The soldiers stripped with the usual bathhouse ribaldry, albeit muted both by their circumstances and the admonishments of their decurion.
‘Right, here we go. Stand by your animal’s head and take a good firm grip of the reins. Walk the beast in and start swimming, and they will follow you. They might not enjoy it all that much, but every horse here knows how to swim. Just keep your arms and legs well clear of theirs, because there’s only one of you that will win if you get tangled and it isn’t going to be any of you girls. When you get to the far side keep your fucking voices down, and we’ll have no squealing or shouting out how cold it is when you get in, you’ll soon warm up with the effort of the swim. On the far bank get your sword drawn before you worry about getting dry and keep a tight grip on your horse once you’ve got your feet back on dry land, because some of them are going to be more than a bit pissed off at being made to do this. Now follow me…’
He strode forward into the river, walking into the chilly water without hesitation, and sliding his body into the horizontal position almost noiselessly, breaststroking out into the stream with his horse swimming alongside him happily enough. Marcus waded in behind him, and was surprised to find the animal’s flanks shivering as he put his hoofs into the water. The big grey tugged against his reins without any real force, but strongly enough to indicate his discomfort. Pulling at the reins with a gentle insistence, Marcus led the animal into the deeper water, breathing in sharply as the cold water reached his groin, then pushed himself forward into the water and started swimming for the far bank, still lost in the mist. The horse surrendered to its rider’s unspoken command and started swimming, surging up out of the water and then easing back into it alternately in a porpoising motion, his eyes rolling and his teeth bared at the unfamiliar sensation. Finding that the horse was starting to outpace him, Marcus waited for one of the animal’s plunges back into the water and slipped a leg over his back, thanking providence that he had tied his spear and shield to the other flank. If the extra weight troubled the horse there was no sign, and freed of the need to keep pace with his rider, he forged through the water faster than before, passing Silus’s mount in less than a minute. The river’s northern bank loomed out of the fog more quickly than Marcus had expected, and getting a glimpse of dry land was enough to spur the animal to one last great effort. Horse and rider staggered ashore untidily, and Marcus slipped from his mount’s back with his gladius drawn and ready to fight, despite the shivers racking his body with reexposure to the cold air. Silus staggered ashore behind him, his sword already drawn and his body blue. His voice stuttered with the cold air’s grip on his body, his lungs panting for breath.
‘S-s-see? N-n-nothing t-to it…’
Another horseman wearily climbed the bank behind him, and the decurion pointed to the left.
‘Ten paces that way, then dry off with your blanket and get your kit on. I want you ready to fight.’
Qadir waded out of the water next, the chestnut mare calm under his touch, and Silus raised a disgusted eyebrow.
‘There’s no justice. Not only the best horseman I’ve met in this whole bloody country, but his bloody manhood’s still dragging in the water.’
The Hamian shook his head and hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
‘If you want to be truly scared, take a look at that. Why do you think I was swimming so quickly?’
Both the officers looked past him, to see the impressive shape of Arminius as he waded out of the river. Silus shook his head slowly.
‘Gods below…’
The German smiled complacently as he walked past them, and Silus pointed out into the fog still wreathing the riverbank.
‘Get your sword out, bugger off into the mist and get that thing covered up.’
The squadron came ashore in ones and twos, until every man was accounted for and dry enough to put on their armour. The mist persisted, although it seemed to Marcus that it was thinning slightly as the sun climbed away from the eastern horizon, a slightly brighter spot in the grey. Silus cast a critical eye at the ascending spot of light, nodding decisively.
‘This lot will have burned off in an hour or so, so mount up and follow me. I want to be safe on the far side of the hill before it clears, and out of sight of anyone looking out for us.
They rode carefully across the grassy expanse, at one point scattering a flock of sheep that was grazing in their path. Marcus looked around for any sign of their herder, tightening a hand on the hilt of his sword even as he wondered whether he could kill an innocent to maintain the secrecy of their task, but the running sheep were swallowed by the mist without any sign of their keeper.
‘He’s probably still asleep.’
He looked around to find Qadir at his shoulder, the chestnut trotting easily with the last of the river’s moisture steaming off her body.
‘It’s his lucky day, then.’
The Hamian raised an eyebrow.
‘And you could have put an innocent sheep herder to the sword?’
The Roman shook his head indecisively.
‘I don’t know… but I suspect our new decurion could.’
Qadir nodded knowingly.
‘I think the word you’re looking for is “pragmatist”. And I suspect we’re all going to have to stretch our principles if we’re going to release the Votadini from their new rulers.’
Excingus woke Felicia with a gentle shake in the dawn’s first light, wrinkling his nose and pointing at the stream by which the small detachment was camped.
‘You smell, my dear, like a polecat. Come on, let’s get you into the water and make you bearable for the rest of the day.’
She shook her head, painfully aware of the knife still tied to her thigh and certain to be discovered if she were forced to disrobe in front of the guardsmen.
‘If you think I’m going to take my clothes off in front of these men…’
The legion soldier who Felicia had caught staring at her several times the previous day stood up from his place by the fire and ran his eyes up and down her body, the insolent smile playing across his lips in direct contradiction to his cold stare. Alongside him Rapax looked up from his breakfast and shook his head with a snort of amusement.
‘Steady, Maximus, recall what I said to you and you might still be breathing by sunset. As for you, madam, go and have a wash before I come over there and throw you into the water. My colleague isn’t going to give you any problems, he’s not that way inclined. You’ve got more chance of persuading a sausage to stand up than you have of getting a twitch out of his wrinkle stick.’
She glared at the praetorian for a moment before standing, feeling the knife’s hard length against her flesh and thinking quickly. Excingus led her up the riverbank, away from the small camp’s bustle and into the trees that lined the stream’s banks until they reached a small pool. He pointed impatiently at the water, clearly not willing to walk any farther.
‘Get your clothes off and wash here.’ Felicia submitted with a show of meekness, pulling off her stola, folding it up and putting it down on the grass, then removed her boots and turned to the waiting corn officer.
‘Centurion, please could you give me a little privacy? I’m un -happy enough given my circumstances, without having you stare at me like a slave in the market.’
Excingus shrugged, spreading his hands wide.
‘Didn’t you hear my colleague? I, madam, regard the prospect of your naked body with all the anticipation I would normally reserve for looking at that tree.’ He sighed, shaking his head slightly, then turned away, speaking to the foliage in front of him. ‘Very well, you have your modesty, for now at least, although you must realise that it will be cruelly torn away from you when the time comes? Rapax will protect you until then, to keep you unsullied until the right moment, but he’ll be quite merciless once your Aquila boy is within earshot. Speaking of your boyfriend, I’d be curious to know how the two of you ended up together. Weren’t you the wife of a senior officer?’
Felicia worked quickly as she replied, keeping her voice level to avoid exciting his suspicions.
‘If you want to know about my former husband, the story’s quite simple. He was a brutal man, and no stranger to the idea of rape when he felt like it. He used to say it was just “spicing things up”.’ She unstrapped the knife from her thigh and dropped it into one of her boots before pulling off her tunic and stepping into the pool, gasping at the water’s cold. ‘He used to tell me he knew I enjoyed it once he had me helpless on my back, or pinned face down across a table with a handful of my hair to keep me there. He was a monster, pure and simple.’
