Traitor

by Geraint Jones

  Ziva was smiling. It was a grim thing to behold.

  ‘Unhand him.’

  They did. I made no move.

  ‘Give us space!’ he ordered, and his men began to push the crowd back.

  ‘Make room! Make space!’

  ‘Lord,’ I tried, ‘I came to fight Romans, not you.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ he said coldly. ‘And you will die.’

  I saw the reality then. He did not care if I spoke lies, or truths. Ziva was a killer, and he would kill me for the joy of killing. That was how he had recognised me – as a fellow man of blood.

  ‘Give him a sword!’

  Someone shoved a blade into my hand and pushed me forwards. Ziva drew his own.

  I had just enough time to see the worry on Cynbel’s face, and then Ziva lunged to end my life.

  * * *

  He was fast. Gods he was fast. Ziva wielded his blade as though he’d been born with it in his hand, and my feet slipped and scurried as I tried to avoid the blows that rained towards my neck – he was not only trying to kill me. He was trying to behead me.

  Metal sang across the camp as I parried the blows, each one bringing cheers from the throng that surrounded us. They smelled blood, and they demanded it.

  ‘I don’t want to kill you!’ I tried, but there was no doubt that Ziva wanted to kill me, and his blade spoke for him, slicing the air.

  I stepped, parried, stepped, parried. No thrusts of my own. No counter-strokes. If I killed this man I’d be as dead as if he killed me, and Cynbel would die with me.

  Step, parry. Step, parry.

  The crowd cheered. The blades sang.

  And then a voice.

  ‘Stop this!’

  It was a voice of command. A bellow. Ziva’s sword was in the air.

  But he obeyed.

  I let my eyes move. Men were pushing and shoving their way through the crowd. Big men with thick muscle and stone faces. Hard soldiers. Veterans. The one who lead them had a scarred face and hooded eyes.

  He looked at me. If I ever saw an executioner, it was this man.

  ‘What are you doing, Vuk?’ Ziva asked him.

  ‘You know all prisoners go to the king.’

  ‘I’m not a prisoner,’ I chanced my arm. ‘I deserted Rome. I came to—’

  ‘He is a prisoner,’ Ziva cut me off.

  For a moment, no one said anything. Vuk’s dark eyes looked at us both, then to the crowd, then back to Ziva.

  ‘He is a prisoner?’ he asked.

  Ziva nodded. ‘He is.’

  Vuk’s next words were so quiet that only myself and Ziva could hear them. ‘So you’re telling the king’s bodyguard that you armed a prisoner, in the presence of the king?’

  The words struck Ziva. I saw his mind race behind his eyes. ‘The king is present?’

  Vuk smiled. ‘The king is always present.’ He looked to the crowd. A man stepped forwards into the circle, and pulled the hood back from over his head.

  Instantly, Ziva and the Pannonians went to their knees. Only Vuk and I remained standing.

  ‘Give me your sword,’ Vuk said quietly.

  I did not. Instead I held it lightly in my fingers, and faced the man who was the leader of the Breuci tribe, the Pannonian rebels, and an enemy of Rome.

  ‘Are you a spy?’ King Pinnes asked me. He seemed to find humour in that idea. I guessed him to be in his thirties, with lively eyes, a handsome face and proud jaw.

  ‘I am not, sir, no.’

  I knew that one wrong move would be my last. Vuk would have my head from my shoulders, and so I looked to the edge of the gathering, and met Cynbel’s eyes. They were grave.

  He nodded.

  ‘I am a deserter, lord,’ I told the king.

  And then I dropped my sword.

  I surrendered to fate.

  ‘I am Corvus of the Eighth Legion.’

  Chapter 20

  ‘I am Corvus of the Eighth Legion!’ I said again, and louder.

  But they didn’t need to hear it twice.

  The king knew me.

  Ziva knew me.

  They all knew me. I could feel it in the air.

  ‘I have deserted Rome!’ I told them all. ‘I am a deserter!’

  Before, there had simply been the promise of the blood of a Roman. Now that Roman had a name. Corvus, the man who had saved an eagle. The man who had killed rebels, made orphans of their children, and built reputation from their bones.

  How many present had heard my name, and spat on it?

  How many had heard of my deeds, and wished that they were there to cut me down?

