‘It’s a throwing knife. This man was running from something – or someone – when whoever it was put this into him with enough accuracy to very nearly kill him on the spot. A fraction to the right and he’d have dropped dead within a dozen paces. And as it is…’
He didn’t finish the sentence, eyes narrowing as the rider’s eyes opened and found his own, the man’s hand clutching convulsively at his arm with surprising strength. He spoke, his voice no more than a whisper.
‘Praetorian… killed us both.’
Dubnus bent close to his ear, speaking quietly but clearly to the dying man.
‘A praetorian officer and a tent party of guardsmen?’
The rider nodded with painful slowness, the metal blade bisecting his neck making the effort horribly painful, and a fresh rivulet of blood spilled down the curve of his throat.
‘Saw her horse… know it anywhere.’
‘Her horse? The doctor’s horse?’
The rider nodded again, a little more weakly this time, as more of his blood spilled on to the grass beneath him.
‘Message for governor… Venicones going north… Licinius says to Din… Dinpal…’
‘Dinpaladyr.’
The certainty in Dubnus’s voice closed the dying man’s eyes in what seemed a combination of relief and exhaustion, a long slow breath draining out of him with no more power behind it than was sufficient to maintain the processes of his life. With his eyes closed he spoke again, his voice now softer than before as he grasped at the last of his body’s fast-ebbing strength.
‘On my belt… purse… for my woman…’
Dubnus bent close to the dying rider’s face, a note of urgency coming into his voice as he sensed the man’s spirit slipping between his fingers.
‘And I’ll pay the ferryman for you. But which woman? And where?!’
The words were so quiet as to be nearly inaudible, the rider’s last breath easing them into the still morning air as little more than the noise made by his lips as he uttered them.
‘Waterside… Clodia…’
He lay still, and Dubnus bent close to listen for any more breath, at length getting back on to his feet and shaking his head decisively.
‘He’s gone. Dig that purse out, and let’s see if he has a small coin for the ferryman. The rest goes into my pack, and we’ll go and find his woman when this is all over and done with. And quickly now, that wound will have killed him before he’d ridden far from the scene of the attack, which means that we’re closer to them than I could have hoped.’
He stared up the road’s long grey ribbon, the earlier agony of the forced march forgotten as he calculated how far ahead of the detachment Felicia’s abductors might be. His voice, when he turned to face his men, was harsh with purpose.
‘Form ranks for the march! We’re going to catch up with this man’s murderer and show him and his men what happens when they kidnap the wrong person.’
The watch officer squinted at him from his place alongside the detachment’s ranks.
‘And if they’ve already found your man and killed him? What if this doctor’s already dead?’
Dubnus spat noisily on the verge’s damp grass.
‘Well then, Watch Officer Titus, we’ll spend a suitable amount of time making every one of them that lives regret his part in the matter.’ He turned north, waving his hand forward in command. ‘Any man that falls out of the line today gets left behind to live or die alone, so we’ll have no thoughts of slacking. March!’
The morning sun was less than halfway to its zenith when the Selgovae watchers, waiting in the hills to the north of the Tuidius’s last fording point before the river reached the sea, saw the first sign that the expected Roman advance had arrived. They had been waiting three days when the first of the Roman cohorts that they had been set to watch for marched down to the river’s edge, and both men were dirty and tired.
‘Time for us to run, right, Iudicael?’
The chief scout, a man chosen by the leader of the men occupying the Dinpaladyr for his steadiness under any circumstances, simply shook his head and kept watching as the leading cohort splashed into the river’s shallow water, the soldiers driven forward by the inaudible shouts and curses of their officers as they hurried to form an initial defence of the ford’s northern bank.
‘These are Romans. They do everything according to their rules. They won’t be moving any farther north than they have to until they’ve got every last man across the river.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘I’ll wager you gold to horse shit they’ll not be ready to move on until well after the middle of the day. No, there’s no rush for us to run for the fortress. Besides, how often is it that you get the chance to watch the idiots playing their soldier games?’
His companion grunted a reluctant agreement, settling back into the grass to watch the Roman advance guard running to take up their defensive positions around the ford.
‘Why do they take such precautions when there’s no enemy to be seen for miles?’
Iudicael shook his head, a wry smile on his face.
‘They have a way of doing everything that is agreed, and written down, and practised, and nothing will tempt them to break these rules, not even simple common sense. Not only will they form a defence on the northern bank for the rest of their men to cross behind, but they’ll defend the southern bank against attack from the rear too. They are creatures of habit, and for that we can be grateful.’
The Venicone warriors chosen to scour the ground around the Three Mountains fortress were more than a little reluctant to carry out such a menial task, until Drust announced a handsome sum in gold for any man that delivered a Roman spy to him, and double that sum if the captive were still capable of talking. Suddenly enthused to their task, and persuaded by their king that the Romans must have set at least one man to watch them for any sign of movement, the tribesmen scattered in all directions across the hills surrounding the camp, probing with their swords and spears into any vegetation or feature that looked capable of concealing even the most improbably small of Romans, but without any satisfactory result. After several hours of increasingly dispirited searching the majority of them had given it up as a bad job, and trudged back into the ruined fort’s walls with their dreams of fortune shattered. King Drust watched his men return from their fruitless hunt with a slight smile.
