Felix stepped Hades sideways, the coal-black horse responding easily to the familiar pressure of a knee in his ribs, then nudged the animal’s flanks with his boots, telling him wordlessly to advance a few steps while he made a show of pulling back on the beast’s reins as he goaded him forward with his feet. As the closest of the guardsmen turned to face the big horse, raising his sword to threaten mount and rider, Hades responded exactly as he’d been trained, rearing up and kicking out with a powerful forefoot which sent the soldier flying backwards in a spray of his own blood, his face smashed by the sharp edge of the animal’s hoof. Stepping down from the saddle, Felix slapped Hades’ rump, sending the horse cantering away from the vengeful swords of the two guardsmen who had turned to face him, and stooped to retrieve the dying soldier’s gladius.
‘I’d suggest you men get on with it and finish these two off, before they kill any more of you.’
The remaining soldiers advanced in response to Excingus’s goading, spreading out into a semicircle around the two men. One of the older guardsmen looked Marcus in the eyes, speaking to his comrades as he balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to attack.
‘When I give the word, we rush them. Nothing fancy, just mob the pair of them and get your iron into them. On my command … ready …’
As the praetorians readied themselves to storm their victims, each of the soldiers looking to his comrades for the signal to attack, a one-eyed barbarian warrior, covered in sweat and panting as if from a long run, broke from the trees behind the two prisoners. His sword was held ready to fight, and he weighed up the situation as the praetorians gathered around the two officers stared at him in surprise, panting out a question to Marcus.
‘You’ve not … killed them all … yet, then?’
The Roman shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face, and another warrior burst out of the forest to stand alongside the first, his chest heaving with the effort of their pursuit. He glanced around the men encircling Marcus and Felix, a wheezy chuckle fighting its way past his efforts to drag air into his lungs.
‘You made … me run … all this way … to fight … these children … Martos? He could have … managed this many … on his own.’
The last man to emerge from the trees topped the first two by a head, but he was barely breathing heavily despite the effort of the run. A massive war hammer was held loosely across his torso, its heavy iron head still smeared with blood and hair. Hefting the huge weapon on to one shoulder, he clenched his other fist and stepped forward into the ring of praetorians, his face a mask of snarling hatred as he gazed about him and spat out a challenge in his own language.
‘At last! Romans I can fight!’
While the praetorians were still staring at the newcomers with growing uncertainty, Lugos swung the brutal weapon in a wide single-handed arc, his massive strength making light of its dead weight and smashing the hammer’s wicked beak against a hapless soldier’s chest, dropping the man writhing to the grass with his ribcage smashed. Lifting the pole arm high over his head, he roared in triumph and smashed it down through the crippled man’s helmet to break his skull with a sickening crunch of iron and bone. The other two warriors exchanged a look and stepped forward alongside him, raising their swords to fight, but as they did so the praetorians broke and ran for their lives despite their weight of numbers. Lugos went after them with a bellow of rage, running down the closest man in half a dozen strides and snagging his shoulder with the hammer’s hooked counterweight blade, dropping the praetorian to the ground in a flurry of arms and legs and leaving the downed man to his fellow warriors as he chased after another panic-stricken soldier. Excingus took one look at the fleeing guardsmen and turned his horse away, spurring it away from the clearing and on to the road south.
Marcus sprang forward, running down the slowest of the soldiers and tripping him, kicking away his sword and dropping his own gladius before pouncing on him to grip his throat in one hand, raising the bloody hunting knife to tear out his windpipe. His voice was a feral growl, snarled through bared teeth, and the helpless guardsman went rigid with the threat of impending death.
‘The woman! Where did your officer take the woman!?’
The soldier pointed into the forest with a trembling hand.
‘Th … that way!’
The Roman jumped to his feet, dropping the bloodied knife and picking up both swords.
