by Jane Finnis
Albia was there, with a jug of warm wine ready, and a big smile for the so-called centurion. “Welcome to the Oak Tree,” she said. “Sit down and get dry. I’ve a good drop of warm wine here for you. Shall I send some out to your men?”
“Thank you, yes. They’d appreciate that.”
I ushered him to a table, and hung up our wet cloaks.
“Everything going all right?” I asked Albia. “Titch gave you the message about the stallion?”
“Yes, he did. I’ve seen to all that. I’m afraid our cousin’s no better though.”
I put on a serious face. “No better? That’s bad news.” I sat down, and poured wine for all of us. Mallius took a large swig, and Albia barely wet her lips, so I only took a minute sip myself. Presumably she’d put something in it to make him sleepy.
“Still in bed,” my sister continued dolefully, “and the rash is worse if anything. I made him drink some of my herb tonic, but he says he wants to talk to you, because you cheer him up. You know, Relia, I think he quite fancies you!” She gave an arch smile and a very obvious wink.
I heaved a great sigh and stood up. “Will you excuse me just for a while, Mallius? I’d better go and see what he wants. Albia will keep you company till I’m back, won’t you, Albia?”
“A pleasure.” She sat down far too close to Mallius, who smiled wolfishly and put an arm round her shoulders, while using the other hand to lift his mug. He was visibly relaxing, and from the look on his face, he thought it was his birthday. Sometimes it amazes me how easy men are.
I saw Albia quietly refill his beaker, as I strolled off, only hurrying when I was out of sight of the bar-room.
Quintus was sitting on his couch pulling on army boots. They were the final touches to his outfit; he was dressed in Junius’ full parade uniform—polished armour, fancy sword and silver-trimmed belt.
“Very smart,” I commented. “Going out to inspect the sentries?”
“Using my brains,” he retorted, “in a situation which wouldn’t have arisen if other people had done the same.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Quintus. I should have seen it coming. After everything we’ve said about disguises, and obeying people in uniform! Only I was so sure they came from Lucius. But I did keep him outside a good long while, at the risk of catching my death of cold and getting seduced in the hay-store.”
“Really?” He smiled. “Did you slap his face?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Now, for the gods’ sake, tell me what you’re doing.”
He stood up, flexing his shoulders. “Secundus and I are going out through the sentries, dressed as a tribune and a trooper. As long as you and Albia keep their so-called centurion occupied, we can do it. The other men won’t be able to prevent us if I pull rank.”
“Surely they can just stop you by force.”
“That’s the beauty of it, they won’t dare. They can’t harm us, while they’re still keeping up this pretence of being legionary soldiers. Their leader might risk it, but the men won’t. We’ll play them at their own game.” His purple eyes gleamed. “So you just distract his attention.”
“He’ll be fast asleep before long. Albia’s put something strong in his wine.”
“Good. Once we’re out, we’ll rendezvous with Hawk, and track down Vitalis. You keep things under control here, and dispose of the guards when you can.”
“It’s a reasonable plan. Only one thing wrong with it.”
“And that is?”
“Secundus is needed here. To dispose of the guards, as you put it, and to make sure nothing similar happens later. You’ll have to take someone else. So we’ll find a disguise that will fit me.”
I won’t bore you with the ensuing argument; I won, eventually. I doubted if I could pass for a soldier though, so I dressed as a young male slave, in oldish clothes but with a military belt and boots, and a hooded cloak.
“It’s quite convincing,” Quintus conceded. “But you’re too self-assured. Try to have more of a down-trodden look. And listen, Aurelia, before we go….”
“Yes, master?”
He leaned close and kissed me. “I love you. Now let’s get moving.”
Quintus strode through into the bar-room, and I marched a respectful distance behind. Mallius was sprawled on a bench near the fireplace, his arm around Albia and his head on her shoulder, almost asleep; he didn’t stir as we walked past.
