Once again the older man pointed at Fergus and spat out something in his own language. Then he opened his mouth in a wide, welcoming grin, revealing a few yellow rotting teeth.
Gaiseric turned to look away.
‘They say they are surprised to see Romans on the amber road so late in the year,’ the Vandal prince growled. ‘They are asking if you have brought any wine with you or Roman cups, bowls or amphorae? They will trade with you for these. They have honey, beeswax, furs and blond women’s hair. They say it can be made into wigs.’
Fergus sighed in disappointment and shook his head. ‘No, we came here for hay. If he won’t sell, then we are done here. We should get back.’
Raising his hand at the German villagers in greeting, Fergus turned and started to walk away.
Behind him however the villager suddenly called out, speaking rapidly in his own language and slowly Fergus turned around to stare at him. Gaiseric was studying the villager intently. Then sharply he turned to Fergus.
‘Wait,’ Gaiseric snapped. ‘He says that ten miles or so to the north, a large band of warriors has made their winter camp beside the route used by the amber merchants. He says that if we are heading north we will run straight into them. He says these men are forcing all merchants to pay a fee for safe passage up the road.’
‘What,’ Fergus exclaimed in alarm. ‘How many men are we talking about?’
Gaiseric turned to the village elder and after a short exchange he turned back to Fergus.
‘He thinks there may be a few hundred,’ Gaiseric growled. ‘He says they are a strong group. They will not let us pass without payment.’
For a moment Fergus said nothing. Then slowly he turned to look at the village elder.
‘Titus needs to hear about this,’ Fergus said quickly. ‘Come on, let’s get back.’
Fergus was half way to the edge of the forest when he heard a strangled cry. It was followed by a thud, as something hit the ground and then a shout. Startled, Fergus turned around to see what was going on. Two of the villagers lay in the snow that was rapidly darkening in a growing pool of blood. Their throats had been cut. A third man had been stabbed in the chest and was down on his knees, his head tilted to the ground and the knife still stuck into his body. And another of the villagers was fleeing towards the forest. Stunned, Fergus stared at the scene as the man with the knife in his chest slowly toppled sideways. Gaiseric was speaking rapidly to his three companions, clutching a bloodied knife in one hand and gesturing at the huts. Fergus’s eyes widened in shock. The Vandal prince was murdering the villagers in cold blood.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Fergus roared, as he recovered from his shock.
But Gaiseric did not reply and as Fergus stared at the bloody and gory mess, an axe went whirling through the air embedding itself in the back of the fleeing villager, bringing him crashing down into the snow. Across the clearing, Gaiseric’s three companions were already racing towards the dark entrances to the huts with drawn weapons.
‘Gaiseric!’ Fergus roared furiously.
But the young Vandal prince was not listening. He stood alone in the middle of the clearing staring down at the three corpses and the spreading pool of blood. A sudden hysterical scream erupted from one of the subterranean huts and, as Fergus turned towards the noise, his eyes widened in horror. A screaming woman brandishing an axe came rushing straight towards Aledus. Startled, Aledus had just enough time to turn and face her and raise his shield, when with a vicious blow she hammered her axe into the wood. Aledus cried out in shock, staggered backwards and instinctively stabbed the woman with his spear, knocking her to the ground. Horrified Fergus turned to stare at the huts. Hysterical screams were coming from the German dwellings into which Gaiseric’s companions had vanished, and at the edge of the trees, Fergus suddenly saw a few women and children fleeing into the forest.
‘What have you done,’ Fergus roared as he strode towards Gaiseric. ‘These villagers were no threat. They were willing to trade. We came here to gather supplies. Instead you have massacred them for no reason. This was unprovoked. You, murderous bastard.’
Slowly Gaiseric turned to stare at Fergus. There was a cold, harsh look on his face.
‘They were nothing,’ he said contemptuously. ‘These people were nothing. They were weak. They deserved death.’
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Fergus roared.
‘We came for the hay, for the animals,’ Gaiseric retorted his eyes narrowing as he glared at Fergus. ‘Now you can take all the hay you want. The animals can eat and we can move on. These people had to die so that we may live. It’s simple. What is there to discuss?’