‘Stay down and they might let you live …’
He ran for the trees with a speed born of desperation, hurdling a fallen trunk and tearing through the undergrowth to find himself in a small clearing. Propped up against a massive oak on the open space’s far side was a man in the armour of a praetorian centurion, his chest covered in the blood that was still running from the small but deep wound under his jaw. Marcus stepped forward, raising both swords ready to fight in case the wounded officer were part of some trap, but there was no movement in the tiny glade other than the slow dripping of the other man’s blood. Struggling to focus, the wounded praetorian shook his head and laughed painfully, the movement causing the flow of blood to accelerate for a moment. His voice was almost inaudible, and Marcus had to lean close to hear the words, made almost impossible to understand by the praetorian’s horrific wound.
‘Young Aquila, is it? The things you see when you don’t have a sword in your hand …’
Marcus stepped forward and put the blade of one of his swords to the centurion’s throat, watching as the blood streaming from under his jaw ran across the polished metal.
‘Where’s my woman?’
Rapax studied him from beneath drooping eyelids for a moment before speaking, his eyes fighting to stay open from shock and blood loss.
‘No idea. Bitch stuck me with a knife and then made a run for it. Sent my men after her …’ The wheezy laugh came again, and with it a hardening of the dying praetorian’s face. ‘One little girl alone in the forest with two big soldiers? I doubt she’s enjoying that very much …’
Marcus locked eyes with Rapax for a moment, then ran the gladius up into the wound in his throat, pushing the blade upwards until it stopped against the back of the praetorian’s skull. Ripping the blade free, he ignored Rapax’s slumping corpse and turned away, stepping silently into the trees.
Felicia ran blindly through the trees, hearing the sounds of pursuit behind her as the two praetorians burst through the undergrowth in her wake, remorselessly closing the gap she had opened on them with her initial burst of speed from the clearing. She ducked into the shelter of a towering oak at the edge of a small glade, pulling her stola tight to her legs in the few seconds she had before the soldiers charged past a few feet to either side of the tree. The sounds of their pursuit died away, and she stared into the forest for a long moment, torn between staying out of sight and putting more distance between herself and her pursuers. The sound of their voices reached her faintly, and she realised that they must have stopped chasing her and started thinking through where she could have given them the slip. Their words were becoming clearer, and to her horror she realised that not only were they coming back towards her, but that they clearly had a good idea of where she was. A voice called out into the forest’s quiet, and she had no difficulty seeing the face behind it in her mind’s eye, the legionary whose stare had so disturbed her over the previous days. Maximus.
‘You can’t run from us, woman, we’re going to find you soon enough and make you sorry for what you did to the centurion.’
A new voice broke in.
‘Oh yes, we’re going to spend hours making you sorry, we’re going to …’
Maximus kept speaking, ignoring his colleague’s attempts to intimidate her into leaving her hiding place.
‘I’m good with women, you see. I’ve got a way with them.’ He paced around the small clearing, and Felicia could feel his eyes raking the vegetation, looking for her place of concealment. ‘Want to hear something funny? The same night I was jailed for killing a man in the Noisy Valley alehouse, a
nother soldier from my tent party was brought in for the rape and murder of an old woman. “Disgusting”, they called him, and “animal”. They knew he’d done it, because his amulet was found by the body. They reckoned she must have torn it off his wrist while he was raping her. The other soldiers would have done for him there and then, but he was locked up separately and the only people that got to have a go at him were the duty centurions, when they were in the mood. I used to watch him in his cell, his face a picture of desperation, pleading that he hadn’t done it, but nobody was having any of it, not for a moment. The only person that believed he was innocent was me, because I knew he hadn’t been near her. Have you guessed how I knew that, little missy? I’ll bet you have …’
He stopped talking for a moment, allowing the suspense to build until it was all Felicia could do not to scream the answer to his question at him.
