‘That is true,’ Lysandra smiled. ‘But we can bring a wall with us.’
‘You have done well!’ Lysandra’s voice rang out over the assembled troops, mercenary and Heronai both. She stood on a small platform outside the growing wall. Behind her, the Romans had paused in their work, Valerian among them, to watch their new allies leave. ‘Men of Hellas. Heronai . . .’ She pointed. ‘Out there, the enemy comes upon us. Here, our defences are not yet ready. So it falls to us, brothers and sisters, to hold the barbarian at bay.’ She saw them, men and women both, glancing at each other – some faces full of fear, some full of excitement and others merely resigned.
‘We should not underestimate the size of the enemy force,’ she said. ‘It is vast – many times our own number. Our mission is simply to delay their host by a few days – we can do that with a single strike and be back here before they gather themselves in time to march to their imminent annihilation. On this wall!’
Telemachus approached, leading a well-drugged ox. It was a fine animal, young and strong – a fitting offering to the goddess. ‘Men of Hellas,’ Lysandra said as she drew her sword. ‘Heronai. I make this offering to the Goddess Athene. Into her hands we entrust our lives – as in ours she puts the fate of Hellas. Hear me, Athene! Lend us your strength that we may cut down the barbarian as the farmer scythes the wheat. May we drench the ground in their blood! Athene, bring us victory!’ Lysandra swung the sword down with all her strength, the blade cutting deep into the ox’s neck. The beast collapsed without making a sound, its blood spraying Lysandra, drenching her in the viscous crimson fluid.
Her soldiers cheered and banged their weapons on their shields. Even the watching Romans joined in. ‘We march with the goddess at our side, the Romans at our backs and our swords to the front!’ At this, they roared louder. Lysandra looked out at the ranks and saw Kleandrias standing at the front. He smiled at her and she returned it, imagining that it must look to him like a rictus grin, her face and hair sticky with ox blood.
‘That was nicely done,’ Telemachus said to her, glancing down at his robe. It too was soaked in gore. ‘I recall your speeches at my shrine. You’re more colloquial these days, Lysandra.’
‘I was young then.’
‘But endearing,’ he mocked, gently. Then he sobered. ‘She is here,’ he said. ‘Even I can feel her presence.’
‘Athene called us to this fight, Telemachus,’ Lysandra said. ‘It would not be fitting if she did not accept her offering,’ she gestured to the fallen ox. ‘Have it burned so the hecatombs might please her.’
He bowed his head slightly. ‘As you wish.’ He turned to go, but then stopped. ‘I could march with you,’ he offered, all earnest intent. ‘We should see it through together.’
‘You are a brave man, Athenian,’ Lysandra said.
‘Believe me, I’d rather not,’ Telemachus replied. ‘But it would be cowardly not to.’
‘Courage, Telemachus, is not the absence of fear, but the facing of it. I see in your eyes that you would march if you were called to. But that would only serve my comfort and there would be no point to it. I need you here.’
‘But . . .’
‘No,’ she cut him off. ‘Your offer is well received, my friend. By the goddess, it would be a balm to my soul if you were by my side. But that does not serve our purpose. Marshall them here – make sure there are supplies. Make sure Bedros and his men are paid so they stay loyal. The coming fight is only the smallest part of the war, Telemachus – you know that as well as I. Without the logisticians, the soldiers are nothing. You are too important to me. To us. To Hellas. Stay and do your job. And I will go and do mine.’
They set out soon after to the cheers of the Romans – something that Lysandra had not expected and was touched by. The nonfraternisation order had gone out days previously, but the truth of it was Lysandra felt that the tough men of the Felix had come to respect her mercenaries and her Heronai simply because they had shouldered their share of the work and done it well. Many of the Heronai remained along with Telemachus – those women tasked with looking after the siege weapons.
They marched in two columns, the mercenaries to the north, Heronai to the south with the meagre supply of pack animals bringing up the rear. They headed directly east – the direction in which the enemy had been sighted. Several other men from Marcellus’s turma had drifted in and confirmed the boy’s tale, so Lysandra was confident that no host of the size reported could pull an out-flanking manoeuvre without being seen from miles around.
