‘Come then, young one, he didn’t mean it,’ said the man whose arm he’d been cleaning. ‘He’s had a hard day and a good friend gone missing.’
‘So have I had a hard day!’ Flavius snapped.
The legionary raised his eyebrows. ‘Haven’t we all?’ he said, holding out his bleeding arm.
Flavius laughed and began to bandage it for him.
* * *
Licinius, lantern in hand, was methodically examining the bodies laid out for burial, holding the light to the face of any centurion’s uniform he saw.
‘Have they all been brought in?’ he asked the legionary on duty as he came to the end.
‘All that we saw, sir. Which isn’t to say that there might not be one or two we missed. If you’ve a mind to check the battlefield, you’d best do it now. The birds’ll be having a picnic.’
Licinius repressed a shudder.
‘Was you looking for anyone in particular, sir?’
‘Centurion Corvus. Have you seen him?’
‘The Eighth Cohort? The one with a lot of nose?’
‘Yes!’ Licinius snapped.
‘Sorry, sir. Didn’t know he was a friend of yours. No, I haven’t seen him, but his men did say he was going at it with that heathen king of the Britons. You’d best try the battlefield, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ Licinius picked up his kit and set off down the hill. Oh gods, Vortrix… and I… I told him to, he thought miserably, picking his way down the slope.
He narrowed the lantern light to a thin beam and scanned the field. He saw no Roman armor among the scattered bodies of the Brigantes and was about to search further when he saw the thin glow of a small fire winking from the hill on the right, some two miles off. What in Hades? Licinius lengthened his stride to a trot and closed the lantern entirely.
As he neared the fire, he slowed and picked his way carefully. No telling who was using that fire, though by rights the Brigantes ought to be far to the north by now. A twig cracked under his foot and a figure in a scarlet tunic leapt up, a businesslike Roman short sword in one hand.
‘Justin!’ Licinius shouted joyfully and galloped up the hill.
‘Licinius! What in the—’
‘Looking for you, you fool,’ Licinius said irritably. ‘What in Hades are you doing? Camping out? I’ve had the whole Legion turned upside down looking for you. You’ll no doubt be flattered to hear that the ghoul on the burial detail described you as the one with a lot of nose. What happened?’
‘Over here, Licinius the Surgeon,’ said a faint voice from the shadows, and Licinius swung his lantern in the direction of the sound. ‘Great god Mithras,’ he said softly.
‘The centurion isn’t… as cold-blooded as he… thought,’ Vortrix said with difficulty. ‘He couldn’t bring himself to… finish the job. He prefers… to let… the bleeding do… it for him.’
‘Could you kill a man while he watched you do it?’ Justin muttered.
‘No, I suppose not,’ Licinius said. He knelt down beside the High King and took out his kit.
‘I could,’ Vortrix said.
‘Could you?’ Justin asked, with a trace of something like envy in his voice.
‘Oh, yes,’ Vortrix said softly.
‘Still, we’ll never know, will we?’ Justin said, half defensively.
‘Yes, it will be… interesting… to see what Rome decides to do with me… if I live.’
‘You won’t if you keep talking,’ Licinius said. ‘You have lost a great deal of blood. You may not live anyway.’
‘It is in my mind that it… might be just as well, Licinius the Surgeon,’ Vortrix said tiredly. ‘What’s the going rate for fallen kings? I have no wish… to be… paraded for Rome’s… amusement, until I’m—’ He let out a cry as Licinius, who had been smearing the wound with salve, calmly began to stitch the edges together.
Vortrix tried to start up, then fell back against the makeshift pillow and was still.
‘What have you done?’
‘I believe the High King has fainted,’ Licinius said. He put his cloak over the still, naked form, and moved nearer the fire.
‘Oh. Licinius, I… I couldn’t.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Licinius said. ‘No more could I.’
‘If I had killed him outright, it would have been different, but—’
‘Justin, stop it! You sound like a schoolboy trying to explain why he let his butterfly samples go. He’ll be just as out of commission as a prisoner as he would be dead. I think he’s right, though. He won’t be any happier for it.’
