Marcus stared at the masked man, fighting to keep his face expressionless while his captor rammed home his advantage over his captive.
‘I know everything about you, Centurion. I know how much you paid for that pretty sword, I know when your wife’s baby is due to be born, and I know who you really are and where you come from. Secrets are my currency, Marcus Valerius Aquila. Secrets are my bread and butter. Secrets are what put food on these men’s plates, and what keep us both from the imperial executioner. I know things about the men who rule Tungrorum, both officially through the power of the emperor and unofficially through the strength of the gangs that control the streets, things that would see them executed within a day were I to make them known. I have access to most of the official documentation and messages that pass through the offices of those men, and there’s usually a tiny nugget of gold in every cartload of that shit. And to judge from the look on your face I’m making somewhat better use of it than that fool Caninus, eh? Prefect Caninus? The man’s a joke, as incapable a thief-taker as I might have wished to be set on our trail. When the time is right I will kill him, as well he knows, but for now his inadequacy is perfect for my purposes.’
He sat in silence for a moment, then spoke again, his voice softer.
‘But never mind our mutual friend the prefect, let’s talk some more about you, shall we, Centurion? You are, as we both know, Marcus Valerius Aquila, the son of a murdered senator and a fugitive from the emperor’s hunters. The despatches from Rome say that you are believed to have taken refuge with one of the cohorts that patrol Britannia’s northern wall, and that the reward for your capture has been doubled since the disappearance of both a Praetorian centurion and a corn officer sent to capture you, adding murder of imperial officials to your original crime of treason. You’re a dangerous man, it seems, and, in the absence of any living family, a man without any vulnerability to exploit, if I ignore your wife and unborn child.’
He waved a hand dismissively at Marcus’s hardening face.
‘Never fear, I don’t make war on women or children, any more than you would. And besides, why would I feel any need to threaten a man who has so much in common with me? I too am a fugitive from the empire’s version of justice, as so ineptly administered by Prefect Caninus. I too would like nothing better than to return to my home and live in peace, but, just like you, I’m left with little choice but to fight for survival, taking what I can when I can. You and I, Valerius Aquila, we should be fighting together against injustice rather than crossing swords as enemies.’
He stood and walked towards Marcus, eclipsing the torches behind him as he stood in front of the Roman.
‘Consider my words, Centurion, and give them time before rejecting the idea. You and I would make a combination that no man could bring down. With Arduenna’s favour we could hold this forest against any force the governor could send against us, and build an army that would hold the survival of the German frontier garrisons in the palm of one hand. Join me, Valerius Aquila, and you and I will decide the fate of this whole province, and take revenge on those men who have wronged us. Or does the life of a fugitive centurion, living in constant fear of discovery, and the murder of all those who have aided and befriended you hold such an attraction? You are my guest for the night, for this storm will not blow itself out before the sun rises again, which means that you have more than enough time to think on my words. Consider my offer carefully, Valerius Aquila. I will seek an answer from you in the morning.’ He turned away to the cave’s entrance. ‘Grumo!’ The big man appeared in the archway, and Obduro gestured to the Roman. ‘Set four spearmen to guard this chamber. We don’t want him getting any ideas about escape.’
‘It seems to be easing off.’
Julius followed Dubnus’s pointing hand, looking up into the night sky.
‘The flakes are a little smaller, I’ll give you that. And about bloody time, I’ve had about as much snow as I ever want to see in this lifetime.’
He waved a hand at the clearing’s dimly lit scene, and the hundreds of men listlessly clustered around the fires’ glowing remnants. Their boots and the fires’ warmth had quickly reduced the snow-soaked ground around the fires to ankle-deep mud, and made the task of dragging fresh wood from the clearing’s edge an exhausting struggle against both the weight of their burden and the sticky ground’s resistance. The axemen had long since handed their weapons to fresh hands, their bodies exhausted and their hands cut and blistered despite the calluses developed over years of service. Their replacements’ rate of work with the heavy axes had proven so slow that Frontinius had eventually decided to cut his losses and stop the work.
Dubnus pointed again, tapping Julius on the arm.
‘Look, I can see stars. The cloud’s breaking up.’
