Traitor

by Geraint Jones

I saw Arminius in him. Little wonder they had become ‘good friends’. Pinnes’s smile was ironic as he looked around at our surroundings. ‘Such is the palace of a good king, eh?’ He squeezed my arm. ‘Look after Cynbel, my friend.’

  I climbed into the saddle. He patted Ahren’s neck.

  ‘And don’t worry, Corvus, you’ll be fine. Romans hate the snow.’

  * * *

  We rode for Siscia. On the first day, the conditions were hard, but not impossible, and when the snows abated, Cynbel brought his horse alongside mine.

  ‘I have been thinking,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve changed your mind?’ I asked quickly, but my optimism was cut short as he shook his head.

  ‘I’m going to speak candidly, Corvus,’ my old tutor told me. ‘When you were presumed kidnapped and murdered by rebels, Centurion Paulus sent men to give your father his condolences. Then, within days, four more riders came.’

  There was no need for him to say why they had come, or what had happened, and I waited for Cynbel to say more.

  ‘What changed?’ he asked. ‘What made them realise you were a traitor?’

  For a moment I said nothing. The only sound came from the horses’ hooves crunching the snow, and the snorts of their hot breath. It made me think. ‘I bought a horse to leave Siscia. Maybe the legion asked around.’

  Cynbel didn’t look convinced. ‘Who knew you were leaving?’

  ‘I think Brutus knew,’ I said honestly, ‘but he would never say anything.’ And I believed that to my core. ‘Nor his wife.’

  ‘Who else?’

  There was no one. ‘Only Arminius.’

  Cynbel knew about him, and our friendship. There had been a lot of time to talk in the tent, and though I had avoided discussing my feelings, and grief, I had shared my admiration for the German prince.

  ‘Arminius, friend of King Pinnes?’ Cynbel asked.

  I nodded. He said nothing.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Arminius wanted you to join the rebels, did he not?’

  I recognised his accusation, and found it laughable. ‘He’s my friend, Cynbel.’

  ‘You trust him?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said impassively. ‘As you say, it may have been the horse dealer…’

  We rode on in silence for a while, and though I knew that Arminius was my friend and ally, Cynbel had planted a seed of doubt in my gut.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ I growled.

  My old tutor’s face was stern, yet loving. ‘Because I want to see you again,’ he said.

  And then the blizzard returned.

  * * *

  We rode through snow-covered valleys and howling winds. We walked our horses across frozen streams, and cursed when the snow seeped inside our furs. We were trussed up so that nothing but our eyes were showing, and even these I worried would freeze in their sockets. Miran had been right – winter would try and kill us before the Romans had their chance to do the same.

  We had little conversation. Even if the elements had allowed it, we were too tired for thoughts, let alone words. Members of the royal bodyguard knew this country well, and they led the way across their homeland. My part would not come until we were in Siscia itself. Until then I simply followed in the footsteps and hoofsteps of those ahead of me. We were a single file, the horses rotated so that they would get the benefit of trodden snow. Only myself and Cynbel remained in the same position, towards the rear of the column.

  I worried for the old Briton, but whenever I enquired about his welfare he told me that I was the one who’d grown up in the sunshine, not him, and that I should worry about myself. He was grumpy, but then we all were. Hard to keep your humour when nature is trying its best to kill you.

  And yet we made way. We would rest in hamlets and villages along the valley’s length. We were treated with respect, and often awe. We were the liberators. The noble souls who dared stand against Rome for the freedom of the tribes.

  There was little sight of the soldiers of the Empire. The raiding parties of the summer had stopped. As Pinnes had said, Romans did not like the snow. It wasn’t so much that I reckoned they were scared of hard conditions, but I imagined that Tiberius was aware that sending his men out into such conditions risked a lot, for the chance of gaining little. His enemy’s knowledge of the terrain, and the weather, made for a deadly combination. It was dangerous enough to travel even in the company of those born to the lands.