Quintus mimed drawing his sword, and looked at Albia enquiringly, but she shook her head, and motioned us to the door. She blew us each a kiss, and we gave her a wave as we left.
We went round to the stable yard and picked out a good horse for Quintus, and a mule for me. I mounted, having remembered to help my master mount first, and we rode straight up to the gate. The guard there looked at Quintus apathetically, until he snapped, “What’s this? You men given up saluting officers?” and then he belatedly jumped to attention and saluted.
“Sorry, sir,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know—I mean Mallius didn’t mention there were any other officers in the mansio.”
“Mallius will have your guts for catapult springs, if you’re not careful. I need to leave for Oak Bridges now. Unbar the gate for me.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Tribune. I’m under orders not to let anybody out.”
“I know what your orders are,” Quintus rasped. “Mallius has explained them clearly enough to me, but not to you, it seems. Your orders are not to let any Romans out. They don’t apply to me. Now jump to it.”
“Then—then you’re not…but I thought….”
“Well stop thinking and unbar the gate, soldier. Now!”
“Yes, sir.” The man didn’t look very happy, but as Quintus had guessed, he couldn’t risk refusing to obey an order from someone of higher rank. So he opened the gate for us, and we rode out through the rain, and up to the main road.
They were presumably watching us, so we set a brisk pace and didn’t speak until we were out of sight. And although I may have looked like a reluctant slave, inside I was bubbling with excitement. We’d escaped our captors, and now we were off to find the Shadow of Death. Whatever our fate was to be, this day would decide it.
And that’s how it came about that the assault on the Shadow-men’s headquarters was not made, as we’d planned it, by a well-armed band of soldiers and slaves, but by just three people: one spy, one tracker, and one innkeeper.
Chapter XXIX
Looking back, I can’t remember much in detail about that journey through the woods. Small incidents stick in my mind, like disjointed scenes from a play, from which other connecting scenes have been missed out.
We had a long wait near the holly-bush in the rain, sitting on a log under the soaking trees, till Hawk arrived. And I remember the elation we felt when he told us he had found the Shadow-men’s hideout, the house in the rock, and that he would take us there. But he didn’t seem triumphant; he looked deadly serious, facing us as we stood up, ready to go.
“Before we start, I want to get a couple of things straight,” he said quietly. “We’re walking into danger, and we’ll follow my rules, or we won’t go at all. Tracking silently through woods is something you learn as a child, as I did, but if you don’t learn it then, you never fully master it. You two do your best, but even when you think you’re creeping like cats you still sound like elephants, and anybody with a good pair of ears can hear you half a mile away.”
“The Shadow-men have good trackers in their band?” Quintus asked, quite unoffended by Hawk’s bluntness.
“Oh yes. And some quite well-trained sentries in the woods. So once we leave the road, I’ll scout ahead, and you’ll stay put till I signal you to join me, and then you’ll come up slowly and quietly. And no talking at any time. The trees have ears. And if I do this,” he raised his right hand— “it means freeze. If I do that—” he pointed his fingers to the earth— “it means drop to the ground and play dead. At once. Got it?”
“Got it,” we agreed.
“Good. Let’s get on then.”
“One more thing,” Quintus interrupted. “Your rules are fair and we accept them; here’s our one rule, and you must accept it too. If we’re in danger of getting caught, you escape, Hawk, and get back to the others for help. No nonsense about not deserting your friends; you won’t be deserting us, you’ll be our only hope. If they kill us, that’s too bad, but my guess is they want us alive, to start with at any rate, and you might be able to organise a rescue. You’ll be no use to us if you get captured too.”
“Agreed. But maybe it won’t come to that. I’d say our chances of getting through undetected are at least fifty-fifty.”
“I don’t like the cheery tone this conversation is taking,” I said. “Let’s go if we’re going.”
Hawk said we could walk alongside the road for a couple of hundred paces; it was quicker, and certainly pleasanter in the wet. He even let us talk softly.
