by George Green
The fight was almost over. The charge down the hill had caught the pursuers in a vice and pushed them together so that they had no room to take advantage of their superior numbers. Added to that, they had no real will to fight unless it was clear that they would win, and it was only a matter of time before they threw down their swords and begged for mercy. That time arrived almost immediately.
Severus’ soldiers took no little pleasure in knocking them to their knees in a narrow circle. They pulled the prisoners’ hands behind them and tied them roughly together. Severus strode towards Serpicus, pausing to rip the shirt off one of the prisoners as he passed by in order to clean the blood off his sword. There was blood down his sword-arm and a sizeable dent in his armour high on the left shoulder, but he seemed unharmed. He pulled the torn cloth down the blade of the sword and tossed it aside. There was a lot of blood on the shirt.
He was smiling as he came to stand by Serpicus. ‘That was a good trick you pulled,’ Severus said, ‘not showing yourselves, waiting for them to come back down after the others like that.’ He put a hand on Serpicus’ shoulder. His mouth was still smiling, but his eyes were hard. ‘If you ever do that again and it doesn’t work, I’ll be waiting for you in Hades and we’ll have words, I assure you.’
He turned away and went to supervise the further kicking and cuffing of the captives.
‘We couldn’t come any sooner,’ Serpicus said.
‘He knows,’ said Brutus.
There were three men dead, all from Severus’ group. A further dozen were wounded, just two of them severely. Set against that the twenty dead of the attackers and hardly one of the remainder without a wound somewhere, and it was a clear victory by any calculation. Severus moved amongst the kneeling captives and then bent over slightly with a cry of recognition and hauled a groaning man to his feet. Blood was flowing freely from his scalp and he was limping badly. It was the big man, the one with the breastplate who had led them. Serpicus recognized him now too; it was the docker whose throat Severus had crushed back in Ostia.
Severus placed the point of his now fairly clean sword against the man’s side and pushed him away from the group of prisoners towards a clump of rocks, beckoning a soldier to follow him. Brutus and Serpicus looked at each other and followed. They rounded the rocks to find the big man on the ground on his back, twisting sideways so that his bound hands were not trapped underneath him. The soldier was looping a cord around his ankles. Once the man’s feet were secure, Severus dismissed the soldier. The point of the centurion’s sword moved from the big man’s ribs to his throat. Severus motioned Brutus and Serpicus to sit down.
Severus grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him upright without ceremony. The centurion’s knees went into his back and the sword came round until it rested across the prisoner’s throat. Serpicus could see that the edge of the sword was roughly serrated from the blows it had given and received.
‘His name is Josef,’ the centurion said. He leant forward until his mouth was by the man’s ear. ‘Now,’ he said cheerfully. ‘These gentlemen are going to ask you some questions, which you are going to answer, understand?’
Josef twisted until his head was almost facing that of Severus and then he spat straight in the centurion’s face.
Severus didn’t flinch or wipe the spittle off. Nor did he hit Josef hard on the head with the handle of his sword, which is probably what most men would have done. He grabbed Josef by the jaw and dug his fingers deep into the big man’s stubbled cheeks. Josef thrashed and struggled but the centurion’s grip was unrelenting. Eventually Josef realized that he was achieving nothing and came to rest. Severus released his grip very slightly.
‘As I was explaining,’ he continued, in exactly the same tone of voice, ‘these are the rules. These gentlemen will be asking you some questions. You will answer them.’ The fingers bit into the cheeks again. ‘Anything other than a completely helpful answer will lose you an ear.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘An educated man like yourself will no doubt have worked out that that gives you two opportunities to be stupid before the ears are all gone. Then I will cut your throat and we will go back to the other side of these rocks and see if anyone else in that bunch of monkeys you brought here wants to be as stupid as you.’ He pulled Josef’s head sideways so that their faces almost touched. ‘Understand?’
Without waiting for an answer he turned the man to face Serpicus, put his arm round the man’s neck so that he was immobilized, placed his sword against the top of the man’s ear and said, ‘Ask.’