  In the moments where I had energy to think, I thought of Cynbel. Not even the cold could numb my sorrow at the thought that we would soon part ways once again. I kept telling myself that I hadn’t ever expected to see him again after I’d run to the legion, and yet we’d been reunited, so I had hope. It was dim, but it was there.

  Perhaps the gods took pity on me, because when we were two days from Siscia the heavy snow calmed. At most there was a light dusting of snowflakes, but often there were stretches of blue sky. The land that had been so uncaring was now beautiful, and demanded to be loved.

  I saw the calm in the storm for what it was – my chance to talk with my old friend, and enjoy the last days of his company.

  I broke file and pulled my horse alongside his. Vuk looked at me, but said nothing. Soon, his own men were talking freely with each other. The winter sun had thawed our tongues.

  ‘Cynbel,’ I said, wanting a glimpse of my old tutor, ‘why don’t you tell us about Hannibal and his elephants?’

  It was one of the few military stories the Briton had told me as a child, but he waved it away. ‘I’m sure no one wants to hear about that.’

  But the Pannonians did. They liked Cynbel – everybody liked Cynbel – and like all soldiers, the men of the royal bodyguard enjoyed stories about other men’s wars just as much as they did their own.

  ‘Well, if you insist…’

  I saw the teacher in him spring to life as he explained people, places, tactics and outcomes. Cynbel was at his best in this form. If it was true what he’d said, and that all men are born to serve, then his service had been triumphant in bringing enlightenment and joy to my heart.

  I felt my eyes wet with tears, and wiped them discreetly before they froze.

  ‘Do they have elephants in Britannia?’ I asked to disguise my emotions.

  It was the same thing I used to ask him as a child, and Cynbel grinned broadly in answer.

  The rest of the day passed in conversation and laughter. All was well in the world until we reached a bridge across an icy river.

  Vuk spoke. ‘This is it, Cynbel.’

  Instantly, dread gripped my stomach.

  Cynbel put on the brave face for us both. ‘Thank you, Vuk,’ he replied, before sliding out of his saddle. Moments later, all the men had dismounted. All wanted to embrace the Briton, and say their goodbyes.

  I was last.

  ‘It’s not too late,’ he said gently. ‘I can come with you to Siscia. We can ride from there.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I told him.

  He didn’t ask why.

  Instead he gripped my shoulders, and smiled. There was pride in there, and fear for what was still to come. ‘A pure-bred warrior, just like your father.’

  I pulled him into an embrace. It was Cynbel who broke it. There was a twinkle in his eye. With a grace that belied his age, he pulled himself onto the back of his horse.

  ‘Vuk!’ he shouted, holding out his arm, and the Pannonian tossed him his spear. Cynbel snatched it from the air, snow spraying as he turned his horse tightly and kicked it into a run along the road. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bodyguards grinning. They were picking up snow in their hands, and forming it into balls.

  Cynbel stopped his horse, and turned to face us. He raised the spear in salute, and the Pannonians cheered.

  ‘Yar!’ His horse surged forwards. Cynbel levelled the spear. On cue, the bodyguards began to toss their snowballs into the air. I watched with my mouth open as the old Briton – the old warrior – pierced each with the
point of the spear, missing none, before tossing the weapon into the hands of Vuk, whose smile threatened to split his face.

  I looked at my old tutor as though for the first time. His skin was pink and flushed. His eyes were alive. There was another life in them. Another story. I knew that I would need to go to Britannia if I ever wanted to hear it.

  He trotted the horse over to me. I reached up and took his hand.

  He had given me this display not for arrogance, but to let me know that he would be safe on the road ahead.

  Still, the words came out of me. ‘There’s war everywhere, Cynbel…’

  But our fate was sealed. ‘All the more reason to go home, Corvus.’

  ‘The road isn’t safe.’

  ‘Nowhere’s safe.’

  ‘I will miss you.’

  ‘And I will miss you.’

  I held his eyes. I saw tears in them, too.

  ‘Will you do something for me?’ he asked.

  ‘Anything.’