“Where are we going?” I asked. “We’re walking towards the Oak Bridges turning. I’d assumed we’d be heading up onto the wolds. Is their hideout in these woods somewhere?”
“We have to cut through the woods, but they aren’t continuous to the north of us. There are clearings, and streams, and little steep valleys, and quite a few fields in among it all. There’s one very steep, narrow valley that runs down from the wolds. The sides of it are almost like cliffs in places. That’s where they have their base, built into the valley side. ‘The house in the rock’ is the right name for it. It’s a stone house right up against the hill, which used to belong to a woodcutter years ago. Seen from outside it’s not all that large, but there are caves leading from it under the hillside itself.”
“Caves? Here? I’ve never heard of any,” I said.
“They’re man-made caves, not natural ones, and there are several, with underground passages connecting them. I couldn’t get inside—they were too well guarded—but I overheard some of the Shadow-men talking about them last night.”
“How about entrances and exits?” Quintus asked.
“Only one obvious one, through the old stone house. But….”
“You think there may be others?”
“One of the men made some reference to ‘the guards at the back door.’ I looked carefully, but I only saw them using one entrance.”
“They must have some sort of emergency escape,” I said. “On the principle of the Harpy’s Cave, Quintus.”
He laughed, and we explained to Hawk about that long-ago tavern.
Hawk said, “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. The clever way they’ve used the old house shows that Vitalis or someone in his band has a brain in his head.”
“Which way do we go?” I asked. “These woods all look the same, and there’s no sun to give us direction.”
Hawk smiled. “The most direct route would be to cross your little river behind the mansio, but I don’t imagine you want to take the risk. We’ll turn off the main road and work our way back through the trees, and then head north.”
“Is Vitalis at the hideout now?” Quintus wanted to know.
“He was there last night. I saw him in his mask, but I couldn’t get close. There are guards everywhere.”
“But you can get us through them?” Quintus queried sharply.
“If you’re careful.” He looked doubtful. “But with only three of us….There must be forty or fifty warriors. We’re not going to try to get into the place by ourselves, surely?”
“Probably not,” Quintus answered. I’d have preferred that to be “Definitely not,” myself. “First we’ll have a close look. But if there’s a chance to take Vitalis himself, dead or alive, then we must go for it.”
Hawk motioned us to take cover in the trees, and we halted. “We’ll head through the woods now. Stay quiet, and walk softly. It’s not very easy going, especially in this weather, but you look as if you’re dressed for it. If we keep walking north, we’ll eventually cross the valley where the hideout is.”
I remember the next couple of hours as a dreary mixture of discomfort and fear, as my first feelings of brave excitement melted away. We moved slowly and carefully, desperately anxious to be quiet, and it was pretty hard walking. I soon had soaking feet, and aching legs. Hawk as always slipped among the trees as gracefully as a deer, whereas I felt as if I was fighting through like a bull. Where the woods were old, moving between the huge trunks wasn’t so bad, because the ground beneath was clear of undergrowth; but where the timber had been felled and started to grow again, there were whippy saplings that slapped our faces, and waist-high thorns that tore our clothes; and the lush plants hid slippery rocks and uneven roots. Three times I stumbled, and would have fallen but for Quintus’ steadying hand.
We stopped and started countless times, following Hawk’s signals as keenly as boy soldiers on their first training manoeuvres. Only twice did we have to lie flat, and that was twice too much in the clinging mud; once we heard footsteps quite near, but they passed us by, and the other time we two couldn’t hear whatever it was that had alerted the tracker. Once we all three froze where we stood, as a deer crashed out of the undergrowth right across our path. But mostly it was just boring routine; Hawk moved on a few paces while we stayed motionless, then he beckoned us to follow; we caught him up, then he moved further on, and we remained as still as stones till he signalled us forward…over and over and over again.
It’s always difficult to keep your sense of direction in dense woodland, especially if there’s no sunlight, but we could feel that the ground was rising, and getting steeper. After going upwards for a while we turned at right angles to the slope, heading roughly north as Hawk had said. The ground got more uneven, and that was the cause of our final undoing. I stumbled over a particularly well-hidden root, went full-length into a bramble patch, felt a shattering pain in my ankle, and swore.
