet open water! Thunderer’s the worst sea-boat in the Patrol Fleet – rolls like a farrowing sow!’
I groaned. It was bad enough in the firth. I didn’t want to know what it would be like outside.
‘Never been to sea before?’
I shook my head. ‘And I hope I never go to sea again. I’m a Frontier Wolf, not a Sea Wolf. Give me a horse between my knees and I’m fine – but this. . . .’
He laughed. ‘Och, the sea’s well enough when you get used to it, and talking of Frontier Wolves – where’s your wolfskin cloak?’
‘Still on the wolf who grew it,’ I said. ‘I’ve not had much time for hunting, yet, nor much luck when I’ve had the time.’
‘Ah, well!’ He stood, with his thumbs in his belt, balancing himself easily on the heaving deck, a man secure and comfortable in his own world. ‘Better luck with today’s kind of hunting, eh?’
But I was leaning over the rail, too busy getting rid of meals I couldn’t even remember eating to reply.
The wind had gone round, and all down the firth we had it behind us to help the rowers, and made good speed accordingly; but a while after noon, we were beating up round the Ness, the wind and tide setting against each other; then indeed, with our one sail reefed, I learned whether or not the Thunderer could roll! The misery of those hours seemed to stretch into an eternity of time. But at last the Ness was behind us, and the helmsman put the steering oar hard over, and we headed in towards the Firth of Tava; and then at least we were going with the seas and not across them. (‘Pull-pull-pull,’ sounded the Hortator’s hammer, and the galley ploughed forward to the swing of the oars.) After what had gone before, the motion seemed almost gentle. I think I even slept a little, miserably huddled in my cloak in the shelter of the bulwarks.
It was dusk when we gained the mouth of the Tava, and we went in, in line-abreast, in hope of sighting the Sea Wolves between us if they should be already making for open water; though the Gods knew how slim a hope that was, in the dusk and the driving rain-squalls! Soon enough – for of course we could show no lights – we were lost to sight of each other, and I’m thinking a full war-fleet could have slipped through our guard, and us none the wiser, in those first few miles before the firth began to narrow. Then Thetis and Orion loomed out of the murk again, and took station behind us, and Och! it was good to be in quiet water once more! And the Trierarch called me to join him and the Centurion in the prow.
‘You know all this coast,’ he said, when I stood beside him.
‘I’ve ridden the southern shore often enough – and looked northward across the river with my eyes open in my head.’
‘So, then keep them open in your head now. How far do you judge us to be from this inlet of yours?’
‘Four – five miles, maybe,’ I said. ‘It would be easier to be sure if the moon would break through this murk.’
‘I’m not doubting it,’ said the Centurion, ‘do the best you can.’
For a good way we slipped on up-river, and then the northern skyline began to take on a familiar shape that had for me the right ‘feel’ even in that stormy darkness. I suppose I tensed, like a hunting dog that scents the quarry, for the trierarch beside me said quickly: ‘Getting near?’
‘I think, getting very near,’ I said. But it was so hard to be sure. ‘If this is the bend of the river that I think it is – if I could see. . . .’
The Centurion’s voice sounded quick and quiet behind me. ‘Men – take up fighting order.’
And I heard the faint drilled sound of feet finding an exact position, and the jink of accoutrements, as the order was carried out.
The Thunderer nosed round the bluff that thrust out there into the river, and as the next stretch opened to us, I was sure!
‘Yes! Beyond the woods yonder – there, where the spur of the hillside breaks away.’
Almost in the same instant we heard the mating-call of a wolf, twice repeated, and from somewhere among the hazel woods where yesterday I had lain looking down at the Saxon galleys, a she-wolf answered.
‘Ours, or theirs?’ the Centurion asked at half breath.
‘Ours! I know the signal.’
And then we were edging over into the mouth of the inlet that had opened suddenly in the northern shoreline. The wind and the hiss of the next rain-squall covered the dip of our oars; and there, ahead of us, against the dark fleece of hazel and alder scrub, was the glim of a shielded light, and shapes moving on the paler darkness of the water.
I let my breath go in a
small sigh; and the trierarch answered as though I had spoken. ‘Aye, and making ready for sea, by the look of it. Trumpeter – sound the Attack!’
The trumpet yelped through the wind and rain, and the galley leapt forward as the rowers bent to their oars and drove her through the water. I felt her like a live thing under me, gathering herself to spring. The Trierarch’s shouted order followed hard on the echo of the trumpet: ‘Stand by to ram! – Now!’
We bore down upon the nearest of the dark shapes. There was a grinding crash, and the Thunderer shuddered from stem to stern as the bronze-sheathed ram went home. We backed water, shaking off our kill, and, in the same instant, it was as though all Tartarus broke loose.
It was an odd sort of fight, fought out part on shipboard, part in the shallows under the bank, for, after the rams had done their work, half of us went overboard to meet the Saxons in the water, while three patrols of the Frontier Wolves came yelling down through the hazel scrub to take them from the shoreward side. The Sea Wolves fought like heroes, I’ll give them that. And soon there was light to fight by – the red glare of burning warboats – for, seeing the thing hopeless, they must have fired their own keels, rather than let the rammed hulks fall into our hands. Aye, and the flare of them might like enough have brought the Picts down on us at any moment! Maybe the Sea Wolves had thought of that, too!
I was with the Marines, and I wanted to get through to my own kind, but there was a man in the way, a chief of some sort, swinging a great axe, with a knot of his carles round him. I saw in the flame-light the magnificent black wolfskin cloak that was flung back from his shoulders, and an idea came to me, one of those crazed ideas one gets in time of battle. And I made for him, howling, the Marines splashing after me and giving tongue with their own war cry as they came. The water was no more than knee deep, just there under the bank. We cut our way through the bodyguard, and I remember diving in under the shining sweep of that tremendous war-axe. Surely I had a charmed life that night! And my swordpoint took him under the golden collar and grated on the bones at the back of his neck. He went down like a poled ox, his life gushing out red into the shallows. He was a big man, with a broad, simple face, and wide-set eyes that stared straight back into mine, dead though he was, as I hauled him up to get at the gold clasp at his shoulder. But it wasn’t the clasp I wanted, and when it came free, I dropped it into the water, and dragged clear the dripping wolfskin cloak.
The Capricorn Bracelet Page 8