Ironroot tote-2

by S. J. A. Turney

  “For an unnoticed start in the morning?”

  Varro nodded and dropped his kit next to the other bag.

  “That and more. As soon as we’re settled, we’re going out to find our friends and see what they’re up to.”

  The moon was high but partially obscured by scudding clouds as Varro and Salonius slid the table bearing their dirtied dinner plates away from the window and the captain climbed through, surprisingly nimbly, Salonius thought, given both his age and his current state of health. As the younger man approached the window ready to follow suit, he saw Varro swing from the sill and land with a soft thud on the gently-sloping insulated wooden roof of the outhouse.

  Salonius climbed through and swung across to the roof quietly and dextrously, landing in a crouch. He glanced down into the alley to see that Varro had dropped lightly to the dirt floor. Following, the young soldier joined him in the shadowy street. Quickly, the pair dusted themselves off and unwrapped the linen scarves they’d bound around the hilts of their swords to prevent unnecessary noise during the descent.

  “Are we taking the horses?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “No,” Varro replied squaring his shoulders. “Too noisy. And they’ll be near enough to see the inn, so they can’t be far beyond that farm. Follow me.”

  Salonius nodded and the two moved softly to the rear of the inn. Ducking around the back of the next house they could see a short alleyway that led to a patch of darkness from which came the sounds of rushing water. Taking a deep breath, Varro jogged quietly down the alley and to the bank of the river. Clearly too far to jump and too fast to wade or swim, the only crossing point would still be the bridge. Turning the corner once more, they made their way along the river bank towards the bridge.

  “Do you think they’ll be watching it?” Salonius whispered as they came to a halt a few yards away in the shadow of the last building.

  “Definitely. Certainly one of them will be awake.”

  “So what’s the plan?” the young man queried.

  “We’ve a choice. Least visible route is to climb along the outside.” He pointed to a very narrow lip where the tile bonding layer jutted out of the grey stone. “It’ll be dangerous, ‘coz there’s not much of a lip and it’s bound to be slippery. The alternative is we take the chance and run across.”

  “And hope they’re looking away at that point? Bit risky.”

  “The side it is, then” agreed Varro.

  Another deep breath in preparation and the captain darted across the small space to the bridge, ducking below the parapet and grasping the capstones tightly. With a last glance back at Salonius, Varro began to shuffle slowly along the side of the bridge with gently scraping noises that were almost completely drowned out by the rushing water.

  The young man watched with some trepidation, his breath held and his heart pounding in his chest. He almost jumped out into the open as he saw Varro’s foot slip on the narrow lip and for a heart-stopping moment the man hung above the torrent by his fingertips before regaining his hold and shuffling along to the safety of the far bank. As he dropped silently into the long grass and climbed up the bank, he waved across to Salonius.

  The young soldier ducked across the gap and dropped down the bank, grasping the top of the wall. With a grunt, he began to pull himself across, relying mostly on the strength of his arms and using the tips of his toes on the ledge mainly for balance. In what felt like hours, yet was really only moments, he reached the far bank and dropped gratefully to the grass next to Varro. The older man slapped him quietly and encouragingly on the shoulder and paused long enough for the pair of them to get their breath back.

  With a deep breath, he gestured to Salonius to follow and moved along the outer wall of the farm.

  “We’ll head round the back and out of the village that way. They’ll be concentrating on the inn, the bridge and the road, so we should be safe.”

  Salonius nodded and joined the captain, slowly creeping along the wall. Somewhere nearby a dog barked and both men stopped for a tense moment before moving on as quietly as possible. A few minutes later they had rounded the back of the farm and were picking their way between a hen run and a rickety wooden shed with slats missing. Passing the last of the net fencing, they reached a gooseberry bush that provided the last cover before open ground.

  The two men stopped and scanned their surroundings. Varro turned to face his young companion.

  “If you were wanting somewhere to camp down unnoticed and get a good view of the bridge and the inn, where would you be?”

  Salonius squinted into the darkness. The valley side was a steep grassy slope, pockmarked with rabbit warrens and punctuated with small rocks. Where the slope began to flatten out was a collection of large boulders that would be perfect were it not for the view was too restrictive to be of use. A wide area of open grass used for grazing goats would offer no protection. Close to the road was a small copse. It would be uncomfortable to camp in, certainly, but offered both cover and a clear view. Across the road much the same land stretched away to the bare slope of the valley side. A messy wooden structure stood in the open ground amid a wide circle of churned mud. He couldn’t see it from here, but remembered passing it on the way into the village. A cow byre.

  “Two possible locations, sir” the young man frowned. “The copse and the shed.”

  “Which one, though?”

  Salonius shook his head uncertainly. “Could be either. The copse’d be uncomfortable, but no one’s going to come across them there and they’ve a good view. The shed would be warmer and more comfortable, but there’s the possibility of the farmer finding them.”

  Varro nodded.

  “But it’s night time. All the farm animals are safely tucked up in their beds. Can you hear a cow?”

  “No.” Salonius frowned. “You mean they’ve killed all the cows?”

