Altar of Blood: Empire IX

by Anthony Riches

  ‘Perhaps it really was just an ow—’

  The call sounded again, and the big Briton snapped out a terse order for the men of the detachment to stand down. Gunda was the first man to materialise out of the dawn’s murk, stepping down into the gully with the look of a man who was grateful for the completion of his night’s work. Cotta and his companions followed close on his heels, their progress a succession of snapping twigs and rustling leaves where the German had been all but silent, but it was the next man over the edge of the tiny valley that got the officers’ startled attention. Unused to having to look up to any man other than the giant Lugos, Dubnus stared in amazement at Magan for a moment before finding his voice, his father’s arrival almost going unnoticed.

  ‘What the fuck is that …?’

  The question froze on his lips as Dolfus made his entrance behind the trainer, still carrying the box containing the Bructeri eagle, and even Scaurus was now starting to look more than a little perturbed. The various parties were still eyeing each other speculatively when Qadir and his archers stepped down into their midst.

  ‘So go on then Cotta, tell us who your new friends are. No, don’t tell me – Morban won them in a wager.’ The standard bearer shot Dubnus a poisonous look, but the big centurion had known him too long to be impressed. ‘I’ve told you before not to try eyeballing me, standard bearer—’

  ‘I knew that prick was a statue waver!’

  Lucius refused to be cowed by Dubnus’s swift glare, and Cotta sighed, stepping forward to make the introductions to a clearly bemused Scaurus.

  ‘The big lad’s called Magan, Tribune, and this former legionary is his father. He goes by the name of Lucius, and he tells me that he knows where the German woman is to be found.’

  ‘His father?’

  ‘Unlikely as it might seem, yes. And as to how we met them …’ He shook his head with a wry smile. ‘Even I’m struggling to believe it. The thing is, the Bructeri hate us, they loathe us so badly that we weren’t getting anywhere with pretending to be traders.’ He held up thumb and forefinger with a minute gap between the two digits. ‘I was this far from giving up on the whole scheme when this one …’ he waved a hand at Sanga, ‘saw that monster taking on the locals for money, and had the idea of getting his Dacian bruiser to smack the boy about a bit as a way of getting the Germans’ attention. But we did too good a job of it, and got dragged into their king’s feast so they could keep an eye on us. And then … he happened …’ He indicated Dolfus, who stepped forward and saluted Scaurus, who returned the salute with a look of growing incomprehension. ‘Or at least his men there did. They betrayed us to the Bructeri, who locked us up ready for execution, and then a couple of hours later he killed the guards and released us.’

  Scaurus looked at the cavalry officer with his eyes narrowed in calculation.

  ‘You can explain this, I presume? Your actions might easily be construed as verging on treasonous. Your name?’

  Dolfus snapped to attention.

  ‘Decurion Quintus Matius Dolfus.’

  Scaurus looked him up and down.

  ‘Gods below, as if I wasn’t already laden with one thrusting young gentleman without another one dropping into my life just when I’m trying to pull off something that requires a bit of subtlety. So what are you doing here sticking your nose into my delicately poised mission, Decurion? Are you one of those sons of privilege who found life in Rome insufficiently challenging and volunteered to join the occupants of the Camp of the Foreigners? You are a Grain Officer, I presume, despite the lack of any insignia to that effect?’

  A dozen pairs of eyes hardened at the suggestion, men who’d already seen the damage that one of the emperor’s private army of spies could wreak at close quarters, but to Scaurus’s bemusement Dolfus shook his head and chuckled.

