I saw Miran and Borna close to the watchtower at the high point of the camp, and I was struck with jealousy as I saw that the child was talking animatedly with a soldier. I had been replaced, it seemed. I wondered if this man was her husband, stayed here after the battle, but I dismissed the thought: the soldier was wearing basic armour and carried a javelin – he was not a nobleman.
Still, I did not want to intrude on what seemed to be a happy moment, and so I was about to turn on my heel when Miran looked my way. I was arrested by her eyes, shocked at how thin her face had become.
She smiled. It was forced, but it was a smile nonetheless. I hoped my own looked better than the grimace that it felt like.
The soldier looked my way, and nodded respectfully. It seemed in this camp I was either valued for my reputation, or hated for it. He said something to Borna, then went on his way. I wondered what rumour he would carry with him. Should I turn around?
‘It’s good to see you,’ Miran told me.
I was about to open my mouth and begin explaining when I was hit by Thumper’s words of advice. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said simply. ‘Very sorry.’
‘How are your headaches?’ she asked, stepping forwards, but stopping out of arm’s reach. Borna looked up at me. Was he oblivious to my discomfort? He certainly had no words for me. Not like he had for the laughing soldier.
‘It’s all right.’ Miran was smiling. ‘Not everyone’s a talker.’
‘I haven’t had a headache since,’ I said. Not since she’d given me herbs to drink. Not since she’d placed her hands on me.
Perhaps she was remembering the same. There was a little colour in her gaunt cheeks. We were both pale from winter, now tinged with red.
And there we stood. Out of reach. Out of touch. The married hostage. The traitor.
I laughed.
‘What?’
I laughed again.
‘Corvus, tell me, what?’
My look spoke for me. I could see the confusion – the frustration – in her own.
‘Where we fought the battle,’ I tried to say, ‘it was beautiful. I have,’ my mind stumbled for the words, ‘I have seen a lot of beautiful things in this country, but…’
I left the rest unsaid – but nothing as beautiful as her. Gods, why didn’t I read that poetry instead of giving it to Thumper to wipe his arse?
‘Thumper can’t stop shitting,’ I told her.
‘What?’ And then she was laughing. I was laughing. The absurdity of my words. The absurdity of our position.
We were laughing, and we couldn’t stop.
Borna was oblivious. His mother wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and looked at me. ‘Do you kill the enemy as well as you kill a moment?’
Somehow I had the sense to say nothing.
Borna was tugging at his mother’s hand – he wanted to walk to the palisade.
‘Do you mind?’ Miran asked me.
‘Of course not.’ I walked with them. Close enough to talk. Far enough that I hoped she would escape rumour. Far enough that my hand wouldn’t reach out for hers.
We said nothing until we reached the stakes driven into the ramparts. Borna was not tall enough to see over the top of them, and looked to me. When Miran nodded consent I hoisted the boy up and onto my shoulders. Together, we looked out over the wooded hillsides that spread out beneath the mountains.
‘You wouldn’t believe there’s a war on, would you?’ Miran said sadly.
I looked around at the camp. There were men on the ramparts, but they were spaced unevenly. ‘It would not be hard for someone to leave here, at night,’ I said.
It would not be hard for a hostage to escape…
Miran’s smile was patient. ‘And go where? Back to Bato’s army? He would seethe if we endangered his alliance, and war.’
‘You do not sound fond of him.’
‘I am not fond of anyone who uses my son for their own end. He knew he was sending us into danger.’
‘You’re safe here.’
‘Are we? I know the king is fond of you, Corvus, but he doesn’t collect hostages for our health.’
I didn’t know what to say, and instead I looked out over Pannonia. ‘This is a beautiful view.’ It was a distraction from our situation, and Miran accepted it.
‘Yes. Yes it is…’
We stood in silence for a moment.
‘Would you live forever?’ Miran asked me then, her words taking me by surprise.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Would you like to live forever?’ she asked me again, her eyes on the beauty of Pannonia. ‘I’ve heard so much about the world, but seen so little of it. I doubt that I ever will.’