The weather was predictably poor, the clouds above them iron grey and angry looking, the rain cold and all pervasive. Rather than the crunch-crunch of many marching feet, the army advanced with more of a plodding squelch. The terrain was not good for armoured troops; it sapped both strength and morale. Lysandra was thankful that Thebe and Titus had trained her women well – they were fit and strong, able to keep up with Euaristos’s auxiliaries. She said as much to Thebe who, along with Illeana, marched at the head of their column.
‘They were already fit, Lysandra.’ Thebe brushed the praise aside. ‘We merely sharpened them. But none of them are going to thank you for the extra load.’
Lysandra grinned. ‘They will when we fight,’ she said, shifting the heavy wooden stake on her shoulder. It was thick and unwieldy, but these staves would make up the ‘wall’ she spoke of to Valerian.
‘You really think a few posts are going to hold back an army?’ Murco asked from behind her. He and Cappa marched with Kleandrias to ensure her safety.
‘Yes I do,’ Lysandra said over her shoulder, ‘At least for a while. We just need to find the right place to deploy.’
‘Where’s that, then?’
‘The rivers draw closer a day or so to the east,’ Illeana put in. When Lysandra glanced at her, impressed, she added: ‘I remember from the maps.’
‘So we shall stop at the narrowest point and make our wall. I pray we have time to either make a ditch and rampart or at least find some high ground.’
‘And if we can’t find either of those things?’ Thebe asked.
‘Then we deploy as we are.’
The Corinthian grinned. ‘Famous Spartan pragmatism.’
Lysandra glanced at her. ‘It has worked in the past,’ she said with a hint of self-mockery.
‘We could have left these staves on a ship,’ Murco was determined to continue the complaining. If we’re heading for a spot between rivers, it would have been much quicker and easier that way.’
‘Yes it would,’ Lysandra agreed. But it takes a long time to form up our people when they’re disembarking a ship. This way, we are marching to our destination in formation so if the enemy comes upon us before the choke point, we will be able to stand and fight. If they do not, we make our wall when we arrive and that will be that. Otherwise we risk the chaos of unloading and extending our lines. We would be asking for trouble.’
‘You see,’ Cappa said. ‘That is why she is the strategos and you are a lowly bodyguard. And not a very good one.’
‘Bollocks. And why have you gone all Greek? Strategos my arse. You hoping for a raise in pay or something?’
‘Maybe,’ Cappa admitted.
‘At least we get to go on the ships on our way back to Durostorum,’ Thebe offered, trying to lift the man’s spirits. ‘We will strike a blow against the enemy and retreat fast back to the ships and escape. Each unit had been assigned a vessel, so all will be well.’
‘Unless it’s a rout and we’re in full retreat,’ Murco said mournfully.
‘Just shut the fuck up,’ Cappa said.
There was little more said after that, the army slogging onwards into the miserable weather. Heads bowed and cloaks wrapped tight, they concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The only vocal contingent of the forces were the centurions and lochagoi who prowled the respective lines of auxiliary and Heronai, shouting orders and generally haranguing their charges. Morning crawled into afternoon and the conditions ensured that there would be
a break in the march. Still, Lysandra posted a strong guard whilst the majority sat in the wet and ate their food lest they be caught unawares, but the enemy was not forthcoming.
Lysandra moved away from her group walking past the guard’s perimeter that she had set and gazed into the mist. This was a foul place, she thought. Wet, green and cold, it was alien to her. This was not the verdant heartland of Lakedaimonia that was her home, it was a vast plain of nothingness, at once awe inspiring and depressing.
Somewhere out there, thousands of savages were heading towards Durostorum with a singular intent: massacre the defenders as its citizens had been massacred by them. Somewhere out there too was Sorina. This was her land, the land she fought and bled to protect. With her, came an army of barbarians, bent on destruction; an army that, if victorious, would be unleashed upon Hellas. She must stop them, she affirmed to herself. With the help of the goddess, she would.
Or at least delay them, Athene’s voice echoed in her mind. Lysandra turned to look back at the force she had assembled and part of her wondered if it would be enough to do even that.
