by George Green
‘How big is your bag of coins?’ said Galba, from between teeth rattling with the cold like bone dice in his mouth.
Brutus narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you trying to start an argument?’
‘No, I…’
Galba’s reply was cut off by Drenthe’s arrival. She came up the nearest ladder three steps at a time and jumped off it onto the walkway behind the parapet. Decius stepped back to give her room and almost fell off the walkway. She was now wearing her armour, and her bearing was a commander’s. She peered out into the gloom as Brutus had done. ‘What the hell is that?’ she said softly.
Serpicus stood behind Brutus and said nothing. The guard who had escorted Drenthe to the wall pointed over the parapet, moving his extended arm from one side to the other like an actor addressing an audience.
‘The Romans arrived after dark. When the fires started, Orodes took a few men and went out to see what was happening. They had posted cavalry at the fires, expecting us to come. Orodes was nearly caught.’ Drenthe put her hand on the shoulder of a dark, heavily bearded man standing nearby. Serpicus assumed he was Orodes. The man stood taller at her touch and grinned cheerfully at everyone nearby. Decius watched Drenthe’s hand intently.
‘Lucky for us that Roman horses are so slow,’ Orodes said.
Galba stood between Brutus and Serpicus. ‘I wish people would speak Latin,’ he said mournfully. ‘Would someone please tell me what’s going on?’
Brutus folded his arms on the top of the parapet, like a father about to embark on an explanation to a dull-witted child. He pointed out into the gloom. ‘Well, you see those pretty glowing things all in a line out there?’
‘Yes,’ said Galba, sounding as though he was grinding his teeth together as he spoke.
‘Well, those pretty things haven’t been put there so that you can admire them. Oh no. They belong to the Romans, who are very nasty men with sharp swords who don’t like us very much, and they’ve built those fires all across the neck of this particular bottle that we’re in so we can’t get out of it.’ He paused. ‘Anything there you’re not clear on?’
Galba shook his head. ‘No, all admirably clear, thank you.’ He turned to Serpicus. ‘Why does he have to be such a horse’s arse all the time?’ he asked in a loud voice. Brutus responded with a low chuckle.
Serpicus looked around. Severus and the rest of his men were on the ledge on the other side of the gate, looking out at the fires. He nudged Brutus and indicated towards them.
‘They aren’t happy.’
‘I’m not surprised. I’m not delighted myself.’ Brutus looked at Severus and became thoughtful. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘We should try and get them out before the attack comes. If we can.’
Serpicus thought about that. ‘If they just walk out of the gate it’ll look as if they are going over to the Romans,’ he said. ‘The Germans won’t let that happen.’ Brutus coughed and spat. ‘That may be true,’ he said. ‘But if any of them are still here when the Romans come in through that gate, they’ll get slaughtered along with the rest of us.’
Serpicus put a hand on Brutus’ shoulder and squeezed gently. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘And to think, there I was, in danger of worrying about someone else.’
Drenthe stood with her arms folded, watching over the parapet. Balant was standing beside her, occupying himself by trying to find a better way of arranging his heavy cloak against the rain. Drenthe stood without moving. Most of her men seemed content to do the same. Waiting was apparently something that the Gelbheimers were good at.
Brutus shivered, looked around and then whispered to Serpicus. ‘Is this entirely necessary? Couldn’t we take turns to go inside and get warm?’
‘Welcome to your country, you German tart,’ Galba said, looking pleased with himself.
The villagers wandered aimlessly along the walkway, watching the distant line of fires as if hypnotized. Serpicus found himself standing next to Orodes.
‘Any idea what happens next?’ he said.
Orodes shrugged. ‘They’ve got us cut off. We can’t get past their lines, and they can see that the river is too swollen to allow us to escape. They’ve got pickets out across their front line, though I suspect they’ll be too busy getting close to the fires to be paying much attention to us. You wonder why they ever leave Italy, they miss the sun so much.’ He turned his head and spat on the ground. ‘I think that, for the moment, the sword is in their hand. We must wait and see.’
