Shabolz signalled a diagonal to the left and the line halted. Valerius watched with a critical eye as they shuffled into position before setting off once more. Impossible to keep station among the trees, of course, and they looked like what they were. A set of cavalrymen missing their horses.
Slowly, now. Very slowly.
He looked towards Shabolz: they must be close. Of its own volition Valerius’s left hand tightened its grip on the sword, and he experienced the odd sensation of the missing right echoing the movement. He glanced at the man next to him, a trooper called Paulus, but he was staring ahead with bulging eyes and Valerius could see his throat working.
He counted the paces. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Shabolz raised his hand to signal and motioned to the men behind to drop to a low crouch. When the order had been followed he scurried across to where Valerius waited and put his mouth to the legate’s ear.
‘They are less than twenty paces ahead, waiting among the trees,’ he whispered. ‘I think they’re restless, because they’re making as much noise as a pack of boar. Let me take my Pannonian brothers to attack from the far side. Give me to the count of one hundred.’ Valerius was going to protest that it would over-complicate the assault, but Shabolz continued relentlessly. ‘We will take them between the hammer and the anvil. More certain. Fewer casualties. No survivors. Yes?’ He held Valerius’s gaze. The Roman hesitated only a moment. There were men you just had to trust.
‘Yes.’
Shabolz’s face split into a grin. He motioned to the other Pannonians and they stepped out of line and followed him to disappear away to Valerius’s right. Valerius saw some of the other men staring at him in consternation. He slipped across to take Shabolz’s place. And waited.
Tabitha and her serving girl were attempting to teach Lucius the rudiments of the board game Caesar when she heard the sound of approaching hooves. Ignoring the rain, she slipped through the curtained doorway as Gellius Pudens and a trooper she recognized as Julius Crescens rode up from the direction of Baudobriga.
Pudens dismounted clumsily from his horse. ‘They’re here,’ he hissed, wide eyes betraying his alarm. ‘Dozens of them. Coming up behind us.’
Tabitha felt a thrill of panic for her son. She opened her mouth to question the plump cook, but Didius preempted her. ‘Gellius, warn the legate,’ he snapped. ‘Our boys are in the woods to the right of the road. Follow them, but do it quietly. Understand?’
‘Yes, Didius.’ The big man slipped clumsily from the saddle, and lumbered into the trees.
‘Julius, help the lady get anything she needs from the coach, and follow me. Leave the horses.’
‘Who are you to give me orders?’ Crescens demanded, but he was already dismounting.
‘Lady, you must do exactly what I say.’
Tabitha took a deep breath, but she nodded.
Didius reached into the coach and took Lucius in his arms. ‘Come, Lucius,’ he said, smiling. ‘We’re going to play a game of hide and seek.’
Florus stood at the rear of the carriage with his sword drawn watching the road, with Ceris at his side. Tabitha and Crescens helped the bewildered serving girl from the coach, and they followed Didius into the trees on the opposite side of the road.
‘What about Khamsin?’ Lucius pointed to the white pony tethered to the rear of the coach.
‘She’ll still be here when we get back. Rufius,’ Didius called softly. Florus turned to stare at him. ‘Cover our rear.’ Florus nodded and began to back towards them. He hissed an order at Ceris and she ran to help Tabitha.
‘Where are we going, Didius?’ Tabitha asked.
‘I scouted the woods earlier and I found somewhere you can hide until it’s safe.’
‘I can hide?’
‘You and your maid and Lucius. The rest of us will spread out and protect you.’
‘What about Ceris?’
Didius was about to say that Ceris was perfectly capable of looking after herself, but he had a feeling that would only encourage the legate’s wife to put herself in harm’s way. ‘There’s room for Ceris,’ he said. ‘But we must hurry.’
After a hundred paces or so they reached a steep slope where the roots of a fallen oak tree had torn out a hollow in the hillside. It was only a shallow depression in the dirt, but partly concealed by the toppled trunk. ‘This is where you will hide, Lucius.’ Didius bundled the boy up the six or so feet to the dirt hole. ‘But you must not make a sound.’
Tabitha scrambled up beside her son and pulled her maid into the sanctuary as Crescens pushed from below.
Florus appeared through the trees and ran to Didius. ‘They’re looting the carriage, but it won’t keep them busy for long. There must be upwards of thirty of them.’
‘Maybe they’ll just steal the horses?’ Crescens suggested.
Florus shook his head. ‘They just released them and drove them back up the road. What do we do?’
‘We’ll make a line about forty paces east. They may only send two or three to investigate this side of the road. If they do we’ll take them out.’
‘And if not?’
Didius studied his surroundings for a moment. ‘We’ll retreat back here and try to keep them at bay until the legate sends help.’
‘We should all have gone with Pudens,’ Crescens said resentfully.
‘I had my orders,’ Didius said. ‘Ceris? I need you to stay with the lady.’
Ceris looked to Florus. ‘I’ll be safe enough,’ he said. She nodded and went to take refuge with Tabitha. When she climbed into the crowded earth shelter she pulled a short dagger from her sleeve. She noticed Tabitha already had her blade drawn.
