by George Green
‘I’m the only one who can end this,’ she said to all of them, her face serious. ‘This way, the Roman dies, I am satisfied, and the rest of us live.’ Decius’ face betrayed his thoughts and she smiled. ‘Or I die, and he is satisfied, and the rest of you live.’ Serpicus wondered what would happen if Consilius won and was not satisfied, but said nothing.
Severus leant close to her and spoke softly. ‘I’ve never seen him fight, but I know what men say about him. He is quick, and he knows all the tricks. He is right-handed, but he usually fights with his left because of a spear he got in his right shoulder a few years ago.’
Drenthe nodded slowly, gazing across the clearing at Consilius.‘That should help.’
Severus shook his head. ‘Not really. He fights almost as well with his left.’
She looked amused. ‘Any more good news for me?’ Severus shook his head. ‘Not really, but one thought. My experience of pretty boys is, no matter how good with a weapon they are, if you wave something pointed and sharp in front of their faces, you get their full attention.’
Drenthe flexed her wrist until the joint made a sound like frozen river-water when a man on the other side steps carefully down onto it from the bank. ‘I find that’s true of most people, but I take your point.’
Consilius cinched the final buckle on his armour and turned to face them, his sword outstretched.
Drenthe moved towards Serpicus and beckoned Decius close. She spoke to both of them softly, hardly moving her lips. ‘You know what Severus said earlier, about how if Consilius won then everyone would be satisfied and go home quietly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fuck that. If he kills me I want you to spread his guts all over the forest floor.’ Decius and Serpicus glanced at each other and Serpicus spoke for both of them.
‘You can count on it.’
‘That means I will win or lose equally happily.’ She spat on her hands and rubbed them together. ‘I hope those four girls are still waiting for me on the river-bank, we can split a bottle together at Wodan’s table tonight.’ Galba had been standing silently nearby. He leant in towards Serpicus. ‘As you’ll have noticed, I’m waiting here silently on events, or more correctly, on translation. You will, of course, let me know if you need me to fight anyone?’
Serpicus gave him a wry look. ‘If the time comes to fight, I suspect you’ll work it out without my help.’
Consilius walked steadily forward ten paces and stopped, his sword held up at an angle across his belly. Drenthe advanced until she was just out of reach, her sword-arm hanging loose by her side. Serpicus wondered why Consilius had not complained about the fact that her sword was half as long again as his. Perhaps he wanted her to have to handle the extra weight.
She stood looking utterly relaxed. Serpicus watched carefully. She was confident, perhaps over-confident. Perhaps she didn’t care. Or perhaps she was up to something. They all stepped back to give the fighters room. ‘Any bets?’ Galba murmured to Severus.
‘Lousy odds,’ the centurion said. ‘Let’s face it, he should win. She might surprise us. Three to two on the Roman.’
‘I’ll take those odds,’ a soldier beside him said. Serpicus recognized him as one of the two Gauls who had fought beside Drenthe at the gate when the final Roman assault came. ‘She’s better than any woman I’ve ever seen, and she’s got more balls than most men.’
Severus nodded slowly. ‘True. But he’s bigger and stronger and he knows his way around with a sword.’ Decius turned on him, fear clawing at his face. ‘Then why did you suggest the fight?’
Severus spoke without turning to face him. ‘Because she’s mean and she’s fast and she’s been fighting every day since she bit the midwife’s finger. And she wants to fight him. She wants him dead for her village and her tribe, while Consilius only wants to kill her because it’s his job and it’s the sort of thing he likes doing.’ Severus looked around into the dark forest surrounding them. ‘If I believed in such things, I’d say the people who died in Gelbheim might even be watching this little fracas from wherever they are and cheering her on. Now shut up and watch. And keep half an eye on those other Romans, they might try something.’
Serpicus looked at Consilius’ soldiers. He doubted that. They were content to let their commander do the fighting for them; win or lose, either way they would all be going home after the fight.
