“I have an idea,” he hissed with sudden excitement. “But you are not going to like it.”
***
It had started to rain again, and a bitter cold northern wind was blowing. In the night sky there was no sign of the stars or the moon, banished behind the endless marching rows of grey storm clouds. Cautiously, on foot, Fergus moved across the open valley floor towards the Terek. In the darkness he could barely see further than a few yards, but over the whine of the wind he could hear the river. It was close. Following on behind him on horseback and in a single file, came his companions. A thin rope bound them all together, to prevent them getting separated in the darkness. The horses snorted nervously and here and there they dislodged a stone, that went clattering away down the slope. Saadi, being the lightest, had tied Numerius to her horse and the ex-praetorian’s legs and arms dangled from the beast’s back. The wounded man still seemed to be unconscious. Bringing up the rear came Arlyn on foot, clutching a sword. Their progress however was agonisingly slow. Anxiously Fergus turned to look up the valley in the direction of the narrow gorge that led towards the Caucasian Gates, but he could see nothing in the darkness. As he reached the edge of the river he paused and crouched, straining to listen. Behind him his companions and their horses did the same. In the night however, the only noises came from the whine of the wind, the patter of the rain and the gurgle of the river. There was no sign of the Alani. But their encampment was not far away.
Still Fergus waited, crouching at the river’s edge as he listened and strained to see in the near-complete darkness. The storm and the driving rain seemed to have prevented the Alani from starting any campfires. They would be as drenched as he was, Fergus thought grimly, but their sentries would still be out there, watching.
The plan he’d told Adalwolf was simple and bold. Under the cover of darkness, they were going to go straight up the middle of the river and through the Alani camp and on into the narrow gorge beyond, relying on speed, surprise and the cover of darkness. The threat of a flash flood breaking through the landslide that blocked the river further up the valley, had been noted by the Alani, and in consequence, during the day, Fergus had observed them moving their sentries a little further away from the course of the river.
“You do realise,” Adalwolf whispered nervously from the darkness close by. “That if that unstable dam of mud and rock breaks, which it can do at any moment, we are going to be swept away in a deluge of water. This is a fucking big risk we are taking.”
“That’s the whole point,” Fergus hissed. “Down here the water level in the river is low. It will make it easier to move through the river. We are going to use that landslide and the threat of a flash flood to our advantage. If they fear the potential of a flash flood the Alani will keep their distance from the river. That’s our chance.”
“You can’t know that for sure,” Adalwolf whispered.
“It’s too late,” Fergus whispered. “We are committed, and I can’t think of any other plan. Just pray that this rain continues. The noise will hopefully help cover our approach.”
Swiftly Fergus turned to the others, waiting close by in the darkness.
“Stick to the river,” he hissed. “Walk your horses. Control them. The river is going to be slippery and treacherous. But it won’t be deep. Once you are beyond the landslide you ride for the gorge with all speed. Do not stop for anything. If we are discovered. It will be every man for himself. You ride for the Caucasian Gates. Good luck boys.”
Without another word, Fergus rose and gingerly began to move out into the Terek. The landslide further up the valley had blocked most of the river’s natural flow and subsequently the water level in the river had dropped significantly. As he moved out into the middle of the river, to his relief, he found the river current weak. The water only came half way up to his knees, revealing smooth stones and boulders. But Adalwolf was right. If the landslide that was blocking the river gave way, as it surely would at some point, then the flash flood would kill them instantly.
Grimly Fergus started to push on up the river towards the Alani encampment, as behind him his companions cut the rope that had bound them together, and silently urged their horses into the water. The splash of the horses’ hooves in the water and the beasts nervous snorting sounded horribly loud. In the pitch blackness of the night it was hard to see anything, and their progress was slow. The river however was their guide, and as they moved on up its shallow course, Fergus muttered a silent prayer to the water nymphs, imploring them to be kind and merciful.
