Altar of Blood: Empire IX

by Anthony Riches

  Sanga shook his head, and was about to speak when the guide’s stare switched to a point over the soldier’s shoulder. An angry voice behind them rasped threateningly, its owner clearly intent on the infliction of pain.

  ‘Well now, just like you said, here they are. They must either be very brave or very fucking stupid.’

  The Tungrians turned, exchanging significant glances. Sanga smiled broadly at the half-dozen men arrayed between them and the tavern’s door. Three of them were the footpads who had attempted to rob them the previous evening, their faces dark with emergent bruises from the two soldiers’ fists and boots, one of them sporting a vicious pattern of hobnail marks across his cheek and broken nose. The other three were ubiquitous gang muscle, the same type they’d met in cities across the empire, their leader a red-headed bruiser with a long scar down through one eye socket, which held a milky, discoloured orb. A knife dangled in his right hand, and the men on either side were similarly equipped.

  ‘You two pricks are in deep shit. You hurt my friends here last night, it seems, friends who routinely pay me a share of their takings in return for which they’ve been promised my protection in the event that anything unpleasant should happen to them. And you two appear to have happened to them rather painfully, don’t you?’

  He looked the two soldiers up and down, shrugging to demonstrate his lack of concern.

  ‘You’re clearly nasty bastards, which is why my friends here called for me before attempting their revenge. So, got anything to say before we break your arms and legs and cut you up?’

  Sanga took a slow step forward, deliberately closing the gap between them with a deceptively languid, almost sleepy demeanour.

  ‘You’re probably a legion brat, aren’t you? Son of a retired soldier? Well you know those men that used to come round and drink with your daddy once they were all retired? Hard men who’d fought in the German War, with those dead eyes that scared you so much. Well, him and me …’ he gestured to the Dacian without ever taking his eyes off the thug, ‘we’re like that. Only worse. So here’s a promise, thimble dick. You raise a blade to me, I will make you eat it. If I were you I’d fuck off now, before this gets ugly, eh?’ He stared at the gang leader for a long moment, watching the doubt slowly creep into his eyes. ‘Except you can’t back down, can you? ’Cause if you do all the other bully boys’ll—’

  And without warning he was in motion, pivoting on one leg to smash a hobnailed boot into his opponent’s kneecap, the redhead staggering backwards with a shriek of agony, clutching the brutalised joint with one hand and pointing at Sanga with the other.

  ‘Kill him!’

  His fellow thugs came forward at the Tungrians with the eager, empty-eyed aggression of men freed of any restraint, the three men who had been beaten the previous evening crowding in behind them in search of revenge, knives raised and glinting in the tavern’s lamplight. Sanga snatched up a stool and swung it low, the wooden legs tangling with those of one of the gang members who was slower than his mates in stepping out of their arc. He fell to the floor, and before he could regain his footing the Briton swung the stool back, stunning him with a smashing blow of the heavy wooden seat. He stepped back from the fallen man with the stool held ready to strike again, his eyes glinting with calculation.

  ‘Still want to fight?’

  For a moment it looked as if the remaining thugs would give up their cause, but then the biggest of the men who had come seeking revenge stepped forward, raising his own blade.

  ‘They only got lucky! We do this! Two on one! Get them down and shiv the cunts!’

  Bolstered by his aggression the remaining men came forward in silence with their knives held ready to fight, only the harsh sound of their breathing and the scrape of their boot soles across the stone floor breaking the silence. Sanga exchanged a swift glance with his comrade, both men knowing that their opponents’ more cautious approach spelt potential disaster for them. Shooting a look back at Gunda he saw that the guide remained in his relaxed position, seated with his back against the wall, the iron-shod staff now lying across his knees ready for use if the fight threatened to spill over him but otherwise showing no sign of making a move. The German shrugged at him, eliciting a throaty chuckle from the thug closest to Sanga.

  ‘He knows to keep his fucking nose well out of it. No barbarian’s going to lift a finger to help you!’

