was still conscious was babbling meaningless gibberish at his rescuers, and the other two men were simply lolling against their ropes with no sign that they would regain consciousness any time soon. The barbarians had tortured them beyond their endurance, using their knives to ensure that the Romans would never be able to walk or use their hands again. The two unconscious men had endured the brutal ruin of their sexual organs, and all three had suffered dozens of knife cuts. The ground around the two unconscious men was sticky with their drying blood, and its coppery stench filled the air around them. Cyclops spat on the ground, shaking his head.
‘We’re too bloody late. They’d have been peeling the poor fuckers soon enough. All we’ve done is saved them from any more of these animals’ fun.’ He hefted his sword and stepped closer to the nearest of the three mutilated men. ‘Best I do this quickly, young sirs…’
Marcus shook his head and pushed the blade aside.
‘You’re right, there’s no way we can take them with us, but if there’s a need to finish them off I’ll not let another man do my job for me. Dubnus, take the men back to the century and I’ll join you once I’ve seen these men across the river.’
His friend nodded and gathered the Tungrians, disappearing quickly and quietly back up the slope and into the darkened ranks of trees. Marcus sheathed his spatha, hefting the gladius and putting the short blade’s point against the first man’s ribs, angling it ready for the mercy stroke. A thought struck him, and he turned away to search the barbarians’ bodies until he found a purse full of Roman coin on the big man that Arminius had beheaded. Taking three coins before discarding the purse, he moved quickly, pushing one of them into the unconscious man’s mouth before repositioning the gladius.
‘Go to your gods, my friend.’
He stabbed the sword through the message rider’s ribs, expertly putting it through the man’s failing heart and killing him instantly. A thin wash of blood trickled down the man’s chest, testament to the amount he had already lost under the barbarians’ knives, and he died with no more than an almost silent last exhalation of breath. Marcus moved to the second man, but found his skin cold and his eyes empty. He pushed a coin into the man’s mouth, then looked across at the last of them to find the captive’s eyes locked on the gladius in his hand.
‘Take me… with you.’
Marcus shook his head sadly, hefting the sword as he spoke.
‘The barbarians have left you a wreck, friend, severed your hamstrings and cut off your thumbs. Even if I could carry you to safety you’ll never walk or hold a sword again. Better to die here with some dignity.’
A tear trickled down the message rider’s cheek.
‘Make it qui…’
He grunted with pain as Marcus struck fast and without warning, slamming the gladius into his chest and twisting it to make sure of the kill. The dying man’s eyes stared into his own for a long moment, then rolled upwards as his spirit left him. Marcus stood in silence for a second before tucking the last of the three coins into the dead man’s mouth and wiping and sheathing his sword. A voice from the shadows at the edge of the clearing spun him round, hands reaching for his swords.
‘You are a good man, Centurion Corvus. Not many men would have taken the time to find coin and see these men safely across the river.’
Arminius stepped out of the gloom, his face sombre in the presence of the dead messengers.
‘An unhappy passing, but you gave it all the dignity that was to be had. And now…’
He gestured up through the trees to where the two centuries would be waiting for them. Marcus nodded, but turned back towards the doomed fort.
‘We should leave before we’re discovered, I know. But I have to see it…’
The German nodded.
‘Quietly, then. We go as far as the forest edge. Any closer and we may find ourselves in the same trouble as these poor bastards.’
6
The duty officer at Fine View fort, seven miles to the east of White Strength, frowned with concentration as he leaned out over the fort’s western parapet, turning his head slightly in the hope of reducing the wind’s whine as it ruffled the crest of his helmet.
‘You’re sure you heard a trumpet?’
His watch officer shifted uncomfortably.
‘Certain, Centurion. It was the lad here that heard it first…’
He gestured to a soldier so young that his face was not yet darkened by any trace of a beard.
‘I can still hear it, sir. Listen, there it goes again!’
The centurion grimaced, screwing his face up in concentration. There it was… just… barely audible over the wind’s gentle moan.
‘Fuck me, they’re blowing the alarm signal. You, run for the first spear, tell him that White Strength is under attack!’
In the five minutes that it took for the senior centurion to make his way to the fort’s rampart the distant trumpet calls had stopped. He stood on the wall and stared out to the west.
‘The Frisians are in the shit, from the sound of it.’ The first spear turned to his prefect. ‘I doubt we’ll need to evacuate before dawn, they’ll be too busy trying to fight their way into the Strength, but you’d best order the preparations. We’ll have to get word to Noisy Valley, though; they won’t be seeing or hearing any of this given the lie of the land.’
His superior nodded and went to find his dispatch riders. The three men were waiting by their quarters, dressed and ready to ride.
‘Well predicted, gentlemen. There seems to be some kind of attack going in at White Strength and we’re going to need you to ride for Noisy Valley and get the legions into the fight.’
The small group’s commander, a young decurion temporarily detached from the Petriana cavalry wing, his aristocratic bearing confirmed by the thin purple stripe decorating the sleeves of his tunic where they protruded from beneath his bronze breastplate, nodded his understanding.
‘Yes, Prefect. I’ll send these two east and then south, there’s no way they’ll get through to the west.’
The cohort’s commander raised an eyebrow.
‘Not riding out yourself, Decurion?’
The young man smiled easily, pulling on his helmet and fastening the strap tightly under his chin.
‘Oh yes, sir, I’m riding, just not to the east. I said these two wouldn’t make it, but then neither of them’s riding my horse.’
His superior stepped closer, looking the decurion up and down.
‘Are you completely fucking mad, young man? If you ride to the west those bastards will have you dangling by your ankles with your balls in your mouth before sunrise.’
The cavalryman smiled again, his eyes steady on the prefect’s.
‘It will take until well after daybreak for these two to get through to Noisy Valley, by which time White Strength will be finished and those barbarians might well be knocking at your door too, eh, Prefect? I can probably make the ride in about two hours, and with a bit of luck the blue-noses won’t know I’m coming until I’m past them.’
The prefect nodded slowly, putting out a hand.
‘My apologies, Cornelius Felix, I’d taken you for something of a fop. If you get away with this you’ll have a place in the histories for centuries to come.’
The younger man took his hand, then tapped the hilt of his sword, the torchlight glinting off its gold and silver decoration.
‘And if I don’t, at least I’ll go down fighting. Mind you, I won’t be the blue-noses’ biggest problem if they catch up with us. Have you seen the chaos Hades can cause when the wicked bugger starts kicking?’
