Swallowing hard, he nodded and settled the delicate wounded lady in front of him and set his horse off to a trot so they could catch up with Varro, who had reached the crest of the next undulation in the valley floor.
As he and Petrus rode up to meet Varro, the great, wide scene of the lower valley opened up before them, gently sloping down in the morning sunshine and opening out to become the northern plains. Somewhere in the distant haze, among vineyards and private estates, would be Vengen, fortress of the Northern marshal, home of Sabian, and safety.
But between it and them almost a thousand men filled the valley floor from side to side, green tunics bright in the sun and laminated armour flashing brilliant white, all marching with imperial precision.
“Oh, shit!”
Varro nodded, turning toward them, his face hollow and empty.
“The ram and lightening.” He waved at the army. “Cristus brought the Fourth after us!”
Chapter Ten
Varro and Petrus shared a quick glance and a determined look fell across their faces.
“Salonius?” Varro shouted. “Get Catilina away from here. I don’t care how or where. Just get her away and to a doctor somewhere.”
Salonius nodded and wheeled his horse, holding the unconscious Catilina as delicately as he could. How he would escape an army carrying a wounded lady was beyond him, but he would have to try.
“Stand down, Varro,” barked Petrus waving his hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there are officers at the front in black!”
“Black?” Varro blinked, pausing in the process of drawing his sword.
“Yes, black” he replied. “Sabian’s guard.”
Salonius squinted into the bright sun.
“He’s right, Varro. There’s at least a squad of the marshal’s men there.” He sighed with relief.
“And that’s sergeant Corda!” he laughed, as he pointed at the mounted figure surrounded by black uniforms amid a sea of green.
With a click, Varro slid his blade back into the sheath at his side and rolled his shoulders with a smile.
“I’m almost tempted to let those bastards from Saravis Fork catch up with us now. I’d love to see their faces as the came over this hill!” He sighed and glanced behind him at the limp woman leaning against Salonius’ chest. “Still, there’s more important things to worry about!”
The riders had obviously come to the attention of the cohort’s scouts, as orders were shouted and the tramping feet fell silent in unison. After a minute or so, Corda, accompanied by the black-clad guards, rode out from the front of the army and up the slope towards them. As the small group of soldiers approached the knot of riders on the hill crest, Varro frowned. Though well-hidden by that bushy, black beard, Varro could plainly see the effect that Corda’s new command was having on him. His eyes appeared hollowed and dark, speaking volumes on his sleep pattern these last few days. He was pale and drawn and clearly overworked, and yet the smile on his face was genuine and warm.
“Varro, by all the Gods.”
“Well by the less reputable ones, anyway” replied the captain with a tight smile.
Corda turned to Catilina and the grin fell from his face.
“My lady?”
Salonius saluted with his free hand, the other wrapped around Catilina’s waist and clutching the horse’s reins.
“I think she’ll be alright, sergeant. She’s out from the pain but the arrow seems to have missed anything important and the wound is well sealed. Do you have a doctor with you?”
Corda frowned.
“I’ve got field medics.” He swallowed nervously. “Her father’s beside himself with worry.”
Petrus cleared his throat, and the acting commander quickly turned to the last rider. “I didn’t honestly believe it was really you, Petrus. We must talk as soon as we have time.”
Reaching out, the scarred man grasped Corda’s hand and shook it. Their eyes met for a long, delayed, moment and Corda looked away to Varro.
“What?” Petrus frowned.
Corda growled at his former captain.
“You haven’t told him?”
“Never been a right time yet, Corda. We’ve been a little busy.” He growled. “And this is not the time! Half the garrison of Saravis Fork are only about an hour behind us and Catilina needs to get to a medic as soon as possible.
Corda nodded and they began to wheel their horses.
“So what happened?” Varro enquired of the acting captain as the black-clad guardsmen assembled in a protective group around them.
“Your messenger arrived at the fort a couple of days ago, demanding to see Sabian and asking for money. It so happens that the gate guards at the time were drawn from our cohort, so they sent for me. I took him to see the marshal and since then it’s all moved damn fast. Sabian and his men have returned to Vengen but he sent us to find you. We’re to bring all of you to Vengen, so he can speak to Petrus himself.”
Varro nodded again.
“So Vengen it is. That’ll be, what, five days with the cohort?”
Corda frowned.
“It would be, but you four and I are riding ahead with Sabian’s men and my command guard. The rest can catch us up later.”
Varro shook his head.
“Catilina needs to travel slowly and with medics.”
“For Gods’ sake Varro, I can think, you know!” Corda turned to the one of the black-clad guards nearby. “Ride on ahead and get two of the field medics up front with full kit. They’re coming with us to Vengen ahead of the unit.
Corda turned his horse and he, Varro and Petrus rode slowly down toward the army, deep in conversation, the acting captain occasionally casting concerned glances back at Salonius and his wounded charge. The black-clad elite guardsmen neatly divided, half of them accompanying the three officers, while the others formed up around Salonius and Catilina in a manner the young man found disturbingly reminiscent of a prisoner escort. He glanced down at the lady, pale and swaying in the saddle in front of him. Sabian might well be beside himself now, but that was nothing to what the marshal would feel if Salonius was wrong and Catilina was worse than he thought. In a purely selfish moment for which he instantly chided himself, he decided that if Catilina didn’t make it to Vengen, they might as well all throw themselves on their swords. Facing Sabian after getting his daughter killed would likely be fatal anyway.
Still, he thought, forcing himself to smile and relax as much as he could; after days of hardship, flight and mortal danger, they were safe once more within the fold. They had a witness against Cristus and his cadre of betrayers, Catilina was alive and should recover completely, Gods willing, and hopefully Scortius would be able to do something about Varro’s condition which, while apparently stable, was still a constant worry hanging over them.
It was hard to believe all this had only been… he stopped and counted on his fingers as he rode… three days after the battle they’d left the fort, three more days after that when they’d met with Petrus, and almost two more days now back down the valley. Just a little over a week and yet it felt like a hundred years since he’d been an engineer, greasing pulleys and tying ropes on the huge war machines of the fourth army. He’d changed his unit and his entire career, been promoted, met war heroes and villains, knew the daughter of the marshal on first name terms, fought in three engagements and here he was riding with some of the most important people in the northern provinces, to the home fortress of the northern marshal, escorted by the marshal’s elite guard.
As an engineer he’d trained himself to think in pieces. One part at a time and the machine was assembled,