I didn’t disagree. It was the lot of most to live and die where they had been born.
‘Well?’ she prompted.
‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ I told her honestly. The truth was that I had long since measured my life in days. There was a time – when there was nothing but pain – that my answer would have been swift, but now…
Now there was hope. ‘I don’t know,’ I said at last.
‘Neither do I.’ Miran spoke softly, her eyes still on the mountains and valleys of her homeland. ‘But being a hostage, and watching an army, has taught me much, and I know this: I would rather live a short life of freedom, than an eternity as a slave.’
I saw the clouds settle over her face. We’d had our moment in the sunshine. A fantasy of what could be. Here came the truth. Here came her marriage. Here came our war.
I took Borna from my shoulders, and looked from him to her.
‘I will protect you,’ I told them both. ‘No matter what happens, Miran, I will protect you.’ And that was the truth, because in them I had a reason to fight. A reason to die.
A reason to live.
Miran knew it. ‘Be careful, Corvus.’
‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ I said.
But that was a lie.
Chapter 46
I wake up in a bed. A soft bed. A warm bed. The bed of my home. The bed of my childhood.
I stretch my arms above me and look to the lazy light that falls gently through my window. I walk down downstairs and feel the cool tiles beneath my bare feet. I smile, and walk into the courtyard garden of our home.
There is a body there. I run to it.
‘Father!’
I throw my arms around his legs, but they touch nothing but air.
His body has vanished.
‘What are you doing, Corvus?’
I turn on my heel. Marcus is leaning against the wall of the house. He takes a bite from an apple. The crunch sounds like the clash of shields.
I say nothing as his eyes shine brightly. They do not leave mine as he bites, chews, swallows. Bites, chews, swallows.
Marcus takes his last mouthful, then tosses the core into the bushes. I have the irrational thought of telling him to pick it up. This courtyard is my father’s place. His sanctuary.
‘Marc—’
‘You know they’re losing this war, don’t you?’ he cuts me off. My words die in my mouth. ‘You do know this, don’t you?’
Marcus walks slowly into the courtyard. I am rooted to the spot beside my father’s favourite tree. The tree from which they hanged him.
Was it… ‘Marcus…’
‘The rebels have lost this war, Corvus,’ he carries on, as though there is no bad blood between us, ‘they had a chance. A slim chance, but they missed it. Now Tiberius has amassed the greatest army that the world has seen in generations, and the rebels have, what? A hundred and fifty thousand, all told? Half-starved, and with a fraction of the training and discipline and experience of the legions they face?’
He stops in front of me. I can’t speak. Instead, a river of tears flows over my cheeks. I want to kill him. I want to hold him. I want to go back. I want to go forwards. Where I am is hell.
‘Corvus,’ a brilliant smile, ‘brother, the rebels have lost, but you don’t have to be lost with th
em.’
My hands are shaking.
I follow his eyes. They are on the wall of the courtyard. What has been written there.
TRAITOR
‘Is that how you want to be remembered? As Corvus the Traitor? Is this how you want to live? As Corvus the Lonely?’
‘What else is there?’ The words tear from my mouth. ‘You took everything from me, Marcus!’
He is patient, unmoved.
‘I gave you everything,’ he shrugs his shoulders, ‘you just haven’t seen it yet, and I will give you everything again, now.’
Blood is pounding in my ears. ‘You have given me nothing but misery. You have—’
He holds up a hand for silence. My jaw clamps shut and will not open.
‘One day you will thank me for what I have given you, brother, and today you will thank me for this. I am going to tell you how to clear your name. I am going to tell you how to come home.’
‘That’s impossible.’ I force the words out. ‘I can never go back. I am a traitor. You killed—’
His hand goes up. My mouth shuts.
‘You can be a part of the legion again, Corvus. You can be amongst your brothers. All you have to do is bring Tiberius a head.’
Marcus. My oldest friend. My brother.
He smiles.