Hawk looked back from about twenty paces ahead, and I could feel his fury from where I lay. Quintus pulled me to my feet, and I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out at the pain in my right ankle. Whether it was sprained or broken I couldn’t tell, but I knew I couldn’t walk far.
Hawk motioned us to run, and I could hardly bear to put my weight on my injured foot; Quintus more or less carried me, but we were slow and, more to the point, making a noise like a cavalry charge. Then we heard a shout and the thump of running men. Hawk and Bran vanished, and we kept moving as fast as we could away from the enemy noises.
“Quintus,” I whispered, “get out while you can. I can’t go much further. Go and get help.”
“No,” he said softly.
“But you must, otherwise we’ll both be caught. Go now! Please!” I was almost crying with the pain of it, and the frustration of knowing I was too slow to escape.
“I’m not leaving you.”
We rounded a huge fallen tree into a small clearing, and found a tiny stream across our path. We splashed into it and followed it down the slope, because it made for easier going, and the cool water soothed the red-hot pain in my ankle. After a hundred paces the sounds of our pursuers had died down almost to nothing. We paused for a few heartbeats, trying to catch breath, and looking for a good hiding-place. If we waited quietly, Hawk would be sure to find us again, and my ankle could rest and recover; then we could carry on. We just had to be still for a while, just a very little while….I began to feel a faint stirring of hope. I’d endangered all of us by my clumsiness, but we were going to get away with it after all.
“Stand still, both of you!” a voice ahead of us said conversationally, and out from the willows that bordered the stream stepped a large native warrior, carrying a hunting bow with an arrow ready on the string. It was Segovax.
Quintus drew his sword, but Segovax called, “Drop that, or I’ll shoot your girl-friend.”
“He’s bluffing,” I muttered, but for answer Segovax shot his arrow, and I felt it glance off the top of my shoulder, ripping my cloak. “Next time I won’t miss,” he snarled. “Drop the sword!”
Quintus dr
opped the sword, and Segovax gave a shrill whistle, which caused two other warriors to appear almost at once; the woods must be teeming with them.
“We’ve been expecting you,” Segovax said, “ever since we heard two people had escaped from the Oak Tree. It had to be you two. That fool Mallius wants his head cut off. Probably that’s what he’ll get, when the Chief sees him.”
“Good riddance,” I said. “I’ll vote for cutting the head off every native who’s playing at soldiers.”
“We’re not playing,” Segovax snapped. “Haven’t you got that into your stupid head yet? This isn’t a game, it’s war. And the Shadow of Death has won. He wants to see you.” He turned to his two men. “Has someone gone after the tracker?”
“Yes, Segovax.”
I sent a silent prayer to Diana, begging her to help Hawk escape, and then I remembered he usually prayed to Epona, so I asked her to help too.
“Tie them up,” Segovax told his men, “and make a decent job of it. These two have slipped through our fingers before.”
They made a very decent job of it; our wrists and ankles were bound with strong ropes, and we were gagged and blindfolded. More men came, it sounded like four or five, and we were half-carried and half-dragged through the woods for what felt like miles. I lost all sense of time and direction, and began to shiver with pain and fear. I prayed to Diana again, and to Jupiter too, the ruler of all the gods. I tried to console myself with an image of Hawk and Bran flitting through the trees, going to fetch help for us. But into my mind’s eye another picture kept intruding, of a headless man and a dead dog, lying in a sodden thicket.
Our captors didn’t utter a word, though there were occasional curses and grunts of extra effort as they hauled us none too gently over fallen branches, hidden logs, and at one place over some boggy ground where the slime sucked at our boots. I felt I was in a void, except for the sounds of our progress—the natives’ footsteps squelching through the mud, the chink of their weapons, the dragging noise of our two bodies, the rain on the dripping leaves.