Traitor

by Geraint Jones

  We saw Thumper often. He was assigned to the camp guard force but often came by to talk and sleep. The barrel-chested man had been disappointed to learn that his sons were not with King Pinnes. Due to the problem of feeding and logistics, the Pannonian leader had sent raiding parties east to liberate what supplies they could from Roman lands. These were mostly made up of cavalry, or infantry that had been able to liberate mounts from Roman citizens as the war began. Other, smaller forces of infantry had been sent to garrison key towns in the region. Thumper had discovered through word of mouth that his boys were in Seretium.

  ‘So you’ll be leaving?’ Cynbel had asked him.

  ‘It’s at the other end of the Sava,’ Thumper had shrugged, and I knew that area to be under a heavy Roman presence. ‘Besides, I’ve never known a Briton before. I want to hear more stories. You still haven’t told me what the women are like.’

  ‘Fat,’ Cynbel said.

  Thumper grinned with excitement. ‘I like them fat.’

  ‘And angry.’

  ‘Even better.’

  ‘Do you have a woman?’ Cynbel asked.

  ‘Why do you think I’m hiding on this bloody mountain?’

  I tried to picture the woman who could control Thumper. He reminded me a lot of my friend Brutus – hard in mind but soft in heart.

  The memory of my old comrade brought sadness. He would have realised by now that I was a deserter. The rumour of abduction started by Arminius would not fool him. Brutus had seen what was in my heart, and though he had accepted the action, I knew that he could never understand the reasons. Brutus loved me as a brother, but he loved Rome as a father. I had torn his loyalty in two, and for that I felt shame. I could only be grateful that his injuries would keep him from battle. Not even Brutus could overcome the challenge of a missing leg.

  Relief hit me as I realised that Brutus and Lulmire were as safe as anyone could be in this land of rebellion. Tiberius and most of his army were encamped at Siscia. It would be suicide for the rebels to attack them there on the plain. No, there would be no battle at Siscia.

  But there would be a theft.

  ‘Why hasn’t he sent me back?’ I asked Cynbel. ‘He needs the coin. What army doesn’t?’

  Cynbel had become his old self in the days following my revelation of my identity to the rebels. He was once more the tutor I had known in my childhood. He lay flat on the ground beside our tent, a blanket for his pillow, and like all good teachers he prompted me to find answers for myself.

  ‘Where are the coins, Corvus?’

  ‘Siscia.’

  ‘And what else is in Siscia?’

  ‘Tiberius. Soldiers.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘By now? At least five legions,’ I guessed. ‘Probably the same in auxiliary cohorts.’

  ‘How many men is that?’

  ‘If they’re at full strength? Fifty thousand, all told.’

  ‘How many men are you, Corvus?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are one man. There are fifty thousand soldiers in Siscia.’

  ‘I told the king I’d bring him those pay chests.’ I didn’t want to think what would happen if I did not. Yes, we were under the king’s protection, but what if he decided otherwise? I needed to prove my worth as well as my loyalty.

  ‘Look around you.’ Cynbel smiled from the floor. ‘What do you see?’

  I stopped pacing. ‘An army. A small one.’

  ‘Look up.’

  I saw nothing. ‘The sky?’

  ‘A blue sky,’ Cynbel corrected.

  I grasped his meaning. Though the days were cooling, the weather was still dry, and the days were long.

  Cynbel’s lesson was at an end. ‘This is no weather for thieves.’

  * * *

  Days passed. I grew restless. Wisely, Cynbel decided that we should not venture far from our tent. I knew that he was right. Ziva was a killer, and killers were not checked by the decrees of other men. If he could find a way to spill my guts, then he would.

  We relied on Thumper to bring us food and cheer. There was little of the former, but the squat man never failed on the latter.

  ‘Have you ever had a bad day?’ I asked him.

  ‘I lost two children young,’ he confided with a flash of sadness. ‘Other than that, no. I have strong sons, a thick beard, and the love of friends and a good woman. Bad days? Ha! You’re a funny one, Corvus.’

