by George Green
Brutus thought for a moment. ‘Just tell them that I always meant what I said, at least I did at the time I said it.’ He held out his hand. ‘Now fuck off like a good fellow and let a friend die in peace.’
Serpicus grasped his forearm in the Roman way. Brutus smiled. Serpicus could only meet his eyes for a moment.
‘We’ll meet again in Hades,’ Brutus said hoarsely. ‘But no need to hurry, eh? Now go, quickly.’
Serpicus turned away and it felt like tearing a barbed hook from his heart. He didn’t dare look back, but trotted to the edge of the clearing to where Drenthe and Galba were waiting.
‘Where is Decius?’ he asked.
Drenthe pointed into the forest. ‘That way. Easy enough to follow. He…’ Suddenly her eyes opened wide and she reached out, grabbed Serpicus by his breastplate and dragged him into the trees.
Serpicus didn’t have to ask what was going on. He threw himself flat on the cold ground and then, keeping low, he peered cautiously over a large fallen branch in front of him. Galba appeared next to him, on the other side from Drenthe.
Brutus was sat on the moss-covered trunk, hunched and still. He looked like a farmer resting after a hard day; in a land where farmers wear armour and carry swords and bows.
The Romans were on the other side of the clearing, led by a tall centurion. Three or four men clustered behind him. To their right and left Serpicus could see other men appearing through the trees. The Romans had learned at least one lesson from Varus; the value of advancing in small groups, far enough apart to allow freedom of movement and to prevent the enemy concentrating his force, but close enough to support each other if one group was attacked.
A Roman officer came into view. Serpicus’ hand tightened on his sword handle, and he saw Brutus lift his head.
Consilius.
A branch cracked behind them. Serpicus whirled around.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he hissed.
Decius came towards them in a running crouch. ‘We have to help him,’ he hissed, peering through the branches. Drenthe held him down with one hand and put the other on Serpicus’ shoulder.
‘This is the way he wanted it,’ she said. ‘Respect the way he chose to die.’ Decius lay down again, his anguish clear on his face. Serpicus felt paralysed, like a bird watching a snake.
The centurion walked to stand beside the fair-haired man and they conferred briefly. Then Consilius stepped forward and stood a few paces from Brutus with his arms folded.
‘So, old man,’ he said, the sound carrying clearly to every side of the clearing. ‘They have abandoned you. Typical Germans. Even pack wolves do not leave their injured behind.’ His clear, arrogant tones carried easily to where they crouched in the cover of the forest.
Brutus looked up at him. ‘They do, if it is for the greater good, as you would know if you knew even half so much as you pretend,’ he said. He reached out and seized the stump of a broken-off branch and slowly stood up until he was facing Consilius. Sweat was pouring down his face with the effort and he had to pause a few moments to get his breath. ‘And I am not so much an old man that I cannot best you if needs be.’ He was taller and broader than the Roman and leaning towards him. Consilius took half a step back and dropped a hand to his sword. ‘You can dream, old man,’ he said.
The Roman’s sword came out of the scabbard in his left hand so that he held it like a theatre assassin’s dagger. He feinted towards Brutus, who swayed backwards to avoid it, and then tossed the blade to his right and swung backhanded. Brutus was forced to step back and struck his heel against the rotten tree. For a moment it looked as if he might retain his balance but then he toppled over backwards. He hit the ground and Serpicus heard him groan with pain.
Consilius jumped up on the tree-trunk and let out a short bark of satisfaction. Brutus lay below him, one foot still up on the trunk, trapped between the branches of the tree. The Roman stepped down beside him and held out his sword.
‘I send you to Hell,’ he said. ‘Don’t make any immediate plans, your friends will be following shortly.’
‘I’ll see you there,’ hissed Brutus, and, raising both hands, he made a circle between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand and thrust his left thumb up through it, jabbing it at the Roman.
Consilius lunged forward with the sword outstretched and Serpicus heard Brutus make a sound as if he had been punched hard in the stomach. The Roman shifted his balance and then pushed the sword forward again with all his weight. Then he withdrew it, pulling himself upright as he did so.
The blade was stained red half-way to the hilt.