  How many ever thought they’d see me like this, defenceless, and at their mercy?

  I looked to King Pinnes.

  He was royalty.

  He would decide my fate…

  And he was smiling.

  In that he was alone. The crowd wanted to tear me apart. Reputation comes at a price, and that price was the death of mercy.

  I should have been a dead man, and yet…

  King Pinnes was smiling.

  He walked forwards. The crowd stiffened, awaiting justice.

  ‘Kneel,’ I heard Vuk say.

  I knelt, and bowed my head.

  I waited for the blade. Cold steel scraping on my spine.

  Instead I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I looked up.

  ‘We’ve been expecting you, Corvus.’

  * * *

  I was not bound, but the proximity of the hard-looking warrior Vuk held me as close as any rope could have done. Together we followed the king to the wooden hall in the camp’s centre. I could still smell the sawdust.

  The crowd had been disappointed to be denied blood, but cheered when Pinnes had declared that I would bring them the deaths of hundreds. I didn’t have time to think about that – I was just relieved that I was alive. Not for myself, but because I knew I would have taken Cynbel with me, and the old Briton deserved better than to die here, far from home.

  The hall was small and soon filled with the king’s bodyguards and lieutenants. Ziva was one of these, and his face had come to resemble a serpent’s, silent and deadly. His eyes peered coldly at me. He said nothing, but everything in his manner communicated clearly that I deserved death.

  There were a few chairs in the hall, and all but the king’s remained empty. He sat, and bade me come forwards.

  I had gambled that this was the man – or at least one of them – that Arminius considered his ‘good friend’. I did not know the German’s greater plans, but his loss of faith in Rome was no secret to me. Who better to befriend than the rebels who had stood against her?

  ‘You saved an eagle?’ King Pinnes asked me.

  I nodded.

  ‘That’s a shame. I would have liked to have had that.’ There was no menace in his tone. His bodyguard shared his smiles. Ziva did not.

  ‘It was you who turned the tide of that battle,’ the king went on.

  At this I shook my head. ‘I did not.’

  ‘You will address the king as lord King, Roman.’ Ziva’s words were acid.

  I heeded them. ‘I did not, lord King.’

  Pinnes gestured for me to go on.

  ‘A comrade of mine—’

  ‘A Roman bastard,’ Ziva shot in, before a calming look from the king silenced him.

  ‘A comrade of mine,’ I began again, ‘was fighting by the eagle. He was wounded. My only interest was in saving him, and as I did so I reached out for support, and grasped the eagle.’

  It was the truth, but Pinnes laughed.

  ‘Spoken like a true hero!’ He clapped. ‘Taking no credit for his bravery.’

  I saw Ziva wince.

  ‘Do you know who you fought against that day?’ the king asked me.

  ‘I believe it was Bato and his Dalmatians, lord King.’

  ‘Indeed it was.’

  This time it was Vuk who spoke. ‘If he had taken his entire force, as you suggested, lord, then we would be speaking
to a ghost.’

  I looked at the hard man, but I saw no animosity in his eyes. He was simply speaking truths.

  ‘Bato had his reasons, I’m sure,’ Pinnes answered diplomatically.

  ‘That hit on his head, probably,’ one of the commanders said, and gentle laughter passed around the room. This was a place at ease. Clearly Pinnes commanded either by birth or consensus – certainly not fear.

  ‘There’s not one man in my army who you fought that day,’ Pinnes informed me. ‘We weren’t there, Corvus, and as such, I don’t see that there need to be any blood feuds that concern us, wouldn’t you agree?’ This last question was directed to his commanders. Only Ziva’s look indicated that he disagreed.

  ‘He killed Dalmatians, lord King. Our allies.’

  Pinnes made a dismissive noise. ‘Which one of us has not killed a Dalmatian in tribal feuds?’ There was a grumble of agreement. ‘Men kill other men, Ziva, it is just the way of things. If we are to win this war, then we must build friendships as well as armies, and I believe Corvus is a friend.’ He looked at me. ‘Aren’t you, Corvus?’

  I didn’t know what to say, and so I said nothing.