  The man was slimmer than when we’d first met. In the forests of the mountains Thumper had been able to forage and hunt. Here, we relied on what was given to us, and the soup was thin.

  ‘Gods help them in the winter,’ I heard Cynbel say.

  ‘Them?’

  He did not reply. Before I could ask him again, a child appeared by our tent, a boy. I could not say how old. I was not one for children, but I guessed that he was older than five, and younger than ten. He had black hair and almond eyes. He peered at us in inquisition. He wasn’t the first to come peeking, adults and children alike had come to look at Corvus the Traitor – as they called me now, according to Thumper – but there was something different about this one.

  There was a sword in his hand. A wooden sword, but a sword nonetheless.

  ‘He wants to play,’ Cynbel smiled.

  ‘Piss off, you rat,’ I told the child instead.

  Cynbel swatted me across the back of the head as though I were no more than a boy myself.

  ‘What was that for?’ Somehow, the presence of our childhood mentors has a way of dragging us backwards through the years.

  ‘The boy wants to play, Corvus. He wants to learn.’

  ‘Then he can go and learn from whoever fathered him.’

  My old tutor raised his eyebrows.

  ‘That’s different,’ I said. ‘You were a slave.’

  ‘It’s a man’s duty to pass on his knowledge to children no matter whether he fathered them or not,’ Cynbel lectured me. ‘What do you think are in those books that I gave you? Julius Caesar could have kept that knowledge for his family. Instead, he shared it with the world.’

  ‘For his own good, no doubt,’ I answered sceptically.

  ‘His good, our good.’ The Briton shrugged. ‘Everyone benefits when we all grow wiser, Corvus.’

  ‘Tell that to the Gauls. Ow!’

  He’d hit me again.

  ‘Shut up and go and speak to that boy!’ There was a smile on his lips. I couldn’t help a laugh escaping from my own. The tutor in Cynbel reminded me of the good days. The ones that had been blessed with promise, and filled with love.

  ‘Fine.’ I looked around me for a weapon.

  ‘Here,’ Thumper said, pulling a long wooden tent peg from the ground.

  The child hadn’t moved.

  ‘Do you want to play?’ I asked him, feeling like an idiot. Behind me, I heard Thumper hoot with laughter.

  The child said nothing.

  ‘See?’ I turned. ‘He just wants to stare. Now can we forget this?’

  ‘He wants to play,’ Cynbel insisted. ‘Don’t you, lad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He speaks!’ Thumper laughed again.

  I grunted. ‘How did you get him to do that?’

  ‘By treating him as a child, Corvus, and not the front rank of an enemy army. Come on, lad,’ he encouraged the boy, ‘show us what you’ve got.’

  To my surprise the child stepped his right leg back and raised his sword.

  ‘He’s had some training!’ Thumper boomed. ‘Ha! You’re buggered now, Corvus!’

  I turned again to face my friends, and that’s when the boy lunged forwards and came at me, quick as a flash.

  He was fast, but I was faster.

  Cynbel gasped as I sidestepped the child and rapped the long wooden peg across the back of the lad’s head. ‘Not like that, you idiot!’ Cynbel shouted.

  Too late. The child was crying and running. Thumper had fallen onto his face and was laughing so hard I thought he might choke.

  ‘Ha
ppy now?’ I asked the pair.

  ‘Yes!’ Thumper roared. ‘So happy!’ He rolled on the floor like a man with a knife in his guts. Cynbel continued to look at me with patient eyes.

  ‘Well,’ he allowed, ‘I suppose you did teach him a lesson.’

  Thumper’s laughs redoubled. I pushed the tent peg back into its rightful place and sat beside my older, wiser friends.

  ‘I don’t like children.’

  ‘Evidently.’

  Thumper sat up and wiped his eyes. ‘All done?’ I asked him.

  Before he could reply, Cynbel surprised me with a question.

  ‘Do you know what the difference is between a soldier, and a warrior?’

  I shrugged. ‘Dogs and wolves.’