  ‘A fair guess, Tribune, but a fair way from the truth none the less. My profession is aligned with the men you’ve mentioned with such disdain, but our recruitment is a good deal more select. And our activities are a little less murky from a moral perspective too, I’d have to say …’ he paused for a moment, ‘or at least most of the time they are. My orders are to do whatever I see fit to ensure that your mission is a success. In the pursuit of which I had one of my troopers here pretend to be me and betray your men to the Bructeri, which by the way might well have kept them alive longer than had I failed to do so, but mainly in order to procure this from the tribal treasury …’ He offered the iron-bound box to Scaurus, who opened it, staring at its contents for a long moment. ‘The absence of that highly prized item is currently distracting King Amalric in quite a dramatic style, since he’s chasing two more of my men all the way back to the Rhenus and thereby giving you the time you need to achieve your mission and make your escape, if you get down to it immediately.’

  He fixed a level gaze on Scaurus.

  ‘Although once I’ve briefed you properly as to the governor’s intentions, you may have cause to make a few small alterations to your plans.’

  ‘They knew we were coming!’

  Gernot nodded grimly at Amalric’s angry words as he trotted his horse alongside his king’s mount towards the bridge fort’s towering wooden walls. The ramparts were lined with men, at least half a dozen centuries of legionaries interspersed with clusters of easterners whose differently shaped helmets made their presence obvious as, he guessed, was the intention. He had chosen to ride to the Novaesium bridgehead with all forty of his companion warriors at his back, far too few to offer any real threat to the fort that guarded the crossing, but enough to make it clear exactly who he was, to be escorted by so many men bearing such a precious weight in iron. Where most of his men fought with a spear, and a shield with an iron boss if they could afford it, the men of the king’s household, the tribe’s fastest and strongest warriors, were lavishly equipped by comparison with bowl-shaped iron helmets that protected the tops of their skulls, and long swords of sharp iron.

  ‘Certainly, my king. They will have been warned by the thieves.’

  Reining their mounts in a dozen paces from the gate, they looked up at the defenders for a moment in silence before the king spoke again.

  ‘They look scared to me.’

  Gernot smiled up at the legionaries.

  ‘Consider it from their perspective. They hear their fellow soldiers being tortured in the night, distant howls and shrieks of pure agony, and the chanting of our warriors as your priest sends their spirits to Wodanaz. They know we hate them above all others, and that if you were to throw the strength of the tribe at that fort it would be a burned-out shell before nightfall, populated only by their corpses. They have good cause for fear.’ He looked up at the men on the wall above them. ‘Shall I address them, my king? To do so is beneath your dignity.’

  Amalric dipped his head in acknowledgement, and the noble straightened his back, calling out to the men on the wall closest to where they sat.

  ‘Soldiers of Rome, is this any way to greet the leader of a tribe with whom you claim to have friendly relations? My king has suffered the theft of something that is very dear to his tribe, and has come here with all speed to request your assistance in its return, only to find himself faced by a wall of spears! I suggest that you put this presumably unintended insult to one side, and that we speak man to man with your commander!’

  A grizzled centurion stared down at them for a moment and then turned away to speak to someone inside the fort. After a moment’s discussion he turned back and called out a reply.

  ‘Our prefect will come out to speak with you! Twitch in the wrong way while he is outside these walls and you two will be the first to die!’

  After a moment’s pause the fort’s northern gate swung outwards, a file of legionaries issuing through the opening and fanning out to either side to form a ten-man escort for the officer who followed them. Looking up, Amalric saw that the easterners now had arrows nocked to their bows, while the fort’s bolt throwers had swung down to point at them in an ostentatious
display of threat. The prefect strode forwards confidently enough, but as his questing eyes looked beyond the two horsemen to size up the threat posed by the men of the king’s household, both of the Germans could see his awareness of the situation’s delicacy. He stopped walking when he was five paces from their position and bowed, the minimum diplomatic gesture of the respect that could be expected by a king, then looked up at Amalric from beneath his helmet’s brow guard.

  ‘Your Highness, this is an unexpected pleasure.’

  Gernot laughed out loud.

  ‘Apparently neither unexpected not pleasurable, for you to have all these men out of their beds and, as you like to say, ready for war!’

  The Roman nodded his acceptance of the fact.