It would have to be.
She heard the distant shouts of her lochagoi kicking their charges into life and made her way back, preparing herself for the long slog ahead.
They marched hard for the rest of the day, Lysandra insisting on pressing on until it was almost too dark to see. Titus was furious that she contradicted him – there would be no marching camp that night, she decreed. Instead, she posted a strong guard and ordered that everyone slept in their tents under arms. The hours it would take to build the camp meant fewer miles travelled – something she could not countenance.
As it was, there was no attack forthcoming and she had the troops roused before dawn to push on. Those that had stood guard had to accept the weariness and go with the rest – and Lysandra set a punishing pace, urgency gripping her, until two hours before noon, she called a halt.
‘This is it,’ Illeana identified. ‘The narrowest land between the two rivers.’
‘A natural choke point,’ Thebe said.
‘No high ground, though,’ Cappa glanced around.
‘Get them to work!’ Lysandra ordered Titus. ‘Two thirds digging the ditch and rampart, one third stood to arms. I will meet with Euaristos and organise them – you see to the diggers.’
‘At once,’ Titus nodded.
‘And get those stakes honed and planted!’ She called after him as he trotted off, shouting orders. She turned to Thebe. ‘I want the archers stationed now. All along this line,’ she pointed between the two rivers.’
‘Slingers too?’
‘No – get them digging.’
Thebe winked. ‘Yes, strategos.’
It was all frenzied activity now, Lysandra noted. The march had been laborious and the weather hadn’t helped. It was still bad, chilly and damp with spots of rain. But there was no deluge to hamper their work – at least for now. And the Romans, she thought – the break in the wet weather would augment their progress too. The men of the auxiliaries and women of the Heronai set to their task, spades working frantically in the wet, muddy ground, throwing up clods of earth that would form the rampart. Lysandra silently thanked Titus – he was a hard taskmaster but his interminable drilling paid dividends. She had experienced it as a gladiatrix and saw now with her own eyes as her troops worked cohesively and without fuss. She promised herself that one day she would allow him to finish one of his wearied-voice-of-experience stories.
‘I’ll go and pitch in,’ Illeana said.
Lysandra arched an eyebrow.
‘I know.’ The Roman shrugged. ‘I’m getting to quite enjoy the work. I don’t know why.’
‘Because you have the option,’ Kleandrias offered. ‘I would not like to dig. I did it for years in the legions.’
‘A shame then that you will have to join her,’ Lysandra said. Cappa and Murco laughed until she turned her gaze on them.
‘But . . . we’re your bodyguards,’ Cappa protested.
‘I rather think that a speedy construction of ditch and rampart will protect me as well, do you not, Cappa?’
‘If it’s all the same, I’d just rather do the job I was employed to do.
‘What happened to “yes, strategos’’?’ Murco wanted to know.
‘Fuck off!’ Cappa looked back to Lysandra. ‘Dig?’
‘Dig.’
They made off, Illeana teasing them all about their laziness and how she, a woman, would show them how to work, fight and kill. It made Lysandra smile and she went to help Euaristos with the deployment of the forward troops.
Two men had survived the brief clash in the wilderness – and were cursed for their luck. They were dragged to the encampment where news of their arrival spread like wildfire. Soon, hundreds of baying tribespeople converged, screaming for Roman blood.
They herded the prisoners to the centre of the camp. They were terrified, one literally soiling himself with fear – with good reason, Sorina thought: his death would be long and excruciating. She would wish such suffering only on Romans. ‘We should question them,’ Sorina said to Amagê – who was still seething at the atrocities she had seen.
‘I am anxious to hear them scream,’ the Clan Chief replied. She noted the two cavalrymen looking at her. ‘I said I want to hear you scream,’ she said again, this time in Latin.
‘Please,’ one of them fell to his knees, imploring, eyes wet with tears. ‘Please . . .’
‘Is that what the Dacians said to you, Roman?’ Amagê snarled. ‘How many did you kill or rape. How many?’
‘No one, I swear by all the gods!’ the man started crying. ‘That was the infantry, not us . . . we’re just scouts . . .’