‘They’ll attack.’
Orodes looked at Serpicus as if he was slightly simple. ‘I imagine they didn’t march right across Germany just because they needed the exercise. They’ll want a few Treveri heads to take back to their families, if only to prove they weren’t just sitting around enjoying themselves all the time.’
Serpicus looked out at the fires again and learned nothing he didn’t already know. He was cold, wet and miserable. Nothing was going to happen. The Romans were following regulations, as always. They wouldn’t attack until their camp was built, their situation secure and they’d done a proper reconnoitre of the situation. He gestured to Brutus to follow him and went over to talk to Drenthe. Decius was still standing nearby, doing his best to look military. Serpicus suppressed a smile.
‘I want to go and see what’s going on out there,’ he said, pointing towards the fires.
Drenthe shook her head. ‘Orodes tried that, and nearly didn’t return,’ she said.
‘No, not on horseback. As if we were Romans.’
‘What?’
‘Brutus and I know the army, we both speak army Latin. Most of the men who came with us are wearing bits of legionary uniform, it’s a dark night, we only need enough to be convincing. We’ll creep out towards the nearest fire until we’re as close as we can get, then we’ll walk along the line. They’ll all have their heads down looking at the fire, they’ll assume we’re a patrol. Then we’ll go into the camp and see what we can find out.’
Drenthe pursed her lips. ‘It’s not a bad idea.’ She looked enquiringly at Balant. He nodded.
‘Anything we can find out will be useful,’ he said. ‘But – and forgive my stating the obvious – it’ll be dangerous.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Brutus. ‘They’ll have dry tents and hot food.’
Everyone smiled.
‘Another thing,’ said Serpicus. ‘The men who came with us, is your promise of safe conduct still good?’
She looked surprised. ‘Yes, but I don’t see how…’
‘I’ll talk to them,’ said Serpicus. He motioned to Brutus, Galba and Decius to follow and went across to where Severus stood on the walkway and gestured to him to join them on the ground. Severus jumped down like a man twenty years younger. He even somehow managed to look drier than anyone else.
‘We’re properly screwed now,’ the centurion said.
‘You certainly are if you stay here.’
Severus looked surprised. ‘What choice have we?’
‘A chance. Collect up all the bits of uniform we have. Give it to the worst swimmers. They come with us. We slip into the camp between the fires and then they walk out the other side.’
Severus lifted an incredulous eyebrow. ‘That’ll never work, they’ll be spotted.’
Serpicus shrugged. ‘Possibly; although given the weather and the fact that they will be Roman soldiers in Roman uniform, I doubt it. Once they’re in the camp it’s every man for himself. Rendezvous back at the place where you waited while we came into the village, head south. You’ll have to ditch the uniforms.’
Severus glanced around the village. ‘Why would they let us go? They’ll surely assume we’ll join the legion.’ Serpicus looked serious. ‘If I can persuade the villagers to let us take you out, you’ll have to give your word not to fight against the Treveri.’
Severus frowned. ‘That could be tricky.’
Serpicus nodded. ‘If the Romans catch you they’ll execute you as deserters or else co-opt you into the legion. You’ll be dead or you’
ll be back here fighting us. And if you run into any of these Germans and you’re wearing uniform I wouldn’t fancy your chances. Your only hope is to get through the camp and head for Italy.’
‘We haven’t much chance in civilian clothes either.’
‘You can always stay and try your luck here,’ Brutus said.
The centurion gave him a grim smile. ‘Fair enough. What about the rest of them, the ones we haven’t armour for?’
‘They get into the river and go downstream.’
‘They’ll be drowned.’