Josef’s eyes were dark and angry. Serpicus leant forward, hands on his knees. ‘Who sent you?’ he asked, hoping to sound authoritative.
Josef looked as if he was about to spit again and a low guttural sound was all the reply Serpicus got. Severus tightened his grip on the man’s neck so that he couldn’t breathe and then pulled his sword sharply back and down in one swift movement. The jagged blade flashed as it moved.
The prisoner let out a choked howl. Severus had released the pressure on his throat just enough to allow the noise to be heard, doubtless for the benefit of those sitting listening on the other side of the rocks. Blood poured from the man’s ear onto Severus’ arm. The centurion grabbed the man’s hair and swapped the sword from one hand to the other. His arm went around the man’s throat and he rested the sword on the man’s remaining ear.
‘One to go,’ he said cheerfully.
‘All right!’ shouted Josef. ‘I’ll tell you what you want to know.’
Serpicus reasoned that if someone had just cut his ear off it would probably make him forgetful, so he repeated the question. ‘Who sent you?’
Josef looked sullenly at him, his teeth grinding and his eyes wild with pain. ‘A Roman. He came to Genoa a few days before you and hired me to raise a group of men to follow you.’
‘Why?’
‘To stop you.’
‘Why?’
He paused. ‘I don’t know.’ Severus’ sword pressed against the skin of his ear and his voice rose. ‘I swear it!’ Serpicus motioned Severus to relax. ‘Describe the Roman.’ Josef frowned. Description was, no doubt, not something he spent a lot of time doing. ‘Age? Height? Colour? Anything unusual?’
‘Thirty years old, perhaps less.’ He gave Serpicus a smile with one side of his mouth. ‘We find it hard to guess a Roman’s age, the years treat them so much more lightly than ourselves.’ The smile disappeared as Severus’ sword drew a drop of blood from his scalp. ‘Get on with it, barbarian,’ the centurion growled. ‘Maybe as tall as you, maybe a little shorter. Dark hair, cut like a Roman soldier.’ A trace of animation crossed his face. ‘A scar, from his eye to his mouth. Arrogant, as all Romans are. The marks of a soldier on his right arm.’ He paused. Severus leant forward to speak into his remaining ear. ‘Finished?’
Josef showed his teeth. ‘He was rich, or his master was. I was not the only man he talked to.’
‘Anything else you can tell us?’
‘That is all I remember. Romans are like pigs, covered in shit it is hard to tell them apart.’
Serpicus reached out swiftly and touched Severus on the wrist, or Josef would have lost the other ear for certain. The centurion looked at him with disbelief. Serpicus shook his head. ‘Take him back and put him with the others.’
Severus stared at him for a long moment, and then pulled Josef to his feet. ‘Come on,’ he growled, and sliced the bonds of his ankles with the sword. ‘Now, please, make a run for it,’ he said. ‘Make it easy for me.’ Brutus and Serpicus were left sitting on the rocks. Blood spattered the ground in front of them.
‘Recognize the description?’
‘A scarred Roman soldier of about thirty could be a lot of people, but I’d put my money on Marcus.’
‘But why? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘That’s what I don’t know.’
Severus came back. He had splashed water on his arm where Josef had bled on it, and was using something to dry it that looked a lot lik
e Josef’s shirt.
‘So,’ he said, sitting on a boulder. ‘What do we know?’
Brutus looked at his feet. ‘Blaesus sent us and is now trying to stop us.’
Severus thought for a few moments. ‘Doesn’t make sense.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘We could split up,’ Brutus said.
‘Why?’
‘Two small groups, less likely to be seen.’
Severus shook his head. ‘Twice as likely to run into trouble, and half as equipped to deal with it. We stay together.’
Chapter Twenty
Serpicus was standing at the highest point of the Hinterrhein Pass, in the narrow space between two facing cliffs. The path cut through the summit of the mountain as though a god had reached down and drawn a huge fingernail across the summit. His breath rolled out in front of him like a cloud coming in over the sea. He looked back over the steep path they had climbed. The snow had come early. The rain stopped and then froze, and then the slate sky went quiet and the first flakes slipped from it down towards them.