Serpicus thought Consilius would rush to the attack at once, but he dropped into a crouch and began to move sideways, still facing her, crossing his legs in the gladiator’s walk. It was a good way of moving across the uneven and slippery ground. Drenthe made no attempt to shadow his movements, merely turned in a slow circle so that she continued to face him.
It soon became obvious what the Roman was doing. The ground he was moving over was up a slight incline. If Drenthe allowed him to move unimpeded he would eventually have the advantage of the higher ground. It wasn’t much, but any fighter would normally value it, and any fighter who was conceding height already would surely be concerned at adding to the disadvantage. Drenthe watched him move but didn’t seem concerned.
‘Why doesn’t she stop him?’ murmured Decius.
In a few more steps Consilius was at the highest point. It was clear what he was going to do next, and he did it. He paused for a moment, and then came at her, shuffling forward in short steps so that his left foot was always in front of his right, and with his sword-arm held high.
Serpicus watched, assessing the fight. The normal defence to such an attack would be for Drenthe to raise her sword above her head to parry the threatened blow. However, Consilius was taller and heavier than Drenthe, and was attacking from slightly above her. He would be confident of breaking through any attempt to block his stroke. Alternatively, once he was committed, she could duck and move quickly to her left, hoping to cut at him as he went past. Serpicus didn’t like her position. Her movement would have to be swift and exact to escape him, and Consilius would make sure that, while all his strength would be behind the blow, his weight would still be centred. If he failed to connect he still wasn’t going to overbalance and could then immediately follow up while she was getting back her balance.
The clearing was absolutely silent as the attack came. Decius opened his mouth to shout a warning but it was pointless. Consilius loomed over her. She raised her sword to shoulder height, but otherwise didn’t react. His sword came overarm and down on her head like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil.
Except that her head wasn’t there any more.
Consilius knew there wasn’t time for her to get her sword high enough to deflect his blow, so he was anticipating that she would drop low and move to her right. His sword would then pass over her left shoulder and she could then strike under his arm at his side. So instead of striking at an angle from left to right he cut down and to his left, so that a step away would not save her.
She stepped a little to her right, but not to get away from his sword. As his arm descended she jabbed her own blade forward in a short uppercut. Consilius instinctively arched his torso but she was not aiming at his body.
There was a frozen moment when the two of them were close together, staring into each other’s faces, neither moving, and the watchers could not see what had happened. Then Consilius’ fingers spread wide. The sword carried on and fell harmlessly to the ground. She stepped forward and picked it up.
Her own weapon was embedded in Consilius’ forearm. She had let his own momentum drive his arm onto her blade. It went in above his wrist and came out the other side.
Consilius staggered and his mouth opened in a gasp of pain. Then he stood upright, looked at Drenthe and took hold of the hilt with his right hand. He watched her face as he pulled the sword from his own arm. Blood streamed down his arm and off his elbow, darkening the snow. When it was out he breathed out a long breath and laughed.
‘You can’t beat me, bitch,’ he said, panting. ‘I fight with both arms.’
‘Then let’s hope for your sake
that you fight better with the other one,’ she said, and slashed down at his neck.
Consilius blocked the blow and the three that followed it, then pressed his own attack, pushing her backwards. Blood was dripping off his hand and falling to the ground freely. Any soldier could see that a man could only fight for a short time with a wound like that before the pain and loss of blood slowed him down. Consilius had to win the fight soon or it would be taken away from him. Drenthe only had to defend herself and wait, and they both knew it.
He swung wildly at her head. Drenthe swayed from the waist like a Persian dancer and took a short step back. Serpicus saw her foot stop above the ground and then slip sideways. Something round, a helmet perhaps, rolled away from under her heel. Consilius saw her stumble and moved quickly forward, swinging at her like a drunken harvester. As Drenthe fell backwards to the ground the two swords connected with a tearing crash. The impact twisted the hilt in her hand and the sword spun away from her. Consilius jumped forward and kicked the sword out of her reach. She rolled to one side to retrieve it and he moved quickly forward to get between her and the weapon. She made a despairing lunge at it and missed. Consilius swatted her away with a blow to her temple with the back of his good fist. She rolled away again and came up on one knee.
