bloodied but proud of their victory. Calgus stared around him with evident pride.
‘Warriors, you have struck a huge blow at our enemy! A whole cohort of their traitors torn to pieces! Another of their forts made useless to them, and another piece of their defences burned out. Mark my words, the soldiers to the east of this place will be clenching their arses when they see the smoke from this victory rising into the sky come the dawn!’
He pulled his sword from his hip and punched it into the air.
‘Victory!’
The warriors gathered around him echoed the shout in a mighty roar. He sheathed the blade, clasping arms with Martos.
‘Well done, Prince Martos, well done indeed. Your men have proved themselves, despite the mutterings of some of the men around my council fire. The Votadini will be in the front rank of the great plan that will have these Roman bastards off our land for good, and you, my friend, are going to be the man your people will praise for your victory. All that remains now is for you to complete the job, as we discussed. I’ll leave a small party of my men to guide you back to the forest when you’re done… and be assured, you’re part of my plans for the future of this country once we’ve smashed their remaining strength.’
Martos nodded his gratitude, turning to encourage his men in their last grisly task. Calgus moved away with a quiet smile of satisfaction, heading for the fort’s gates and the road back to the warband’s forest encampment. At the gates a single figure detached itself from the shadows and stood waiting for him. The man was reed thin, with only a short sword to burden him.
‘My lord.’
‘You know what to do. Don’t fail me.’
The gate guards standing guard duty on Noisy Valley’s northern gate tumbled sleepily out of the warmth of their guardhouse, their haste encouraged by their centurion’s shouts and liberally applied vine stick as he chivvied them up on to the fort’s wooden walls.
‘Get your fucking helmets on and get ready to fight, there’s something coming down the road! You, go and get the first spear! Run!’
The sounds were distant, sometimes lost in the wind, but distinctive enough, boots and hoofs clattering on the road’s paving stones. The soldiers peered out anxiously over their shields, hefting their spears and looking for something to throw them at. The centurion strained to make out more detail in the uncertain light of the torches fixed over the wall’s parapet.
‘They’re ours! Get the gate open and get them inside!’
Two hundred men and more clattered through the briefly opened gates, their centurion raising a weary hand to the guard century’s officer, who was staring at the arrow protruding from the right flank of the horse he was leading. The horse’s rider was apparently more dead than alive, slumped unconscious in the saddle with his dangling right arm black with blood. The centurion spoke with quiet authority, watching as his exhausted men marched into the safety of the fort’s walls.
‘Good morning, Centurion, I’m Tribulus Corvus, centurion, First Tungrian cohort. White Strength fort has been attacked by a force I estimate to be several thousand strong. The barbarians were shooting fire arrows and had broken through the gate when I last saw it…’
The unconscious rider groaned softly, his arm dripping blood on to the road’s surface.
‘Mars, look at all that blood, it’s a wonder you got him this far.’ The guard centurion turned away, barking orders at his men. ‘Bandage carrier, get something round that arrow and put some pressure on it or he’ll be dead before we get him to the hospital. Chosen, you look after this lot, I’d better get the first spear and the prefect out of their beds. The war’s back on again!’
The eastern sky was showing the first signs of the dawn’s onset by the time the toiling Votadini tribesmen had completed their grisly task, and the tribes’ warriors were eager for the command to run for the forest’s safety. A trio of Selgovae warriors stood ready to guide them, their leader a painfully thin man clearly well accustomed to covering ground at speed. Martos strode over to the man, gesturing with a hand to the north.
‘Our task is complete. Now we must make haste, before their cavalry find us here.’
The leader of the guides nodded respectfully.
‘Then follow me, my lord, and I will lead you as instructed by my lord Calgus.’
The warriors ran for a short time to the west, until they reached the gate through which they had breached the wall hours previously, then spilled through the small opening and headed north in a long column, following the bobbing torches carried by their guides. As the night lightened to reveal a thick blanket of early morning mist, making the direction of their travel almost impossible to discern, Martos ran forward to join the guides. They were jogging easily, he noted, where his own men, their energy nearly exhausted by the harrowing battle for the fort, were staggering along in their wake, barely managing to keep up with the easy pace being set for them.
‘You’re sure you know we’re on the right track? I can’t tell where we are.’
The lead guide nodded confidently.
‘We planned for this, my lord; I’ve left marks to guide our steps. About another fifteen miles, I’d say.’
Satisfied, the young chieftain dropped back to give his men the news, but as the column of men ground their way towards safety he still frequently stared out into the impenetrable murk, visibly unhappy at his lack of control of their situation. At length the guides indicated that the warband should stop for a rest break. The Votadini warriors gratefully fell out of the line of march and sat down in the pale shadows of the trees that lined the rough track they were following, chests heaving for breath as they tipped the last of their drinking water down parched throats. The Selgovae guides stayed on their feet, their leader pacing cautiously forward into the still-thick mist while his comrades stared back down the column’s length with faces set in stoic immobility. One of the tribe’s family chieftains limped tiredly up the column after a few minutes, an older man walking respectfully behind him.
‘My man here reckons we’re off our path, my lord.’
Martos raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the mist around them. Behind him, unnoticed by the resting warriors, the two remaining guides exchanged significant glances and began to step carefully backwards into the mist, keeping their gazes fixed on the tribal leader’s back.
‘And how can he tell, in this?’
The peasant warrior came forward, bowing his respect. His hair was grey, and his features seamed with lines, but his eyes were bright with intelligence.
‘Lord, I grew up on this ground many years ago. I know my own country, lord, and I just sat down by a tree I used to climb as a lad. I know every inch of that tree, and I…’
‘Yes. You know where we are. So where are we?’
‘If we’re heading back to the forest we came from, I’d say we’re too far to the west, my lord, ten miles too far.’
Martos frowned, turning to the place where the guides had stood a moment before, only to find it empty. The sound of mocking laughter sounded from the mist, and his clan leader stared angrily into the mist beside him, a hand clenched on his sword’s hilt.
‘We’re betrayed, my lord. Those Selgovae bastards have led us out to the west, not to the north. They’ve hung us out for the Roman cavalry to find out here. The second this mist lifts we’ll stand out like ticks on an ox’s back, and we’re probably only ten miles from their camp.’
Martos spat his disgust into the dirt.
‘Aye, and our people are exhausted. It will take us all day to reach the forest in this state…’
The older tribesman stepped forward, his head still inclined respectfully.
‘If I may, my lord, I know of somewhere we might find a hiding place, less than a mile from here. If their first sweep misses us, perhaps we’ll be able to reach the forest tonight.’
Martos nodded unhappily.
‘It’s not much of an option, but it’s probably the best chance we’ve got. And if we do reach the forest I’ll hunt Calgus down and carve him to ribbons for this.’
Calgus arrived back in the barbarian camp in the middle of the afternoon, riding in at the head of his bodyguard, having left the rest of the warband marching in his wake. Aed was waiting for him at the camp’s