‘He’s right,’ the other soldier said, he too falling to his knees. ‘We weren’t involved in any of that. Please, lady, you must believe us.
‘Amagê slid out of the saddle. ‘I do believe you.’
Sorina dismounted too, surprised at this. Amagê would hardly disappoint the assembled throng for the sake of a couple of Romans.
‘I heard how ruthless your legions could be. Now, I have seen it with my own eyes.’
‘They are animals, lady,’ the first man said. ‘We have only been seconded to this force – we’re nothing to do with them.’
Amagê smiled. ‘You are going a long way to saving your lives,’ she told him. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Brandus,’ he replied. ‘This is Priscus. We’re –’
‘Scouts. Yes you said.’
The crowd began to jeer, becoming agitated – causing the cavalrymen to shrink in terror. ‘She’s questioning them! ‘Sorina shouted out. ‘Be still!’
‘Very well,’ Amagê said. ‘Very well. We are not the savages you have been led to believe, Brandus. ‘I am sure you have heard tell of all sorts of vile tortures we inflict on our captives.’
Brandus and Priscus exchanged a glance – clearly they had heard, but did not want to admit it. It was Priscus who spoke first. ‘Just rumours, lady,’ he said. ‘People make things up at times of war.’
‘Those bastards in Rome,’ Brandus said. ‘Sending us here – I don’t even know where here is,’ he added. ‘They just send us to these places – we’re just scouts.’
‘Well, that’s lucky for you,’ Amagê smiled. ‘And lucky for me too. Now Brandus . . . Priscus . . . I’m not going to have you hung over a slow burning fire and slowly cook you to death . . .’
At this, both men began to weep, shaking their heads reaching out imploringly, saying ‘please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me,’ over and over again.
Amagê silenced them with a wave of her hand. ‘But you need to answer some questions. Then, you’ll be made slaves. Trust me, it’s better than what I’d do to you if you were legionaries.’
‘We don’t know anything!’ Brandus cried.
‘Of course you do,’ Amagê squatted down so she was eye-level with him. ‘How many men are facing us?’
Priscus di
dn’t even hesitate. ‘It’s one legion, ‘he said. ‘Nothing – we’ve seen the size of your army. And they’re poor quality troops – old men, young boys and manumitted slaves. You’ll roll over them in a single day. When we left, they hadn’t even finished building the wall.’
‘What wall? Where are they?’
‘They took a town called Durostorum.’ Brandus had evidently decided if Priscus was going to talk then he would as well. ‘The soldiers killed everyone there – we had nothing to do with it. They are building a wall from river to river, but the going is slow.’
‘I see. Only one legion?’
‘Yes, ‘Priscus said. ‘There is talk of re-enforcement. But there is always talk of that – we don’t know if we’ll get them.’
‘Why Durostorum? There are narrower points between the two rivers.’ Her slate-coloured eyes flicked towards Sorina; they had already guessed at Durostorum, but confirmation was always reassuring.
‘I don’t know, lady,’ Brandus held up his hands. ‘My guess would be that it’s easier to supply a town – safer for the ships. Easier to defend too.’
‘Not for the people of Durostorum it appears.’
‘We had –’
‘Nothing to do with it, I know.’ She turned to Sorina and spoke in her own tongue. ‘Come. I am weary of these two. I need a drink. More than a drink.’ She walked off in the direction of her tent, ignoring the angry mutterings of the crowd.
Sorina shrugged. ‘As you wish. What about them?’ She turned her eyes to the Romans who were now weeping again – this time with relief.
Amagê stopped and turned. ‘Brandus . . . Priscus . . .’
‘Thank you, thank you for our lives . . .’ Priscus babbled.
‘Remember when I told you I wouldn’t have you tortured?’ she asked in Latin. ‘I lied.’
‘Take them!’ Sorina shouted. The scream of both men was loud as the people descended on them. ‘An offering for Zalmoxis. Burn them. Burn them alive!’ The cavalrymen were dragged up, wailing in terror as they were born away, begging and pleading, lying and weeping.
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