Abruptly Fergus looked away. His hands trembled in fury but there was nothing more he could do now. Across the clearing Gaiseric’s three companions had emerged from the huts and one of them was dragging a young, screaming girl through the snow by her hair. As the men came up to their leader, the man dragging the girl along laughed and with a vicious stamp from his boot, he broke the child’s neck. Stunned Fergus looked down at the child’s broken body lying in the snow.
‘What do you care Roman,’ Gaiseric hissed from close by. ‘Why should you care about these people? You didn’t know them. They are not your family. And besides as soon as we would have left, they would have gone to warn that group of warriors camped up the trail. They would have sold us out for a few common trinkets. They had to die.’
Titus sighed as Fergus finished recounting what had happened in the German village. For a moment, the Centurion said nothing. Then he nodded and reached out to grip Fergus by the shoulder.
‘Swine, the lot of them. I never liked the Germans,’ Titus muttered. ‘But what is done is done. I will send some men to collect the hay. They are not going to be needing it anymore.’
Fergus took a deep breath. ‘What about this group of warriors blocking the path to the north? The villagers said they were several hundred strong. We will never get past them without a fight, Sir.’
‘I will leave that decision to the Legate,’ Titus replied. ‘I had better go and speak to him now. And you,’ Titus said pointing at Fergus, “’you stay away from Gaiseric, understood. I don’t want any trouble. That German enjoys Hadrian’s favour, remember that.’
Fergus nodded and watched the Centurion stride away down the column of men, horses and mules that were strung out along the forest path. Suddenly amongst the trees, Fergus caught sight of Adalwolf. The German merchant was watching him. Then slowly and deliberately Adalwolf raised his finger and ran it across his throat, before silently turning away into the forest.
***
It was late in the day and the expedition was once more strung out on a forest path. Sullenly Fergus strode along at his post beside the mules and the slaves. The tough, heavily-laden animals plodded on, silent and uncomplaining and Fergus had begun to appreciate their qualities of endurance. No wonder the legionaries had once been called Marius’s mules he thought. A day and a night had passed since the massacre in the village, and after some discussion, Hadrian had decided to veer off course and go around the war-band blocking the more direct route. The diversion would add a couple of days to their journey. Slowly Fergus wrenched his gaze away from the mules and turned to gaze into the forest. The tall pines were covered in fresh snow and the brown, green and white landscape was eerily quiet. But last night, as the men had made camp and huddled around their fires and tents, they had all heard the mournful howling of wolves in the distance. The noise had unsettled the horses and mules and the slaves had spent a lot of time trying to calm the beasts down. With a grunt, Fergus drew his heavy, white winter-cloak tighter around his shoulders. Winter was steadily closing in and the weather was getting colder. And there was something else that he couldn’t shake off. The strange sense that the expedition was being watched had returned. He had felt it again last night as he had made his rounds, checking on the sentries. Something or someone was watching them, from the cover of the forest.
&nbs
p; As the column plodded on through the forest, Fergus caught sight of one of the Batavian horsemen standing at the side of the track. The auxiliary cavalryman was wearing a similar, white winter-cloak as Fergus and he was examining his horse’s hoof. As Fergus drew level the man shook his head and started up the path on foot, leading his horse by hand.
‘Thunder and lashing rain, so Wodan commeth,’ Fergus said suddenly turning to the Batavian as his mouth split into a wide grin.
Startled, the rider turned to look at him. The Batavian looked a few years older than Fergus. Then the man frowned.
‘Thunder and lashing rain, so Wodan commeth,’ the rider repeated quietly in a thick Germanic accent. ‘How do you know about this?’
‘My father served in the Second Batavian Cohort,’ Fergus said. ‘He was stationed at Luguvalium and after that on the Dacian frontier during the first war. When he was my age he fought in the battle of Mons Graupius in Caledonia.’
The Batavian stared at Fergus with sudden interest.
‘What was his name?’ the rider said.
‘Marcus. My father’s name is Marcus. For a short while he was Prefect of the whole Cohort,’ Fergus replied.
