“We go see Sabian. He should be safely holed up back at Vengen. He’s the man who’ll deal with all of this. We need to get to Vengen as fast as we can.”
“Agreed.” He sighed. “I guess we’ll have to steal a few horses then.”
Varro nodded and, clutching his bloody waist and wincing, slowly opened the door onto the wide cellar room. The four of them piled out, Varro and Catilina carrying their saddles and personal bags, Salonius following along behind, laden with his own kit and his companions’ saddle bags. Petrus watched the stocky young man, under his burden, climb the steps to the stable with surprising ease. He raised an eyebrow but made no comment. As he emerged from the stairway, Petrus walked across the room to the stable boy. The young lad smiled curiously at him and the scarred veteran withdrew a pouch from his tunic. He gave it a shake so that it jingled. There were maybe half a dozen coins still in it of different denominations. Ah well. He tossed the bag to the boy, whose eyes opened wide.
“Take it and piss off for about fifteen minutes lad, eh?”
The boy needed no further encouragement. A swift nod and he disappeared into the building.
Varro and his companions had already taken a quick glance into the stalls and selected three horses. As Petrus chose his own and nonchalantly lifted the owner’s saddle from the peg, the other three strapped their own saddles and kit to their stolen steeds. Less than a minute later, the four fugitives led their horses from the stable doorway and onto the grass bank. As they mounted up, Petrus pointed behind the next house.
“If we follow the embankment, it takes you most of the way to the edge of the town without going out onto the streets, but we’ll have to do a bit of classy riding. There’s back garden fences and two orchards on the route. Still, better than going out onto the street, eh?”
Catilina gave him an encouraging grin and kicked her horse into a trot.
The four riders emerged from among the last houses in the town and dropped out onto the road in relative privacy. Barring three children playing with a dog and a woman hanging out washing they were alone. Varro shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun, now beginning to disappear behind the highest peaks out to the west, and peered into the distance up the road.
“Two men on foot. We could outrun them.”
Catilina shook her head.
“Not this time, Varro. They’re enemies. Pure and simple.”
“Ok then,” Varro sighed and drew his sword. “But you’re getting out of danger. You and Petrus wait here while Salonius and I deal with them.”
The stocky young soldier nodded sagely, but Petrus glared at him.
“I think I’ve earned this, Varro!”
Salonius looked across at Varro and after a moment’s pause, the captain nodded. Salonius passed his sword to Petrus and walked his horse across to join Catilina. The two sat and watched as the cousins kicked their horses into a gallop, swords at their side, ready to swing.
“I’d not be the man to get between Petrus and an enemy,” he said to the beautiful woman by his side. I swear I heard him growling as he went.
“He’s got good reason. But then I suppose we all have. Come on, let’s go…”
Chapter Nine
The four companions rode at a steady speed down the valley as they had done for many hours now, through the night and on into the dawn. They had ridden hard past the Imperial way station at the head of the valley in case enough of the garrison remained on alert to hinder them, though not a sound issued from the walls as they thundered past. Likely a skeleton staff remained there at best.
Salonius glanced across at Petrus with a curious look on his face, something of a mix of awe and horror. The disfigured ex-soldier had dispatched the man at the edge of the village with such awful violence and swift simplicity. The young soldier had given the combat as wide a berth as the road would allow but had been unable to avoid seeing the mess that had been the man’s face. Petrus had only delivered two blows, but Salonius would have bet good money that the guard had been dead before the second one landed. He realised he was staring and, focusing, realised that Petrus was looking directly back at him with his one good eye.
“Something the matter, lad?”
“No.” Salonius tried to control the shiver as he thought once more of that guard’s jaw, hanging loosely from one side of his face.
“You ever been in a fight, lad?”
Salonius ignored the question and sat silently for a moment before turning back to him.
“I don’t like the idea of having to kill Imperial soldiers, no matter what the reason. It just seems wrong.”
Petrus hauled on his reins and pulled alongside his young companion. Salonius turned once more to face forward. Were they not riding hard to stay ahead of potential enemies from the Saravis Fork fort and headed to Vengen to denounce a traitor in the army, he could have enjoyed this ride. The day was turning out bright and warm, accompanied by the constant hum of bees and chattering of birds and the smell of fragrant wildflowers. The valley was widening all the time as they descended toward the northern plains. Varro and Catilina had peeled off a short while ago and were riding together on the other side of the valley, deep in conversation, leaving the scarred veteran and the young soldier to ride together. At this proximity, Salonius became once more aware of the faint aroma of stale beer that clung to Petrus.
“Try getting screwed and left for dead by them,” the scarred man said flatly. “I think you’ll change your tune.”
“Huh!”
Salonius knew he was being unfair to his new companion. Petrus had every right and every reason in the world to mistrust and hate. The man had lived in hell for a decade because of these traitors. He had been a senior sergeant in the army and was cousin to Varro; a man with a position of power and responsibility. And yet there was something about him that Salonius couldn’t quite put his finger on but didn’t like; something that made him uneasy. Oh, Petrus wasn’t a part of Cristus’ conspiracy, for certain; nothing like that. But he was too quick to act with violence, perhaps? A risk? A loose blade that could damage anyone around him? He became aware that Petrus was watching him with that one piercing eye and turned to meet that gaze.
“I know you’ve been betrayed and hurt by your own. I understand that you must feel hollow and vengeful and I can see why you’d turn to your cousin for help. But I also know that people who are driven by revenge and blood can be dangerous to be around. Varro will tell you a bit about that when we stop, I’m sure, but just remember that when you throw a stone, you cause ripples. And if the ripples are big enough they sink ships.”
Petrus continued to stare at him, but the look about his eye had changed; softened somehow. Salonius gave him a sad and weary smile.
“Be careful you don’t sink your friends.”
Petrus’ one eye bored into him for a moment longer and then he turned away.
“Varro was right to choose you, lad. I knew you were strong when I saw you, but you’re sharp too.”
He scanned the valley as he had done every few minutes since they’d begun their ride and then turned back to Salonius.
“Are your eyes as sharp as your mind?”
“What?” The young man started.
“Behind us. A couple of miles, perhaps?”
Salonius craned his neck and peered into the distance.
“Shit!”
“How many d’you see?” the older man asked, his voice low.
“A dozen at least.”
Petrus frowned and turned again.
“You are sharp! I’d only seen one group. So: two groups of six riders. One on each side of the valley. And that