  He took a deep breath, clearly steeling himself to attack, and the Tungrians nodded to each other, stepping forward and taking the initiative. Saratos feinted at the man closest to him and then, as the thug danced back behind his knife blade, swivelled to intercept his comrade’s attack, grasping his outstretched knife hand and dragging the man’s arm down onto his sharply raised knee. The elbow broke with a sickening crunch of splintered bone, and with a howl of agony the crippled thief reeled out of the fight with his right arm flopping uselessly, leaving the Dacian one on one with the other man, whose ferocious grin had been replaced by a look of consternation.

  Beside him Sanga simply stepped forward and shot a vicious straight punch into the closer of his assailants’ faces grinning savagely as the other man’s nose popped in a spray of blood, but as he stepped in again and pulled his fist back to smash deep into the thug’s belly, he tripped over a misaligned flagstone and staggered forward into the reeling bruiser’s arms. The last of the robbers saw his chance and slammed a vicious punch into his kidneys, his comrade wrapping brawny arms around Sanga’s body and momentarily pinioning him, roaring a blood-flecked command at his mate.

  ‘Do him!’

  Casting about him, the other man grabbed a discarded knife from the floor, straightening up and stepping close to the helpless soldier with a snarl, raising the blade toward his throat. Sanga flexed his powerful shoulders, but the thug’s grasp was vice-like. Frantically struggling as the knife-wielding thief stepped in behind him, he launched a crunching headbutt into his captor’s damaged face, but the other man gritted his teeth against the pain and stood firm. His mate put the blade against the Tungrian’s throat and pulled his head back with a handful of hair, snarling in Sanga’s ear as his arm tensed to rip the sharp iron through windpipe and veins.

  ‘Time for you to—’

  Then, with a distinct thud of wood on bone, and a startled grunt of pain, his grip on the Briton’s hair relaxed, and the knife clattered to the floor. Grinning ferociously at his would-be captor the soldier pulled his head back again and butted the thief once more, and again, further smashing his nose. Ramming his fists up across the staggering man’s chest, he crossed his arms and then forced them inexorably apart to break the hold that had rendered him temporarily helpless. As the thief staggered backwards his would-be victim delivered a single kick to his groin that doubled him over, vomiting across the floor with the sudden shooting pain. He turned to deal with his other assailant, only to find him slumped face down on the stone floor, unconscious.

  A grunt of pain announced Saratos’s despatch of the last of the thugs, sending him sprawling across a table that promptly collapsed under his weight, his chin striking the bench behind it hard and snapping shut on his tongue. Those of the thugs who could still walk retreated haltingly toward the door clutching their injuries, their leader limping on his good leg and shaking a fist at Sanga.

  ‘You’ve not seen the last of us, you bastards!’

  The soldier bent and retrieved a knife from the floor, raising it in warning.

  ‘You’re still here when I’ve had a word with our new guide there then I’ll make good on that threat to make you eat this. Your choice.’

  He winked at Saratos and then turned back to the guide, who was sitting in the same place as if he’d never moved, nodding his appreciation.

  ‘I reckon you and that staff just about saved my life.’

  Gunda shrugged.

  ‘No-one calls me barbarian and walks away clean. Now, half up front?’

  The veteran grinned at him.

  ‘Half up front.’


  4

  ‘I thought you might want to know, Governor …’

  Albinus replied without looking up from the paperwork laid out before him, illuminated by the flickering light of half a dozen lamps.

  ‘Yes?’

  The single word was laced with acid, a state of affairs with which the governor’s long-suffering secretary had become at first accustomed and then reluctantly resigned. He advanced into the office from his place in the doorway, adopting the slightly supplicatory stance that experience had taught him tended to defuse the cutting edge of his master’s temper.

  ‘I thought you might want to know that the Tungrians are on the move, Governor. From the look of their preparations I would expect them to march for Novaesium early tomorrow.’

  Albinus looked up at him with a calculating expression.

  ‘Novaesium? Why Novaesium? Why not just cross the river here?’

  The other man inclined his head in agreement.

  ‘Indeed sir, I find myself in total agreement with you, if …’

  The governor’s temper was as volatile as ever, his voice rising as he scowled at the hapless secretary.

