The Last Battle

by Nick Brown

  A few villagers appeared to inspect the visitors but none got too close. Cassius had forgone his red tunic and military belt and had adopted his usual alternative identity as a merchant accompanied by attendant and bodyguard.

  As Indavara pulled up another bucket to fill their flasks, Enca approached Cassius, who was pacing around, glad to be out of the saddle.

  ‘Sir, we have a problem.’

  ‘I generally have several.’

  ‘An immediate problem, sir. I recognise one of the men watching us. From my time with Tetricus’s army. He was an auxiliary archer, part of a force I guided to Anderitum a few years ago.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I am. He is very broad in the chest like all archers and tall with it. I remember him because we did several guard duties together.’

  ‘So, he would remember you?’

  ‘Probably. As scout, I was often at the head of the column and with the officers.’

  Cassius shook his head in disbelief. As if their situation wasn’t dangerous enough. ‘Would he know that you’ve changed sides?’

  ‘He might.’

  ‘He’s not with his unit. Invalided perhaps?’

  ‘Or visiting before fighting breaks out.’

  Cassius turned to the others. ‘Quickly, you two.’

  He helped Indavara fill their flasks and they were soon mounting up. As he led the way out of the clearing, he glanced subtly towards the archer and saw that he was talking to another men.

  Once back on the path, Enca guided his horse through a dense patch of fern and came up alongside Cassius. ‘Sir, perhaps we should stop and wait.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We should at least see if the archer leaves. His unit was attached to the Twenty-Second Legion. They may have troops close by.’

  ‘Enca, we do not have time to tarry.’

  ‘Sir, I … I think he recognised me. I’m fairly sure of it, in fact. You saw the trail leading south – that’s the swiftest path out of these woods. I can circle around to check if he is leaving.’

  ‘And if he is? You’ll kill him?’

  ‘I may have to, sir. I don’t want to endanger our mission. I can catch up with you. This route is straightforward.’

  ‘Damn it, man, you’re supposed to be helping not hindering.’

  ‘It is most unfortunate, sir. I apologise.’

  Cassius had no intention of allowing the scout out of his sight. Without him they were helpless and they had more chance of eliminating the threat together, even if it meant the life of some poor bastard caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Cassius, Indavara and Enca were hidden behind a dense patch of thorny bushes, only feet from the path, south of the hamlet. They had galloped around in a wide circle and Enca seemed sure that the archer couldn’t have got ahead of them. They hadn’t seen a single horse in the hamlet so knew he would be on foot. Simo had withdrawn three hundred paces and was waiting with the mounts in a hollow.

  While Enca squatted close to the path, gazing north, Cassius and Indavara sat on a rotting log.

  ‘How long do we wait?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘No more than a half-hour,’ replied the scout. ‘If the archer has made the decision, I can see no reason for him to delay.’

  Indavara said, ‘Do we really have to-’

  ‘By the gods, I’m not going over it again,’ snapped Cassius. ‘Unless you would like us to be hunted down within a day of crossing the river, we have little choice. I’m sure you and Simo would prefer some peaceful solution but I can’t say one springs to mind.’

  Enca aimed a look at Cassius, whose voice had become quite loud, but said nothing.

  Indavara flicked his thick fringe away from his eyes. ‘All right. Seems cruel, that’s all.’

  ‘Life is. Just not his lucky day. If we-’

  Enca put out his hand, silencing his superior.

  The scout didn’t say anything but Cassius eased himself off the log and crawled up alongside him. It was difficult to see through the tangled thorn bushes but he eventually spied movement.

  ‘Sir, he’s not alone. Two of them. Moving fast.’

  ‘Shit.’ Cassius turned to his right to find Indavara had joined them.

  ‘Both have swords,’ added Enca quietly.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ asked Indavara, as he and Cassius drew their own blades, keeping them flat and low to avoid exposing the polished metal.

  Cassius sat up a little higher and waited until he gained a decent view of the approaching pair. The archer and his friend were now no more than a hundred yards away, travelling light and holding their sheathed blades steady as they jogged along the path.

  In times past, Cassius might have left the whole horrible affair to the others. But he knew that Indavara would not take the lead and that Enca would expect the orders to come from him.

  Something had changed within him since he had first killed a man in Arabia. If someone threatened him or those he cared for, he would do what was necessary. He had long since realised that his success as an agent – and his survival – were dependent on a degree of ruthlessness. He knew such events would always haunt him but his conscience did not trouble him as it had in the past.

  ‘Stand when I do. Don’t get in each other’s way. Strike quickly before they can draw. Enca, have your bow ready in case one of them gets away.’

  The scout placed bow and quiver on the grass beside the path before drawing his own sword.

  Cassius was still watching the men. Their footfalls grew louder, seemingly the only sound in the forest. He felt Indavara’s arm against his and could not work out which of them was shaking. Through a gap between two branches, he again caught sight of the advancing pair. The archer was a yard or two ahead; a determined expression on his face. His companion was a smaller man with long, lank hair.

  Not yet.

  Not yet.

  Now!