‘And there you are, Calgus, it seems as if your caution, praiseworthy though it was, has overestimated our enemies on this occasion. It seems that the Romans have made a complete exit and surrendered the ground to us. That silver-haired tribune was probably under orders to get his men south and start carving up the Brigantes. I must confess that I cannot avoid the humour in their having risen to the fight just a week too late to have been any use to your dreams of conquest…’
His careless insult left the Selgovae leader untroubled, since in truth Calgus was not listening to the words directed at him. Staring out to the west, he was wondering exactly how the Roman spies that he was sure would have been left to keep watch on the Venicone warband had evaded discovery.
Scaurus and Laenas stood on the slope of a low hill and watched as the legionaries of the first cohort crossed the ford, the distant sound of shouting reaching the two men as the cohort’s centurions roared out their orders and chivvied their men to carry them out with more speed. Martos stood to one side, just out of earshot, his face set hard while he watched the detachment’s men crossing the Tuidius. Laenas rubbed his chin, staring down from their vantage point as his men fanned out to their defensive positions, quickly building a wall of shields and spears against any potential attacker.
‘I’m somewhat surprised that there’s no opposition, Rutilius Scaurus. Given that you think they’ll have a good idea that we’re coming, wouldn’t you think that the barbarians would have been better advised to attack us here, while we’re split on two sides of the river?’
Scaurus shook his head, waving a hand at the crossing.
‘If they’d bee
n waiting for us it would be far more in keeping for them to have been actually lined up on the riverbank waving their spears and daring us to cross. Besides that, I don’t think there will be enough of them to mount a defence of the river, not against our numbers. Whoever’s leading them probably has no more than four to five hundred tribesmen with him, and the Votadini won’t be cooperating with them, not given the murder of their king. The men Calgus sent to take control were probably as nice as you like until they were inside the fortress, but after that I’d imagine that things have been rather ugly for Martos’s people. Not to mention his family. Have you ever seen the Dinpaladyr?’
The other man shook his head, shooting a surprised glance at his colleague.
‘I’ve not been north of the Wall in all the time I’ve served here. Have you?’
Scaurus smiled, taking a deep breath of the cool autumn air before replying.
‘Oh yes, I’ve been all over this ground. I was tasked to scout the tribes to the north of the Brigantes’ territory before this revolt ever started, to have a good look at them and report back as to how they would react if Calgus called for war against us. He wasn’t exactly an unknown threat, despite the fact that the speed of his attack took the last governor somewhat by surprise.’
‘You came this far north in the teeth of a civil war? With how many men?’
‘Just one. My bodyguard Arminius was more than enough protection against the risk of an attempted robbery, and two men on horseback have a far better chance of fading into the landscape than a squadron.’
Laenas looked at him with a new respect.
‘And your conclusions?’
Scaurus shrugged.
‘Nothing that wasn’t expected. The Selgovae were burning to go to war, the Carvetii would follow them on principle, and it was a coin-toss as to whether the Votadini would be willing to abandon their favoured trading status with the empire and align themselves with Calgus. Just how disastrous that decision turned out to be is borne out by their current predicament. During my scouting I made a point of getting a look around their main fortress, just in case we might find ourselves on the outside and in need of getting inside.’
‘And…?’
‘It’s impressive enough, built on a huge plug of rock that rises out of the ground like a sleeping dog’s back, almost sheer on one side and still sloping steeply enough on the other that even the only possible route of attack would be an uphill battle all the way. The Votadini have ringed the hilltop with a palisade of mature tree trunks, thousands of them, so that from a distance it looks like a fence of spears. Their name for it translates as “the fortress of a thousand spear shafts”, and if it’s defended by men who know what they’re doing I’d say it’s pretty much impregnable unless an attacker can bring artillery to bear on it. And even then…’
‘Could it be burned out?’
‘With a big enough catapult to get a missile over a wall that high, and with a good supply of oil to set light to the buildings behind it, yes. Neither of which we have in our possession, of course. Short of that, the only way into that fortress is going to be something that we’ve never lacked as a people, those Roman strengths that the empire was built upon. This is going to come down to a combination of old-fashioned guile and ruthlessness.’
The scouts waited until the sun was almost at its zenith before moving. On the river’s grassy plain below them the last Roman troops were marching into the ford from the river’s southern bank, and the soldiers on the northern bank were forming up for the remainder of the day’s march, Iudicael nodded decisively.
‘Let’s be away now. They’ll be moving soon enough. Keep flat until we’re over the top of the hill and the risk of being spotted is gone, and then we ride for the fortress.’