  ‘No.’ Cynbel shook his head, and straightened his shoulders. ‘A warrior fights for others, but thinks for himself. He is a teacher, and a student. A father, and a son. A warrior will kill more willingly, and die more readily than any soldier, but there must be a purpose to that bloodshed, even if it is simply the joy of his calling, and the brotherhood. A soldier is on the battlefield because he is told to be. A warrior is there because there is no place on earth he would rather be.’

  I looked into my tutor’s eyes, and saw truth there.

  ‘There is one final difference, Corvus,’ Cynbel told me. ‘A soldier fears death. A warrior fears failure. Never forget that.’

  I had to know… ‘My father. Was he such a warrior?’

  Cynbel nodded. He looked grave, but there was pride there. ‘He was. Your father was a pure-bred warrior.’

  The thought of my father as a soldier – a warrior – still stunned me. Yes, he had been a big man, and strong, but there were many strong men who didn’t ever pick up a sword and shield. That my father had done so was hard to comprehend. Until the day I had tried to run from home, he had always seemed such a man of peace.

  ‘How do I not know this?’

  ‘He forbade me to speak about his service. Neither he nor I wanted our children anywhere near war, Corvus. Even in their minds.’ He looked about us now. Our home in a rebel army.

  ‘Of course, the gods had ideas of their own.’

  ‘They always do,’ Thumper chuckled. ‘Interfering bastards.’

  ‘Who did he fight for? Where did he fight? Have I heard of it?’

  Cynbel smiled. ‘Everyone’s heard of the civil war.’ He stood then, swearing as his knees clicked loudly. ‘He was a warrior, Corvus, and he would be proud of you. That is all you need to know. Now if you’ll excuse me, this old man has to go and piss… again.’

  I watched Cynbel walk away. Had I ever truly known him? Had I ever truly known my father? Marcus had deceived me. Who else? My mind swam with doubt.

  ‘You look like you just woke up to find your cock missing,’ Thumper said helpfully. He watched as Cynbel disappeared around a tent. ‘He’s a good man, that one. Now, me? I hate little children, to be honest. Made my day to see you hit that little shit.’ He chuckled at the memory. ‘Don’t get me wrong, they’re great when they turn into men, but there were plenty of times when my boys were young that I thought about selling them to a slaver. “Father, we want food. Father, we want water. Father, stop hitting me.” Moan, moan, moan. Their nagging never stopped.’

  ‘Did you try not hitting them?’

  ‘Ha! You’re a comedian, Corvus. The cornerstone of good parenting is a kick in the arse. Did Cynbel beat you when he was your tutor?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘And look what happened to him. Living his twilight years in a tent.’

  I didn’t point out that Thumper was doing the same.

  ‘What about your dad?’ he asked me.

  ‘What about him?’

  Thumper shook his head in exasperation. ‘Did he hit you, lad?’

  ‘No,’ I said with shame, ‘I hit him.’

  ‘What?’ Thumper looked like he’d been struck by lightning. ‘A son doesn’t hit his father, Corvus! That’s madness! He should have killed you, taught you a lesson you wouldn’t forget! I suppose it was over a girl? Of course it was. Only the moistness between the legs can cause that kind of madness in a man’s mind.’

  ‘Are you finished?’

  He was. His grin was back. ‘But I don’t think she is.’

  Thumper’s thick finger pointed towards a slender woman who was storming through the tents. Her hair was jet black, her look darker still. She was on the hunt for blood.

  She locked furious eyes on me, and stalked forwards.

  My blood.

  Beside me, Thumper laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. ‘You’ll survive, lad. Just pretend she’s your father, and swing hard!’

  He got to his feet and quickly moved away. I stood and faced a woman with blazing eyes. There was a look to her jaw and a cut to her clothes that hinted at nobility and wealth – or at least, greater wealth than the common soldiery around us. I guessed that she was my age or younger, but her fury made it hard to tell.

  ‘You are Corvus?’

  ‘I am,’ I replied.

  And then she hit me.

  Chapter 22

  She hit hard.

  ‘What did you do to my son?’

  Very hard.

  For the second time that day, I was thumped across the back of my head. First Cynbel. Now this young woman, who I presumed to be the mother of the child I had sent crying.