  “We’re talking about people who’ve killed at least an officer and a courier. Do you think they’d baulk at removing a farmer and a few cows?”

  The young man peered into the darkness, trying to take the measure of the building.

  “So what do we do now, sir?”

  “If they’re watching the bridge and the inn then it’s unlikely they can see the rest of the valley. We head to the rocks, then round the trees and down the valley a way before we cross the road and come up behind the shed from the other side.”

  Without waiting for acknowledgement from the young soldier, Varro jogged quietly and swiftly away from their cover and disappeared in the gloom around the pile of boulders at the foot of the valley side.

  His heart beginning to beat faster once more, Salonius followed suit, sprinting and keeping low. Though it had seemed such a distance when he first looked, he reached the boulders in mere moments and disappeared among them, panting. He found the captain also wheezing and clutching his side, leaning on one of the larger stones.

  “Are you alright, sir?”

  “Hurts a bit. I’ll have to dip into the medicines when we get back to the inn.”

  Without further comment, he took several deep breaths, pushing back his shoulders, and then strode out from the boulders. For several hundred yards their movements would be hidden from the cow byre by the trees and once beyond that they would be far enough away to be masked by the darkness itself. Salonius followed once more, falling in alongside the older man and noting unhappily the way Varro held his side as he walked.

  “If the moon comes out from behind the clouds we’re going to be a lot more visible,” he noted. Varro shrugged.

  “If the moon comes out we just have to drop to the grass and wait for another cloud.”

  The two walked on for a while in silence until Varro judged that they’d gone as far as they needed to, and then as quickly and lightly as they could, they slipped across the road and ran across to the relative cover of the undergrowth on the valley side. Once among the low scrub, they stopped for another rest, leaning forward with their hands on their hips, bre
athing deeply.

  Varro looked across at Salonius and shrugged. The young man nodded and the two began to move toward the byre, now a vague, looming darker shape amid the greater darkness. They moved slowly and carefully. There was little chance the occupants would be watching anywhere but the village, so speed was of far less importance than silence. Picking their way between the scratchy, rustling plants as quietly as possible, they edged closer and closer to the barn, the rough planks from which it was constructed gradually becoming visible in the gloom.

  Salonius regarded his superior, three steps ahead, with a worried look. It was clear that all this sudden exercise and movement had stirred up trouble with the captain’s wound. Perhaps it had even opened up once again and he could be bleeding to death as they moved. Salonius wouldn’t be able to tell until they reached a patch of light. The state of Varro added to his collection of concerns as he moved. What if the cows had been locked up somewhere else and the barn was empty. Where would they look then? What if their pursuers had already gone ahead and were at the Imperial way station? What if, and this one had been nagging at him all afternoon: what if these men turned out to be innocent? Or even allies?

  He realised his pace had slowed and he was gaining distance on the captain out ahead.

  “Damn it” he muttered under his breath and picked up the pace a little. It was no good surrendering to doubt now.

  By the time he’d caught up with Varro, the two were mere yards from the shed. At least one of his fears was allayed as they ducked across the open space, the mud fortunately dry due to the recent lack of rain. As they crouched by the wall of the barn, Salonius could hear the murmur of hushed conversation within. He strained to hear more, but the detail was still indistinct. There were clearly two men talking in very low tones.

  Varro shuffled silently along the wall to where low flickers of yellow light shone out through a hole in the boards. He peered through and then beckoned Salonius to join him.

  Inside the barn were two men. One, lying on a rough bed of straw, was wrapped tightly in a blanket with a saddle blanket rolled up beneath his head. The other sat at the barn’s window, gazing out toward the village in the distance. He was dressed in rough tunic and breeches. Not a military uniform tunic, but that of a civilian, yet on the belt fastened round his waist was a solid Imperial military sword. A quick glance back confirmed that a second sword lay next to the reclining man, within arm’s reach. Salonius craned his neck to look further back into the byre and noted with distaste the source of the smell wafting gently through the window. Half a dozen cows lay in various positions to the rear where they’d been led and, without a moment’s thought, had their throats cut. Salonius felt unaccountably queasy.

  Varro nudged him and pointed to the watcher and then tapped himself quietly on the chest. With two fingers making a walking motion, he mimed moving around the shed to the window and then lightly patted his sword. Salonius nodded his understanding and pointed at the door of the barn. The large door was held shut with only a length of twine, designed, as it was, to be shut from the outside. He mimed cutting the twine with his blade and then pointed at the reclining figure. Varro nodded agreement and held out his hand. Salonius grasped it and shook once before slowly and quietly drawing his sword. Varro did the same and, with a single nod, began to creep slowly and quietly around the wall.

  Salonius sloped off in the opposite direction, to the door. There were cracks around the door and he’d have to be careful not to be observed. He took up the best hidden position where he could see the tied twine through a crack which would be wide enough to thrust his sword through. His heart racing, he sought another crack and, finding the best, quietly waited, watching the man at the window. Irritatingly, now he was somewhere he could hear, they’d stopped talking. With bated breath he waited.

