Paulus laughed without mirth.
‘Oh, I tried to get them out of him all right. I might not have liked Perennis very much, but he was still a Roman tribune and my colleague. My friend just smiled at me, and told me that the less I knew the safer it would be for me. It seems we’d both have been better off if I’d never heard any of it…’
Excingus nodded, a glint of triumph in his eyes.
‘Yes. And better still for your colleague Quirinius, given that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And now, Tribune, I’ll trouble you for that one last piece of information. It’ll be hard for you to give it to me, but it’ll go harder on you and yours if you keep it from me. Who was this friend of yours, exactly?’
5
Out on the hills to the north of the Wall, the Venicones had restarted their long march to their homeland at first light. By mid-morning their pace across the barren hillsides was little better than a walk, despite the likelihood that the Roman cavalry would find them and recommence the deadly game that had played out the previous day. Many of Drust’s men had not eaten anything since the previous morning. The day had dawned bright and clear, and was now warm enough to make the marching barbarians sweat heavily in the absence of any breeze to cool their labouring bodies.
‘Come on, my lads, we’ll all just have to keep marching if we’re going to avoid being speared by those horse-shagging bastards! Another few miles will see us safe!’
The Venicone king’s voice was hoarse with bellowing his commands, but there was still a hard edge to his shouted encouragement that compelled Calgus to open his legs and stride out, despite his own experience in the art of cajoling his own men to greater efforts. He had watched Drust fighting off the Roman cavalry the previous day, pulling a horseman from his mount’s back with his war hammer’s spike and cutting the stunned horseman’s throat with a hunting knife the size of a short sword before he could recover from the fall, putting his head back in a savage howl of triumph as the soldier had spasmed out his death throes at his feet. More than once he had led the brief attacks that had punished those riders who had ridden too close to the warband, swinging his heavy pole-arm to fell their horses and leave the Romans easy meat for the men of his bodyguard clustered about him. Even the discovery that his body slave was missing, along with the gold torc that was the king’s badge of authority, had failed to put the man off his stride, although for all of Drust’s bravado, Calgus doubted that the loss was anything like as trivial as the Venicone was making out. Smiling wryly at his own acceptance of the need for pragmatism in defeat, when less than a week before he had been the leader of ten thousand warriors and on the verge of a victory to upset the balance of power across the entire province, Calgus put his head back and dragged down a lungful of air into his burning chest, forcing his feet to even greater speed despite the burning pains in his legs from the previous day’s exertions.
‘Are you enjoying this yet, Calgus?’ He glanced wearily sideways to find that the Venicone king had fallen in alongside him, a grim smile on his face as he regarded his captive’s gritted teeth. It’s a long time since you walked so far or so fast, I’d imagine? I could always lend you a blade, of course, and let you make a run for it. We can’t be all that far from your own land, so you might make it to safety.’
Calgus snorted, waving a hand at the treeless hills across which the warband was making its laboured progress.
‘You know as well as I do that their cavalry will be close at hand now, trotting happily along the trail we’re leaving with their spears ready for use. One man alone in country this open wouldn’t last any time at all.’
He coughed and spat phlegm on to the thin grass at his feet, and Drust laughed.
‘This little march is doing you wonders, Calgus, we’re working you harder than you’ve managed in years. And to think you could have been no more than a head on a pole by now if not for the Venicones.’
Calgus shook his head in disbelief.
‘I imagine you’re still planning to see me decorating some Roman’s spear, unless by some good fortune they get to you first. So where are you taking me, my most unwelcome host?’
Drust leaned towards him conspiratorially, looking round to ensure that his people were all sufficiently engrossed in their own struggle to keep moving before speaking, his voice lowered to avoid it carrying.
‘You know what, Calgus? I don’t have the first idea. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in land I’ve not trodden before in my life with a pack of Roman cavalrymen on our tail and nowhere to seek shelter from them. All I can do is keep my people moving, and hope that we’ll reach some feature that we can defend against the Romans before they find some means of bringing us to bay on ground that suits them.’
