suppose the best we can hope to achieve today is to harry them from their flanks, and keep them from any shelter so that they keep running all day. We need to herd them, like a flock of particularly vicious cattle, until they break from lack of food and shelter. Once they reach the River Tuidius we’ll see how well they cope with an impassable obstacle to their front and hostile spears to the rear. Pass my orders to each squadron as they join the chase, no man is to go any closer to the barbarians than one hundred paces, other than to clean up the stragglers as they fall behind. We’ll lose no more men unnecessarily today. I’m going for a look at them close up.’
He spurred his magnificent grey stallion forward, flanked to either side by the men of his bodyguard, and cantered up the length of the warband, keeping a sensible distance between himself and any bowmen lurking in their ranks. Spotting a small hillock a short distance from the barbarians’ path he rode to its summit, using the elevation to look down into the Venicones. Licinius muttered quietly to himself as he watched the barbarians streaming past, straining his eyes to make out the finer details.
‘That will be their king marching there, I can see his men clustered around him.’ He squinted intently, a frown creasing his forehead as he caught sight of something that held his attention. ‘And who’s that marching alongside him in such a fine purple cloak, I wonder? I seem to recall my good friend Legatus Equitius mentioning something similar in connection with another tribal leader of our recent acquaintance…’
Marcus and his small escort rode north-east in the wake of the rest of the squadron, following their tracks in the grass until they found their colleagues taking their lunch on the open plain, with lookouts posted to all sides. Marcus dismounted, summoning Double-Pay Silus with a quick gesture. The cavalryman walked briskly over to him and saluted crisply, his face expressionless, and Marcus took a deep breath before speaking.
‘My apologies, Double-Pay, I’ve been in a foul mood ever since my closest friend in all the world was killed yesterday, and I’ve been taking it out on you. We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to get along if this strange situation is going to work, so let’s forget this morning and see how the afternoon shapes up, shall we?’
Silus nodded, his face relaxing a fraction.
‘Agreed, Centurion.’
Marcus pulled off his helmet, scratching his head as he spoke, and the double-pay took a bite of the piece of hard bread in his hand, chewing vigorously as he listened.
‘The barbarian we captured back there was a man I knew from another fight, in another place. He told us everything he’d seen in the last day, and part of what he told us was that there’s a large tribal group heading east in front of us. They’re making for a fort on the road to the north.’
Silus looked hard at the centurion, chewing on the bread for a moment before swallowing it.
‘That’d be Alauna. I’ve been there a few times, it’s a big place, built to house several cohorts, so that if the Votadini ever got stroppy with us we could use it as a base from which to put them back in their place. More of a trading centre now, though. It’s got a decent-sized vicus too…’ The two men shared a knowing look. ‘… which would make it the perfect place for them to find food, and take their frustrations out on any civilians who haven’t already run for the hills. I’d imagine that a quick attack might find the blue-noses distracted enough to let us get at them before they even realise we’re in the neighbourhood.’
Marcus nodded.
‘Perhaps a careful scout forward would be the best idea? The rest of the squadron could go north to find Decurion Felix, and tell him what we’ve discovered, and perhaps we should send a messenger party to warn the tribune. Shall we go scouting, Double-Pay? I’d imagine that your deputy can manage well enough in your absence?’
Silus smiled happily at the prospect.
‘Yes, sir. Perhaps you and I, Centurion, and a few picked men?’
Having overtaken the straggling Venicones, Tribune Licinius’s men were a good deal more circumspect than they’d been the previous day. Even without their explicit orders to avoid a straight fight, there wasn’t a man in the entire cohort who hadn’t witnessed the fate of those men who had been unwise enough to ride close enough to the tribe’s straggling mass and paid the price for doing so.
The cavalrymen had been horrified by the mutilated bodies of their fellow riders, and the horses that the tribesmen had swiftly and crudely butchered for their meat, and nobody was looking for the same fate either for himself or for the mount that was his closest companion. They rode alongside the warband at an easy pace, those men with bows loosing the occasional arrow in the hope of inflicting a wound that might cause the victim to fall out of the Venicones’ punishing march north, while the rest of the cavalrymen ranged up and down the huge body of men searching for any signs of weakness to exploit. As the morning progressed, and the ground started to slope upwards again, a steady trickle of barbarians lost their painful struggle to keep up with the warband’s main body, no longer able to cope with the pace being set for them, and were swiftly ridden down and speared. Their heads were unceremoniously hacked from their bodies and tied by their hair to the saddles of their killers as bloody trophies of the day’s running battle, before the victorious riders spurred their mounts to rejoin the hunt, driving the warband pitilessly before them. As the morning wore on even the weak autumn sun’s heat became torture for men denied any water since the previous dawn, and the number of tribesmen falling victim to their remorseless hunters grew steadily until most of the horsemen had at least a single head dangling by the hair to bump bloodily against their horses’ flanks.
Marching alongside Drust, his throat so dry that his breath was coming out in harsh panting rasps, Calgus looked across at the grinning horsemen walking their horses less than a hundred paces away on either side of the Venicones.
‘There’s desperation in the air, Drust, I can smell it. And so can you, I’d guess. Any ideas?’
The Venicone king ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground rising before them as they tracked slowly up a broad dry valley.
‘Your men need water, Drust. They’re at the end of their tether for the lack of it. Another hour like this and you’ll have another five hundred dead, and three times as many again before the sun sets. And in the morning you’ll struggle even to get them back on their feet for lack of food.’
Drust turned a baleful eye on his captive, one hand caressing the hilt of his sword.
‘Perhaps I should offer to trade the Romans your head for safe conduct.’
Calgus shrugged, watching a party of horsemen under a snapping dragon banner canter up the length of the warband.
‘There’s your chance, then. That’ll be their tribune, mounted on that grey horse with the rather fetching armour. Why don’t you call out and see if he’ll bargain with you? I’d imagine you’ll get a short reply, though. He’s got you by the balls, and I’m pretty sure he’s only wondering whether he can manage to have your head tied to his saddle horns without another night in the field.’ He ignored Drust’s tightly clamped jaw and continued. ‘See how there are twice as many horsemen to your left as to your right? There’s a reason for that, Drust, and that reason is that since those bastards know this ground like the back of their hands they want to keep you away from something.’
Drust raised an eyebrow, too weary to ask the question. Calgus grinned triumphantly, knowing that he held an advantage over the Venicone king.
‘Water, Drust. Water and, although they don’t know it, food too. Yes, I thought that might get your atten-’
His words were choked off as the Venicone leader took him by the throat, almost unable to draw breath past the pinching hold of Drust’s fingers on his windpipe.
‘Food, Drust… enough for… every man… still standing…’
The other man pulled him close, snarling into his face.
‘Where?!’
Calgus shook his head, a feral grin showing his teeth despite the burning pain in his lungs.
‘Fuck you… kill me… and you die too…’
Drust pushed him away, drawing his hunting knife and putting the point to Calgus’s throat. His voice was level again, the anger burned out by the truth of the other man’s words.
‘What food?’
Calgus shook his head, laughing despite the blade’s cold point pricking at the stubble lining his throat, and the coughs racking his body.
‘Put the sword away… If you were going to kill me… you would already have pinched my life out.’ He hacked