  ‘Besides,’ the king smiled, ‘if we’re going to punish every deserter of Rome, then shouldn’t we start with ourselves? We deserted Rome, and for good reason. Corvus should be commended for leaving the legions, not punished.’ He looked around his leaders. ‘Think on this, my friends. If word gets to Rome’s soldiers that Corvus has been welcomed here, then will that not encourage other deserters? Half of Rome’s army is made up of non-citizens. My friends, we must welcome every deserter for what they are – brothers in a noble cause.’

  A muttering of consent passed around the room.

  Ziva’s face said differently. ‘Why are you here?’ he snapped at me.

  I couldn’t help myself. ‘I thought I told you that already,’ I shot back. ‘I came to fight.’

  I was in as much need for lessons on building friendships as Ziva. The truth was that my blood was up, and I wanted to kill the bastard, but…

  ‘I apologise, lord King.’

  Pinnes laughed at that, not believing a word of it. ‘You’re a terrible liar, Corvus, but that makes you all the more trustworthy, eh?’

  ‘Lord King,’ Ziva spoke up again, ‘if I may, I have a solution that might please everyone?’

  Pinnes looked weary, then nodded his consent. I wondered if Ziva had some hold over him, or if he was simply a talented commander who needed to be kept close, and happy.

  ‘Very well.’

  Ziva gave a slight bow and then crossed to the hall’s door, his eyes burning into me as he passed. I didn’t turn to watch him. Instead I watched the king’s face. It remained impassive, and he remained silent. In the corner of my vision I saw Ziva moving back, but there were more footsteps with him. Two of his cavalry troopers, and they were not alone.

  Gods…

  I felt sick in my throat.

  Fear in my stomach.

  Ziva’s men pushed a big man in front of them, and though his hidden face was thick with beard, and his legion tunic was rags, I knew exactly who this prisoner must be.

  Varo.

  I ached to run to my brother. Instead, I willed myself to wait for my moment. To think. There was no way for me to communicate this to him. Varo’s back was turned. I could only see his thick hair, and the shoulders that had lost so much of their muscle.

  ‘Come here, Roman,’ Ziva called to me.

  ‘I believe his name is Corvus, Ziva.’ The king spoke fondly, as though death had not just entered the room.

  I walked forwards. I did not know what I would do.

  I prepared to meet him as a deserter.

  Shame held my steps. Could I do this to Varo? Would he want to be saved only to die from a broken heart, knowing that I had betrayed our legion?

  He raised his head, and looked at me.

  My heart sank.

  There was no recognition in his eyes, only hate.

  It was not Varo.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked without thinking. Relief flooded through me, and then disgust. Disgust that I was glad of this soldier’s fate, to spare it for my brother.

  The Roman said nothing. He tried to spit, but he was too starved and thirsty to muster even drops.

  Ziva spoke for him. ‘He’s of your legions. We captured him in the fighting outside of Sirmium.’

  ‘Fighting that you lost,’ the soldier croaked.

  Ziva silenced him with a punch, then turned to the king.

  ‘Lord King, though I do not doubt your judgement on Corvus, would it not be best to test his loyalty? He says he has come to kill Romans, so let him prove it.’

  I met his eyes. They were poison.

  He pulled his dagger. Held out the blade.

  I would not take it.

  Ziva smelled victory. ‘Well, Corvus?’

  I had travelled from Iadar across Dalmatia and to Pannonia to kill Romans, but now that I saw one in front of me, wretched yet unbroken, my anger was nowhere to be found. Only my pity. This prisoner was not a party to my father’s murderer. This man had done me no wrong. If I began to kill wildly in the name of my justice, how was I any different to Rome? How was I any different to the Empire, and their ways of war that I claimed to despise?

  ‘I came to fight Romans, not butcher prisoners…’

  Ziva laughed. ‘You see, lord?’

  I turned and faced the king. ‘I came to fight, I swear it, but I will not do this.’

  ‘You will address him as lord King!’

  I ignored Ziva. ‘I will not do this,’ I told Pinnes. ‘I am a soldier, not a butcher.’

  ‘Since when does Rome know the difference?’ Ziva sneered.

  I said nothing. Instead I met the king’s eyes. There was no clue in them as to his mind.

  For a moment, all was silent. When he spoke, King Pinnes’s question surprised everyone.

  ‘Can we beat the Romans?’ he asked me calmly.

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘I’m asking him, Ziva.’