  Cassius pushed himself upward, sword out in front of him. Enca burst forth a moment later. Cassius hacked at the archer but the Gaul glimpsed the danger and threw himself to his left. The blade caught only a glancing blow on his arm. He stumbled and overbalanced, coming down hard in undergrowth.

  Viciously efficient, Enca chopped straight into the smaller man’s neck and he hit the earth with a heavy thump. With a boot already on the poor sod’s chest, Enca stuck his blade into his heart.

  Cassius had expected Indavara to deal with the downed archer but when he turned to his right, their remaining foe was already back on his feet. Indavara advanced but gave the man time to draw his sword.

  ‘Strike now!’

  Cassius’s order made no difference. As the archer backed into knee-high fern, Indavara followed hesitantly, almost as if he wanted the Gaul to make the first move.

  Cassius ran at the archer, hearing the dying breaths of the other man behind him. Apparently realising he was outnumbered, the archer turned and bolted towards a dense copse of trees.

  ‘Gods, man, what are you doing?’

  Indavara froze; watching as the auxiliary ran for his life.

  The archer was about fifty feet away when the arrow struck just below his neck. He plunged headfirst to the ground but somehow scrambled to his feet and ran on.

  Carrying his bow and two more arrows, Enca flew past Cassius and Indavara without a word. They watched as he halted and fired again, downing his prey just short of the copse. Once to him, Enca finished it quickly, using his knife to cut the man’s throat, then returning with the bloodied blade still in his hand. Cassius knew he shouldn’t have been surprised at the man’s lethal skill; killings like this would be nothing new to a veteran scout.

  Enca cast a curious look at Indavara but addressed Cassius. ‘It’s as well that I should kill them. I’ll move this one off the path.’

  Enca dropped his weapons, then grabbed the villager by his ankles and dragged him into the undergrowth.

  Indavara was still facing the trees and the dead archer. Cassius had to walk r
ight around to face him. The bodyguard would not meet his gaze.

  ‘You really didn’t want to kill him, did you?’

  Indavara said nothing.

  ‘Fortunate for us both that the scout knows his work.’

  They would not reach Divaro as planned. Shortly after the four riders returned to the westward path, dark cloud slid in from the north and they were caught in a heavy rainstorm. Cassius insisted that they go on for a time but after an hour the path was so muddy that the horses were struggling and progress slow.

  With darkness near, Enca suggested they make camp while they could and Cassius reluctantly agreed. Moving a safe distance from the path, they tethered the mounts while the scout put a cover up between some trees. With the rain hammering down around them, Cassius sat on his saddle while Simo and Indavara cleared wet leaves and arranged their baggage. Enca saw to the horses then approached Cassius.

  ‘This weather will slow the cavalry down.’

  ‘It will slow everyone down. Including us. The likelihood of Dolabella being found passes with every hour.’

  Enca nodded and brushed his sodden grey hair from his brow.

  ‘You did well earlier,’ said Cassius. ‘I’m sorry that we weren’t of more use.’

  Indavara and Simo were still busy but Enca kept his voice low. ‘Your bodyguard didn’t want to kill an innocent. I understand.’

  ‘There’s … there’s more to it.’

  ‘I will pray to the gods for forgiveness. I wish it had not been necessary.’

  ‘In our position, they would have done the same. You’ve nothing to be forgiven for.’

  Enca seemed to appreciate this.

  ‘Sir, the rain has already lasted longer than I thought it would. It won’t continue through the whole night, not in summer. We can reach Divaro by the third hour of the morning. Perhaps the trail hasn’t gone cold yet.’

  In fact, the rain finally stopped around the fourth hour of night. Indavara was on sentry duty, and he took the opportunity to stretch his legs. Once out from under the cover, he moved away from the camp and turned in every direction to check for any threat. Though the moon was almost full, only a trace of its light could be seen through the cloud. Indavara’s surroundings were so dark that in fact an entire century could be advancing and he might not have known. The scene was at least made slightly less eerie by the occasional snores of Enca.

  Wincing at the crack of twigs under his boots, he ambled over to the mounts. The horses were gathered close together, heads bowed, coats and manes still dripping wet. Patch had strayed a few yards away and was nuzzling something on the ground. He perked up when the familiar figure approached; Indavara put a hand over his neck and pulled him close. He always felt better around the tough, dutiful donkey and he wondered if he’d perhaps owned or worked with the animals in his old life. He’d never felt much for horses and still hated time in the saddle even after two years of practice. Surely, he had not been a rider.

  Glancing around at the black trees, he wondered how similar this place might be to his home. Was it close? Within fifty miles? A hundred? Would there be a chance to even find out? Not if they didn’t survive this mission; and it seemed he was incapable of doing much to improve their chances.

  Even alone in the darkness, the shame of his earlier failure hurt like a physical blow. He felt he owed a debt to Corbulo: without him he would have died on that accursed island. He had thought he was making progress but when the moment came, he’d performed like a gutless weakling; a hesitant fool. He could not make sense of it. Why hadn’t he struck? Why hadn’t he fought?

  Corbulo was wrong. Indavara knew better than anyone that sometimes there was no choice but to kill.