  ‘It was pointed out to me yesterday that I might be receiving just such a visit, although the circumstances were not made entirely clear. It seems that the advice I was given was well founded.’

  ‘Advice given to you by a man who goes by the name of Dolfus?’

  The Roman sniffed.

  ‘My informant didn’t identify himself. He was passing through the fort into your land on a mission for the governor, with four of his men.’

  Amalric frowned.

  ‘Four?’

  ‘You were sent by the governor to wreck our mission.’ Scaurus raised his eyes to look at the iron-grey dawn sky. ‘That man’s idiocy seems to have no limit! But instead, and acting on the orders of a higher authority, you’ve rescued my men from the Bructeri, stolen a captured legion eagle that’s a sacred tribal relic, and sent their king off chasing those of your men you’ve used as decoys.’

  Dolfus nodded equably.

  ‘That’s it, Tribune, more or less.’

  ‘A higher authority? Higher than the governor?’ The younger man looked back at him in silence. ‘You’re trying to tell me that you’ve been posted to the province by the same people who appointed Clodius Albinus, with instructions to subvert his orders should they run counter to whatever it is that your masters think should be happening?’

  The cavalryman raised his eyebrows without saying a word, and Scaurus shook his head in frustration.

  ‘I gather you don’t feel able to comment.’

  ‘No.’

  The tribune walked away for a moment, then turned back, a decision clearly made.

  ‘Dubnus, get the men fed and ready to move.’ The Briton nodded and turned away to his task. ‘Centurions Varus and Corvus, accompany the decurion and me down the gully a way and bring the giant’s father with you. And Qadir …’

  The Hamian came to attention.

  ‘Tribune.’

  ‘Make sure our guide is closely observed at all times by men with arrows on their strings. He looks nervous to me, and I don’t want him vanishing off into the trees. We’ll never find him if that happens.’

  He led the three officers and Lucius away from the detachment, until they were out of earshot.

  ‘You served with the legions?’

  The older man saluted.

  ‘Yes, Tribune sir. I was a legionary with the Thirtieth Legion, before I retired on this side of the river to be with the woman I loved.’

  I see. And you’re sure you know where this priestess is to be found?’

  Lucius nodded.

  ‘She’s right under your nose, Tribune. There’s a hill to the east, less than five miles distant, where Amalric keeps her safe and sound, guarded by his men.’

  ‘To the east.’ Scaurus’s tone was suddenly hard. ‘One minute.’

  He turned back to the detachment, calling up the gulley.

  ‘Centurion Qadir, I’ve changed my mind. Bring my scout here please.’

  They watched in silence as Gunda was escorted, stony-faced, down the gully to where they stood. Scaurus stared at him for a long moment, and when he spoke his voice retained its iron-hard tone.

  ‘I asked you where the path to the east went, yesterday morning. You told me that it was just a hunter’s trail, and you led us away from it as quickly as you could. That wasn’t true, was it?’

  The German shook his head, his face downcast.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where does it lead?’

  After a momentary pause the guide sighed.

  ‘To the place where my people keep my sister.’

  ‘Mithras help me …’ Scaurus shook his head. ‘This priestess is your sister?’

  Gunda looked up, his expression suddenly hard enough to match the Roman’s.

  ‘Yes. My sister. I was expelled from the tribe for killing a man who threatened her, when one of her prophecies wasn’t fulfilled exactly to his liking. I told you that she sometimes only sees a part of what is to come, and this was one such case. She foretold a male child for the wife of one of the tribe’s noble warriors, but when the child was born it was evident that he was not the father. He threatened to kill her for misleading him, and I took my sword to him in her defence. The old king was merciful, partly for love of Gerhild and partly because the man in question was dangerously quick tempered, but he had to send me away if only for my own protection from the dead man’s brother Gernot. Ever since that day the kings of the Bructeri, old and new, have both kept Gerhild safe from harm in the tower where she has lived for the last fifteen years, a prisoner in a fur-lined cage. When you told me that you planned a mission into my tribe’s territory so close to Thusila, it didn’t take much intelligence to work out what your purpose was, and so I was even more determined to come with you if only to make sure that she wasn’t harmed.’