As they steadily drew closer to the Alani camp, Fergus pulled his gladius from its sheath and turned to peer into the darkness on either side of the river. In the night there was no movement, but the patter of the rain and the gentle whine of the wind continued. Carefully, making sure that he did not slip on the smooth stony and rocky riverbed, Fergus moved on. They had to be close now. Tensely Fergus paused, as he suddenly heard the soft whinny of a horse. Turning around to check behind him he could see nothing, and the noise was not repeated. All seemed peaceful and as it should. Reaching up to wipe the rain from his face, Fergus carefully started forwards again.
The minutes passed in tense silence and, as he moved on up through the shallow river bed, Fergus’s heart began to beat faster and faster. They were going to do this. They were going to sneak straight through the middle of the Alani camp. They were going to have a laugh about this afterwards. Abruptly ahead he sensed that they had reached the landslide. Pausing in the river, Fergus peered into the gloom ahead as he made out the ugly mass of mud, rocks and debris that had so crudely cut the Terek in two. Trickles and streams of water were already flowing over and past the highly unstable, jumbled barrier. It seemed like the whole mass could give way at any moment. Carefully Fergus started to wade towards the bank of the river. Behind him he heard a horse snort and the gentle splash of hooves in the water. His companions were still with him.
He had just made it to the riverbank when Numerius suddenly shrieked in pain. Fergus’s eyes widened in horror, as the shriek rent the night. For a moment he could not move. Before Saadi could stop him, Numerius had cried out again, his piercing shriek of agony sending a chill straight down Fergus’s spine. From close by, Fergus heard a sudden shout of alarm and to his horror down along the riverbank something seemed to move in the darkness.
“Ride, ride. Go,” Fergus yelled as he turned to his companions.
Frantically he flung himself aside, as in the darkness his companions on horseback came surging past him and noisily shot out of the shallow river and up onto the bank. With a wild scramble and thud of hooves they were off, leaving him behind as they clattered up the valley in the direction of the narrow mountain gorge. There was no time to see what was happening behind him. With wild splashing steps, Arlyn came racing past Fergus and vanished off into the night. In the confusion it was every man for himself now. Hastily Fergus scrambled up onto the riverbank and was just about to follow Arlyn, when he nearly collided with a figure in the darkness. With a startled cry and acting on instinct, Fergus stabbed the man with his sword and felt the blade slice through flesh. A shriek rang out in the night. Close by, he heard voices shouting to each other in a foreign language. Fergus started to run. In the utter darkness it was impossible to see more than a couple of yards ahead and, as his boots splashed through the water-logged, muddy and stony ground, he tripped over a rock and went tumbling. His head hit something sharp and Fergus cried out in pain and shock as he felt blood start to pour down his cheek. Then he was up and running, ignoring the searing pain, his boots crunching across the stones and splashing through the mud. Behind him more shouts pierced the night air and from close by, he heard the whinny of a horse and the thud of hooves.
Wildly Fergus veered around a large boulder and nearly plunged straight into the wide, shallow lake of water, that had formed behind the landslide and which was still blocking the river. Around him, the Alani voices were shouting to each other. They seemed to be everywhere. T
he number of voices was growing but he could not see them in the darkness. With growing desperation, Fergus sprinted up the gorge whilst trying to keep the course of the river to his left. Suddenly ahead, he sensed something move in the darkness and above the patter of the rain, he heard footsteps rapidly drawing closer. A figure loomed up and crashed into Fergus, tackling him to the ground with a triumphant yell. As he went crashing and tumbling to the ground, Fergus desperately lashed out with his sword and the cold, hard steel hit something - for his attacker shrieked in pain. Ignoring the bruises and blood seeping down the side of his head, Fergus frantically struggled free and back up onto his feet. His attacker made a last attempt to hold on to Fergus’s leg, shrieking as he did. Yet fear lent Fergus desperate strength and with a vicious slicing blow, he silenced the man with his sword. Then he was off again, staggering and limping through the darkness and the rain.
The Alani however seemed to be gaining on him. Their shouts and cries filled the night all around him. Pounding up the valley still in the heavy rain, Fergus felt himself starting to tire. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps and he was steadily losing the ability to ignore the pain. If they caught him now it would all be over. No one was coming to rescue him in this pitch-darkness.