‘That’s right! I knew he was innocent because it was me that killed her! What a night that was! I jumped my watch officer and gave him a good kicking, then I followed the old girl back to her hovel and saw to her as well. I’d slipped into another tent party’s barrack and lifted his good-luck charm from his kit before I went out, you see, so I snapped the cord and left it by her body, and that was all it took to see him in prison. It almost made up for getting pissed and killing that idiot from the Fourth Century when he tried to take his knife to me. And when I find you, little missy, I’m going to do all the things to you that I did to her …’
He darted into the vegetation on the other side of the clearing with a rustle of leaves, thinking that he had her hiding place located. In the moment of his distraction Felicia was on her feet and running almost before the decision to do so was fully formed. She would stay low, run to one side of the returning praetorians as quickly and quietly as she could, and hope to get far enough away that she could hide again. Shouts in the forest behind her told her that she had failed in her hopes of escaping unnoticed, and she abandoned any pretence of stealth and ran as fast as she could, knowing that she could never expect to outrun the soldiers. So intent on escaping from the pursuing praetorians that she failed to see the soldier waiting in her path until she was only a few paces from him, the startled woman tripped over a tree root and fell to the ground at his feet. Smiling at the look on her face, he thrust his spear’s butt spike into the earth and held out a hand towards her as she shrank away from him, holding the knife out in hopeless defiance.
‘Hello, my lovely! We’ve been looking for you!’ He shouted back over his shoulder. ‘I’ve found her!’
The first of the pursuing praetorians came into sight, and drew his sword on seeing the legionary, walking slowly forward with a cruel gleam in his eye.
‘Whoever you are, you can fuck off. This one’s ours …’
He frowned in recognition as he stalked forwards, then snorted with laughter as he realised that he knew the other man.
‘Fuck me, things must be getting desperate if they’ve put the Third Century back into the field. Run away from any good fights recently, have you, old son? Now fuck off double quick, there’s a good boy, and I’ll spare you the indignity of being put on your back. Leave that to little missy here …’
He grinned broadly at the legionary, who, to his surprise, shook his head grimly and pulled his spear loose from the forest’s hard-packed earth, raising the blade to point at his face.
‘Not this time, Maximus. You’ve missed a few important things since you ran away with your new boyfriends. Habitus!’
While the guardsman was still taking in his former comrade’s unexpected show of bravado another legionary came crashing through the undergrowth, his spear held ready to throw.
‘Fuck me, there’s another one. Is that you, Decimus? Don’t say you’ve grown a set of balls as well …’
Both legionaries pointed their spears at his chest, stepping forward either side of Felicia and facing off against the baffled Maximus.
‘You can run for it now, mate, or you can stay and find out what Roman iron feels like when it’s deep in your guts.’
Watch officer Titus broke through the wall of greenery and stopped, recognising his former tormentor in an instant, his face hardening.
‘Well now, the big wheel turns in its own good time. Look what the gods have rewarded me with. I’ll have this bastard’s balls off and poke them up his backside before he’s stopped breathing! Century, to me! Habitus!’
Maximus took one look at his one-time superior’s face and turned, running for the shelter of the forest. Titus shook his head in disgust.
‘He always was too quick on his feet.’ He offered the bemused Felicia his hand, helping her to her feet. ‘And you, madam, have a friend looking for you.’
A scream of agony sounded from the trees into which the two praetorians had made their retreat, the sound cut off after only a second as whoever had struck the first blow finished the job. The soldiers stepped forward with their spears raised, only to shuffle backwards as a ragged figure in tunic, leggings and infantry boots stepped out before them, his clothes and swords dark with the blood of whichever of the praetorians he had killed moments before.
‘Marcus!’
Felicia ran across the clearing and fell upon the bloodied figure in sudden tears. After a long moment, during which the number of soldiers gathered around them had swollen to nearly twenty, he prised her loose and looked into her tearfilled eyes with concern.
‘Are you …?’
She nodded tearfully, wiping at her wet face with a sleeve, ignoring the knife she still held in the other hand.
‘All right? Yes, my love … we both are.’
A frown creased Marcus’s face.
‘You both are …?’
‘Cocidius help me! For the son of an intelligent man you’re really quite stupid when it comes to anything but butchering everyone that gets in your way.’ The frown became a gape of amazement as the young centurion realised that Dubnus was lurking behind the gawping soldiers. His friend strode out to meet him, putting an arm round his shoulder and speaking quietly into his ear. ‘If you don’t know what a pregnant woman smells like then it’s time you took a good deep breath and found out. And it’s also time for you to make an honest woman of her, I’d say.’ He stamped on the blade of his spear twice, first bending it and then breaking it clean off the shaft before handing it to the amazed Marcus. ‘Here you go, that’ll do for the ceremonial hairstyle you lot are supposed to favour in your women on the big day. It’s not been stuck in a gladiator for luck yet, but I did one of the bastards that carried her away with it just now, if that counts.’