‘I know,’ Justin said miserably, looking at the still form across the fire.
‘Well, if it’s any comfort to you, it’s nothing compared to what the British priests would have done to you in the same place. Now stay here and watch him. I’ll send a couple of stretcher bearers for our royal prisoner.’ He started to stand up.
‘I wouldn’t,’ said a voice.
Licinius leapt to his feet. Old Cathuil, spear in hand, stood across the fire from them with a red-haired man of his clan and three of Vortrix’s household warriors. Justin recognized the flaxen-haired chariot driver among them.
‘Somehow your hunters missed us,’ Cathuil said. ‘No, Centurion, stay where you are.’ He leveled his war spear at Justin. ‘When we saw the High King was not with us, we stayed to find him. You should have killed him, Centurion.’
‘If you move him, it won’t matter,’ Licinius said. ‘He’ll die anyway.’
‘I’ll not leave him as a mockery for the Romans,’ the chariot driver said to Cathuil, his face set.
Licinius shrugged. ‘Then take him and kill him.’
‘It’s a risk we’ll have to run,’ Cathuil answered. ‘I only wish we could take you as well. I’m thinking you would prove useful. But we cannot manage you and the Lord Vortrix at the same time. We’ll have your tools, though, Licinius the Surgeon.’ He spoke to the other men in the language of the Britons, and one of them picked up Licinius’s kit from where it lay beside the king. The chariot driver knelt beside Vortrix and gently wrapped Licinius’s cloak around him while the other three kept a wary eye on the two Romans.
‘And what will you do with us?’ Justin asked. If he could get them to fight, something might be done.
‘Leave you,’ Cathuil said. ‘It is a great pity, but we cannot risk losing one of us if we are to take the Lord Vortrix back safely.’
Cathuil handed his spear to the red-haired warrior, while the others held theirs at the ready.
‘Nay, lord, I will carry him,’ the chariot driver said.
‘No,’ Cathuil answered. ‘I can tread as gently as you, Galt. And although it bites at my stomach to admit it, you are the stronger warrior. We will have need of your spear.’ He bent and picked up the king, staggering a bit. Cathuil was an old man, and the High King a heavy one, especially as deadweight.
‘That arm will probably be useless if he lives,’ Licinius said. ‘What of the High King then?’
‘Why, then, he will no longer be the High King,’ Cathuil said. Tribal law forbade a maimed man to hold the kingship. ‘But we take him anyway.’
He turned and, with the others as a rearguard, moved softly into the trees.
Licinius and Justin looked at each other for a moment, weighing the chances of following them, then turned and started down the hill at a jog trot. Justin had only his short sword against five war spears, and Army surgeons carried nothing but a dagger. It was as well to be realistic.
‘Come along, my boy,’ Licinius said. ‘This will take some explaining, but at least we can raise the alarm. I doubt they’ll make it past our patrols.’
* * *
But the High King and his escort sidestepped every patrol in their path. The only Roman who saw them was a legionary who, like Licinius, was out hunting a friend, and they left him with his throat cut in a highly professional manner. Except for his body, a three-days’ combing of the countryside brought no trace of them.
Now Justin and
Licinius crouched by the fire in a marching camp amidst the desolation which only an avenging army can wreak. After the High King was wounded, those members of the war band who had survived the battle had scattered, leaderless, and the Legion had exacted a toll in lives, burned steadings, and salted fields, which would leave the Brigantes scarred for some time to come.
‘⸻and old Lupus has given me a dressing down and then forgiven me,’ Justin said with disgust. ‘Because he says he would much rather have had Vortrix for a prisoner – if I had managed to hang onto him.’
‘And so he would.’
‘If I hadn’t been such a miserable coward and had killed him when I had the chance, we’d have no more trouble from them, ever,’ Justin said bitterly.
‘For the gods’ sake, Justin, leave off,’ Licinius said. ‘With the way you mangled his arm, I doubt he’ll be king for long. Vortrix has plenty of relatives who would just love a chance to invoke tribal law and try their hand at being king themselves. That is, if they don’t try to trade his hide to us in payment for this rising.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Justin said. ‘How badly did I damage that arm?’