Decius stepped forward instinctively. The Romans across the clearing tensed. Severus’ hand shot out and landed on Decius’ shoulder. The young man tried to pull away and then gasped with pain as the centurion’s thumb dug deep into the top of his arm. ‘All right, I’ll stay,’ he hissed. Severus relaxed, but pulled Decius back and sat him down on a rock nearby. The Romans saw what happened and took their hands off their swords.
Consilius’ fist clearly dazed her. She threw herself sideways to avoid his next attack, rolling through the wet grass. Consilius stepped forward with his sword upraised and then stopped as his foot stood on a branch which gave way with a loud crack. It was only a few inches off the ground but he hesitated for a moment and she was away from his reach. A few yards away from him she stopped rolling and came up in a crouch, her hands on the ground. Her fingers clutched and closed and she pulled something from the grip of the grass. A heavy legionary’s spear, blackened by age and damp.
Severus looked up to see what Consilius’ Romans were doing. The centurion had his hand on his sword-hilt and was leaning forward, looking across the clearing. Severus folded his arms in an exaggerated way, gestured to Decius, and called out across the clearing.
‘Neither help nor hinder, agreed?’ The centurion hesitated, looked at the ancient spear, slippery with mildew, and relaxed. ‘I don’t think he’s looking for a fight,’ Severus said contentedly to himself.
‘We should help her,’ said Decius. ‘She doesn’t stand a chance.’
Galba spoke without turning. ‘You need to have more faith, boy,’ he said. ‘You want to bet?’
Decius shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t bet on a life,’ he said.
Galba pursed his lips in mock disappointment. ‘And I thought we had turned you into a Roman after all.’
The two contestants were circling each other, getting their breath back. Consilius had his sword against Drenthe’s ancient spear, held in both her hands like a pike. Serpicus looked appraisingly at the spear. It might perhaps still be strong, or it might be rotted through and shatter at the first impact Against that, Consilius was bleeding heavily from a useless arm, whereas she was uninjured.
Drenthe jabbed with the spear low at Consilius’ belly and he swung at it. His short sword struck the spear-tip a glancing blow. Serpicus watched intently as the spear shook under the impact, but held together. She repeated the movement, aiming lower at the Roman’s groin. Consilius jumped back, arching at the waist. She slid her left hand along the spear so that it was held across her body like a staff and brought the sharp tip around to threaten his face. As soon as he raised his sword to counter it she stopped the movement, reversed it and swung the heavy butt around at his leg with all her strength. Consilius saw the movement and slashed frantically downwards. It was too late to stop her attack, but, as the handle of the spear smashed into his knee, the edge of his sword ran down the outside of her bicep and bit deep to the bone of her left forearm.
Consilius sank onto the ground in front of Drenthe, his face twisted with pain.
‘Kill him!’ yelled Decius.
If she thrust at Consilius with the spear he could not immediately retreat. However, she now had a wound of her own similar to the one she had given him earlier, and a one-handed thrust with a spear is easily deflected. She hesitated a moment, and then turned away from him. A couple of Consilius’ soldiers started to jeer and then realized what she was doing. In a few steps she had retrieved her sword and was advancing again in a fighting crouch, with the ancient spear tucked under her wounded left arm and the sword ready for battle in her right.
‘Throw the spear!’ shouted Decius. She hesitated and looked at the spear as if the idea hadn’t occurred to her. She looked across at Decius, nodding once as if acknowledging what he had said. Then she stood straight and dropped the spear on the ground. Consilius saw it and renewed his efforts to get to his feet. Drenthe stood in front of him and waited until he was upright. Then she held out her good arm until the point of her sword was aimed directly at his eyes.
‘Hear me, Roman,’ she said. ‘You have invaded my lands, destroyed my village, killed my people. For that I will kill you, and I will think it a good bargain if I die with you. Can you say the same?’
