walls, half a dozen men slipped quietly through the fort’s north gate, on the side facing away from the Roman camp. Their faces were darkened with mud, and their swords were strapped to their backs to leave both hands free without the risk of a scabbard catching on a rock or tree, and betraying them with unexpected noise. Moving slowly and silently, they eased around the fort’s walls until they reached the southwest corner, pausing for a moment to get their bearings under the night sky’s diamond-strewn vault before loping away towards the nearest of the three massive hills that stood guard over the Roman outpost.
Calgus ran with them, dragging the cold night air into his lungs with the delight of a man who had stood close to death only a day before. Drust had acceded to his suggestion that his local knowledge would be invaluable to the raiders with some reluctance, but had seen little choice once he realised the importance to Calgus’s tribe of the mountains towering over their refuge.
‘The hill closest to these walls was the Selgovae’s tribal capital, Drust, before the Romans ever set foot on this land, and I know it as well as I know the lines on the back of my own hand. Allow me to guide the raiding party and I will take them around to the far side of the enemy camp, where the cavalrymen will walk without fear of attack behind the wall of their spears. I am your best hope of this night resulting in the capture of a suitable subject for our questions, rather than the loss of half a dozen of your men to no effect.’
The small party crossed the open space between the shattered fort and the hill’s ancient and deserted settlement at a steady pace, every man alert to any sign of a Roman patrol, or for any hint that they might be the hunted rather than the hunters, but they reached the slopes of the northernmost of the three hills without either incident or alarm. Calgus took the lead, keeping their path close to the settlement’s rotting wooden palisade in order to make the best use of its looming moon shadow, padding carefully through the darkness with one eye to the east where the Petriana wing’s camp had been thrown up that afternoon. The Roman watch fires lit the camp’s earth walls perfectly when seen from the hill’s elevated perspective, and Calgus stopped the raiding party to point out in whispered tones the side from which he intended making their approach.
‘You see, to their north they have men patrolling every fifty paces, all watching the men to either side? To attempt abduction there is to cut our own throats, they’ll have a hundred men on top of us in no time. To the south, though…’
The Venicone warriors gathered around him followed his pointing arm. The camp’s southern face was far less well guarded, with only the occasional patrolling soldier to be seen.
‘We circle round to the place where the shadows lie deepest, and then we set up a lure and wait for a Roman to take the bait that we offer. I know these men, and the way they think, and I know how to bring one of them to us in complete silence for the sake of his own greed. Follow me.’
Centurion Cyrus stood in the knot of men facing Tribune Licinius as the Petriana’s commander addressed them in the torchlit area in front of his command tent.
‘It may be time to face the facts, gentlemen. The Venicones have wriggled out of the trap we set for them, with the aid of that devious bugger Calgus, and now they sit pretty behind walls that used to be our stronghold, with food and water enough to see them through tomorrow from the looks of it. They could hold Three Mountains against a force three times our strength without breaking sweat, and they may well be capable of outlasting us here. So, we can stay camped here and keep them bottled up in the fort, until the time comes for them to drive for the north again, or we can leave them to it and head south to join the rest of the army in putting down the Brigantes. I suspect that the latter choice might well be a good deal more satisfying than sitting here waiting for the buggers to do something.’ He looked around the twenty or so decurions gathered about him, spreading his hands in invitation. ‘Any views, gentlemen, before I make the decision?’
One of the more headstrong decurions spoke out quickly, hardly waiting for the sound of his tribune’s voice to die away.
‘They’ve killed more than enough of our men. I say we stay with the bastards to the end, until they fall to their knees with hunger and pray for a quick death!’
A few other members of the group nodded, although Licinius could see a larger number whose faces were creased in frowns. He raised a hand to the most influential of them, inviting him to speak.
‘Titus?’
The decurion in question, a good ten years older than the first speaker, stepped forward a pace and looked about his brother officers with a hard stare.
‘I say we leave these dunghill vermin to fester in their own shit. They are too many for us to take unaided, they mean nothing now that they seek only to run for the safety of their own land, and we can only throw more men after those we’ve already lost if we seek to pursue them further. To the south our own people may be in peril from the Brigantes, and my choice would be to ride to their aid, rather than to sit here watching these tattooed animals thumb their noses at us.’
He stepped back, his face flushed red with the unaccustomed attention, and a number of the older officers nodded and spoke quiet encouragement to him. Licinius opened his mouth to speak, but the words died as a third officer raised his hand to speak, waiting until his tribune had gestured for him to continue.
‘Cyrus?’
The man stepped forward, pushing through the throng of his brother officers into the torchlight.
‘Tribune, I say we have a third choice. Yes, we can ride to the south and war with the Brigantes, or stay here and ride herd on this rabble a while longer. Or we could, should we choose to do so, head to the north-east, and provide support to our brothers who have ridden with the Tungrians…’ Licinius’s eyes widened slightly with surprise, unclear as to what motivation the officer speaking might possibly have. ‘… After all, they’ve been sent north to liberate the Votadini tribal capital with barely sufficient strength for the task, and our speed and spears would doubtless be highly valued by their officers.’
The men around him were clearly equally as surprised as their tribune, and a moment of astonished silence hung over the group before Licinius spoke again, a faint smile gracing his face.
‘So, gentlemen, we could stay here and hope to catch the Venicones in some error, or we could go south to a fight we know is even now raging across the northern frontier. And yes, we could even ride to aid the Tungrians in the liberation of the Dinpaladyr. Since there’s no clear opinion in the room to which we can all cleave, I will consider the question overnight and tell you my opinion in the morning. Thank you and dismissed. Decurion Cyrus, a word, if you will?’
The tribune waited until the other officers had all left before speaking again, walking across to stand close to Cyrus, his voice kept low to ensure that his words remained between them.
‘I would have found the words “Support our brothers the Tungrians” a little hard to swallow coming from almost any of my officers, but to hear them coming from you was downright amazing. Have you been at the Falernian? Or is there some other piece of information you might like to share with me?’
The decurion kept his face imperturbable, shaking his head in response to the question. His answer was delivered in stiff, formal tones, his gaze locked on the tent’s canvas wall.
‘No, sir. I’m simply aware that there’s a third of our strength out there to the north-east with the infantry, and since we’re here anyway…’
Licinius held his questioning gaze for several seconds before turning away.
‘And you’d be sure to tell me if there were anything you felt I needed to know?’
His subordinate nodded firmly.
‘Of course, sir.’
The tribune walked around him slowly, his eyes fixed on the other man.
‘Good. It’s just that I still have the feeling that there’s something I’m missing here, some reason why you’d want me to march the wing to join the Tungrians. And with your reputation for being a man of substance, a man with an eye to the main chance…’
He stopped in front of Cyrus, looking him up and down.
‘One last chance, Decurion, and with no disrespect to your previous answers which I will happily overlook on this occasion should you choose to change your story. You really have nothing more to tell me?’
The decurion simply shook his head, never meeting his superior’s gaze.
‘Very well, off you go. Just bear in mind the way I’m likely to react if I discover that you’ve been keeping anything from me.’
Calgus led the Venicone warriors silently round to the Petriana camp’s southern side, keeping to the darkest shadows and moving with a slow, cautious stealth calculated to avoid their being detected by any listening patrols