‘Badly enough that he’s lucky if he doesn’t lose it.’
* * *
The High King of the Brigantes lay on a bed of bracken covered with hides in a small hut on the outskirts of his family holding and fixed a furious blue eye on the priest of his clan.
‘No, I say! You’ll not take my arm off!’
‘And if I don’t, my Lord Vortrix, you’ll be dead in a matter of days. I have seen the signs.’
‘And if you do, I’ll not be your Lord Vortrix. No! I am the High King, and until I’m not, you’ll do as I tell you, old man! Is that clear?’’
‘Ah, you were a stubborn one, ever since you were a cub,’ the old priest said with some affection. ‘Would you rather be a dead king or a live and honored warrior?’
‘A dead king,’ Vortrix said. ‘Now go away with your knives and let me sleep. Licinius the Surgeon did all that could be done.’
‘A Roman!’ The old priest spat with great expression. ‘Like as not, he’s poisoned you.’
‘We shall see, shall we not? I will send for you when it is time to pull the surgeon’s stitches out.’
‘Have it your way. I only hope you may not die of it.’ The old man turned to go. At the doorway, he stopped and looked back. ‘If you live, you’ll get no use from that arm.’
Vortrix ignored him, lost in the dagger-sharp pain that seemed to run from his shoulder out to his fingers and beyond. He gritted his teeth and stared at the smoke-blackened ceiling of the hut until the old man had trudged away.
VI
Homecoming
‘Look at him, packing up for the winter.’ Hilarion laughed and pointed at a red squirrel watching them from behind an acorn almost too big for its mouth. ‘Time we were doing the same.’
There was a hearty cheer from the cohort behind him, and ‘I know what I’d like to spend the winter with!’ someone shouted amid much laughter. It was late afternoon and the Legion was marching back to Eburacum, heads up and at a smart pace as they came through the great gates, cavalry standards flapping in the breeze and the red crests of their helmets standing stiffly erect.
There was a throng about the gates, soldiers’ women in their best clothes turned out to welcome back their men, wineshop keepers loudly praising the virtues of their establishments to an Army that had had a whole summer’s campaign to work up a thirst, a crowd of curious townspeople, and Venus Julia, proprietress of Eburacum’s only whorehouse (she knew how to deal with anyone who might be so unwise as to start another), resplendent in a lemon-colored mantle and amethyst eardrops and secure in the knowledge that a summer’s campaign could be counted on to work up a thirst for other things than drink.
Justin saw Gwytha standing a little back from the road, in her best linen tunic, with her luxuriant hair neatly braided and her brass arm rings glinting in the sun. He wondered if she had come because, as she once told him half jokingly, all that red made a wonderful parade, or to drum up a little business for the Head of Neptune, or possibly to see him.
He had hardly thought of her all summer, but lately, on the march back to winter quarters, he had found her creeping into his mind again, and he wondered what welcome he was going to receive for the way he had said good-bye in the spring. He caught her eye and she grinned at him and gave a silent imitation of a Roman salute. Justin smiled back (as much recognition as he dared give while in marching order under the watchful eye of the Legate) and cocked his head back a bit more. At least she didn’t seem to be mad at him.
The last of the baggage train clattered through the gates and the throng of townspeople began to disperse to make ready, in their fashion, for what promised to be a lively evening.
Justin went with the surgeon and the other senior officers to report in the Principia, where they were met by the unwelcome news that the Emperor had drafted yet another detachment from Britain to bolster his campaign in Parthia. A good part of it would come from the northern garrisons. By the time Justin had finished cursing and had dealt with his men and the subject of who should and should not receive passes for the evening, Licinius was not to be seen. Justin bathed and went down to the Head of Neptune, where he found the surgeon already romping with Whitepaw in the storeroom.
Finn let out a joyful yelp and launched himself headlong at Justin’s chest. It was like being jumped on by a yearling colt, and Justin staggered back. ‘Down! Down, damn it, you horrible beast! Mithras, but you’ve grown!’ He ran a hand along the dog’s back and Finn wriggled happily.