  A smile. Love and pain. ‘Let me take her home, Corvus. You carry enough. Let me be the one to carry Beatha now. She would want you to be happy. She would want you to love again.’

  Tears blurred my vision.

  All I could do was nod, and squeeze his hand.

  ‘When this is over,’ he told me, ‘come to the white cliffs. You will always have a home there, Corvus. You will always have a family.’

  Cynbel pulled his hand away.

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter 27

  Cynbel had left us, accompanied by two of the bodyguards. They had been ordered by Vuk to guide the Briton to the edge of their territory. From there, my old tutor – the old warrior that I now knew him to be – would be on his own.

  That thought pained me. I worried for him. That Vuk’s men would take him out of this region at war gave me some solace – and we had seen no signs of Roman soldiers yet – but life was dangerous on the road. Brigands, thieves, a slip on the ice… There are many ways for a man to die.

  The blizzards had returned. No more blue skies. The wind was howling. Sleet was a blur against my vision in the failing light.

  We were on high ground close to Siscia. Behind us, steep slopes covered in snow. The trees were white. The ground was white. The air was white. Everything was white.

  We were close enough to Siscia that I expected Roman patrols, but in those conditions we didn’t see them until we were almost on top of each other. Four men. Cavalry. They were dismounted from their horses and stood silently beneath a short rock face. There was a tree growing out of the rocks, its thin branches stretching out like fingers of bleached bone.

  Vuk looked at me, nodded, then walked his horse forwards.

  I followed.

  The four cavalrymen were tall, and thick with cloaks.

  They saw us coming.

  They did nothing.

  I looked around me for a trap but all I saw was snow, sleet and the blurred outline of trees. Darkness was coming fast.

  I shared another look with Vuk.

  Our feet crunched in the snow as we dismounted, and then we were face to face with the soldiers who served Rome. Men who would kill in the name of the Empire.

  I greeted them as friends.

  ‘Where’s Arminius?’

  ‘Germania.’ The foremost cavalryman’s Latin was thick with the accent of his homeland. ‘Taking care of business.’

  ‘Will he return?’

  ‘He will not.’

  I was disappointed. The number of friends that I could call on was pitifully few. Once, there had been a time where I could count an entire legion to be at my back, but now…

  ‘I am Farvald,’ the German told me. ‘Don’t worry, Corvus, the prince has told us that you are kin. We are yours to command.’

  I saw something in his eyes. A little humour, maybe.

  ‘The meadow…’ I wondered. ‘You were some of the men who rode me down?’

  ‘We were,’ Farvald grinned in the snow. ‘But we hear you fight a lot better than you run.’

  I smiled grimly as the Germans chuckled. There was a time where I would see any joke at my expense as an insult, and attack, but I had come to value the power of laughter in winter.

  I introduced the Pannonian. ‘This is Vuk.’

  The warriors greeted each other. They seemed oblivious to the snow that whipped around them. These were hard men, forged by the punishing seasons of their homeland as much as by war. Myself? I missed the coast. I missed the sun. But I had pride, and pride told me to shut my mouth, and say nothing about the cold that gnawed at the marrow of my bones.

  ‘Here,’ Farvald said, and handed me a sack. Inside were the same pattern helmets worn by the Germans. ‘We’ve been coming here every night since the snows started.’ He picked up a German shield from the snow and handed it to me. ‘Your king sent word that we should be ready.’

  King Pinnes – ‘good friend’ of Prince Arminius.

  ‘Thank you,’ I told him, expecting to see the Germans mount up and ride away now that they have given us our disguise.

  Instead, Farvald looked at me expectantly. When I said nothing, he laughed.

  ‘What? You didn’t think you were keeping all of those coins yourself, did you?’

  * * *

  As the blizzard whipped my face, I was thinking. After my arrival in the rebel camp, and before the blanket of deep snow fell across Pannonia, King Pinnes and Prince Arminius must have been sending dispatches to one another, and some of those messages had clearly concerned my arrival at Mons Alma, and the plot to take the coins from Tiberius’s army.