The dawn confirmed his expectation, revealing a sky free of any cloud, as if the heavens had been swept clean by the storm, and as the sun rose it lit up the clearing with a rosy light that stained the remaining snow gold. Frontinius and Sergius conferred briefly, then set their men to taking a swift breakfast in preparation for the march back to Tungrorum. The first spear gathered his centurions.
‘It’s time for some pragmatism, gentlemen. There’s no way we’ll be able to find Obduro’s gang after that heavy a snowfall, never mind fight them. Once the sun gets up and melts all this snow the forest will turn into a quagmire, and I see no point in our wallowing round in it while they sit in whatever fortress they’ve built and laugh at us, or, worse still, pick us off as we blunder about on ground they know intimately. Have your men eat whatever they’ve got left and then get ready to march. We’re cutting our losses and marching for the city.’
Julius raised a hand, his usually jocular approach to such gatherings replaced by a look of such solemnity that Frontinius, knowing what was coming, forestalled his request.
‘No, Centurion, you may not take a small party into the forest looking for any sign of Centurion Corvus. You wouldn’t stand much chance of finding him, and in the unlikely event that you did you’d most likely find him in the company of several hundred bandits. Either way it’s not a risk I’m minded to take. I’ll worry about our missing centurion once the odds are a little less stacked against us.’
Marcus woke in darkness, and for a moment imagined that he was in his own bed next to Felicia. The hard floor beneath him and the stiffness in his back reminded him where he was, and with a groan he sat up, propping himself up against the wall. After a moment a light appeared at the far end of the cave, as a guard carrying a torch came through the opening that led to the rest of the bandit encampment.
‘Follow me.’
Stretching the stiffness out of his limbs, the Roman got up and walked towards the light. As he reached the cave’s opening he found himself faced by a pair of levelled spear points, and behind them stood Grumo, the big man who had blindfolded him the previous evening. He shot the Roman a long disparaging look, his tone a mixture of hatred and contempt when he finally spoke.
‘Obduro wishes to speak with you. I would have slit your throat, but he’s ordered that you be spared. Come this way.’
He walked away to the steps that led up into the open air, but Marcus paused and looked about him before following, his curious gaze darting down the corridor to another opening in the rock wall. One of the guards prodded him in the back with the point of his spear, then they both fell in behind Marcus, their weapons still levelled at his back as he followed their leader up a flight of crudely hewn stone steps and out into the bright sunlight, blinking and raising a hand to protect his unprepared eyes.
‘ Bring him to me! ’
He turned towards the sound of Obduro’s voice, and he realised that he was in the very heart of the bandit fortress, a wide enclosure bounded by log palisades that reared fully twenty feet off the ground, with wooden buildings huddled under the walls to provide the gang’s men with shelter. Men stood around him on every side, many of them still clad in the remnants of their imperial uniforms, t
he remainder in simple woodsmen’s clothing, but every man was armed with a spear, sword and shield, and many had bows strung across their shoulders. The men guarding him pushed him towards their waiting leader, and as the throng of men parted Marcus saw that Obduro was standing before what appeared to be an altar. As he drew closer the Roman realised that the stone block, long and wide enough to accommodate a man’s body, was intricately carved with images of Arduenna riding through the forest on her boar. In every scene men were dying at her hand, pierced with arrows and hewn with a variety of weapons, their death agonies apparent from their contorted bodies. A variety of offerings were hanging from hooks carved into the stone, and amongst their clutter he saw something that made him frown momentarily with a spark of recognition, even though he was unable to put a finger on what it was. Mistaking the frown for disapproval Obduro spoke, a mocking note in his voice.
‘This captive finds our altar distasteful, my brothers, although I can’t think why.’ His voice rang out across the silent camp, and the men gathered around them hissed their disapproval. Their leader half turned to the stone slab, waving a hand at its decorations. ‘See the fine carvings that illustrate our devotion to the goddess!’
Marcus nodded.
‘I’ve seen the artist’s work before, I believe. It’s certainly of a high quality. Which makes it a shame to cover so much of it with this… ephemera.’
The bandit leader turned back, shaking his helmeted head as if in sorrow.