‘That Marcus? You are his son,’ the Batavian blurted out, his eyes widening in shock. ‘Marcus, the man who saved the whole Cohort during the Brigantian uprising. The man who led the cavalry in Hibernia. The man who they demoted after the rebellion had been crushed?’
‘That’s right,’ Fergus replied.
For a long moment, the Batavian stared at him as if struck dumb. Then hastily he looked away.
‘I was too young to serve with him,’ the Batavian said at last, ‘but there are some older men within my squadron who remember him. Your father is a legend. A hero. Wait till I tell them who you are.’
With a flush on his cheeks, the Batavian turned to look at Fergus again.
‘Tonight when we make camp, promise me that you will come and find me and the boys. They will want to meet you.’ The Batavian’s face broke into a spontaneous grin. ‘Who would have thought of it. Marcus’s son and us, out here. Of all the co-incidences, the gods choose this one.’
***
It was getting dark when Hadrian finally called a halt and the men set about erecting their tents and getting their cooking fires going. As the soldiers busied themselves around the forest camp, Fergus began to post his sentries. He had just completed his task when in the gloom he suddenly heard a shriek, followed by shouting. The noise had come from out of the forest. Hastily he jogged through the crisp snow and through the dark forest towards the noise. As he drew closer, another shriek rent the evening. It was followed by harsh Roman voices. Amongst the trees, up ahead he could see a couple of men holding burning torches and, in their flickering light, he caught sight of two legionaries crouching in the snow holding down a writhing figure. The figure was hissing and whining as he struggled violently to free himself.
‘What is going on here?’ Fergus cried out as he approached.
‘We were out collecting fire wood when we caught this bitch, Sir,’ one of the legionaries exclaimed, gesturing at the writhing, whining figure who was being pinned down in the snow.
‘She?’ Fergus said frowning.
‘That’s right Sir,’ a legionary called out, “she was watching the camp. Spying on us. But now we have got her she doesn’t want to calm down. She has already bitten Julius twice and she had a knife on her.’
‘Get her up on her feet,’ Fergus snapped.
Obediently the two legionaries in the snow grasped hold of the woman’s arms and yanked her roughly up onto her feet. The girl’s long black hair was dishevelled, but as he caught sight of her face, Fergus staggered backwards and gasped in shock. The defiant looking girl standing before him was Titula. Speechless, Fergus stared at her. It was Titula alright. There was no mistaking the tattooed Germanic runes across her forehead.
‘What,’ Fergus stammered in confusion. ‘What are you doing here?’
Titula stared back at him in silent defiance, but upon seeing Fergus she had ceased to struggle. Then, with a speed that took everyone by surprise, she wrenched herself free, stepped forwards and flung her arms around Fergus’s, waist burying her head against his chest.
‘You know this woman Sir?’ one of the legionaries asked in a puzzled voice.
‘I do,’ Fergus said hesitantly, as he looked down at the girl clinging on to him in a tight embrace. ‘She is my property.’
Then as he noticed she was shivering with cold, he reached out and gently placed his arm across her back.
‘It’s alright boys,’ Fergus said in an embarrassed voice. ‘I will take her back to the camp. She is with me.’
***
The campfire crackled and the flames and sparks leapt up to die in the black night. Sitting in the snow around the fire Fergus, Furius, Adalwolf, Vittius and Catinius were all staring in fascination at Titula, as the slave girl hungrily and silently devoured a leg of mutton. The girl looked like she was starving and her cheeks were hollow and bony. Fergus could only guess how long ago it had been since she had eaten. He’d found a winter cloak and even though it was too big for her, she seemed grateful. Now she sat stuffing her face with food, with the woollen cloak wrapped around her shoulders. She had remained silent since Fergus had brought her into the camp, but she had caused no more trouble and she had gone where he had told her to go. Her arrival had however, caused a bit of a stir amongst the camp but after a quiet word with Titus, the Centurion had agreed to let her stay on the condition that she didn’t cause trouble.
‘What in the Gods name possessed her to follow you out here, Fergus?’ Furius said with a little bewildered shake of his head. ‘I mean, this is not some town down the road from our winter quarters. We are way beyond the Imperial frontiers.’