Brutus lifted himself up briefly then fell back again. He tried to prop himself up on his elbow, and then slowly slid back against the branches and lay still. For a moment there was nothing but silence.
‘No!’
From the side of the clearing a howling figure ran out with a sword upraised, heading straight for Consilius. The Roman instinctively took a step backwards. He trod on a branch and for a moment was unsteady. The banshee reached him and brought the sword down with all his force. Consilius regained his balance at that instant and held up his own weapon, blocking the blow. The ring of the impact rang round the clearing and the force of the attack sent Consilius stumbling sideways. The Roman soldiers hesitated, then moved forward to help their captain.
‘Decius, stop!’ shouted Drenthe, and she stood up so that everyone could see her. Decius paused his attack.
‘You go, now, quickly!’ he said, his voice high with grief. ‘I will kill him and follow you.’
The Roman soldiers surrounded Decius and held out their spear-points towards him.
Drenthe held up a hand. ‘Stop,’ she said, in a quiet, steady voice full of command. Consilius saw her and nodded to the centurion. He snapped a brisk order and everyone stood still, waiting. Serpicus held her by the arm.
‘Don’t do it,’ he said urgently. Drenthe smiled at him.
‘It’s all right,’ she said simply, and waited for him to release her. When he did so she stepped out from the protection of the trees.
‘Consilius,’ she said. ‘Let the boy go.’
Serpicus felt as if the heel of a large man’s hand had thumped into his chest. ‘No,’ he said softly.
Consilius looked at her and then at Decius, and smiled. ‘Why should I do that?’ he said. ‘I already have the boy, we are twelve, you are one.’ He looked at Decius, and then beyond Drenthe, to see Serpicus and Galba emerging as well. ‘Well, three and a half perhaps. Still good odds. I have all of you now, without releasing or fighting anyone.’
‘Not so.’
A spear-throw from where Consilius had appeared from the forest, six men appeared. Three were in something approximating Roman uniform, and the rest were dressed in an assortment of German leather and Roman metal, though it was hard to tell exactly what as they were wrapped in furs against the cold. They were led by a centurion past retirement age. The men behind Consilius hesitated. The new arrivals walked across the clearing and stood beside Decius.
‘By all the gods,’ Serpicus said slowly. Severus turned and looked at him, and dropped one eyelid in a lascivious wink. Serpicus shook his head in disbelief. ‘Not dead, then?’
‘Not yet,’ the centurion said. ‘And the gods had nothing to do with it.’
The two men clasped hands. Severus looked at Serpicus and smiled. ‘It’s a strange thing,’ he said, ‘but the closer we got to Rome, the less we wanted to get there.’
Serpicus returned the smile, and nodded his thanks to the men behind Severus. The two groups faced each other over Brutus’ body. Consilius stood in front of his men and fixed his eyes on Drenthe. His gaze burned and he swung the sword loosely from his wrist as if he was preparing to run through all of them to get to her.
Serpicus looked around. It was an interesting situation. There were six in Severus’ group, plus Decius, Galba, Serpicus and Drenthe. Consilius had fifteen men with him, but several of those looked like beardles
s recruits only just out of basic training and the others didn’t look keen to die for their leader, whereas all of Severus’ men were hardened fighters. In a straight contest, head to head, the odds were that there wouldn’t be a winner. There might just be one person left standing at the end, and there was no guarantee who that might be.
There was a long pause while every man in the clearing looked at the man opposite him. They fingered their swords and looked from face to face, and no one made the first move.
Severus cleared his throat. ‘Centurion,’ he called out casually across the clearing while looking critically at the edge of his sword. The centurion standing beside Consilius looked at him suspiciously.
‘What?’ he shouted back.
‘How’s the leg?’
The centurion looked down instinctively, then back up again with narrowed eyes. ‘Sore in cold weather. Why?’
‘I just wondered,’ Severus said, looking at his feet and scuffing the damp earth with the heel of his boot like a schoolboy. ‘I wondered if any of my spit was left in it still.’
The centurion leant forward, his eyes narrowed. ‘Severus?’ he said softly.
‘Publius,’ replied Severus with a smile. ‘I thought it was you.’