  His first sign that Varro had made a move startled him. There was an unpleasant ‘crunch’ and a faint squawk from the man at the window. Even as Salonius thrust his sword between the planks and severed the twine with ease, he watched with fascinated horror as the man at the window slumped slowly backwards and fell to the floor, a gaping hole where his eyes had been and a multicoloured slick of unpleasantness pouring from the wound. He twitched for a moment, gurgling, as Salonius pulled the door open. Varro had appeared at the window now, a grim look of determination on his face and his sword running with the man’s blood.

  The man lying wrapped in a blanket had grasped his sword and was coming to his feet quickly, his eyes flickering between the messy corpse on the floor and the vision of bloodlust at the window. So intent on Varro was he that he never noticed the door swing open behind him and never saw the stocky young soldier leap across behind him, his sword raised high.

  With a grim smiled, Salonius brought down the bronze pommel of his sword hard on the very top of the man’s head, knocking him unconscious instantly. The man slumped to the floor.

  Varro glared at him.

  “You think we’ve time to take prisoners?”

  Salonius shrugged defensively.

  “I’d rather know who they are before I kill them, sir.”

  Growling, Varro rounded the wall of the shed and stormed in through the door. As he leaned down and wiped his sword on the dead man’s tunic, he glared up at his companion.

  “You think they’re innocent men?” he barked. “They’re in civilian clothes with no insignia or sign of rank. Yet they’re armed like soldiers and following us. You want more?”

  Salonius stood silently.

  Varro kicked the fallen body.

  “This one I don’t know but I think he might have been one of the provosts from Crow Hill.”

  He pointed at the unconscious man.

  “That bastard, on the other hand, I know. I know the face. He’s one of the prefect’s guard.”

  Salonius shrank back from the force of the captain’s anger. Varro walked over and pressed his finger into Salonius’ chest.

  “You brained him; you carry him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sheathing his sword, the young man bent down and lifted the unconscious soldier easily, slinging him across his shoulder. As he settled his burden more comfortably, Varro collected the saddle bags from the pile in the room and shouldered them. With a single angry glance at Salonius, he strode purposefully out of the shed and toward the road that led to the bridge.

  The young man hurried after him, giving a worried glance back at the interior.

  “Sir?” he called as he jogged to catch up.

  “What?” barked Varro furiously.

  “What about the mess. Shouldn’t we hide the body? And find their horses, sir?”

  Varro stopped dead and Salonius almost fell over him. He turned and pointed back at the barn.

  “Firstly, if you’d been more aware of your surroundings and less worried about the ethical consequences of what you were doing, you’d have seen that the farmer was lying gutted in the back of the barn behind the cows. No one’s going to find that till tomorrow morning; afternoon probably. We’ll be long gone by then.”

  He started to walk again, slowly, and Salonius strode alongside, a contrite expression clouding his features.

  “Secondly: we don’t need their horses. We’ve got our own, and I’ve got their saddle bags. There’ll be nothing at the horses that we could use.”

  He glanced sideways at the younger man.

  “Thirdly, you have got to stop calling me sir!” He sighed.

  Salonius smiled weakly.

  “I’m sorry. It’s hard. Years as a soldier and these things become ingrained. You know that? I’m finding it hard to stop. Whether you’re with the second or on your own, you’re still a captain. You’re still my superior, and it’s wrong.”

  Varro opened his mouth to speak, but Salonius plunged on.

  “I know I’ve got to. I know we need to be as unobtrusive as possible at the moment and that ‘captain’ and ‘sir’ draw attention, and I am trying. Time will change things.”
<
br />   “That’s part of the problem, Salonius,” Varro groused. “I’m running out of time. Every hour that passes for you brings you closer to promotion, or retirement. You might end up owning an inn like that.” He pointed across the bridge at their destination.

  “That’s what I always planned. But every hour that brings you closer to your future brings me closer to a hole in the ground.”

  He stormed along in silence, his head bowed as he crunched along the gravel leading up to the bridge. There was no need for subtlety now.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The captain turned to Salonius.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m dealing with this, but sometimes it feels hopeless.”

  Salonius gave what he hoped was a supportive smiled.

  “What you’re doing matters. What we’re doing matters. We’re fated for this. The Gods themselves set us on this path and who can argue with the Gods. And the future’s unknown to us, for all the Gods might read it. My sergeant says that Scortius is the best doctor in the whole army. If there’s a way to cure you, he’ll find it. But we’ve got to pursue this; get to Saravis Fork and find your cousin. If whatever this is is so important people will kill to stop it, then we need to find it.”

  Varro looked down at his companion and finally his brow unfurrowed and a smile passed briefly across his face.

  “You put a lot of faith in this Cernus, don’t you?”

  “With respect,” the young man replied with a grin, “it’s because of the Stag Lord you found me. When you were wounded you wanted something to drink. On the way to the hospital tent you must had passed more than a hundred men; sergeants, engineers, archers, infantry and medics. How many of those men know Cernus?”

  Varro blinked.

  “Perhaps a handful,” continued Salonius. “And of that handful of men who’d heard of Cernus out of the hundreds around you, how many do you think had stood in his presence?”