  I said nothing. I said nothing because I did not know the answer.

  ‘If you can’t kill Romans,’ the king continued, ‘and you can’t think, then what use do we have for you, Corvus?’

  ‘I can help, lord King.’ Why? Because I wanted vengeance. I wanted a home. ‘I can help.’

  ‘How?’

  Not as a butcher, or as a killer, but as Arminius had wanted me to.

  ‘I can get you the pay chests of the Eighth Legion.’

  I heard Ziva tut, but the king’s face creased with interest.

  ‘Pay chests?’

  ‘Yes, lord King.’

  ‘And why would we need pay chests, Corvus? As you may have seen, we’re yet to build taverns and markets on our mountainside.’

  ‘Every king needs coin, sir,’ I answered confidently, feeling the mood in the room warm towards me now that there was a suggestion of money in the air. ‘Every army, too. Tiberius plans to starve you out, lord King. You need to bribe passages open, and buy supplies. You need to feed this army. The pay chests of the Eighth Legion can help you do that.’

  He said nothing, and so I went on, raising my voice. Treasure speaks to every man. I wanted everyone in this hall to hear me, and hear me well.

  ‘There are two ways to wound Rome: in her pride, and in her purse. Taking the pay chests from under the noses of Tiberius would achieve both. I can help you achieve both.’

  Ziva tutted. ‘You’re nothing more than a mercenary.’

  I looked to the king. ‘I ask for no share for myself, sir.’

  Pinnes stroked his chin. ‘Then what do you ask?’

  ‘Safety for myself and my companions.’

  After a moment the king nodded. ‘You are under my protection here, Corvus, as are they, but I’m afraid I can only promise you safety from my own men. The Romans you deserted will have other ideas.’ He smiled. ‘So I ask again, can we beat the Romans?’ />
  I met his eyes. ‘You can, sir. Rome has a stomach for battle, but a long war? Skirmishes, and no battle lines? There is no glory in that, and Rome is built on glory. If you can show them that there is no renown to be won in this war, then they will make for peace so that they can end it, and find another one better suited to their ideals.’

  The rebel lord stared back for a long moment. ‘You truly believe that?’

  ‘I do.’

  He considered my words, then stood. ‘Corvus and his companions are under my protection,’ he said again, with a look towards Ziva. ‘How do you like the sound of stolen treasure, boys?’

  There were cheers at that. Beside me, Vuk nodded towards the door. ‘I’ll see you to a tent.’

  The power of the sun hit me as I walked outside. It let me know that I was alive, for now. We had walked twenty paces when I heard my name called behind me. ‘Corvus!’

  Ziva.

  His men held the Roman prisoner.

  ‘Rome might have the stomach for war, but this man does not!’

  The rebel smiled as he ripped a blade across the Roman’s belly, hot guts spilling out onto the dirt as the prisoner shrieked in agony.

  Ziva laughed, walked away, and left the howling man to die a lonely death.

  Besides me Vuk grunted, and looked at me from hooded eyes.

  ‘Welcome to the rebellion.’

  Part Three

  Chapter 21

  Once we were reunited, Cynbel gently let me know that he did not approve of my candour with the rebels.

  ‘You’re a bloody idiot, Corvus! An absolute moron! I’ve had shits that had more brains than you!’

  I’d known this man all my life and never had I seen him rant and swear this way, but I knew his anger for what it was – the relief of a man who’d believed a loved one lost.

  I shut him up with an embrace. For a moment, at least.

  ‘A donkey’s dick would make better decisions than you!’

  Fortunately for us, we had a lot of time for Cynbel to come to accept my actions. I had expected that I would be dispatched by the king that same night to retrieve the coins from Siscia, but instead days turned to weeks, and we were left to occupy ourselves in a tent and a camp that was now our home.

  It gave me time – too much time – to think, and the thought of Marcus was never far from my mind. Such thoughts brought only questions, and a sick feeling in my stomach. I wanted distraction, but Vuk would come by and tell me to wait in my tent. I chaffed. Cynbel told me to appreciate the value of inaction. ‘Time’s only wasted if you choose to waste it. Have you finished those scrolls yet?’ I hadn’t. ‘Then why are you talking to me about wasted time? Read, Corvus, read. You won’t get the chance when the javelins start flying.’