“Whoever said that never saw you with a pointy stick!”
He became aware that Salonius was standing patiently some distance from them, facing tactfully away and apparently studying some point on the horizon. Gently pushing Catilina away from him, he pointed at his young companion. Catilina nodded and, as she wiped he eyes and pinched her cheeks, the two of them wandered over to Salonius.
“So what’d he have to say?” the captain asked casually.
“Nothing too good,” the young man turned to face them. He looked troubled. “He says the four of them were sent after us by Cristus. Their orders were to observe us and report back until we reached the way station. After that their orders were to ‘deal with us’. The way he said it suggested to me that this is very much ‘off the books’. Kill us and dump the bodies somewhere they’d never be found; that kind of thing.”
“And the other two?” Catilina queried.
“Already ahead of us and waiting at the post, ma’am.”
“That does it then” Varro snorted. “We can’t get too close to the place. If the two of them have orders to take us, then they’re going to have the garrison of the way station on their side.”
“Why’s that?” Salonius frowned.
The captain sighed.
“We’re on personal business. I currently hold no active rank, you’re not officially on the cohort’s command guard lists, and the garrison won’t be able to identify Catilina. Those men, even if they’re perfectly innocent, have absolutely no need to take orders from us or even trust us. You can be pretty sure the two men waiting for us there have letters from Cristus giving them complete authority over the local garrisons. That’s what I would do if I were the prefect.”
“Then we find another way around” stated Catilina.
“I’m afraid not, my lady,” Salonius shook his head and Varro nodded his agreement. “The only reason for an outpost here is because it controls the only viable route.”
The captain turned to his companion.
“Unless, that is, you know of anything, being a local…”
Salonius shook his head,
“My home’s a good forty miles from here. I don’t know these valleys.”
“Then there’s four choices,” Catilina held up her hand and counted off with her fingers as she spoke.
“One: You attack the way station. I don’t know how many men they hold, but I presume you do. Very dangerous, but at least you have the initiative and surprise on your side.”
She folded down her first finger.
“Two: we ride like the Gods of the underworld are after us and try and just get through on pure speed.”
Her second finger folded.
“Three: We sneak up there and just try and get round. We could wait for nightfall for extra cover. The safest way, certainly, but also the slowest.”
Folding down the third finger, she tapped the fourth.
“Lastly: we ride up there as bold as iron and try and bluff our way through. If it fails then we either have to fight our way through or ride as fast as the winds will carry us. Either way, the chances aren’t good.”
Salonius and Varro looked at each other for a long moment and the younger man shrugged. “That’s about the size of it, sir. Little or no chance any which way.”
Varro’s brow furrowed in thought.
“I have number five though.” He smiled and tapped her remaining finger. “I can’t put you at risk on some mad charge or crazy chase, but we can’t afford to waste an entire day here. I’m on a limited time frame. Catilina, I want you to stay here with the horses. Get them well away from the road, completely out of sight over by those trees and stay there until Salonius and I get back.”
She frowned, but nodded her agreement. Salonius kicked at an errant pebble.
“What will we be doing?”
“Distracting. Come on.”
Salonius followed him back to the dangling soldier, now silent, blessedly unconscious, though still breathing. Varro pointed at him.
“Cut him down and bring him along.”
With a look of uncertainty, Salonius drew his knife, cut the man down and threw him across a shoulder before turning and following the captain away. Varro stopped for a moment and smiled at Catilina.
“We’ll be back in less than an hour. Stay out of sight.”
“Be careful” she stated flatly.
Answering with just a smile, the two soldiers with their prisoner strode across the grass and away from the secluded knoll. As they made their way to the road and the village came back into sight, Salonius stopped.
“We’re going back to the village?”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
“After all the trouble we had getting him out without being seen?”
“Yes.”
Salonius stared in amazement at the captain, continuing on ahead, and then hurried to catch up.
“But why?”
Varro smiled grimly.
“He’s going to be useful. We need to give his friends a reason to leave the way station.”
Salonius frowned. He had a horrible suspicion about what was about to happen but, try as he might, he just couldn’t think of a better alternative. He started to feel increasingly uncomfortable as they entered the village, passing the outlying houses at the opposite end to where they’d first arrived. But the discomfort he felt heightened as he noticed villagers staring at him lugging a body along the road. The fact that the two men were clearly well armed would deter most ordinary folk from questioning these frightening strangers, but whatever Varro was up to, he’d have to hurry or things could turn ugly very fast.
The captain pointed at the small grassy area beneath the three beech trees in the centre of the village.
“Drop him there and then go pick up his friend and anything of theirs you can find in the barn. Be quick.”
Salonius flashed a quick, worried glance at his companion and then nodded and allowed the unconscious man to fall unceremoniously to the turf. Whatever it was that Varro had in mind, Salonius was pretty sure the man wouldn’t be walking away at the end of it. As he walked off, he deliberately avoided looking at both the captain and their prisoner. He shut his eyes tight as he heard the captain’s next words, then opened them and picked up his pace as he crossed the bridge toward the outlying farm buildings.
“You!” Varro turned and pointed at a group of half a dozen concerned spectators gathered outside the front of the inn. In other circumstances it might have humorous the way the individuals in the crowd automatically shuffled away from the finger, leaving a startled man leaning on a cane in the centre of a widening circle. The man gave Varro a frightened look and spoke, his voice shaking.
“Yes, sir?”
Varro shook his head in irritation.
“Somewhere in this village there are ropes, nails and a hammer. Find me them.”
The man turned his head left and right briefly, casting helpless looks at the crowd around him, none of whom met his eye. Quivering slightly, he picked up his stick and turned toward the house next to the inn.
Varro moved his finger and pointed at a young woman nearby.
“You go with him and make sure he finds those things for me. I don’t like to be kept waiting, and I’m not the world’s most patient man.”
As the woman turned and rushed after the absent man, Varro turned to see a lone figure standing across the green. Where the deep, narrow river briefly widened out into a pool, probably used for washing clothes, a fence with a gate had been erected, presumably to prevent children and animals falling into the rushing water. Leaning on the fence was a large, heavy set man with a drooping red moustache and a shiny bald pate, dressed in a huge leather overall. A blacksmith, clearly. And watching Varro with something akin to anger and visibly no fear at all. The captain smiled. Could be trouble; could be useful.
