“Explain?”
Salonius carefully tied off the three cords as he spoke.
“It’s essentially a corset. The inner is formed of three thicknesses of my blanket. I used sap resin to attach vertical lengths of willow that I cut into strips. More resin set them into place. Another thickness of blanket attached with sap and the outer is made of stripped of boiled and hardened leather I tacked on. They’re from my water skin, pack and so on. But since they’re individual strips tacked on, they’re nice and flexible. My thought is that it’s give you support and protection around your abdomen. Without it, even if he punched you in the side, that’d be the end, I think. I’ve just got to attach the shoulder pieces to keep it in position.”
Varro stared and him and burst out laughing.
“You did this during the night?”
Salonius bridled.
“You need an edge. I’m giving you that edge.”
The captain clapped his hand over his young companion’s shoulder.
“Oh, I am grateful Salonius. You have no idea how grateful. I think I regret the fact that I’ll not live to see the day you command a cohort.”
Salonius blinked.
“Sir?”
“Oh come on.” Varro laughed. “When this is all over and I’m gone, you and Catilina will be the two who brought down a traitor and save the northern army. And you know the marshal personally and saved his daughter! Great things await you, my friend, and I think the army’s going to change when you get your hands on it. More flexible; more adaptable. The army’s always been led by brave men, but brave, intelligent and resourceful is rare. I think I’m going to miss you, Salonius.”
“Captain…”
Varro shook his head.
“Strangely, the large doses of everything that I took last night seem to have given me the strength and energy of a race horse. I think I’m going to take the same again in the next hour. Damn him, if Cristus shows up here this morning, I’m going to carve bits off him until he begs for mercy.”
The young man’s jaw set hard.
“Good. Now stay still while I attach the shoulders.”
Five minutes later the two men entered the main clearing to find Catilina up and dressed, the blankets folded into low seats and a pot heating over a low fire.
“Plenty of dead wood on the ground. I brought oats. I though we should have some breakfast to strengthen us for the day.”
Varro smiled.
“It’s like some kind of conspiracy to be helpful! Remember my bad wounded side?”
She nodded uncertainly as she fanned the flames of the small fire.
Varro pick up a stick from the floor and, give the difficulty of the manoeuvre, swung the stick at his wounded side as hard as he could manage. Catilina leapt towards him in shock but stopped as the stick bounced of his tunic with a deep ‘clonk’.
“What in the heavens?”
Varro grinned.
“Our engineer friend put his genius to the task at hand again. Hell, at this rate, I could even fight my way through Cristus’ guards to get to him.”
She laughed.
“I rather hope it doesn’t come to that. Now sit down and rest. Time to get the pair of you fed and watered before you start any trouble.”
The sun was rising and bright morning light dappled the floor of the woodland as the three packed their gear.
“Phaianis has been good to us,” Catilina noted. “I think when this is over I might dedicate an altar to her.”
The two men nodded.
“Time to finish this” Varro announced, testing his sword, sliding it an inch or so in and out of the sheath to ease the draw. “Let’s go see what we can see.”
Salonius reached down for the debris by the captain’s pack. The empty wrappers spoke volumes. Cristus had better show up now; Varro had taken every last pinch of the medication he’d been given. The chances of him coming unstuck by noon due to severe overdosing were worryingly high. Gritting his teeth and forcing a casual smile onto his face, he turned and, as he did so, watching Varro’s retreating back as the man walked over to the track, he caught sight of Catilina’s face as she also gazed after him. There was something about the look on her face. He smiled knowingly.
Pondering on his suspicions, he collected his pack, tipped the pan of water onto the already dead remnants of the fire and followed the others onto the track.
Given the bright daylight, the three were able to position their selves only a few yards from the edge of the woodland and could see the activity outside. A dozen or so men stood to attention in full armour within view, the cordon continuing on out of sight, presumably surrounding the grove. Varro squinted at them and then turned to his companions, lowering his voice.
“They’ve been on guard all night. Look at them; they’re all shattered.”
Salonius nodded.
“Good. And they had no sleep the day before. They’ll be slow. Don’t know what use that’ll be when Cristus turns up with fresh men, but it’s worth knowing anyway.”
Catilina pointed off to the left.
“Looks like were about to find out, boys. Look!”
Away to the side, at the crest of the hill, men were arriving on horseback, bearing the standards of the Fourth Army and marching in Imperial green. Perhaps two dozen men; some senior officers; others members of the prefect’s guard. All well equipped and well rested bar one. That one must be Crino, riding alongside his master in deep conversation. Anger flared up inside Salonius as he watched the prefect riding calmly under the Imperial banner as though he were the greatest and most noble soldier of the Empire and not a cowardly, enslaving traitor. He only realised he had half drawn his sword when Varro’s hand enclosed his and slowly pushed the hilt back down.
“Later. Whether I kill him or not, I suspect you’re going to have to fight your way out and protect Catilina.”
Salonius shook his head.
“We have to wait until Sabian arrives. This needs to be witnessed, and then Catilina will be safe.”
“No, my friend.”
Varro drew his sword.
“I don’t know how long I’ve got. This might be my only chance. You stay here with Catilina when I go out. You’ll be safe here for now. You two are the clever ones. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Salonius’ face fell.
“Now let’s see what we can do” said Varro stepping to the front and leaving the cover of the woods to stand under the eaves.
It took a minute for the weary guards to spot the figure of the captain, standing in the shadows beneath the trees, then suddenly all was commotion. Varro’s eyes flicked to the side, to one guard who had unshouldered a bow and was reaching in his quiver for an arrow. Half a dozen men in senior officers’ uniforms came striding forward, Cristus and Crino among them. The guard captain gestured to the man with the bow.
“That won’t be necessary, soldier.”
The small party stopped around twenty yards from the tree line and the prefect, resplendent in his dress uniform and polished breastplate, stepped out to the front.
“Captain Varro. You look tired.”