The rebellion’s former leader nodded, lowering his own voice in turn.
‘Well, I know where we are, Drust, and I know where we need to go if you want a chance to hold these bastards at arm’s length for long enough that they’ll lose interest in…’
A tired shout of warning sounded from the rear of the column, and both men craned their necks to stare back down the wide track of flattened grass the warband was leaving in its wake. A body of horsemen had crested the rise over which the Venicones had laboured less than half an hour before, no more than a thousand paces behind them. Drust spat on to the ground, hefting his hammer, which, Calgus noted, still had a few hairs clinging to its flat face.
‘It was too good to last. I’ll leave you to contemplate your fate, and how you might want to buy yourself a little extra time rather than dying out here on their spears, while I make sure that our rearguard have their wits about them.’
Tribune Licinius had ridden hard, overtaking his leading squadrons minutes before their first sight of the enemy. Reining his sweating horse in alongside the leading squadron’s decurion, he quickly sized up the sprawling mass of barbarians with a grim glance at his first spear.
‘Still just as many of them as there were when we left them to it yesterday, I see. All we seem to have achieved is to have thinned them out a little, and even that small gain cost us over ten per cent of our strength. I suppose the best we can hope to achieve today is to harry them from their flanks, and keep them from any shelter so that they keep running all day. We need to herd them, like a flock of particularly vicious cattle, until they break from lack of food and shelter. Once they reach the River Tuidius we’ll see how well they cope with an impassable obstacle to their front and hostile spears to the rear. Pass my orders to each squadron as they join the chase, no man is to go any closer to the barbarians than one hundred paces, other than to clean up the stragglers as they fall behind. We’ll lose no more men unnecessarily today. I’m going for a look at them close up.’
He spurred his magnificent grey stallion forward, flanked to either side by the men of his bodyguard, and cantered up the length of the warband, keeping a sensible distance between himself and any bowmen lurking in their ranks. Spotting a small hillock a short distance from the barbarians’ path he rode to its summit, using the elevation to look down into the Venicones. Licinius muttered quietly to himself as he watched the barbarians streaming past, straining his eyes to make out the finer details.
‘That will be their king marching there, I can see his men clustered around him.’ He squinted intently, a frown creasing his forehead as he caught sight of something that held his attention. ‘And who’s that marching alongside him in such a fine purple cloak, I wonder? I seem to recall my good friend Legatus Equitius mentioning something similar in connection with another tribal leader of our recent acquaintance…’
Marcus and his small escort rode north-east in the wake of the rest of the squadron, following their tracks in the grass until they found their colleagues taking their lunch on the open plain, with lookouts posted to all sides. Marcus dismounted, summoning Double-Pay Silus with a quick gesture. The cavalryman walked briskly over to him and saluted crisply, his face expressionless, and Marcus took a deep breath before speaking.
/> ‘My apologies, Double-Pay, I’ve been in a foul mood ever since my closest friend in all the world was killed yesterday, and I’ve been taking it out on you. We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to get along if this strange situation is going to work, so let’s forget this morning and see how the afternoon shapes up, shall we?’
Silus nodded, his face relaxing a fraction.
‘Agreed, Centurion.’
Marcus pulled off his helmet, scratching his head as he spoke, and the double-pay took a bite of the piece of hard bread in his hand, chewing vigorously as he listened.
‘The barbarian we captured back there was a man I knew from another fight, in another place. He told us everything he’d seen in the last day, and part of what he told us was that there’s a large tribal group heading east in front of us. They’re making for a fort on the road to the north.’
Silus looked hard at the centurion, chewing on the bread for a moment before swallowing it.