‘I don’t need to, bitch,’ hissed Consilius, leaning sideways so that almost all his weight was on his sound leg. Blood trickled down his arm. ‘You’re going to die, I’m not.’
Serpicus thought Drenthe had more to say but instead she let out a fierce yell and charged. Consilius stood up and roared back. In a moment the air was full of the sound of clashing metal and the flash of swords in the pale sunlight. Drenthe stood in front of Consilius and hacked at him without pattern, as if he were a thorn bush that had made her angry. It was an assault that had to succeed and could not slow down. If she left him a chance to attack then he would kill her because she made no attempt to defend herself. The blows fell on him like rocks falling down a cliff. It could not go on. With all her strength she swung at him, a jolting thrust that broke through his defence to cut a long furrow down his side. He grunted with pain and raised his sword for the next attack. It didn’t come. She stood before him, her arms by her side, utterly drained. Consilius stood up and raised his sword. With a great effort she did the same, but the end of the sword trembled and dipped and ended up at waist height.
‘Surrender, bitch?’
She looked up from under the veil of her hair. ‘Only to your mother, and only after she’s worn out every horse in your legion.’
Consilius smiled thinly. He lifted his sword high and stepped forward to bring it down on her head. Serpicus put a hand on his sword and gripped it tightly. Consilius was going to kill her unless she raised her exhausted arm to block it or else threw herself to one side to avoid it.
Or ignored his descending sword altogether, and attacked him.
She threw herself forward, every muscle in her body concentrated on the effort, and thrust at him with all her weight. His sword-arm came down hard on her, but by then her blade was under his breastplate and deep into him.
She left it there and staggered back against the fallen tree and watched him, her shoulders rising up and down with her breath. Serpicus realized he was holding his breath. Her strategy had worked, but he couldn’t tell what the cost had been.
Consilius dropped onto one knee. His hands were around the hilt of the sword in his side as if to pull it out, but he made no movement. Blood spread across his tunic and stained the earth below him. He looked up into Drenthe’s face.
‘I’ll wait for you in Hell, bitch,’ he said.
‘I look forward to it,’ she replied.
He toppled over onto the ground and lay without moving.
Sev
erus looked across the clearing. The Romans there were all standing, hands on their swords, waiting for Publius to give the order. Severus folded his arms and kicked absently at a clod of frozen earth.
‘Everything all right?’ he called.
The centurion looked at Severus for a long moment, then thrust his sword back in its scabbard.
‘Yes. We will keep our agreement.’
Decius let out a cry and ran forward. Drenthe had fallen sideways off the tree and was lying in the grass close to Consilius.
Before Serpicus reached her he could see that Consilius’ last blow had found its mark. She had put him off his aim, but not enough. He hadn’t split her skull as he’d intended, but the blade had struck her temple square on. The side of her head was a bloody mess. Serpicus knelt by her. He reached out and felt the wound as gently as he could with his fingertips. It felt like pulped fruit underneath the dark copper hair.
Decius sank to his knees and lifted her head gently onto his lap. She pushed the tears on his cheeks away with the back of her hand.
‘You’ll freeze to death,’ she said. Her voice was hoarse. She looked up at Severus. ‘Make the boy stand up, he’ll be dead before I will.’ The sound became a whisper and her hand fell slowly back to the ground.
Decius made an animal noise and crouched over her, his body shaking with silent tears.
Serpicus looked down at her still face and said nothing. Deep inside him, so deep and so long ago that he could only just hear it, a small boy was crying unrestrained tears.
Serpicus felt a large hand upon his shoulder. He turned to see Severus motioning him away from where Decius sat. They walked together to the side of the clearing. For a short while they watched the Romans on the other side of the clearing gathering their arms and disappearing back into the trees. Publius was the last to leave. As he reached the tree-line he paused. He turned around, stood to attention and saluted Severus with a slow respectful gesture. The centurion returned it, and Publius followed his men.