His comrade nodded, and the two men squirmed away from their hiding place over the flat hill’s summit, confident that their movement would go unnoticed given the organised chaos on the plain below. Once over the hilltop they stood, hurrying down the slope to where their horses were tethered by a small lake. Momentarily relaxing with the release of pressure once they were out of sight of the cohorts camped on the hill’s far side, they were brought up short by the sudden realisation that their horses were missing from the trees to which they had been tethered. Before either of them could react to the loss, a man rose from the grass to their left and called a warning to them in their own language, his accent rough but understandable.
‘I only need one of you alive, and there are men all around you. Surrender to us now or one of you will die quickly, the other slowly. Surrender to us now, and I guarantee you your lives.’
The older of the two froze, looking about him for the speaker, but the younger tribesman bolted without a second thought, running hard towards the lake. An arrow whistled through the warm air and dropped him into the hillside’s long grass with his legs still kicking out his death throes, and Iudicael raised both hands, watching with resignation as the hillside’s long grass around him came alive with armed men. The soldiers spread out quickly, their weapons facing outwards in defence, while three of them walked past his comrade’s still-twitching body without breaking step. Their uniforms put paid to any last hope he’d had of the ambush being a mistake, and the small group’s leader gave him a dismissive look.
‘Tie his hands and put him on his horse. I want this man in front of the tribune as quickly as possible.’ He turned back to Iudicael with a hard-faced stare. ‘And you’d best make your mind up before we get there. With your mate dead you’re the only source of information we’ve got as to what’s happening inside the fortress of spears, and we’re going to squeeze everything you know out of you in the next few hours. That can either happen in a nice, quiet and calm way, or it can take a lot of shouting and screaming, most of it being done by you, but the end result’s going to be just the same. Me, I’d prefer it if we just had a nice chat and you told us what you know without any nastiness. I’ve heard enough of your lot screaming their lungs out in agony for one year, but only you can decide how it’s going to be, and once we get into camp you’re going to be asked a lot of difficult questions by some men who are in too much of a hurry to worry about hurting your feelings. So start thinking.’
The volunteer squadron rode down the shallow hill up which the legion detachment were leading the way and presented themselves to the command group riding at the cohort’s rear. Silus jumped down from his horse with a smart salute to Scaurus and gestured to the surviving Selgovae scout with a flourish.
‘As promised, Tribune, here’s the last of the men sent to watch for our approach.’
Scaurus returned his salute, and turned his horse from the line of march before climbing down and walking across to look closely at the captive.
‘Well done, Decurion, you’ve allowed us to steal a march on the men holding the Votadini captive. Tribune Licinius will have to confirm your promotion, but I can’t see him arguing with my decision given this success. From this moment on you’re a decurion. Well done.’
Silus saluted again, then tipped his head to the prisoner.
‘Thank you, Tribune. What would you like me to do with this?’
Scaurus flicked an indifferent glance at Iudicael, who was sitting helplessly with his hands bound in front of him.
‘I’m not sure there’s much point in trying to get any information out of him. We know everything that we need to know about the Dinpaladyr, and anything he tells us about the Votadini holding it will likely be false. I think I’ll just give him to Martos for entertainment when we camp tonight. He never tires of the opportunity to send another Selgovae to Hades with his balls in his mouth.’
Silus nodded and saluted once more, turning to take the horse’s reins and lead it away.
‘Spare me, Lord, and I will tell you everything I know! I swear to tell you the truth, I swear to my gods Cocidius and Maponus not to deceive you!’
Scaurus met the tribesman’s imploring eyes with a cold stare, raising an eyebrow and sno
rting derision.
‘You weren’t listening, Selgovae. I already know everything I need to know about the Dinpaladyr. You’re of more value to me as an offering to the Votadini prince your master betrayed and left to die than for whatever stories you think you can fool me with.’
The captive bent over his bound hands in supplication.
‘I can tell you much that you cannot know, Lord. I can tell you who holds the fortress, how many warriors he commands, how much food they have…’
He fell silent as Scaurus stared hard into his eyes, then nodded to Silus.
‘We’ll have the prisoner down from his horse if you please, Decurion. And you, whatever your name is, the second I think you’re lying to me I’ll have you hamstrung and left to die here. I’m sure there are wolf packs roaming these hills that would appreciate the gift. You can start with the name of the man Calgus sent to take the fortress.’
The Venicones marched from the remains of the Three Mountains fort soon after noon with Drust and Calgus at their head. The Venicone king took a deep breath of the day’s cool air, watching as his scouts loped forward up the road to the north.
‘It’s good to be able to move without the bloody Romans dogging our steps. We’ll march to the north until we’re over these hills, then turn east and head for the Dinpaladyr. Let’s hope that your men are still in command of it.’
Calgus, marching alongside him in the chill morning air, laughed tersely.
‘They’ll still be there. I sent one of my more energetic men to take a firm grip of the Selgovae, and if I know him half as well as I think I do, he’ll be riding them harder than they’ve experienced for many a year. I’ve visited the fortress on more than one occasion, and I can assure you that without a legion’s catapults these Tungrians will still be camped out in front of those walls when we arrive, scratching their heads as to how they might get inside. Once your warriors have rolled over them and taken revenge for us both, I’ll gather my men from inside the fortress and take them west to our own hills.’
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