  ‘If? If bloody what, you half-wit? Stop talking in your damned riddles and get to the point!’

  The secretary winced, bowing slightly once more.

  ‘If your colleague Tribune Scaurus has been charged with a task that requires him to engage with the Marsi tribe, then your surmise would be entirely correct. If, however, his mission requires him to enter Bructeri territory, perhaps to perform some kind of abduction …’

  Albinus nodded slowly.

  ‘In that case he’d be far better off crossing further north.’

  ‘Indeed, Governor.’

  ‘At Novaesium, eh? Straight into Bructeri territory, more or less, and the minimum distance to be travelled to the tribal capital.’

  He looked up knowingly.

  ‘You think they’ve been ordered to bring this priestess woman back with them, don’t you?’

  The secretary allowed himself the merest hint of a shrug. Anything more expressive would probably have been deemed disrespectful.

  ‘It was my suspicion, Governor, especially as most of the questions that Tribune Scaurus and his officers asked were about the Bructeri, but …’

  ‘But what? Spit it out, man!’

  ‘Well sir, it’s just that most of their questions seemed to focus on the Bructeri capital. And the tribal treasury.’

  Albinus sat back with a frown.

  ‘The treasury? Why the bloody treasury? Surely Scaurus has all the gold he could ever …’

  He fell silent, staring hard at the far wall, then slapped his hand down on the desk before him with a loud crack that made the other man flinch.

  ‘Unless the young bastard has already spent his way through the gold he stole from me! Surely he couldn’t be planning to raid the Bructeri king’s personal fortune?’

  His servant nodded slowly.

  ‘A deduction of some perception, Governor.’

  ‘Gods below, man!’ Albinus was out of his chair, aghast at the thought. ‘You think he intends to raid the treasury, and then make his escape with the Bructeri seer in the resulting chaos? It’d be enough to spark a full-scale war! The other tribes would be certain to rally to the Bructeri under that sort of provocation!’

  The secretary shrugged again, more confidently this time.

  ‘The idea you postulate would seem to be a credible modus operandi for such a venture. Perhaps this man Scaurus’s instructions from Rome are simply to neutralise the potential for trouble that exists in the form of this Bructeri seer? An assassination, perhaps? And it could well be that he’s come to the conclusion that he might as well turn some profit from the whole thing. After all, given your belief that he uses the gold that he appropriated—’

  ‘Stole, more like!’

  The secretary bowed his acquiescence with his master’s prejudice against Scaurus and his men.

  ‘Indeed, governor … if he uses the gold he stole to facilitate his clandestine activities against the throne, why wouldn’t he look to replenish his purse, given the opportunity?’

  Albinus sat back in his chair, nodding slowly as a hard smile spread over his face.

  ‘In which case young Scaurus could fairly be deemed to have strayed just a little too far from his brief for me to ignore the likely results. After all, the Bructeri aren’t going to have to look very far to find a culprit for the theft, are they? And the last thing I can afford to countenance is for some wild stunt carried out in the emperor’s name to set the frontier alight again.’ He looked up with a look that the secretary had come to recognise as intended to appear decisive. ‘No, I can see that I’m going to have to take some action before this scheme of Scaurus’s gets out of hand. Send for Decurion Dolfus.’

  The secretary bowed and turned away to do his master’s bidding.

  ‘Immediately, Governor.’

  ‘You want me to guide you into the land of the Bructeri?’

  Scaurus nodded at the scout.

  ‘My mission requires me to put boots on the tribe’s soil, if only for a short time. I don’t expect to be doing any actual fighting, this is purely an in and out, three days at most and all of those with my detachment hidden deep in the forest. Is that a problem, Gunda?’

  The German pointed to the rune tattooed onto the flesh of his forehead.

  ‘Do you see this, Roman? Do you imagine I wear it on my skin for decoration?’

  The tribune sat back in his chair.

  ‘I was wondering.’

  ‘It is my tribe’s symbol for a man who has been condemned to the status of wargaz. Or, in your language, outlaw. I am banished from my tribe’s homeland under pain of death, to be administered by the priests of Wodanaz, if I am found anywhere within the borders.’

