man’s been in command here since the ‘siege’. I’d also guess he was a close friend of prefect Cristus. You know what that means.”
Varro nodded.
“Sharp. Yes, it means that we can’t trust the soldiers of Saravis Fork. If Cristus really is trying to kill us, then it’s a fair bet these men are under similar orders to the men chasing us.”
Catilina frowned and spoke through gritted teeth.
“And even if they don’t know we’re here, as soon as those two other riders get here, we’ll have every man in the fort down on us.”
“Shit.” Varro rubbed his temple wearily. “We’d best get out of sight fast. Where shall we tie the horses?”
Catilina smiled at him.
“Just let them loose, Varro. They’re broken after that ride. We’ll need new horses when we leave or they’ll catch us before we can leave the valley.”
The three of them dismounted, removing their pack and gear. Salonius hoisted the saddle bags over his shoulder.
“We just leave them here? Milling around? Seems unfair somehow.”
Varro smiled at him. “I think they’re in a better position than us, now come on!”
Salonius reached out a heavily muscled arm and relieved Catilina of her heavy saddle and saddle bags. Seriously laden, he walked on into the settlement.
“Strong lad, isn’t he” she observed to Varro as they followed on.
The town became busier as they passed from the suburban road into a wider street, bustling with people. Here they hardly raised a glance from the locals; three dusty strangers in travelling cloaks, all on foot. As the wide street opened out into the main square at the centre of the town, a cluster of market stalls came into view, with crowds around them squawking like a flock of birds.
“Should be easy for us to get ourselves lost in.” Varro observed.
“Yes,” Catilina nodded, “but easy for other people to hide among too.”
Salonius frowned.
“Why is there only one inn here? Your cousin said in his note he was at the inn. A place as big as this with a fort so close? There are half a dozen bars outside Crow Hill.”
Varro nodded.
“That just means that the soldiers at Crow Hill are off duty outside the camp most nights. This is frontier territory. I’d suspect it requires command authorisation to leave the fort on personal business. There’ll be no soldiers down here getting drunk on a night. Means we’ll probably stand out a bit, but it also means we’re unlikely to bump into any of the garrison.”
Salonius nodded his understanding and turned as they entered the square, lightly tapping a young man on the shoulder. Catilina blinked and Varro stopped in surprise as a guttural string of unintelligible chatter issued from their companion. As they watched in fascination, the young man turned to Salonius, replying in the same dialect and beginning a deep and complex conversation that neither of them could understand. Finally, the young man grinned and clasped Salonius’ hand briefly before turning away and going about his business. The other two were grinning when he turned back to face them.
“What? You think the tribe I was born into speak your lovely southern tongue normally?”
Varro laughed and Salonius gestured forwards. The three of them pushed on through the crowded square, finally breaking out in the open area between all the stalls.
“What did you two talk about?” Catilina asked with a smile.
“All sorts,” Salonius replied. “But firstly, where to find the inn.”
He stopped and pointed to a large wooden building with a stone base at the far end of the square. The inn stood proud of the other buildings around the central square by an entire story, matched only by the temple opposite. Three storeys and wide enough to accommodate perhaps four rooms along the front face, it was an impressive piece of architecture for a largely timber-based northern town. The three of them hurried across the square and made for the wide open doorway, surprised to find the interior well lit with windows and heated by a log fire, far from the dingy and shady room Varro had expected.
Salonius gestured at an empty table, the most inconspicuous in the room, tucked away in a corner.
“I’ll get us a drink. Wine for you both?”
Catilina nodded but Varro shook his head. “Get me a beer. I need to keep the clearest head possible right now.”
“Alright.” Salonius joined them for a moment, dropping his heavy load near the wall, and then walked across to the bar to speak to the innkeeper. Catilina and Varro took wooden chairs with their backs to the wall and carefully observed the bar and its patrons. There were less than a dozen folk in the room but, judging by the size of the place and the number of tables, the usual crowd would be considerably larger. There were clearly no soldiers here and most of the conversation was in the guttural speech that Salonius had used in the market. No one seemed to be paying them any attention, which caused a sigh of relief to pass through Varro.
He turned his attention to Salonius at the bar, deep in conversation with the keeper as the man poured wine from a plain bottle into a plain glass and stood it next to the two mugs of beer on the bar top. The stocky soldier finished his conversation and began to carefully gather up the three vessels in his large hands.
“Sight for sore eye!”
Varro started and turned to see the man standing at the table. He’d approached soundlessly and, judging by the indrawn breath to his left, Catilina had been looking at something else too. Cursing himself for his wandering attention, Varro looked up into the face of the man standing opposite him.
Petrus had changed a great deal in the last fourteen years. Plainly the man had not had an easy time of it. His right eye twinkled with some of the intelligent mischief Varro remembered, but his left was white and filmy, the barest hint of a pupil visible within the milky sickness. Three parallel scars crossed his cheek just below the eye, horizontally and so likely unconnected to the eye, terminating in a long-healed wound that had slightly misshapen the nose. Allowing his eyes to draw back and take in the rest of the man, Varro also noticed Petrus’ left hand suffered a constant uncontrollable twitch. The man had tucked the hand into his waist band, but that had merely muted the twitching rather than masking it. All in all, Petrus would have been a sorry sight, had that sight not been so welcome. Varro could feel emotion welling up inside him; emotion that he could scarce afford to allow to the surface. With a grunt he forced it down and maintained his grimace. Petrus gave a lopsided smile that displayed more damage, three or four teeth missing from the left on both upper and lower jaw. He turned that disturbing smile on Catilina.
“Varro, you brought a lady with you? Strange choice, though I can see why you’d pick him.” He gestured over his shoulder at Salonius who was approaching the table carrying the drinks.
Varro nodded.
“Not just a lady, Petrus. You remember Catilina?”
For a moment a look of genuine surprise crossed that scarred face and the smile broadened.
“Catilina? By all the Gods! Last time I saw you, you couldn’t even pronounce my name!”
Varro nodded. “It’s been a long time. We might have caught up earlier if you hadn’t been dead.” The comment had an edge to it and as Petrus recoiled slightly, Salonius stepped round him and placed the four drinks on the table.
Petrus continued to look at Catilina.
“How’s your brother, Catilina? He was always hanging around my knees asking to use my sword.”
Catilina smiled.
“He’s fine, Petrus. Not a soldier though. Never will be. Always buried in a book, my brother.”
Salonius took one of the spare seats, his eyes never leaving the stranger, and coughed meaningfully.
Varro shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. “Quite right. More important matters to think about. So, Petrus, I think you need to take a seat and tell us what happened to you and what’s so important people are being murdered to stop you saying it!”
Petrus blinked.
“Murdered?”
“Long story,” Varro replied. “But let’s start…”