Consilius held out a sword at shoulder height so that it was across his centurion’s face, preventing him from moving any closer to Severus. ‘You are a Roman soldier,’ Consilius called to Severus. ‘Would you fight us, legionaries like yourself? Your brothers?’
‘If necessary,’ said Severus with a shrug. ‘It’s happened before. But we’d rather not.’ He looked back at his men. ‘In this situation we see ourselves more as… honest brokers. Referees, if you prefer.’ He pointed at Consilius and his voice hardened. ‘And you are no brother of mine or any of my men. What you do here has nothing to do with serving Rome and everything to do with your own vanity and ambition. We want nothing to do with it, and your men should have nothing to do with it either.’
‘Don’t try and subvert my men,’ Consilius snapped. ‘You are already insubordinate at best, traitors at worst. A Roman soldier knows his duty. None of my men will join you.’
Severus looked at Consilius for a long moment. ‘I have a suggestion,’ he said.
‘I don’t want to hear it.’
Severus shrugged again. ‘It’s a good offer.’
‘I will make you an offer,’ Consilius snarled, stepping forward and pointing with the sword. ‘Give me the German bitch immediately and I will consider not crucifying you. Anything short of that will mean I nail you all up for the crows.’
The centurion behind Consilius stepped forward and pushed his commander’s sword-arm down. ‘I want to hear what he has to say,’ he said.
Serpicus saw Consilius’ jaw harden. The fist clenched around the sword and the bicep contracted and for a moment Serpicus thought that Consilius would bring the sword up hard into the centurion’s throat. The two men stood facing each other, close enough for their breath to mingle. The centurion met his gaze steadily. Consilius slowly relaxed.
‘Very well, we’ll hear him,’ he said. ‘It might be amusing. But no tricks.’
‘No tricks,’ agreed Severus. ‘I suggest a duel.’
Consilius barked an incredulous laugh. ‘With champions? How quaint.’
Severus let a pause fall before continuing. ‘You’ – he pointed with his sword at Consilius – ‘you fight her.’ He swung the sword round like a teacher pointing at a pupil until it was aimed at Drenthe, then left it there while turning back to Consilius. ‘If you win, you have got what you want, and everyone goes home. If you lose, everyone else has what they want and everyone still goes home.’ He paused. ‘You agree?’
‘No!’ said Decius, his cheeks turned white with just a point of red under each eye. The boy was looking at Drenthe in a way that was unmistakable, as a man looks at a woman. Serpicus reached out and closed his fingers around the muscle in Decius’ arm to quiet him, wondering for a moment how he had failed to see that the boy had become a man. His thoughts piled up inside his head. The duel was a risk, but Serpicus thought that Severus knew what he was doing. Consilius’ thoughts were racing across his face for everyone to see as he counted the odds. Single combat was dangerous, but so was a pitched fight involving everyone in the clearing.
Decius turned to Serpicus, his face anguished. ‘Stop them,’ he said. ‘He’ll kill her. Don’t let it happen.’
A cold finger stroked Serpicus’ heart for an instant and then vanished. He said nothing.
Drenthe looked at Decius reproachfully. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she said.
Severus slouched and tapped his sword aimlessly against his leg as if he were waiting for someone habitually late. He looked up and across the clearing at Consilius and his voice became deliberately slow, mocking his indecision. ‘I don’t know why you hesitate,’ he said mildly. ‘After all, that’s why we’re all here, isn’t it? To kill her?’
There was a silence. Drenthe looked at him with real surprise. ‘To kill me? Why?’
Severus didn’t take his eyes off Consilius. ‘That’s what this was always about. They wanted you dead.’
Drenthe lifted an eyebrow. ‘Very flattering. Who, exactly, is it wants me dead?’
‘Sejanus, his generals, his tame senators. They looked around for some Germans who could get into Gelbheim without being challenged, and then got Blaesus to send them to fetch his bear for him. That’s why Serpicus and Decius are here. They were cover for Cato. He’d never have got into the village, let alone near Drenthe, if he hadn’t been with them.’
It was Serpicus’ turn to look incredulous. ‘But what about the animal?’