  He stared at Scaurus for a long moment.

  ‘Let me guess. Your tribe being the Bructeri, right?’

  ‘Correct. So I’m hardly likely to want to go anywhere near their lands. I’m sorry, but the role of guide you’re offering is not one—’

  ‘How much?’

  Gunda shook his head.

  ‘You seem not to be listening. I cannot do this.’

  Scaurus smiled.

  ‘You clearly can. What you cannot afford is to be caught doing it. Or, from the sound of it, if you are caught, to remain alive for long enough that your estranged tribe’s priests get the chance to practice their sacrificial arts upon you. We’ve established that you have exactly the knowledge that I will need to lead a successful foray into Bructeri territory, the only question now is how much money it will take to convince you that the risk of being caught is outweighed by the reward to be gained for what, with your assistance, will be a fairly minimal level of risk.’

  The German looked at him for a moment.

  ‘You’re serious. Very well … three gold aureii.’

  Scaurus smiled at him.

  ‘Three? Let’s make it four. A hundred denarii is a nice round number, isn’t it?

  Gunda looked up at the office’s roof in evident disbelief, then back at the officer.

  ‘Half now—’

  ‘One coin now, to let you buy whatever you need, the rest payable the moment that our boots are on Bructeri soil. If you do end up having to take a knife to your own throat at least you’ll have had the pleasure of possessing more gold than you’ve ever seen before in your life, eh?’

  The Tungrians marched from the city shortly after dawn, Tribune Scaurus returning the gate sentries’ salutes as his party exited the fortress and headed up the road to the north. The river’s mist was still lying in patches across the countryside, thick curtains of vapour reducing visibility to almost nothing before another moment’s march brought the column back into the morning’s bright sunshine as they marched north towards Novaesium, thirty miles to the north.

  After only half an hour’s march, Gunda nodded to Scaurus, pointing to a paved track that ran away
from the main road towards the river to their east.

  ‘That’s the way.’

  Scaurus looked up and down the main road to north and south, confirming that they were unobserved before nodding his consent. The German led them down the narrow track, which ran east to the Rhenus and then turned north to follow the river’s bank with heavy forest on the road’s left-hand side, another hour’s progress taking them to the spot he had decided would best suit Scaurus’s plan. Turning off the track where it deviated away from the river to avoid a rocky outcrop, he took them through a belt of trees that would screen them from the path, and on down to the Rhenus. A narrow strip of shingle beach ran along the river’s gently curving west bank, the river, like the track along which they had come, devoid of traffic.

  ‘Perfect.’

  Scaurus called his centurions to him.

  ‘Get your men settled down. I don’t want anyone visible from either the river or the far bank. And have them ready to move at short notice, no taking boots off or opening packs. We’ll be away from here soon enough.’

  Having trailed the Tungrians from the city at a distance, walking their horses on the road’s grassy verge to prevent any sound from alerting their unsuspecting quarry, Dolfus and his men had shared mystified looks as the Tungrians had diverted onto the patrol road that paralleled the river’s course.

  Watching from the cover of the forest’s edge, as the detachment disappeared into the shelter of the trees that separated road from river, the decurion shook his head in bemusement.

  ‘Why stop there? And why in the name of all the gods are they on this road at all, it must be getting on for half the distance again, having to follow every bend in the river?’ A thought struck him. ‘Unless …’

  He got to his feet, gesturing to his men to hold position.

  ‘Stay here. If anyone comes along you’re just getting a bit of sun while I go for a crap in the woods, right?’

  He sprinted across the road and into the trees on the far side, instinctively following the slight rise of the ground until he judged that he’d reached the highest point possible. Gripping the lowest branch of a sturdy-looking oak he hauled himself up into the foliage, climbing nimbly upwards until he was high in the canopy. Judging that the higher branches were unlikely to take his weight he stopped climbing and inched out until he could see through the leaves, revealing a spectacular view across the river’s valley, the Rhenus visible for miles to either side. Staring out over the trees he smiled, shaking his head slowly in appreciation of his quarry’s audacity, as he realised what it was he was seeing moving slowly through the river’s mist.