‘Here, I have brought you something.’ Justin took a heavy red leather collar from under his cloak. He fastened it around the dog’s neck, and Finn pranced proudly out to show it to Gwytha. It was studded with heavy brass knobs and gave him a gay and rakish look.
‘Yes, you look yery fine,’ Gwytha said, moving a wine cup out of reach of his swinging tail. ‘He outgrew his other one long ago,’ she said to Justin. ‘No, stop that,’ she added as Finn danced ecstatically about Justin’s legs. ‘You will make me spill the wine.’
The shop was thronging with soldiers who overflowed loudly into the street.
‘Come on, you horse,’ Justin said. ‘I’ll take you outside where you can work off some of that energy.’ He whistled and Finn bounced obediently out at his heel.
Gwytha, taking a quick look over her shoulder to make sure Aeresius wasn’t watching, ducked out after him. She took a deep breath of night air. ‘That’s better. Aeresius will be mad enough to spit when he finds me gone, but if I don’t get out for a while I’ll begin to throw things. I’ve been pouring wine and dodging soldiers ever since your precious Army marched back today.’
Justin laughed. ‘They’ve had a long campaign with little to show for it. It doesn’t improve their manners.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Come for a walk with us, then. Walks are marvelous for improving the frame of mind.’
‘I daresay, but it won’t improve Aeresius’s. A short walk, then.’
They set off down the street in a companionable silence, turning away from the boisterous crowd onto the path that skirted the river. If Gwytha remembered their last parting, she showed no sign of it. She was as self-contained and matter-of-fact as ever, and Justin found himself falling easily back into their old friendship. His fury at the loss of the latest detachment began to subside.
After a while Gwytha said, ‘I heard some tale about you and Vortrix…’
‘You heard some tale. I’d love to know who tells all the tales that people hear. Why didn’t you ask Licinius?’
‘There wasn’t time. And I doubt he’d have told me,’ she added frankly.
‘So do I,’ Justin said. ‘His taste for gossip is no match for yours, my girl.’
‘It isn’t gossip if you tell me. Is he dead?’
‘He wasn’t when I saw him last, but he may be by now.’ Justin remem
bered the High King’s still form as the old chieftain had borne it off through the woods, and there was a lonely, bitter taste in his mouth. Without quite meaning to, he found himself telling Gwytha what had happened.
‘Oh, how horrible.’ Gwytha was silent for a moment. ‘I’m thinking that you will have had an evil time of it. I’m sorry.’
‘I did, and so am I,’ Justin said shortly. But it crossed his mind that most people would more likely have said ‘Oh, how horrible’ and not meant at all what Gwytha had. She was a most perceptive girl, Gwytha.
‘And what will the Legion do now?’ she asked, obviously deciding that a change of subject was in order.
‘Winter here, and next summer – I don’t know. Probably an easy campaign to remind them we’re still around. If there are any of us left after the Emperor gets through, that is.’ He whistled to Finn and they turned back toward the town again. ‘With any luck, my transfer will come through by then, and I can turn that problem over to some other poor fool.’
‘Do you hate it here that much?’
‘I’m a soldier. I go where they send me. But as to this posting, I’d sooner dig ditches in Tartarus,’ he said frankly.
‘It’s a pity the rest of Rome doesn’t feel the same way,’ she replied with equal candor, and he laughed.
‘Amazing what a friendship we have built on mutual distrust, isn’t it?’ They came into the torchlit Street of Neptune. ‘Will you come out for a longer walk tomorrow when things settle down?’
She nodded and they turned through the door into the wineshop again.
‘Oh, Mother!’ Gwytha said guiltily, bumping into Aeresius in the doorway.
‘And where in Hades have you been? – blast you, I’m coming – Oh, never mind. Get back to work!’ He broke off, coughing, and Gwytha shot him a look of concern.
‘He’s had that cold all summer,’ she said. ‘I oughtn’t to have gone off. He needs rest.’
She hurried away to serve a group of auxiliarymen who had just come in, and Justin took himself off to a nearby table, calling after her that he wanted a cup of wine.
The Legions of the Mist Page 10