The unshaven men stood around him, surly with cold, their cloaks wrapped tightly. They were hungry too. Several of the pack animals had slipped or panicked on the narrow mountain ledges and plunged over the edge, taking much of their food with them. Every man had made it to the top.
Serpicus turned and looked out towards the way they were going. To Germany. His homeland.
The snow stopped like a fraying tablecloth about half-way down the mountain slope and gave way to scrub and sporadic trees. Then, as the incline swept down towards the valley floor, the forest thickened and fanned out in every direction into a huge uniform carpet of deep green as far as the horizon.
Serpicus looked at the forest in silence. Somewhere deep within it the legions were cutting their way towards the rebellious German tribes. He wondered if the soldiers were thinking of the story of Varus, wondering if the same fate awaited them.
They camped overnight at the highest point, not because it was sensible but to enjoy the fact of finally getting there, then rose early because of the cold and set off down the other side of the mountain.
The track on the German side was narrower and steeper than the ascent, and where the streams normally flowed over the rocky path the water had frozen so that every step was dangerous. Severus made everyone dismount. The animals were less likely to slip without the weight of a man on their backs, and if an animal went over the edge he didn’t want it taking any of his men with it.
Serpicus was tired. He felt as if he’d been walking for a year and been cold for most of it. He concentrated on removing himself mentally from his immediate physical situation, a trick that soldiers and other men who spend a lot of time in physically uncomfortable situations learn. The body is still cold, the feet are sore and the legs exhausted, but the mind sees it from a way off, as if it is happening to someone else. The part of him that was not concerned about where he was putting his feet was thinking about a warm day lying in his wife’s arms. The situation was developing nicely, and by the time he realized that his horse was limping badly he was uncomfortably aware that the men behind him – Snake and Cato amongst them – had noticed it much earlier and were now looking at him critically.
‘Probably a stone in his hoof,’ said the man immediately behind Serpicus. Cato was behind him and peered over to look at the horse’s cocked foot, then nodded agreement.
Serpicus grunted with annoyance. He pulled the lame horse off the path and waited until all the others had passed him. Once he was alone he bent down to inspect the animal’s foot.
If he hadn’t been cold and tired he would have registered immediately that the horse’s shin was swollen, but as he reached down for it he was looking away, wrapping his cloak around himself against the bitter wind. His fingers dug deep into the puffy flesh and pulled.
The horse knew that his hands had always been gentle, so its reaction was one of shock and surprise as much as actual discomfort. It stamped the sore leg down, pulling Serpicus off balance, and then twisted sideways to get away from him. Its broad hindquarters thumped against his shoulder, and as Serpicus shifted to keep his balance his feet moved from under him on the ice. He reached out to use the horse to steady himself but his numb fingers slid off its rough coat. He made a final grab for the animal’s tail, and missed.
Through the cold fog in his mind, the thought penetrated that he was going to fall.
Time stopped.
He felt himself toppling impossibly slowly backwards towards the slick ice at the edge of the path and the sheer cliff beyond it.
At the very last moment, while his feet still had a little purchase, he bent his knees slightly and pushed sideways. Instead of landing entirely on the ice his upper body landed at an angle, partly on a patch of snow next to the ice. His mind was suddenly working furiously, but his limbs felt as if they were immersed in a viscous liquid. He spread his arms out wide and jammed his hands hard into the snow, hoping to catch a root or a rock. His scrabbling fingers found nothing but more ice, smooth and unforgiving. He was sliding slowly but inexorably down the slope towards the edge.
He must have called out, because the others knew what was happening to him. He heard Snake call a warning and then saw Brutus jump towards him with a shout, but the lame horse continued to turn, its hooves rattling on the stones and blocking Brutus’ path. Brutus yelled at it in frustration and the horse reared away from him, spinning and kicking backwards at another man who tried to grab its head-collar. As Serpicus slid slowly towards the edge he could see Brutus’ legs behind the by now thoroughly frightened horse, trying to get around it. There wasn’t going to be time to reach him.