With a startled yelp he again tripped over a rock and went crashing headlong into the ground. Groaning, he dragged himself up and started to run again. But his pace was beginning to slow. Close by something clattered into the ground and a dozen yards to his right he heard a shout. But the darkness hid it all from sight. Furiously biting his lip Fergus ran on. How far were the Caucasian Gates? Was he going in the right direction? It was impossible to know. All he could do was follow the river and hope that it led him straight towards the Roman fortifications. As he struggled on up the stony valley, Fergus suddenly found himself thinking about his grandfather. Corbulo had faced many challenges in his life and he had never given up. He had never despaired even when the odds were heavily stacked against him. And if Corbulo could survive, Fergus thought with a sudden surge of adrenaline and resolve, then so could he.
Less than ten yards away in the darkness, Fergus heard horses galloping past him up the valley. Without thinking he veered away straight into the Terek. Frantically he started to wade across the river towards the other bank, his boots slipping, scraping and striking the smooth river stones. The water was ice-cold. The current tugged at his clothes and body, trying to flush him downstream and as he pushed on deeper, the water started to come up to his knees; then his waist, then his chest. Gasping from the cold he emerged and staggered up onto the far bank and without pausing started to run again. There was no way of knowing whether his trick would work. In the darkness the shouts of the pursuing Alani still seemed horribly close.
Struggling and panting for breath, shivering with cold and half his face covered in blood, Fergus gasped, as suddenly a half a mile or so up ahead, he caught sight of a row of burning torches extending across the narrow gorge. The Caucasian Gates! High above him, he caught sight of more lights, eerily suspended in the darkness. It had to be Cumania, the fortress that guarded the narrow mountain pass. A little cry of relief and pure joy slipped from Fergus’s lips, as he ran towards the burning torches.
To his right the crash and roar of the Terek filled the darkness with noise. Slowly the wall blocking the pass drew closer and as it did, the voices of his Alani pursuers started to fall back. When he was less than a hundred paces from the line of burning torches, which seemed to be protected from the rain Fergus cried out again. In the flickering torch light, he caught sight of iron-covered, wooden and stone ramparts, that ran across the length of the narrow gorge. The fortifications looked formidable, blocking all access through the pass. And underneath the section ahead ran the surging, roaring Terek. Dimly Fergus was aware of movement up on the walls and the warning cries of sentries manning the fortifications. They were not going to open the gates for him Fergus thought with a sudden realisation. Not in this darkness. Not without knowing who was out there in the gorge. That just left one option.
Something hammered into the ground close by and horrified, Fergus realised it was an arrow. The sentries up on the walls were shooting at him.
“Roman soldiers,” Fergus roared in Latin and then in Greek. “Don’t shoot. Roman soldiers. For fuck’s sake stop shooting.”
But his cries seemed to go unheeded, as another arrow struck a rock close by and went bouncing crazily away into the air. No, Fergus thought with sudden savage resolve, he hadn’t come all this way to be killed by his own side. That was not how it was going to end for him.
The fortifications were very close now and in the dim flickering torchlight, Fergus caught sight of the narrow gap in the barrier, through which the Terek was surging down the canyon floor. The river passage through the fortifications was barely high enough to let a man pass and the river seemed narrower at this point. The flow of water was wilder than further down the valley. As a third narrow narrowly missed him and hammered into the stony ground, Fergus leapt into the raging, surging river and with a defiant snarl, started to force himself upstream towards the gap in the walls. On the riverbank, a couple of rider-less and panic-stricken horses went galloping past in the opposite direction. The strength of the river current was almost overpowering, as the gushing water tried to force him back and wash him down the valley. Snarling and growling with the last of his energy, Fergus furiously battled his way upstream towards the low gap in the iron clad walls. The rushing, ice-cold water was colder than he could have ever imagined and soon he’d lost all feeling in his feet. On the ramparts above him he was aware of shouts and figures moving about in the gloom, but no one seemed to be shooting at him anymore.
