Moments later, as Salonius stood once more, brushing down his tunic, and went to collect his sword, Varro and Petrus delivered the final blows to the only remaining combatant and turned to survey the scene.
Catilina had tied the slingshot and pouch back together and was leading the horses towards the bridge with a disturbing grin.
The captain gestured wearily at Salonius and the young man wandered over to him.
“We need to do something with this bridge.”
Salonius nodded sagely, watching with unhappy fascination as Petrus, in the background, went about the grisly business of dispatching the wounded enemies. Trying to ignore the unpleasant sounds and the death rattles, he tapped the parapet where the wooden rail had been inserted with his forefinger.
“This bridge has been here a long time.”
“Solid, then” remarked Varro with a sigh.
“Yes and no” replied Salonius with a thoughtful look. “It was pretty solidly constructed a few hundred years ago, probably by the army when that outpost at the top of the valley was built, but it’s not been maintained by the military and I’d assume the locals either don’t know what to do or don’t care.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well“, Salonius continued in a tutorial manner, “this was built with mortar and not cement or concrete and it’s a fairly basic arch bridge with a keystone.”
“And?” Varro sounded frustrated.
“Mortar is not as strong as cement or concrete. That’s why we use them now. And with an arch and keystone, all the weight of the bridge rests on the keystones. The more weight, the better the arch, in fact. But the weather up here in the mountains has eroded a lot of the mortar. That’s how they could wedge the wood across the bridge, you see? The mortar’s so old, you can pull it out with your fingers.”
Varro bit his lip. “So you’re saying we can loosen the keystones and collapse the bridge?”
“I’m saying it’s possible.”
“But it could be dangerous. How long will it take, if we can do it?” Varro scratched his chin thoughtfully.
”I honestly have no idea.”
“The rest of the garrison are about ten minutes behind us at most, Salonius. Can we do it?”
The young engineer shook his head.
“No. Not enough time.”
“Then mount up. We’ve got to go. You can see their dust through the trees now. “
Salonius blinked.
“Come on!” Varro barked, turning and making for Catilina and the horses.
Salonius jogged along behind him, slowly raising his eyes and catching up as the captain left the bridge.
“Rope.”
“What?” Varro grumbled? “What rope?”
“Get lots of rope. We can bring this beech down on the bridge.”
Varro sighed and pointed up at the branches.
“It’s a young tree; not very heavy. It won’t collapse the bridge, Salonius!”
“No,” the young man replied, “but it’ll block it completely; and it’s small enough that four horses should be able to pull it over.”
Varro blinked and a slow smile crept over him.
“That’d stop them alright. And the valley’s too steep and covered in scree here to get a horse up. They’ll have to go back a few miles to get round. Hang on… what’s to stop them pulling it back out of the way?”
Salonius smiled. “Firstly, they’ll only have access to the delicate, easily breakable branches at the top of the tree. And secondly, we’ll drag it at an angle and wedge it.”
Varro narrowed his eyes for a moment and then nodded. “Petrus!” he shouted at the disfigured veteran, limping toward them from the bridge.
“What?”
“Ropes! We’re pulling the tree over.”
“Good idea.”
As Varro unhooked a length of rope that had been with the saddle when he stole it, and began to unwind it, fastening it to his horse, he frowned.
“Enough here for me, but that’s the only rope we have.”
Petrus pointed along the river to a solid looking building on the edge of the village.
“That’s a mill. Mills have rope,” the scarred veteran shouted.
As Varro ran over toward the mill with him, Salonius unhooked a leather roll on his horse’s flank and turned to yell after the others “Just get one. One’ll be enough!”
Varro gave him a questioning look for a moment, but shrugged, turned and ran on. Salonius was the engineer, after all.
As the leather roll unfurled, Catilina saw an array of tools; military engineer’s tools.
“I wondered what that was for. You always seem to be carrying so much.”
“Always be prepared” grinned Salonius as he untied a three foot long shaft from the roll. Examining it for a moment, he grasped it by the narrower end and Catilina realised the haft tapered slightly. Placing the wider end on the ground, he untied a heavy axe blade from the roll and placed the hole in it over the shaft, allowing it to drop to the bottom, where it wedged against the thicker wood. Stamping on the blade with a foot to force it as far as it would go, he lifted his axe and walked over to the tree.
Catilina allowed her attention to wander away from the sound of the axe biting into the young wood, noticing for the first time the frightened eyes of the villagers where they peered out from windows and doors.
And, of course, the growing cloud of dust not far from the village. If she strained she was sure she could hear hooves.
“Hurry up” she said, though quietly and to herself.
By the time Petrus and Varro came running back across the grass with a large coil of rope, Salonius had stopped cutting and was leaning all his weight on the tree with an experimental push. Nodding in satisfaction, he smashed the top of the axe head against the bole a couple of times until the blade began to slide back down the shaft. Dismantling it, he wandered over to his horse and neatly returned it to its place. He tutted in irritation before selecting another instrument; a small hand-pick.
“What’s up?” Catilina asked.
“I hate putting it away without cleaning and oiling. That’s no way to treat a good tool.”
He carefully and neatly rolled up the leather container and fastened it under the lady’s faintly amused gaze, while Petrus tied the second rope to his own steed and mounted.
“So, engineer… how best do we do this?” the scarred veteran enquired.
Salonius led his horse over to Catilina, casting a professional eye over the tree and the ropes as he walked.
“Take her across with you,” he asked Catilina. She nodded and took the young man’s reins, leading the horse ahead and over the bridge.
Salonius turned back to Petrus.
“Catilina and I need to get out ahead. Then you both need to walk forward onto the bridge until the ropes are taught; they’re obviously different lengths. Once they’re tight, start stepping forward very slowly and in unison. Try not to jerk too much. Very slow but very steady. Constant pressure’s what we want. I’ve given you a good start low on the trunk, so once you reach breaking point, the whole thing will come down very, very quickly.”
Petrus and Varro shared a look.
“The ropes are long enough” Salonius went on, “that you’ll be well out of the way on the other side of the bridge by then, but you need to stop the moment the tree comes down, or you might drag it into the river or even across the bridge. Got all that?”
“Slowly forward, stop when it goes bang. Think I can just about master that” grumbled Petrus.
Salonius gave him what he hoped was an infuriatingly condescending smile and walked ahead of them onto the bridge. He stopped at the centre, shaded his eyes and carefully judged the length of the ropes, the size and angle of the tree trunk and the location of the cut he’d made. Hoping beyond hope that his calculations were