Serpicus dug his hands into the ground with all his ebbing strength. He felt a fingernail bend backwards and snap. He wondered why it didn’t hurt more.
Then, from the other side, he heard a shout. He turned his head and saw a slim figure sprinting towards him. He opened his mouth to tell the man not to come too close or they would go over together, but it was too late. The man dived forward onto the snow and skidded on his stomach towards Serpicus. As he did so he brought his arm over his shoulder like a discus thrower. Clutched in his hand was the corner of a cloak. The other end of it billowed towards Serpicus and flapped onto the snow beside him. Serpicus grabbed at it with both hands and hung on. For a few moments he stopped sliding, then his weight started to pull the prone man forward over the ice. For a moment Serpicus thought of letting go of the cloak to avoid taking them both over the cliff, but the brief delay was enough. The man let out a gasp as Snake and Brutus landed on top of him simultaneously with an audible thump, followed moments later by several others. Serpicus felt himself stop moving. Then he heard an unpleasant sound.
‘Don’t pull it,’ he called, ‘the cloak, it’s starting to tear.’
‘Someone throw him a bloody rope before we all go over,’ panted Brutus. Decius appeared behind Brutus with a coil of rope which he threw forward. Serpicus grabbed at it with one hand. His numb fingers couldn’t feel the rough hemp at all. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.
‘Grab hold of the boy,’ Serpicus gasped. ‘I’m heavier than he is, I’ll take him over.’
‘Don’t you let go,’ said Brutus, making sure that there were enough bodies on top of the man holding the cloak before he went to help Decius. Once Serpicus was sure that Brutus had a firm hold of the rope, he let go of the cloak and wrapped both hands around it. Everyone scrambled to their feet and a dozen hands helped to haul him away from danger.
Serpicus lay on the ground, trembling with shock and breathing like a lung-speared boar. Brutus handed him a full wineskin.
‘Thanks,’ Serpicus gasped, and raised it to his lips.
‘Better drink a toast to laughing boy over there,’ said Brutus. ‘He’s the one who stopped you falling.’
The man who had thrown him the cloak sat up coughing, leaving a perfect human outline in the snow made by the impact of Brutus
and the others landing on top of him. Serpicus raised the skin in salute.
‘Many thanks,’ he said, and only then realized with surprise who had saved him.
Cato waved a hand in breathless dismissal. ‘It was nothing,’ he said, coughing painfully and spitting earth-stained snow from his lips with an expression of distaste.
Serpicus drank deeply before passing the skin to Brutus. Brutus helped Cato to his feet and put the skin in his hand.
‘Go on, lad,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve earned it.’ Cato looked grateful and finished off the little wine that Serpicus had left.
Serpicus got stiffly to his feet and went forward to clasp Cato’s hand. Over Cato’s shoulder he saw Snake leaning back against a rock with his arms folded, deep lines of thought in his forehead. It had been a close call.
‘I am in your debt,’ Serpicus said.
Cato shook his head and smiled. ‘I was closest to you, that’s all.’
‘You could have gone over with me. I won’t forget it.’ Cato studied his outline in the snow. He took a deep breath, as if reinflating himself. ‘It was nothing, truly,’ he gasped. ‘But you will, I hope, understand, if I say that, if there is a next time, and we have not by then worked out an alternative way of saving you that doesn’t involve everyone jumping on top of me in the snow, I will be letting you die without a second thought?’
Serpicus grinned at him and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Fair enough.’ He looked around. ‘Now, where’s that bloody horse?’
The rest of the descent was accomplished without serious incident. At a point half-way down, as the snow thinned, they stopped by a gushing spring to water the horses and rest. The sun came out and even the few limp rays it cast raised their spirits a little.
Serpicus was peeling off his damp clothes to inspect himself for injuries when he looked up and saw Snake standing nearby. The Cretan was tossing a short-bladed knife a few inches in the air and catching it as it fell. The sharp blade flickered in the light of the low sun as the knife spun on its axis. Snake caught it by the handle every time without apparent attention.