‘There’s that chance, but I don’t think so. We’ll give them skins to keep them afloat. They’ll be swept a good way downstream and it’ll be a long walk back by the time they manage to get out, but the Romans are only guarding this side of the river. They won’t see anyone go past their pickets so long as they keep to the far side of the river. There’s no moon. It’s too dark and there’s too much floating in the river already to notice. The guards will be staying close to the fires and feeling sorry for themselves, not checking the river. Anyhow, as you pointed out, the alternative isn’t promising. But if anyone has a better idea, they’re welcome to try it and good luck.’
Severus looked thoughtful. ‘We’re bound to lose some. But I’ll grant we don’t have much of a choice.’
‘Tell them to be quick, whatever they decide,’ said Serpicus. ‘We need to leave before dawn, while the Romans are still getting organized.’
Severus nodded and strode quickly away towards the barn which held their equipment, gesturing to the men to join him.
‘Come with me,’ said a sepulchral voice at Serpicus’ shoulder.
Serpicus flinched and then did his best to pretend he hadn’t.
‘Bocalas,’ he said, aware that he sounded guilty of something. ‘What is it?’
The druid had a fresh torch in his hand, the flames hissing as the rain landed on it. The boy stood silently behind him, the hooded hawk on his arm. Bocalas gestured that Serpicus should follow him and turned away without speaking. Serpicus looked around. All the others were heading for the barn to put together whatever equipment they had. No one was watching him. He went after the druid.
The rough path was in rain-swept darkness apart from Bocalas’ torch, which was getting steadily less brilliant in the downpour. Bocalas strode confidently ahead.
Serpicus navigated his way unsuccessfully between a series of puddles. The boy followed, seeming to know where the deeper water was.
Bocalas led them to a door in the wall of a small barn.
‘What’s this?’ asked Serpicus, shaking the water from his boots.
Bocalas still didn’t speak, but raised his head and inhaled sharply. Serpicus did the same and immediately caught a rank smell, definitely animal but unfamiliar. He had a feeling he’d smelt something like it before but had no idea when.
‘What is it?’ he said. Bocalas opened the door and stepped aside to let Serpicus enter.
A deep growl came from inside the barn and Serpicus knew at once what he had been brought to see.
Serpicus had seen bears before. Two years earlier there had been a craze for black bears in the arena, the bigger the better. A rich man who possessed a huge black bear said that the bear was the most powerful of animals, and that he would bet on it to fight any other creature. His friends immediately sent animal catchers in every direction to find animals to fight it. The bear killed a buffalo easily and a lion with difficulty, before being badly mauled by a tiger and retired by its owner. By then the craze had bitten deep – bears were brought to fight other beasts in combinations that no normal bear would have found itself. The competition everyone wanted to see was a bear against a shark, but no one could agree on the depth of water that would give an advantage to neither side, and so the contest never took place.
Serpicus had also seen smaller, brown bears, which were in less demand as they were less ferocious in aspect and in character. However, he had never seen, and he knew of no one else who had seen, a completely white bear.
He expected a cage but when they entered the small hall there were no bars. There was a smell, the same as the one he had smelt outside but much stronger, heavy with both musk and oil and mixed with the queasy odour of rotten meat from the dozens of bones that lay strewn on the floor. The hut was divided into two unequal parts by a partition made of thick tree-trunks split lengthways and driven deep into the earth. The section into which the door led was about a quarter of the floor-space of the hall. The wooden wall rose up higher than Serpicus’ head. A ladder leant against it, giving access to a small platform near the top. Bocalas indicated that Serpicus should climb. He pulled himself up gingerly. From behind the wall he could hear a deep gurgling sound, and the rustle of something large moving about.
Serpicus stepped onto the platform and looked over carefully. The floor had been dug down on the other side, making the wall higher on that side. The floor was strewn with straw. In several places there were areas reddened with dried blood.
And there, in the centre of the space, was the biggest bear Serpicus had ever seen.
Its head was long and pointed, unlike the round-faced brown bear, and much larger than the black bears he had seen. It looked up at Serpicus and made a curious up and down motion of its head as it stared at him. Its fur was indeed white, or, more accurately, a smoky yellow.