Forcing his way through the low gap in the fortifications, Fergus gasped and cried out as he staggered and swayed towards the river bank. Dimly he was aware of shouting and movement on the bank. Then in the darkness he heard the rapid splash of feet coming towards him, and a moment later someone grasped hold of his arm and dragged him out of the water. Shivering uncontrollably Fergus staggered up onto the land, still clutching his grandfather’s sword. Torches were bearing down on him from all sides and then he recognised that the men around him were shouting in Latin. Turning to face the man who had dragged him out of the river, Fergus saw that it was Flavius. The German ex-boxer was grinning from ear to ear and a little further away Fergus caught sight of Adalwolf, Arlyn, the brothers, Saadi and Barukh. His companions looked exhausted, drenched and freezing as they sat, huddled together, under the watchful eye of a party of armed Roman legionaries. But for a few scrapes and bruises they looked unharmed.
“We thought we had lost you,” Flavius cried out, as he grasped hold of Fergus’s head with both hands and, before Fergus could stop him, the German had planted a kiss on Fergus’s forehead. “We thought they had taken you,” Flavius yelled with genuine relief, as he let go and stepped back. “But they didn’t. Those fucking tribesmen failed. We made it Fergus. We made it. What a ride.”
Fergus could not stop shivering as he stared at his companions. His body was frozen and the pain in his head was starting to really hurt. From the darkness a Roman centurion, clad in a fine red horse-hair crested helmet and clutching a burning torch, was coming towards him. The officer was accompanied by more legionaries carrying torches that sizzled in the rain.
“Numerius,” Fergus gasped suddenly, as he stared at his companions. “Where is he? I don’t see him.”
“He didn’t make it I’m afraid,” Flavius replied with a little shake of his head, as he looked down at the ground. “He is dead. We managed to drag him through the river but the poison.” Flavius paused. “The poison from that arrow killed him. I am sorry. I know you tried Sir.”
“Shit,” Fergus hissed, as he looked away and closed his eyes.
“Who the fuck are you? What the hell are you doing here?” the centurion roared as he marched up to Fergus and Flavius.
For a moment Fergus did not reply as he stood with
his eyes closed, his body shaking feverishly with cold.
“It’s a long story,” Fergus stammered, as he opened his eyes and tiredly turned to face the officer. “We are acting on orders from the Legate Hadrian. I am going to need some horses, provisions and a guide to show us the way back to Antioch. And the next time Sir,” Fergus said, as he took a step towards the centurion, his body shivering and shaking uncontrollably. “When your men try to shoot me. I will have you transferred to the arse-end of the imperial frontier.”
“We’re already there,” the centurion snapped sourly, as he fixed Fergus with a quizzical look.
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Second in Command
Antioch – Roman province of Syria, Summer 115 AD
Hadrian was standing beside the window of his study, looking out over his garden. He looked thoughtful. His hands were clasped behind his back and, clad in a fine white toga and sandals, he looked tanned, fit and alert. He turned as Fergus marched into the room and stiffly snapped out a salute. In the chair along the wall, Adalwolf rose to his feet and nodded at Fergus. But to Fergus’s surprise, Hadrian’s adviser looked uncomfortable. And as he sensed Adalwolf’s discomfort, Fergus felt a sudden, sharp stab of unease. Four days had passed since he and his companions had returned to Antioch in triumph. But Hadrian had kept him waiting, before at last, this morning, summoning him for the official debrief. The rescue mission had been a success. So why was Adalwolf looking so unsettled? It didn’t make sense.
Fergus lowered his eyes as Hadrian gazed at him, and as the silence lengthened it started to grow awkward.
“Stand at ease Fergus,” Hadrian said at last in a quiet, neutral voice and in response Fergus relaxed his muscles a fraction.
“My official report on the mission Sir,” Fergus said quickly as, keeping his gaze on the floor, he stretched out his hand and offered Hadrian a tightly rolled papyrus scroll. It had taken him nearly a whole day to write it.
Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 28