‘Bring Tiberius the head of King Pinnes, Corvus, and all will be forgiven.’
Chapter 47
The king was riding. Only his bodyguard accompanied him, and I rode with them. Thirty of the king’s guard had died in the battle at the Volcae Marshes. They had not yet been replaced.
‘The king needs to please all of the tribes,’ Vuk explained to me. ‘The bodyguard, we are all Breuci, but Pinnes is considering filling our ranks with others, so that they feel trusted by their king.’
By his tone, I guessed Vuk’s opinion on the matter. ‘You are not in favour of that?’
‘Not while men are men.’ He shook his head. ‘A man’s loyalty is to his family and his tribe. The king can rule others, but his bodyguard should be kin.’
‘Are all Pannonians not kin?’ I asked him.
‘You were Roman,’ Vuk said without malice. ‘Who do you fight now?’
I took his point. Alliances shift. Allegiances change.
We rode north to a pasture beside a river. We were to meet Bato here. That the king had come to meet him halfway, rather than have the Dalmatian come to his hall, spoke to the changing dynamics of their pact.
We arrived first. The sky was a brilliant blue. Distant peaks were dusted white, but the valley floor was welcoming spring, and Ahren took mouthfuls of lush grass as we waited in silence broken by horses’ chewing, and the chatter of birds on the wing.
I looked to Vuk. His eyes were sweeping the treeline. He looked ready for violence but, then again, Vuk always looked ready for violence.
I didn’t know what to make of the king’s expression. He seemed to have aged since the battle, but there was nothing surprising in that. Nothing ages a man like combat, except maybe children, from what I had seen and heard.
I thought of my own father, and as it always did, the memory of that man burned me with shame. So far as I knew, the people who’d killed him were still alive, and I’d chosen ignorance over knowing their names. I had never run from battle, but I’d fled from a piece of paper. I’d fled from truth. I’d fled from fate.
Marcus’s words haunted me. Yes, they’d come in a dream, but I’d heard the truth in them. A man could be forgiven a lot for killing an enemy general. A man could be forgiven a lot for cutting a thread that held an alliance – a rebellion – together. I had transgressed against Rome, but the leaders of that place had a habit of doing the same, and their slates were simply wiped clean when circumstance favoured it. Exiled consuls had come back into the fold, why not a soldier? I hadn’t killed a Roman myself. Yes, I’d taken part in the raid, but that could be explained away. That was how I’d ingratiated myself to the rebels… That was how I’d gained the king’s trust… That was how I’d got close enough to—
‘Everything all right, Corvus?’
Pinnes. He was looking at me with concern. Not for his well-being, but for my own.
‘Everything’s all right, lord,’ I said with shame. Shame that I’d been thinking about how I could kill him. Shame that I’d even considered such a thing.
‘How’s your horse?’ he asked. The king was looking for conversation. He hid it well, but he was agitated at being summoned here. He could see the tides of war shifting. He was a man with the weight of a dying people on his shoulders.
We talked for a minute about my mount, then other horses that were friends, servants and comrades to us. I was always amazed by man’s attitude to beasts. How widely it varied. To some, a living creature was nothing but breathing meat. To others, an animal was his greatest friend. I could understand that. A creature might fail you, but it would never betray you.
If King Pinnes had worry of such an act from me then he did not show it. Rather he talked to me quietly and comfortably in Latin, his eyes on a bird that shot and darted through the air in search of its lunch.
‘I hear you took a walk to the watchtower…’ he said. There was a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
‘We’re just friends,’ I told him, which was the truth. A truth I would have changed, though.
‘She is well?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘I made the decision not to check on them myself,’ the king confided in me. ‘The hostages. Dalmatians are proud people.’
‘Hostages are a part of alliances,’ I shrugged. ‘A part of war.’
‘They are,’ Pinnes agreed. ‘Still…’
He fixed me with a look, then. There was concern. Regret.