‘Each item here belonged to a man who met his fate on this altar, his blood drained and collected for our ceremonies. We keep them to remind us of their sacrifices.’
Marcus looked closer at the stone slab, seeing for the first time that it was covered in an intricate pattern of grooves that resolved into a number of deeper channels, which in turn merged to end at a single lip at the altar’s edge. He raised an eyebrow at the bandit leader.
‘I thought that the blood sacrifice had been stamped out across the empire.’
Obduro stepped forward, putting a hand on Marcus’s chin and lifting his head to expose the skin of his throat.
‘You have the look of a man who would bleed well for us, Valerius Aquila. You may be under my protection, but any word that besmirches our goddess would leave me no choice but to add the strength of your life to ours, and your body to the bone pit.’
Marcus kept his face devoid of expression.
‘I meant no disrespect to your goddess. Her powers were demonstrated to me all too well yesterday. I was simply surprised to find that the practice has survived.’
Obduro snorted with laughter, releasing his grip on his captive’s face.
‘How very Roman of you! Your empire declares a thing to be forbidden, and we savages are expected to change the ways that have served us well for as long as we can recall. We never stopped the practice, Centurion, we simply moved it to places where the empire wouldn’t be troubled by it! And where there will never be any danger of the empire intruding upon our privacy. For as you can see, Valerius Aquila, we are more than ready for any attempt to dislodge us from this hilltop. Our palisade is twenty feet tall, but each log is also buried ten feet deep in the earth, and they are secured to each other by cross beams and good strong Roman nails taken from the convoys that supply the army on the Rhenus. A legion’s catapult would struggle to make much of an impression on walls that thick, even if such a burden could be dragged through the forest and up this hill. Our gate has inner and outer doors, and any force that managed to open the outer gate would pay a heavy price for the pleasure of facing the thick wood behind it. You will not see the slopes around this fortress, since you will be leaving us as blind as when you arrived, but I can assure you that no aspect of modern siege warfare has been overlooked in our preparation to resist any attack by the forces that would dearly like to end our independence from your subjugation.’
Marcus realised that the bandit leader was speaking as much to his own men as to his captive, and he looked about with a genuine interest. When he spoke, he pitched his voice low and soft, forcing Obduro to lean closer to hear his words, momentarily blocking the sunlight that was making the Roman squint at him through half-closed eyes.
‘I’ve seen stronger walls fall.’
Obduro leaned back, a chuckle rattling out from behind the shining mask.
‘I’m sure you have, Centurion, but I’d bet good money that they fell with the assistance of a push from inside, eh? No man here would be foolish enough to consider such betrayal, not given his likely swift reward by wood and nails once the fight was over. I believe the penalty for brigandage is still prompt execution, carried out without exception?’
He turned to the encircling warriors, raising his voice to be heard.
‘The centurion here believes these walls can be toppled, but I think we know the truth of the matter, you men and I. First they have to find us. Then they have to reach this hill in a fit condition to fight. And then they have to batter in our gates, or come over our walls, and do so in the teeth of our resistance. And our teeth are very sharp! The goddess clearly favours us, as she demonstrated yesterday as soon as the first of the unbelievers set foot in the forest. We are too well hidden, too well protected, and too well defended for their efforts to end in anything other than slaughter and defeat.’ The bandits stood in silence, their gazes locked on Marcus, and Obduro turned back to face him. ‘Let us get to the point, shall we? I spared you, Valerius Aquila, in the hope that you will choose to join with us against a common enemy. You have suffered as great an injustice as any man here, and I would be honoured to have you stand alongside me. What is your answer?’
Marcus shook his head with an expression of polite regret, wondering as he did so how the apparently ruthless bandit leader might react to his rejection.
‘Thank you for your offer. I am, however, forced to decline your generosity. I cannot accept the offer of service against my own people.’ He paused for a moment, compelled to shoot a glance at Obduro’s shining face mask despite the futility of seeking any reaction. ‘I still serve the empire.’
Obduro turned away, shaking his helmeted head in disappointment.