  Dolfus and Scaurus exchanged glances before the latter spoke again.

  ‘And why is it that you think I won’t just kill you, here and now, and leave your body for the pigs? There’s going to be a lot of death in these woods today, so another corpse wouldn’t trouble me overly.’

  Gunda looked back at him, shaking his head slowly.

  ‘Two reasons. Firstly, Tribune, because you’re not that sort of man. And that’s not a guess, it’s a fact. I may not be my sister, but I never fail to judge a man correctly. It’s a gift, compared to what might be said to be her curse.’

  ‘And the second reason?’

  ‘If you kill me, she’ll know. Don’t ask me to explain it, just believe me when I tell you that we have some sort of connection. If I die here then you’ll find her less than co-operative. And I wouldn’t want to be subject to my sister’s anger, not if I were you.’

  Scaurus looked at him for a moment.

  ‘That’s a first. I’m being threatened, it appears, with the retribution of a woman who doesn’t even know I exist.’

  The scout smiled back at him.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you, Roman. She sees everything.’

  ‘I see.’ Scaurus shook his head in disbelief. ‘This day is rapidly descending into farce, so I think it’s time we took control of it back from the Fates. I presume it’s a fair assumption, Decurion, that this …’ he gestured to the eagle inside its box, ‘is going to bring the Bructeri after us like a pack of wild dogs, once they get so much as a hint that we’re in the forest?’

  ‘I’d say that’s a safe assumption, Tribune. And it can only be a matter of time before they reach that conclusion. The decoys who led them to the bridge will have fulfilled their purpose very soon now.’

  The tribune nodded decisively.

  ‘In that case I think we need to strike fast and hard, with as much distraction as possible, get what we came for and then get back to the river and the warships that are waiting for us. Once we’re under the protection of their archers and bolt throwers we might as well be on the far side of the Rhenus as far as the Bructeri are concerned.’

  ‘This man Dolfus brought four men with him through your gates yesterday?’

  The fort’s prefect nodded tersely.

  ‘And two men came back through them this morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Amalric looked at Gernot in puzzlement.

  ‘Those two men …’
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br />   The noble’s face darkened, as he drew the same conclusion to that which his king had already reached.

  ‘Were decoys! Intended to draw out our strength and send us chasing shadows!’

  The king looked down at the Roman officer, who seemed none the wiser.

  ‘Was either of these men carrying a wooden box, bound with iron and big enough to hold your dagger in its sheath?’

  The prefect turned to the senior centurion who had walked out alongside him with the look of a man spoiling for a fight.

  ‘First Spear?’

  ‘No Prefect. I watched them come back in myself, given the unusual timing of their arrival. They had nothing more than their standard equipment.’

  Gernot looked down at him for a moment, then pointed back the way they had come.

  ‘If he’s telling the truth then we’ve been lured away from Thusila while the other three men who didn’t declare their presence last night are somewhere back there, doing who knows what!’

  The king turned his horse in a whinnying half-circle.

  ‘And they still have the eagle!’

  Marcus and Dubnus ran back down the track in the direction from which the detachment had marched the previous day, a mixed group of axemen and archers at their heels. Scaurus’s last words to the Briton had been stark in their intent, his face set hard as the detachment readied themselves for the fight.

  ‘Do two things for me, Centurion. Make me a diversion, something to get the Bructeri’s attention and lead them in the wrong direction. And make sure the man who’s been torturing our soldiers isn’t ever going to do it again.’ The two men had saluted and turned away, only for the tribune to add an afterthought. ‘Oh, and gentlemen, make very sure that anyone who fancies their chances of taking on this priest’s mantle as “the Hand of Wodanaz” has a very clear understanding of what Roman justice looks like.’