up a lump of phlegm, spitting it on to the turf at the other man’s feet and sucking in a great draught of air before speaking again, his words acerbic in their new-found confidence. ‘I’m not quite the fool you take me for, Drust. I knew that I might have to fall back to the north, and so I concealed enough meat in a location close to here for ten thousand warriors to fill their bellies three times over. Whole oxen, Drust, dozens of them. Butchered, salted, and wrapped in enough cloth to keep the worms out, and that was less than ten days ago…’ He paused, looking at the expression on Drust’s face. ‘And so the question, great king of the Venicones, is just what a belly full of meat for every man of your warband might be worth to you? And while you’re thinking about that, just ponder what you’d give for a good strong stone wall between you and those horse-fucking bastards tonight.’
Drust stared at him without expression.
‘You’ve already given me enough to tell me that I should drive my men to the west, and that I’m looking for a Roman fort that you’ve already conquered. What more do I need?’
Calgus smiled quietly, concentrating on putting one leg in front of the other.
‘I’m sure you’re right. We’re only ten miles from the place I’ve got in mind, so why don’t you just blunder about the hills hoping to stumble across the exact spot, eh? I’ll tell you what, why don’t you just stop wasting time on me, and get on with leading your men to the right place. Feel free to come back for another chat if the need arises.’
He watched silently as the Venicone warlord turned away. Drust cursed quietly, looking about him at the cavalrymen walking their horses patiently on every side, their spearheads glinting in the sunshine. He shook his head, then turned back to his prisoner.
‘Very well! What do you want, Calgus? Stop playing with me before I lose my patience!’
Calgus met his angry glare with a level stare.
‘What do I want, in return for stone walls to allow your men to sleep without fear of sneak attacks, that and a belly full of meat? When your alternative is for those bastards to keep right on chopping your tribe up one man at a time, today, and tomorrow, and for as long as it takes them to run your last men into the ground? Let me think.’ He put a hand to his chin, pretending to consider the question for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what I want, Drust. I want to be a guest of the Venicones, an honoured ally, rather than a prisoner under threat of having my head handed to the Romans. That, and your sworn oath that my place with your people is safe for as long as I like. Either you guarantee my safety, and swear on something I can believe in, or I’ll leave you to blunder round this country until you’ve all succumbed to your hunger and their spears. Those cavalrymen won’t be going hungry tonight, they’ll already have riders out hunting down game and collecting water, and their field supplies will be following close behind. They’ll sleep a few miles away, where their camp fires won’t be visible to you, and in the morning they’ll find you again and keep on killing every man that falls out of the march. Best you choose now, Drust, while there’s still time to make it to my refuge before darkness.’
After the midday meal Marcus’s scouting party rode steadily away from the rest of the squadron, heading east in the direction that Lugos had indicated as the path taken by the tribal band from which he’d managed to escape. Looking to his left from the height of his horse’s saddle, Marcus could see the distant figures of the rest of the squadron scouting away to the north, less the message riders he’d sent back to warn Decurion Felix of the warband’s likely presence in Alauna.
The half-dozen men trotted their mounts along with each man set to watch an arc of terrain to ensure continual vigilance in all directions, and they rode in silence for the most part, still conscious of the clash of wills between their officers earlier in the day. After an hour or so Double-Pay Silus whistled softly, pointing at the ground before them with his spear.
‘Tracks. Lots of boots.’
Marcus stopped his mount to look at the focus of his deputy’s attention. The ground before them was thick with the imprints of the tribesmen’s rough leather boots; every one pointed east.
‘Any idea how long ago they passed?’
Silus shook his head with a faint smile.
‘Could have been any time in the last few days, this ground’s been damp enough to hold a mark for weeks now…’
Arminius dropped his bulk from Colossus, squatting to poke an exploratory finger into one of the bootprints.
‘These prints are new, less than a day old. See the sharp edges? I’d say these are the men we’re looking for. They were in a hurry too, the stride length tells me that they were running.’
Marcus looked about him before turning back to Silus.
‘I think we should concentrate our attention on the front now. How far from the fort are we, do you think?’
‘No more than five miles. We could work our way round to the north-east, there’s a nice thick wood on a hill that’ll hide us from anyone watching from the fort’s walls. That’s where I told Decurion Felix that we should regroup.’
Another hour’s careful approach brought them within sight of the fortress town, its walls and gates apparently still intact. Leaving the rest of the party to wait in a thick copse of oaks, Marcus, Arminius and the double-pay slid quietly through the trees until they had a clear view of the settlement. Silus shook his head unhappily, staring at the fort’s thick stone wall that loomed over the vicus’s houses and shops, clustered around its sturdy main gate.
‘If they realise we’re out here, all they’ve got to do is stay in there with the gates shut, and we’ll be reduced to starving them out.’
Marcus stared intently at the walls, searching for any sign of life.
‘They might already have been and gone.’
Silus shook his head with the certainty of experience.
‘Not likely. There’d be some movement in the vicus if they’d already pushed off, even if it was only a few survivors. As it is I’d imagine that they’re busy drinking themselves stupid and screwing the arse off anyone who was stupid enough not to have run while the going was good. There’ll have been more than a few of those poor bastards that reckoned it was a better gamble to stay with their homes and businesses.’
Marcus looked up at the sky.
‘It’ll be dark before we can get the infantry here, but we could at least make sure that Tribune Scaurus knows what’s going on, and work out what to do tomorrow. You stay here, and make sure that Felix keeps his men out of sight when they turn up, and I’ll head back down the road until I find the detachment. Come on, Arminius.’
‘Gods below, what are they up to now?’
Tribune Licinius watched with disquiet as the Venicones veered from their steady march northwards, the warriors at the warband’s head turning their path almost to the west in the space of a few seconds. The decurion alongside him shook his head in disgust.
‘They’re making for the bridge over the River Tefi, sir! Either they’ve been biding their time, or someone inside that bloody nest of rats has grown a brain.’
Licinius stared at the mass of warriors, his mind racing.
‘Yesterday I wondered if I’d seen Calgus in their ranks. And today a body of men that has to date acted without any sign of understanding the ground they’re stamping under their feet is suddenly making moves that look suspiciously as if they know where they’re going. I wonder
…’ Shaking his head decisively, he turned to his first spear. ‘Well, we’re not just going to sit here and watch them dig their way out of this hole, not after all the effort we’ve spent pushing them into it. Send three squadrons forward to gather firewood and prepare the bridge over the Tefi for burning if they get within a mile of it. I’d rather have to rebuild the bloody thing than watch them make their escape over it and then put it to the torch to stop us from following.’
The decurion saluted and turned away to issue his tribune’s orders, and Licinius glanced over his shoulder, searching for the handful of men that were never far from his side, waiting their turn to carry his words across the empty landscape.
‘Messenger!’
The warband seemed to be moving faster than had been the case during the long weary morning, as if some fresh purpose were invigorating the warriors, urging them to accelerate their pace across the rolling ground between them and the river. They surged forward, passing the burned-out wreck of Yew Tree Fort and splashing