XIV
‘Now!’
Valerius and his men trotted silently through the wood. Twenty paces, Shabolz had said, but it seemed much further.
Between two trees he caught a glimpse of a group of warriors crouched low and staring intensely in the direction of the road. Naked from the waist up, their well-muscled bodies were covered in tattoos and they carried spears or long, heavy swords similar to the Roman pattern. They were young, but every man wore a full beard and long hair fashioned in a curious topknot.
A piercing scream from the far distance drew the attention of the crouching Germans and they turned in confusion towards the sound.
Valerius ran slightly ahead of his men. So close now he could see the crude eagle tattoo on the closest German’s back and count the knots on his spine. At last, the warrior registered the sound of running footsteps. He rose and half turned, shouting a warning that turned into a shriek of mortal agony as Valerius ran his spatha into the exposed flesh above the hip. Without breaking stride the legate ripped the long blade clear so blood sprayed bright and guts spilled in a slippery pink-blue coil to the forest floor.
In the same instant the men of Valerius’s escort fell on the dying warrior’s companions. Caught entirely by surprise, the enemy barely had time to raise their swords before the disciplined cavalry troopers chopped them down. Valerius saw Hilario smash his heavy blade on an unprotected head in a blow so powerful it almost sliced his victim’s skull in two. Another German howled as two Romans hacked at his body until his chest was a bloody mess of splintered ribs and exposed viscera. ‘On,’ Valerius roared. Somewhere up ahead Shabolz and his companions would be fighting for their lives. They had accounted for just five of the twenty enemy the Pannonian estimated were in the forest. From nowhere a German appeared at full tilt, swinging a massive axe at Valerius’s head. Valerius brought his sword up to parry and the shock of the blow sent a dart of agony down his arm and into his heart. No time or space to bring the point round. Instead, he rammed the German warrior chest to chest, the weight of his mail hammering his enemy backwards. They smashed to the ground together, pummelling each other as they tumbled down the steep slope of an unseen gully. Valerius’s helmet went flying and his sword followed it. A thumping impact as they hit a tree knocked all the breath from him. In the same instant his vision was filled with a mass
of dark hair and eyes burning with hate, a spittle-flecked mouth so close Valerius could smell the sewer stink of his enemy’s breath. He rammed his head into the twisted features and blood spurted from the ruined nose into Valerius’s eyes. Yet the blow seemed only to galvanize the German. A pair of incredibly strong hands closed on Valerius’s throat. Someone was growling like a dog, but he couldn’t be sure who. With his left hand he felt for the familiar protrusion on his right wrist where the cowhide stock met the oak. A sharp snick went unnoticed by his strangler. Valerius ignored the choking fingers to smash his head into the German’s face a second time, creating enough leeway to bring the wooden fist round into his enemy’s neck. At first the blow induced no reaction and he struggled against the German’s iron grip, his vision beginning to go. Mars’ sacred arse, had he left it too late? Very gradually the fingers relaxed and the fire in the murderous eyes faded. After a few moments Valerius was able to roll clear and lay gasping beside his enemy. Blood soaked the dark beard and the chest below, pulsing in fading spurts from a small wound below his right ear. Valerius studied the little knife blade projecting from the middle knuckle of the wooden fist and, not for the first time, gave thanks to Dimitrios, the Emesan armourer who had created it for him. He fumbled around in the leaves at the sound of crashing feet on the slope, but when he looked up it was Hilario standing over him.
‘Are you hurt, lord?’
Valerius realized his chain armour was slick with his enemy’s blood. ‘No. It’s his. Why are you here and not killing Germans?’
Hilario helped Valerius to his feet. ‘Because there are no more left to kill.’
They scrambled up the slope and Hilario recounted how the cavalrymen had hunted the panicked German warriors through the woods like chickens. A few of the more agile escaped towards the river, but any brave enough to stand and fight were slaughtered. Valerius’s men had accounted for ten and Shabolz and his Pannonians six. The troopers knelt by the scattered bodies stripping the fallen warriors of any valuables. Shabolz handed Valerius a fine gold neck ring. ‘It must have come from their leader.’
Valerius handed back the gold ornament. ‘Keep it. You deserve it. Any casualties on our side?’
‘A few cuts,’ Shabolz said. ‘But nothing that will trouble the witch.’
‘The witch?’
‘Ceris. Crescens says she’s some kind of priestess.’
‘She’s certainly cast a spell on our young friend Florus, but I’d have thought you’d know better than to listen to Crescens.’
Shabolz shrugged. ‘He—’
‘Lord, you should see this!’
The shout came from Nilus, the group’s signaller, his brass trumpet never far from his right hand.
‘I thought I sent you back to tell the carriage everything was all right,’ Valerius said.