Severus made a dismissive gesture. ‘You are animal trackers, so he used the bear. If you’d been professional drunks Blaesus would have said there was a drinking festival he needed you to attend for him. If you were acrobats, he’d have said he’d contracted to provide the Gelbheimers a circus.’ He glanced at Drenthe. ‘They wanted her dead, and they needed someone to get Cato into the village so that he could do it. Everything else was garnish.’
Serpicus shook his head in slow disbelief. ‘But why would they kill her? She was keeping the Treveri out of the rebellion when just about every other German tribe was joining it.’
Severus pursed his lips and looked hard across the clearing at Consilius. ‘A good question, and one you’d have to ask that smooth-faced bastard over there. Why would a Roman senator want to kill a leader who was trying to keep her tribe out of a war against Rome?’ He looked at Serpicus. ‘Think about it. Imagine you’re an investigator. You’re looking into a murder and you don’t know who did it. What’s the first question you’d ask?’ Serpicus thought for a moment. ‘I suppose… you’d look at anyone mentioned in the will? Ask who benefits from the death?’
Severus nodded. ‘Very good question. So, ask it.’ Serpicus hesitated, dazed by what Severus was saying. Then Drenthe’s voice spoke up clearly. ‘Who benefits from a war with the German tribes, and why?’
‘Exactly,’ said Severus. ‘Perhaps when we return to Rome we should ask that question.’
‘This is entertaining nonsense,’ Consilius called across the clearing. ‘You know nothing about…’
‘Perhaps,’ interrupted Severus. ‘But you will notice that everyone here is now giving the matter some thought.’ He paused to let Consilius look at his men, who were listening with surprise and curiosity to the conversation. ‘So, do you fight, or will you leave here now?’
Serpicus could see that Consilius in fact had little choice. His honour and pride were in question. Added to that, Severus was asking uncomfortable questions. If there was a conspiracy then the longer the talk went on the more time it gave to everyone to think about it. Serpicus wasn’t surprised when Consilius made the best of it. He looked at Drenthe and drew his thin lips into a smile.
‘Winner takes all. You agree, bitch?’
Drenthe smiled back. ‘You like that word too much,’ she sa
id, holding out her sword towards him and drawing circular shapes in the air with a steady movement of her wrist. ‘I’ll carve it between your shoulder-blades like a tattoo so that your boyfriends will have something to read when you bend over for them.’ Consilius scowled and turned to adjust the straps of his armour without reply.
Serpicus remembered Consilius’ smile from the first time they had met. He also remembered what Consilius had said then. He called them ‘the Partner’s Germans’. Not ‘Uncle’s Germans’, which would have meant that Blaesus was in charge. ‘The Partner’s Germans’. Sejanus. Sejanus had arranged it, through Blaesus. It went even higher than they thought.
Severus looked enquiringly across the clearing at Publius, the centurion standing by Consilius, and called to him. ‘Centurion?’
Publius looked up.
‘One rule. We hold the ring only. No interference, no help nor hindrance, not by anyone, not your men or mine. Agreed?’
Publius hesitated, glancing instinctively at Consilius, and then nodded without waiting for an order.
Drenthe leant towards Severus with a movement of her head as if agreeing to the terms. ‘Can we trust them?’ she asked softly.
Severus did something between a nod and a shrug. ‘Consilius, let’s be frank, probably not. He’d break his word to himself if he thought there was advantage in it. Publius, maybe. I used to know him. He also owes me his leg and therefore his career from a wound he got in Parthia. That counts for something. Against that, he’s a lifer soldier and he can’t be far off his pension. Consilius owns his nuts and the army owns his soul. I think he’ll want to be honest if given the chance, but don’t bet your summer villa on it. Let’s not push him unless we have to.’
‘We should run, just run,’ said Decius, the skin on his face a stretched mask of worry.
Serpicus looked at Drenthe. She seemed calm about the prospect of fighting a man much larger than herself. ‘Is this the only answer?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Drenthe. She looked at Decius, who didn’t speak but stood beside them as tense as a drawn bow. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll kill him quickly and then we’ll be on our way.’ She reached out quickly and brushed her fingers against his cheek. He tried to take her hand but it was gone before he could hold it.