‘A shame. I had hopes of you, Valerius Aquila. No matter, you can still serve as a messenger. So take this message back to Tungrorum! Your spears may have done for every other bandit in this entire province, but it would take a legion and more to dig us out of this place, and even then at a grievous cost in dead soldiers. And before I have you escorted to the edge of the forest, let me show you one more thing. Bring me his weapons!’ A man came forward with Marcus’s swords, and Obduro waited while he strapped the belt about him and hung the weapons’ baldricks over his shoulders. ‘You have a long sword of local manufacture, I hear, a fine weapon for which you paid a high price. May I see it?’
Marcus drew the pattern-welded spatha, conscious of the spear points waiting within inches of his back, and handed it hilt first to Obduro. The bandit leader tested the weapon’s balance and peered closely at its dappled blade, nodding his appreciation.
‘A fine weapon indeed, and worth every moment of the smith’s labour. I would call it the finest sword I had ever seen, were it not in the shadow of this…’ He handed Marcus the spatha and waited until it was sheathed, then drew his own blade and presented the hilt to his captive. ‘Be mindful that my men will kill you if you so much as look at me in the wrong way while you hold this weapon. They have seen the havoc that it can wreak upon the best-armed men.’
Marcus gingerly accepted the sword, holding it with one hand on the hilt and the blade resting across his arm, admiring the workmanship but frowning at the weapon’s metal, a darker shade of grey than any sword he had seen previously, its entire length dappled with a pattern so dark as to be almost black. Obduro chuckled.
‘Let me spare you the trouble of asking the question. You look at the sword and you wonder from what manner of iron it has been wrought. The answer is that even I do not know for certain, although the man from whom
I took it boasted that it had been forged in Damascus, in the distant east, with iron brought along trade routes which run far beyond the empire’s frontiers. He called it his “Leopard Sword”, and claimed that it had magical properties bestowed upon it by the gods.’ The masked man laughed darkly. ‘As to whether it is so blessed is not clear to me, but whatever divine properties it may possess clearly did not extend to the man from whom I took it. Such a blade may make an expert swordsman unassailable, but he was nothing of the sort. But in the hands of a master, like myself…’
He held out a hand for the weapon, and Marcus handed it back to him with a final long stare at the marvellously patterned blade. Wielding the sword with a flourish, Obduro called out a command to his men, three of whom stepped forward to face him with their shields raised, drawing their swords and slapping the blades against the brass shield edgings in a challenge to fight. Reaching out to take a small round shield the bandit leader sidestepped towards his practice partners, allowing them to edge around him until he was surrounded on three sides. Speaking over his shoulder to Marcus he hefted the sword, ready to fight.
‘Even the best swordsman would consider this situation a challenge worthy of his years of practice, but even now this blade gives me such an unfair advantage that were this a real fight these men would already be standing corpses, even if they did not yet know it. They have orders to fight me as they would a real opponent, and they know that I will not harm them if I can avoid doing so… a fair test of a swordsman’s prowess, I think you’ll agree.’
He lunged towards the man waiting before him, inducing a quick defensive back step from his opponent, then turned quickly and attacked the bandit behind him and to his right, striking hard at his opponent’s sword and, to Marcus’s amazement, effortlessly cleaving the blade in two and dropping a foot of pointed iron into the melting snow. Backhanding the blade back across the hapless bandit’s body, he hacked the man’s shield in two with a slicing cut that seemed to rip cleanly through the layered board and its brass rim as if it were no thicker than paper. As the disarmed bandit stepped back, raising his hands in surrender, the other two stamped in, seeing their chance to best their leader before he turned on either of them to repeat the trick, but Obduro was too quick for them, ducking under one swinging blow and hooking the man’s back foot with his own leg to dump him on the ground, then raising the mottled blade to drive it down through the length of the other’s shield from top to bottom, splitting it in two to leave him defenceless. The bandit screamed out a curse and dropped his sword, clutching at the hand that had been gripping the shield’s horizontal handle as a thick stream of blood gushed from between his fingers, and Marcus realised that the fearsome blade had hacked a deep cut into his hand between the middle knuckles. The last man put up his sword, unwilling to suffer a similar wound, and Obduro shrugged, looking at his weapon’s blade and wiping the blood from it with a rag before dropping it back into its scabbard.
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