‘That’d be Alauna. I’ve been there a few times, it’s a big place, built to house several cohorts, so that if the Votadini ever got stroppy with us we could use it as a base from which to put them back in their place. More of a trading centre now, though. It’s got a decent-sized vicus too…’ The two men shared a knowing look. ‘… which would make it the perfect place for them to find food, and take their frustrations out on any civilians who haven’t already run for the hills. I’d imagine that a quick attack might find the blue-noses distracted enough to let us get at them before they even realise we’re in the neighbourhood.’
Marcus nodded.
‘Perhaps a careful scout forward would be the best idea? The rest of the squadron could go north to find Decurion Felix, and tell him what we’ve discovered, and perhaps we should send a messenger party to warn the tribune. Shall we go scouting, Double-Pay? I’d imagine that your deputy can manage well enough in your absence?’
Silus smiled happily at the prospect.
‘Yes, sir. Perhaps you and I, Centurion, and a few picked men?’
Having overtaken the straggling Venicones, Tribune Licinius’s men were a good deal more circumspect than they’d been the previous day. Even without their explicit orders to avoid a straight fight, there wasn’t a man in the entire cohort who hadn’t witnessed the fate of those men who had been unwise enough to ride close enough to the tribe’s straggling mass and paid the price for doing so.
The cavalrymen had been horrified by the mutilated bodies of their fellow riders, and the horses that the tribesmen had swiftly and crudely butchered for their meat, and nobody was looking for the same fate either for himself or for the mount that was his closest companion. They rode alongside the warband at an easy pace, those men with bows loosing the occasional arrow in the hope of inflicting a wound that might cause the victim to fall out of the Venicones’ punishing march north, while the rest of the cavalrymen ranged up and down the huge body of men searching for any signs of weakness to exploit. As the morning progressed, and the ground started to slope upwards again, a steady trickle of barbarians lost their painful struggle to keep up with the warband’s main body, no longer able to cope with the pace being set for them, and were swiftly ridden down and speared. Their heads were unceremoniously hacked from their bodies and tied by their hair to the saddles of their killers as bloody trophies of the day’s running battle, before the victorious riders spurred their mounts to rejoin the hunt, driving the warband pitilessly before them. As the morning wore on even the weak autumn sun’s heat became torture for men denied any water since the previous dawn, and the number of tribesmen falling victim to their remorseless hunters grew steadily until most of the horsemen had at least a single head dangling by the hair to bump bloodily against their horses’ flanks.
Marching alongside Drust, his throat so dry that his breath was coming out in harsh panting rasps, Calgus looked across at the grinning horsemen walking their horses less than a hundred paces away on either side of the Venicones.
‘There’s desperation in the air, Drust, I can smell it. And so can you, I’d guess. Any ideas?’
The Venicone king ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground rising before them as they tracked slowly up a broad dry valley.
‘Your men need water, Drust. They’re at the end of their tether for the lack of it. Another hour like this and you’ll have another five hundred dead, and three times as many again before the sun sets. And in the morning you’ll struggle even to get them back on their feet for lack of food.’
Drust turned a baleful eye on his captive, one hand caressing the hilt of his sword.
‘Perhaps I should offer to trade the Romans your head for safe conduct.’
Calgus shrugged, watching a party of horsemen under a snapping dragon banner canter up the length of the warband.
‘There’s your chance, then. That’ll be their tribune, mounted on that grey horse with the rather fetching armour. Why don’t you call out and see if he’ll bargain with you? I’d imagine you’ll get a short reply, though. He’s got you by the balls, and I’m pretty sure he’s only wondering whether he can manage to have your head tied to his saddle horns without another night in the field.’ He ignored Drust’s tightly clamped jaw and continued. ‘See how there are twice as many horsemen to your left as to your right? There’s a reason for that, Drust, and that reason is that since those bastards know this ground like the back of their hands they want to keep you away from something.’
Drust raised an eyebrow, too weary to ask the question. Calgus grinned triumphantly, knowing that he held an advantage over the Venicone king.