‘Tribunes Licinius and Scaurus! Welcome back to civilisation, gentlemen, if we can characterise the never-ending din of Noisy Valley so generously!’ Governor Marcellus advanced around his desk, his normally sombre face wreathed in a beaming smile, and clasped hands with his officers. Behind him Legatus Equitius, commander of the imperial Sixth Legion and former prefect of the 1st Tungrian Cohort shot them a wry smile, raising amused eyebrows at his superior’s unaccustomed bonhomie. I’ve asked Legatus Equitius to join me in greeting you both, given his previous connection with your Tungrians.’ Equitius inclined his head as the governor continued his greeting. ‘My congratulations to you both. You have brought great honour upon your cohorts, and extinguished a threat to Rome’s frontiers for years to come.’
Licinius saluted, handing King Drust’s heavy gold torc to the older man.
‘Governor, this belonged to the king of the Venicones. We took many more items of jewellery from their dead, but I thought you might want to take personal charge of this particular item.’
Marcellus raised the torc and admired its workmanship for a moment.
‘Indeed, Tribune, an item of such value will make a fitting accompaniment for the news of this victory when it reaches the Emperor. And now, gentlemen, you must take a cup of wine with us, and explain how you achieved this unexpected triumph.’ When the story of the previous few days’ events was told he sa
t back in his chair with a contented smile, nodding his head slowly in satisfaction. ‘Excellent work, gentlemen, simply excellent. Any threat the Venicones might have presented to the frontier is broken, and the Votadini are free to rebuild their kingdom without any external interference from either north or west. All of which means that we can focus our attentions to the south of the Wall, and on putting these Brigantes scum back in their place. They still control most of the country between here and the legion forts to the south, and I fear that the campaign to root them out will be a bitter struggle. They’re not coming to battle as the northern tribes did, but seem happy to fight us with a dirty little war of raids and ambushes. Which means that your cavalrymen, Manilius Licinius, will have their hands full scouring the country for them. You are to ride for Waterside Fort today, and join with the Second Legion and the western wall cohorts in hunting down and eradicating these savages wherever you find them.’
Licinius nodded his understanding, and Marcellus turned to Scaurus with a gentle smile.
‘And as for you, Rutilius Scaurus, I must presume upon your cohort’s willingness to endure hardship once again. I had originally intended sending you west with your colleague’s horsemen to strengthen the Second Legion’s forces, but I have received a request for assistance from my colleague in Gallia Belgica in the last few days, assistance I feel well suited to your particular blend of skills and experience, not to mention your cohort’s original recruiting base.’ He turned to the desk behind him and picked up a scroll, handing it to the young tribune and raising his voice to issue his formal orders. ‘Rutilius Scaurus, you are hereby ordered to march your men to the port of Arab Town at the eastern end of the Wall, and there to take ship for the mainland. Once landed, you will make your way with all possible speed to the fortress town of Tungrorum. Once there, you are to establish a secure camp and then to carry out whatever operations you see fit to disperse and destroy the various bands of bandits, both large and small, who are plaguing the region.’ He shot Scaurus a glance. ‘Of course, you will be wondering exactly why your men should be needed, when there are three perfectly good legions only a few days’ march away in their fortresses along the River Rhenus, any one of which might comfortably cope with any local problem. As it happens, not only have the German legions been somewhat depleted by the need to reinforce our losses of earlier this year, but they have also been stretched too thin by a series of barbarian incursions in the last few months. Things are not so bad that the barbarians could attack across the river in strength, but bad enough for the area around Tungrorum to have fallen prey to the worst kind of scum, deserters and brigands who are making life intolerable from the accounts I’ve received.
Fortress of Spears Page 36