‘Our young friend must have made an impression on the girl,’ Vittius said with a little smile. ‘Best not tell Galena about this though when you next send a letter home. She will cut your balls off when you return home.’
Fergus did not reply as he stared at the girl. He was truly lost for something to say. The shock of Titula’s appearance had been so unexpected, so weird, that he still didn’t know how to handle it.
‘She must have been following us since we crossed the Danube,’ Catinius muttered. ‘Question is why? She is a German slave. Why didn’t she just go home? Unless of course she has nowhere to go, no family. But I agree with Vittius. Our friend Fergus has made one hell of an impression. What did she do again when you first saw her? She gave you a hug.’
Fergus silently nodded.
‘So much for the secrecy surrounding our mission,’ Furius growled, flicking another stick into the fire. ‘Rome’s finest, tracked and followed by a sixteen-year-old girl. Makes you wonder who else knows about our expedition.’
At Fergus’s side, Adalwolf suddenly rose to his feet and silently came around the fire, kneeling beside Titula. The slave girl paused in her eating, to glance warily at the German merchant. Then she bared her teeth at him and hissed.
‘She has spirit, that’s for sure,’ Vittius chuckled.
Adalwolf suddenly reached out and grasped Titula’s head with both hands, carefully pushing away her long, black hair. She squealed and dropped her hunk of meat, but Adalwolf held her in a tight grip as he stared at the runes, tattooed onto her forehead. Then abruptly he let go of her and sat back down in the snow, with a sudden troubled look on his face.
‘What?’ Furius growled suspiciously peering at Adalwolf. ‘What is the matter?’
For a moment Adalwolf stared at Titula. Then slowly he turned to look at his companions sitting around the crackling campfire.
‘The runes,’ he muttered in a troubled voice. ‘Most men cannot read but I can.’ He paused to stare into the flames. ‘The girl,’ he exclaimed suddenly looking up at Fergus, ‘the runes say she has been marked by the Gods. They say she is a Valkyrie. That she is one of the six ladies of the war Lord, Odin, destined to ride with
him across the sky.’
‘What?’ Furius exclaimed with a puzzled frown.
‘The girl is a Valkyrie,’ Adalwolf snapped with sudden tension in his voice. ‘She rides through the sky with Odin, Lord of War. Don’t you fools understand? She has the power to choose who lives and dies in battle.’ Adalwolf turned to stare at Fergus and to Fergus’s surprise he saw that Adalwolf suddenly looked afraid.
‘Fergus, what is she doing here with us?’ Adalwolf murmured.
Chapter Thirty – The Moravian Gates
Hadrian stood looking down at the crude map that Gaiseric had drawn in the snow and dirt. Adalwolf, Titus, Furius, Gaiseric and Hadrian’s two freedmen had gathered around the Legate and were doing the same. At the edge of the ‘O group meeting,’ Fergus stood watching the senior officers, as he waited for them to issue their orders. A few days had passed since Titula had come out of the forest. The expedition had been making steady progress northwards through the endless forests and frozen swamps, but the further they had gone, the shorter the days and the colder the weather was becoming. And now the flat plains had started to give way to rolling hills, covered in dense dark, pine-trees.
Gaiseric knelt beside the map and pointed at two small pebbles. ‘Now this is our position and here is the war band that my scouts spotted,’ he said glancing up at Hadrian. ‘They are maybe five or six miles away. Most of the warriors are on foot and they seem to be moving parallel with us. Apart from hunting and squabbling amongst themselves, they seem to be moving around without any aim or purpose.’
‘Have they spotted us?’ Hadrian replied, looking serious.
Gaiseric sighed and shook his head. ‘No, my men think they don’t know about us just yet, but that could easily change. My scouts say we haven’t been seen but the size of our group; the tracks we are leaving and the villagers who we come across; any of these will eventually give away our presence. We should assume that it will be only a matter of time before this war band discovers us and comes to investigate.’ Gaiseric paused as he looked up at Hadrian. ‘They are a threat. I recommend that we change our course before they discover us. We will never be able to outrun them, not with the mules and the cargo that we are carrying.’
Germania (Veteran of Rome Book 5) Page 28