  ‘The prince knew you would go to the rebels,’ Farvald told me as we rode slowly in the darkness for Siscia. ‘Arminius knows what’s in a man’s mind. He’s a gift for it.’

  Cynbel’s questions came back to me then. Arminius knew I would go to the rebels…?

  Farvald was tall – taller than a Roman – and I thought of asking him if he had ever been to Iadar, but I would not be able to see the truth in his eyes, and besides, surely Cynbel was just being overly cautious. He was simply worried for me. Arminius was a true friend of mine, and as sick of killing as I was. I had nothing to fear from him. He had shown his loyalty by speaking openly with me, and then giving me a horse to ride for home.

  The wind had dropped in its ferocity since we’d come onto the plain, but I was still glad of the extra cloak that I had been given to match the Germans. A round shield was slung across my back, and a helmet pulled down onto the scarf that I had wrapped around my head and face. The Germans themselves rode bare-faced and bearded. Vuk and three of his men were also masquerading with us. The other two would wait with the pack horses at the site where we had met Farvald. Our own horses could carry the weight until then.

  Despite the cold, Ahren seemed happy to be reunited with the horses of Arminius’s troops.

  ‘He’s a good one, that one,’ Farvald told me. ‘A lucky horse.’

  ‘Lucky?’

  The cavalryman nodded. ‘His last two riders were killed in battle.’

  ‘I thought you said he was lucky?’

  Farvald laughed. ‘He’s still alive, isn’t he?’

  Our little troop found the road. Despite the sleet, I could see lights in the distance – the camp of Tiberius.

  ‘How many men encamped now?’ I asked Farvald.

  ‘More than seventy thousand.’

  And we were nine. But the legions and the auxiliary units had each built their own camp. Siscia and its plain was now a garrison of multiple individual fortifications, not one giant enclosure. To reach the legion’s pay chests we would only need to crack one nut – the camp of the Eighth Legion.

  ‘They say you are a deserter,’ Farvald said, seeming to read my mind. ‘There’s a lot of people in the town who would like to crucify you.’

  ‘It seems that there’s people everywhere who want to crucify me.’

  He liked that, and snorted. ‘A good sign,’ the German declared. �
�What a boring life it would be without people who want you dead.’

  I said nothing for a moment. Instead I thought of the Eighth Legion’s gate, and how we would enter it.

  I told Farvald what was on my mind. He made a dismissive noise. ‘We simply ride through.’

  This time I was the one to snort. ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that.’

  Shapes were forming in the darkness. The redoubts of camps. We were close.

  ‘From here on,’ Farvald said to myself and Vuk, ‘forget you know Latin. You are ignorant German barbarians.’ He laughed, then said something in that language to two of his men, and they rode ahead. For a moment I was hit by a vision of my own brothers in arms, but with an apology I pushed them from my mind. I needed my wits about me if I was to survive this night, but a dark cloud had been cast across my mind.

  Marcus.

  Was he here? Was he close? Would he be in the camp of the Eighth? Should I seek out his tent? Slit his throat, like he killed Beatha?

  I should. I knew I should.

  But…

  But he was my brother.

  Farvald punched me lightly in the arm. ‘Did you hear me, Corvus?’

  I shook my head.

  All around me, growing out of the dark, were embankments and palisades. The home of soldiers. Of an army.

  ‘I said that we are almost there,’ Farvald repeated. ‘Time to go home.’

  * * *

  The gate of the Eighth Legion stood closed before me. I saw the silhouette of soldiers in the torchlight. My stomach felt like a twisted knot of iron.

  Farvald and Vuk were smiling. They were enjoying this. Enjoying where we were, and what we were about to do.

  Farvald’s two men had rejoined us. We were nine again. Nine silent riders on the road, lost to the darkness and the whipping snow.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ I asked, wanting this to be over.

  ‘You don’t speak Latin, remember?’ Farvald smiled in the dark. There was nothing but confidence in his voice.

  It was the confidence of command, I realised with a jolt. He and his men were not following me. I was following them. I was not the leader in this. I was a cog. A wheel.