  Thumper was out of sight but I could hear him laughing. The woman’s face was tight and angry. I decided I should speak before she felt the need to hit me again.

  ‘I’m sorry I hit your son.’ Behind the tent, Thumper’s laughter doubled. ‘Piss off, Thumper!’

  He laughed, then scurried away when the woman looked his way. ‘Don’t hit me!’ He cackled over his shoulder as he fled.

  The woman’s attention swung back to me.

  ‘Why would you do that to the boy?’

  ‘We were playing…’ The words sounded so childish. I felt like calling for Ziva and asking him if his offer of crucifixion still stood.

  ‘It’s because we’re Dalmatian, isn’t it?’

  I narrowed my eyes at that. I’d thought that King Pinnes led Pannonians only, and that the Dalmatians were to the north-west, with Bato. It seemed odd that their camp followers would be here. Then again, the truth was that there were very few civilians on this mountain. Thumper had told me that most were in their villages and homes, under guard of the oldest and youngest men – I had seen how poor that protection could be first-hand.

  ‘Do you speak?’ she demanded.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So tell me why you did it. Admit it. If you have a problem with us, say it to my face, you coward.’

  Pride is no small thing, and there is no word more likely to stir fight in a man than ‘coward’. For a second, I considered knocking the pretty teeth out of her mouth.

  ‘It was an accident,’ I said instead. ‘I didn’t mean to hit him.’

  I saw confusion in her look then. Her anger faltered.

  ‘That’s, not… that’s not why I’m here,’ she said.

  I looked puzzled.

  ‘Then…’

  ‘You let my son run through this camp crying,’ she said sternly. ‘Why would you embarrass us like that?’

  I had never been accused of being an academic on the subject of women and children. Perhaps she saw as much, because now her anger fell away completely.

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought you did this deliberately.’

  I said nothing. Without a mask of anger she was attractive. Beautiful, even.

  ‘My apologies, Corvus. I thought you meant to shame us.’ She was clearly no coward. She knew who I was – knew my reputation – and she had hit me anyway.

  ‘Why would I do that?’ I asked. The day was offering me nothing but confusion.

  ‘My name is Miran.’ She put out her hand in apology. ‘And I’m sorry that I disturbed you.’

  She turned to leave.

  ‘Wait.’ I steppe
d after her. ‘You said that you’re Dalmatian?’

  Miran nodded. I saw a look cross her face that I couldn’t place. ‘My son, Borna, and I are guests of King Pinnes. When Borna came crying, I thought that someone…’ she ground her jaw, ‘I thought that someone was trying to make a point.’

  My look asked her why. She did not answer.

  ‘I heard you lived in Iader,’ she said instead.

  ‘I was raised there.’

  ‘I’ve always liked it there. I’m from Arduba.’

  ‘I’ve never been.’

  ‘It sits on cliffs at a bend of a river.’ She smiled to think of it. ‘It’s a beautiful place.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll visit it one day.’

  This time her smile was one of sadness. ‘I hope not. I mean, no offence, Corvus, but you are a soldier, and if soldiers come to Arduba…’

  It meant war, and the end of her town.

  I nodded in understanding. ‘Then I hope to hear more of it.’

  She liked that, and nodded. Though she was a guest of the king’s I could see that she was a stranger in this camp as much as I was.

  ‘We’ll be all right, you know?’ I found myself speaking without thinking.

  I was given a patient smile for my effort. ‘Have you ever spent a winter in the mountains, Corvus?’

  I shook my head. ‘Only in the barracks at Siscia.’

  ‘So not the mountains,’ she smiled again. ‘The Romans will come in spring, but first the winter will try to kill us.’

  She turned to leave, then stopped. There was a promise in her eyes. A violent one.

  ‘Don’t you ever make a fool of my son again.’

  Chapter 23

  That wasn’t the last time I saw the child, or his mother.

  Borna began making regular appearances at our tent. He wanted to swordfight, and I saw Miran loitering between the tents, keeping an eye on her son, but wary of my company.