Serpicus supposed that the yellow colour was mostly dirt. The bear would no doubt be cleaned up before the crowd saw it in the arena. He’d known brown bears dyed black for the arena, so he didn’t suppose that the Master of Games would have any scruples about putting this one through a pool of whitewash to make it shine in the sunlight and show off the blood of the men who came to fight it.
Serpicus looked back down at Bocalas.
‘What do you think?’ asked the druid.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Serpicus whispered. ‘It’s magnificent. And huge – how on earth did you get it into this place?’
Bocalas smiled. ‘Brave young men with long stout sticks, lots of ropes and a freshly slaughtered cow for bait,’ he said. He motioned Serpicus to stand to one side, and climbed the ladder. When he was standing next to him, he put a hand on Serpicus’ chest and pushed him gently to arm’s length.
‘Watch. Don’t move or speak,’ he said.
He leant over the wall and made a guttural sound deep in his throat. The bear looked up. Its head moved up and down and then it rocked back so its weight was over its hindquarters. Then it stood up like a man. Its head and paws reached easily over the wall. Serpicus felt himself flinch and forced himself to stay still. Bocalas was within easy reach. One swipe of its paw and he would be lying broken on the ground.
Serpicus watched as the man and the animal stood within touching distance. Neither of them moved or made any noise for what seemed a very long time. Then Bocalas made the sort of sound that a man might make to a guard-dog which has got up to check the source of a sound, telling it not to worry and go back to sleep. The bear slid back down into the pen. Serpicus breathed again.
Bocalas turned and smiled, pleased with the display.
‘Do you control it?’ asked Serpicus.
The druid shook his head. ‘No man controls him,’ he said. ‘But he enjoys our conversations. I believe he respects me, as I respect him.’
Serpicus stood and looked down at the bear, which looked back with indifference. The size of the task in front of him became all too obvious. Blaesus hadn’t mentioned that the bear was twice the size of any animal Serpicus had seen before. Getting it into a cage that could hold it and dragging it several hundred leagues along roads that were mostly mud and pot-holes while keeping it fed and alive was a bad enough prospect, without having to dodge irate warriors from the Treveri objecting to the removal of their sacred animal. And then getting it over the Hinterrhein Pass, and through the winter snows that stood between them and Rome. All that was in front of them, assuming that somehow they could get it safely out of the village
past several thousand besieging Romans. Serpicus shook his head.
It was impossible.
He looked down at Bocalas. The druid had a seraphic smile on his face that suggested he was privy to Serpicus’ thoughts.
‘I don’t envy you,’ he said.
‘I don’t envy me either,’ said Serpicus. He slid down the ladder. ‘Do you have any suggestions?’
Bocalas’ face looked serious, although Serpicus suspected that the shine in his eyes was amusement as well as torch-light. ‘Have you considered divine intervention?’
‘Actually, it’s strange that you should mention that,’ said Serpicus.
He had made a lot of sacrifices to Mercury when he had been a charioteer. Maybe he still had some credit with the gods, if their remit operated this far from Rome. He was about to find out.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bocalas looked at Serpicus in a way that seemed to go through him and out of the back of his head.
‘You said you owed me a debt,’ said Serpicus.
‘Are you sure that this is what you want?’ Bocalas asked again. ‘The Romans are coming, it is a strange time. Perhaps you are too eager?’
‘It’s what I want,’ Serpicus said.
Bocalas looked at him seriously for a while. Eventually he spoke in a quiet voice. ‘To ask the gods a question is not like asking a shopkeeper what he has for sale today. Sometimes the gods do not reply. Sometimes they do reply, but not to the question we have asked. Sometimes they reply, but their answer may seem playful or even hurtful.’ He paused. ‘Sometimes they lie, sometimes for a reason, sometimes for no reason we can see.’