‘Corvus, if anything should happen to my alliance with Bato…’
I nodded to end his words. I knew what he was saying without needing to hear it. If Bato were to betray their alliance, then the lives of Miran, Borna, and the other Dalmatian hostages would be forfeit.
‘I understand,’ I told him, though I did not accept it.
‘You have suffered enough,’ the king said cryptically, ‘and you have served the rebellion well. I would not wish for you to suffer further.’
He was about to say more when Vuk hailed him.
‘Horsemen in the trees, lord!’
* * *
Man and mount began to spill from the woodland into the meadow. They came from two directions, and outnumbered us three to one.
I saw a flash of worry on the king’s face. He felt my look.
‘Bato was only supposed to come with fifty men…’
There were three times that number. I looked behind us, and saw none there, but that meant nothing in this country of woods, ravines and defiles. If this was a noose, then our head was already inside it.
The king decided that he would die with dignity. ‘We wait here,’ he said.
What would be, would be.
As the riders got closer I breathed out in relief. Bato the man-mountain was unmistakable. So too was Ziva, a snake in the saddle. Though both men could be fatal to me, they were a more welcome sight than cavalry who answered to Rome.
‘Pinnes,’ Bato spoke as his horse drew up.
He had dispensed with the man’s title. I saw a snarl grow on Vuk’s face, but a smile grew on the king’s, as though he was greeting a brother.
‘Lord Bato, my friend. How are you?’
‘I didn’t come here to waste time with pleasantries, Pinnes. Severus is marching.’
Vuk’s snarl grew. The Pannonian bodyguards bristled at the lack of respect for their leader. Bato’s own men saw it, and smiled darkly. There had been bad blood here since the battle. Pannonian blamed Dalmatian for their late arrival. Dalmatian blamed Pannonian for breaking from the fight.
I looked at an island in the middle of this sea of discontent. Ziva. His reptilian smile was firmly in place, as though there was nowhere on earth he would rather be.
> ‘You say Severus is marching?’ Pinnes asked, unable to hide his confusion.
‘He is, lord King,’ Ziva answered for Bato.
‘How is this? He is only now leaving the Volcae Marshes?’
‘He left when I said he left,’ Bato snapped. ‘And we missed our chance to attack him in the valley.’
‘I do not understand,’ Pinnes tried calmly. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Marching back to the east, away from Siscia, lord King,’ Ziva said diplomatically.
‘He’s going home,’ Bato added gruffly.
This news boggled me. Severus and his army had fought for their way through us, and left the eastern flank of the Empire exposed so that they could join with Tiberius – and now they were marching away from him?
‘Why?’ Pinnes asked.
Bato shrugged. Ziva had no answer.
Then, I felt their eyes come to me.
‘Well, Roman,’ Bato snorted. ‘What are your friends doing?’
For the king’s sake I kept my temper in check. For the sake of my friends in the rebel army I thought. ‘With Severus’s force, Tiberius had the biggest army in generations…’
Another snort from Bato. ‘We already know that.’
‘But Siscia is not Italia. It is landlocked, with mountains to the north, west and south, and hostile lands to the east. Feeding and supplying such an army there may have proved too difficult.’ I remembered my friend Priscus talking of such a thing when Tiberius has assembled his grand army for the war against Marobodus. I could see King Pinnes nodding. This was his own assessment, but he could see that I had more.
‘Speak, Corvus.’
‘Severus is governor of Moesia. This means that he is an ambitious man. He rode out to meet us at the marshes because he wanted glory. Tiberius is nephew and heir to the emperor, so we all know that he must win renown in this war to please the mob of Rome. Germanicus is a favourite general of the Roman people, and he too is at Siscia.’
‘Get to the point,’ Bato growled.
I met his look, and blazing eyes. ‘What I’m saying is that Tiberius is worried that there is not enough glory to go around. He’s sent Severus and his legions home because he doesn’t believe that he needs them to win this war, and if the Romans think he had an overwhelming force, then his achievement will be undermined. Romans, above all else, prize glory, and there is no glory in killing an ant with a spade.’
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