  That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he had changed. He’d always been quick and decisive; this had won him as many fights as his speed and strength. But now? He couldn’t even best Corbulo. He couldn’t even take down a defenceless man.

  Indavara would not waste more time thinking of the days when he had been a prisoner; tortured and left for dead. He had just about got past that. But the result was clear for all to see. He was not a warrior anymore; and as a bodyguard he was worse than useless.

  Within the arena, he had forged a new life from nothing; trained and fought and killed to win his freedom. And once free, he had found his abilities were highly valued. It might not have been his true self but as a gladiator and a bodyguard he had been feared and respected. He was no longer that man; and he felt almost as adrift as he had during his first weeks and months in the arena.

  He had lost two lives now.

  XIII

  Cassius took the last sentry duty of the night. With only a flask of watered wine for company, he remained on his feet to stay awake and watched as the new sun coloured a cloudless sky. He was glad that Enca’s weather prediction had proved correct.

  Alone with his thoughts, he imagined the dawn in Ravenna; and the luxurious family home where he had spent his first eighteen years. Though physically closer than it had been for some time, his mother and father and the rest of his family seemed more distant than ever. It was hard to remember their faces now, the sounds of their voices. The thought of returning to them felt almost overwhelming. Memories came to him: fishing in the stream at the bottom of the garden with the cook’s son; letting his older sisters dress him in their clothes; competing with his father to recite historical lists; training horses at the stables. And his mother: always kind; always encouraging; always protective, though even she’d been unable to stop her husband sending his wayward son to the army.

  When he’d drained the last of the wine, Cassius forced himself to stop. He could not afford the indulgence of melancholy. His clearest path home was to serve Prefect Venator well, fulfil his duty to the empire and leave the army with this mission a success and his head held high.

  As the others woke and then began to pack, he made a full circuit around the camp and saw no sign of any enemy within the forest. Little of the sun’s warmth penetrated the trees during the early hours and the path remained a treacherous morass.

  The resourceful Enca led them through drier areas where possible but it seemed an age before they finally cleared the forest and reached a grassy plain that sloped upwards to their right. Half a mile ahead were a few slender poplars, to the left open ground. It was from there that the soldiers came.

  Fortunately, Cassius and his party had dismounted to rest the horses and were therefore less exposed. There were three men trudging up the slope: one assisting another with a third following some distance behind. They were clearly exhausted.

  ‘Let’s keep moving,’ said Cassius. ‘As far as they’re concerned, I’m a merchant heading for Divaro.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Enca. ‘I was just trying to see which unit they’re from.’

  ‘Unlikely to be on our side. Cavalry tend to have horses. Let’s go.’

  Enca led his pony through the grass. Their path took them in front of the soldiers, all of whom had bandaged wounds. When the man assisting his compatriot hailed them, Cassius noted that in fact all three wore breeches and carried spears. They were cavalrymen.

  ‘You there!’ cried the soldier. ‘Wait. We need water.’

  Enca turned to Cassius and shrugged. The soldiers would think nothing of ordering civilians around. It wouldn’t be the first time Cassius had experienced such treatment while travelling in disguise.

  ‘We have some spare,’ he said quietly. ‘And if they’re from Umbrius’s cohort, we might find out what they know.’

  With that, they turned down the slope and met the trio coming up.

  ‘Water, please,’ repeated the man. He was a little older than the other two and had only a bandage wrapped around one forearm. His companion, however, had clearly taken a blow to the head and the bandage covering it was soaked with fresh blood. When the leader lowered him to the ground, the third man almost collapsed beside him. He had been wounded in the right hand and left leg and his eyes betrayed the glass
y shock that Cassius had often seen in wounded soldiers.

  Simo handed over two flasks and the soldiers drank greedily. They seemed to have no equipment other than their weapons.

  ‘This way to the river, right?’ said the leader after a time. Across his tunic and neck were drops of dried, dark blood.

  ‘No,’ said Enca, pointing back down the slope. ‘That way.’

  ‘Can’t,’ muttered the third man. ‘Can’t.’

  ‘We can’t go back that way,’ said the leader.

  ‘Why?’ asked Cassius.

  He could understand the soldier’s reluctance to avoid answering. They were in enemy territory, with no idea who they could trust.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Cassius continued. ‘I’m just a merchant, not loyal to either side. My men and I would simply prefer to avoid areas where there’s fighting.’

  ‘You’re in one, mate,’ said the second man, who seemed alert despite the head injury.

  ‘I believe we saw your unit cross the Rhone,’ said Cassius. ‘I assume you encountered the Twenty-Second?’

  The leader nodded. ‘Ambushed us just after dawn. We did well but they had at least three centuries, maybe more. Umb-’ The cavalryman caught himself, then continued. ‘Our commander escaped with a few and the rest of us fought on. Dead horses and men everywhere. Theirs. Ours. Absolute bloody chaos. We took our chance to get away. What about the forest? Can we get through?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Enca. ‘Probably the best route. Aim for north north-east and you’ll strike the river somewhere near Lavona.’

  The three men continued drinking.

  Cassius joined Enca, who was staring down the slope.

  ‘See that flat area, sir?’ asked the scout quietly.