‘Water, Drust. Water and, although they don’t know it, food too. Yes, I thought that might get your atten-’
His words were choked off as the Venicone leader took him by the throat, almost unable to draw breath past the pinching hold of Drust’s fingers on his windpipe.
‘Food, Drust… enough for… every man… still standing…’
The other man pulled him close, snarling into his face.
‘Where?!’
Calgus shook his head, a feral grin showing his teeth despite the burning pain in his lungs.
‘Fuck you… kill me… and you die too…’
Drust pushed him away, drawing his hunting knife and putting the point to Calgus’s throat. His voice was level again, the anger burned out by the truth of the other man’s words.
‘What food?’
Calgus shook his head, laughing despite the blade’s cold point pricking at the stubble lining his throat, and the coughs racking his body.
‘Put the sword away… If you were going to kill me… you would already have pinched my life out.’ He hacked up a lump of phlegm, spitting it on to the turf at the other man’s feet and sucking in a great draught of air before speaking again, his words acerbic in their new-found confidence. ‘I’m not quite the fool you take me for, Drust. I knew that I might have to fall back to the north, and so I concealed enough meat in a location close to here for ten thousand warriors to fill their bellies three times over. Whole oxen, Drust, dozens of them. Butchered, salted, and wrapped in enough cloth to keep the worms out, and that was less than ten days ago…’ He paused, looking at the expression on Drust’s face. ‘And so the question, great king of the Venicones, is just what a belly full of meat for every man of your warband might be worth to you? And while you’re thinking about that, just ponder what you’d give for a good strong stone wall between you and those horse-fucking bastards tonight.’
Drust stared at him without expression.
‘You’ve already given me enough to tell me that I should drive my men to the west, and that I’m looking for a Roman fort that you’ve already conquered. What more do I need?’
Calgus smiled quietly, concentrating on putting one leg in front of the other.
‘I’m sure you’re right. We’re only ten miles from the place I’ve got in mind, so why don’t you just blunder about the hills hoping to stumble across the exact spot, eh? I’ll tell y
ou what, why don’t you just stop wasting time on me, and get on with leading your men to the right place. Feel free to come back for another chat if the need arises.’
He watched silently as the Venicone warlord turned away. Drust cursed quietly, looking about him at the cavalrymen walking their horses patiently on every side, their spearheads glinting in the sunshine. He shook his head, then turned back to his prisoner.
‘Very well! What do you want, Calgus? Stop playing with me before I lose my patience!’
Calgus met his angry glare with a level stare.
‘What do I want, in return for stone walls to allow your men to sleep without fear of sneak attacks, that and a belly full of meat? When your alternative is for those bastards to keep right on chopping your tribe up one man at a time, today, and tomorrow, and for as long as it takes them to run your last men into the ground? Let me think.’ He put a hand to his chin, pretending to consider the question for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what I want, Drust. I want to be a guest of the Venicones, an honoured ally, rather than a prisoner under threat of having my head handed to the Romans. That, and your sworn oath that my place with your people is safe for as long as I like. Either you guarantee my safety, and swear on something I can believe in, or I’ll leave you to blunder round this country until you’ve all succumbed to your hunger and their spears. Those cavalrymen won’t be going hungry tonight, they’ll already have riders out hunting down game and collecting water, and their field supplies will be following close behind. They’ll sleep a few miles away, where their camp fires won’t be visible to you, and in the morning they’ll find you again and keep on killing every man that falls out of the march. Best you choose now, Drust, while there’s still time to make it to my refuge before darkness.’
After the midday meal Marcus’s scouting party rode steadily away from the rest of the squadron, heading east in the direction that Lugos had indicated as the path taken by the tribal band from which he’d managed to escape. Looking to his left from the height of his horse’s saddle, Marcus could see the distant figures of the rest of the squadron scouting away to the north, less the message riders he’d sent back to warn Decurion Felix of the warband’s likely presence in Alauna.
Fortress of Spears e-3 Page 12