For the first time Valerius noticed his face was as white as parchment.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s Gellius, sir …’
Valerius felt his heart stutter as he recognized the crumpled body in cavalry armour lying among the leaves. Nilus heaved the massive corpse on to its back. He paused for a moment, knelt and very gently brushed a leaf from Pudens’s plump features. A ragged, pink-lipped gash ran beneath the cook’s chin from one ear to the other.
‘Minitra save us,’ Shabolz whispered. He turned to Valerius. ‘He was with the rearguard. What was he doing here?’
But Valerius was already running back towards the road. When he reached the carriage the horses were missing and the contents strewn across the road. He fought a wave of panic as he pulled back the curtain. The coach was empty.
Tabitha held her son close and stared through the tree roots at the ranks of oaks separating them from the road. She would have felt more useful with Didius and the others. She had killed before and she had no doubt she could take at least one of the German tribesmen with her. But more important to be here to give Lucius what comfort she could. She could feel the boy’s beating heart as she held him close, her throat as dry as a desert salt flat. If it came to it would she be able to do it? She knew just where to place the point. He would feel nothing but a tiny sting. But the thought sent a shudder through her.
‘I’m bored with this game,’ Lucius whispered.
‘Just a little longer, Lucius,’ she assured him.
‘What games do you like?’ Tabitha blinked. Ceris hadn’t said a word since entering their den and snuggling down between Lucius and Vacia the maid.
‘I want to ride Khamsin.’
‘You can do that later.’ Ceris smiled. ‘Do you like magic?’
Four-year-old eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Can you do magic?’
‘We’ll just have to see. Do you have a coin?’ This to Tabitha.
She reached beneath her dress for a purse and pulled out a gold aureus.
Ceris laughed as she rubbed the buttery yellow coin between her fingers. ‘A little on the large side. I could have bought a small farm with this back in Lindum.’
‘What is it like there?’ Tabitha asked.
‘Flat and wet.’ Ceris held up the big coin so Lucius could see it and began to twirl it between her fingers, increasing the speed so it appeared to have a life of its own and changing from one hand to another with bewildering dexterity. Suddenly her fingers were empty.
‘Where has it gone?’ Lucius demanded. ‘You’re hiding it.’
Ceris opened first one hand, then the other, but there was no sign of the coin. Tabitha watched just as closely, for she had no idea where the aureus had gone.
‘I think you must have stolen it,’ Ceris said with narrowed eyes. ‘I think you magicked it into your head.’
‘No,’ the boy gasped.
‘Yes,’ Ceris said. She reached across with her right hand and rummaged in Lucius’s dark hair beside his right ear. ‘Look, here it is.’ She seemed to pluck something from his head and when he looked he saw the gleaming coin in her hand. His finger shot to his ear and a look of pure astonishment flashed across his face.
Tabitha laughed and Ceris tossed the coin in the air so it tumbled four or five times. ‘Would you like to see more magic.’
‘Please.’
But not for long. Within minutes Lucius had fallen asleep in his mother’s arms. ‘Thank you for keeping him amused, Ceris,’ Tabitha whispered. ‘Some day you must show me how you did it.’
Ceris shrugged, all the lightness of her performance replaced by her normal sullen demeanour. ‘It was nothing.’
Tabitha stared at the trees. ‘Perhaps they won’t come.’
The sound of the rain on the leaves above masked any noise, but there was no disguising the stealthy movement amongst the trees to their front. ‘They’re coming,’ Didius whispered. ‘We should go back to the women.’
‘Fuck that,’ Crescens said decisively. ‘They can look after themselves.’ He was already running towards the left past a startled Rufius Florus.
Didius watched him go, uncertain what to do. ‘Rufius,’ he called urgently, ‘for all the gods’ sake persuade him to come back and help. Join me at the fallen tree.’
Rufius nodded and ran after the fleeing Crescens.
Didius found the slope and followed it south until he reached the fallen tree. The women were nowhere in sight. He had a moment of terrible irrational fear that they’d been taken until he clambered up to the hollowed-out chamber and saw the determined faces of Tabitha and Ceris and felt the prick of a knife point beneath his chin. He gulped. ‘The others will be with us soon.’ The words were said with more hope than conviction. Rufius would certainly return. He’d never leave Ceris, but something told him that that coward Crescens was gone for good. A pity, because they had a perfectly good defensive position that Didius reckoned could have been held by three men until Valerius returned. Their refuge was high enough to be reached only with difficulty, and the tangled network of tree roots would protect them from all but a very fortunate spear.
All they could do was wait and hope
.
Not five minutes later the rain slackened and in the eerie silence that followed they could hear the sound of men moving stealthily through the forest towards them. Didius tightened his grip on his sword.
Julius Crescens hesitated, uncertain of his direction, and Rufius finally caught up with him.
‘Which way is the road?’
‘Don’t be a fool, Julius,’ Rufius hissed. ‘Even if you did manage to join the squadron what do you think will happen when the legate finds out you abandoned his wife and son? Like as not he’ll tie you between four horses and take the whip to them himself.’
Glory of Rome: (Gaius Valerius Verrens 8) Page 11