weapons, their death agonies apparent from their contorted bodies. A variety of offerings were hanging from hooks carved into the stone, and amongst their clutter he saw something that made him frown momentarily with a spark of recognition, even though he was unable to put a finger on what it was. Mistaking the frown for disapproval Obduro spoke, a mocking note in his voice.
‘This captive finds our altar distasteful, my brothers, although I can’t think why.’ His voice rang out across the silent camp, and the men gathered around them hissed their disapproval. Their leader half turned to the stone slab, waving a hand at its decorations. ‘See the fine carvings that illustrate our devotion to the goddess!’
Marcus nodded.
‘I’ve seen the artist’s work before, I believe. It’s certainly of a high quality. Which makes it a shame to cover so much of it with this… ephemera.’
The bandit leader turned back, shaking his helmeted head as if in sorrow.
‘Each item here belonged to a man who met his fate on this altar, his blood drained and collected for our ceremonies. We keep them to remind us of their sacrifices.’
Marcus looked closer at the stone slab, seeing for the first time that it was covered in an intricate pattern of grooves that resolved into a number of deeper channels, which in turn merged to end at a single lip at the altar’s edge. He raised an eyebrow at the bandit leader.
‘I thought that the blood sacrifice had been stamped out across the empire.’
Obduro stepped forward, putting a hand on Marcus’s chin and lifting his head to expose the skin of his throat.
‘You have the look of a man who would bleed well for us, Valerius Aquila. You may be under my protection, but any word that besmirches our goddess would leave me no choice but to add the strength of your life to ours, and your body to the bone pit.’
Marcus kept his face devoid of expression.
‘I meant no disrespect to your goddess. Her powers were demonstrated to me all too well yesterday. I was simply surprised to find that the practice has survived.’
Obduro snorted with laughter, releasing his grip on his captive’s face.
‘How very Roman of you! Your empire declares a thing to be forbidden, and we savages are expected to change the ways that have served us well for as long as we can recall. We never stopped the practice, Centurion, we simply moved it to places where the empire wouldn’t be troubled by it! And where there will never be any danger of the empire intruding upon our privacy. For as you can see, Valerius Aquila, we are more than ready for any attempt to dislodge us from this hilltop. Our palisade is twenty feet tall, but each log is also buried ten feet deep in the earth, and they are secured to each other by cross beams and good strong Roman nails taken from the convoys that supply the army on the Rhenus. A legion’s catapult would struggle to make much of an impression on walls that thick, even if such a burden could be dragged through the forest and up this hill. Our gate has inner and outer doors, and any force that managed to open the outer gate would pay a heavy price for the pleasure of facing the thick wood behind it. You will not see the slopes around this fortress, since you will be leaving us as blind as when you arrived, but I can assure you that no aspect of modern siege warfare has been overlooked in our preparation to resist any attack by the forces that would dearly like to end our independence from your subjugation.’
Marcus realised that the bandit leader was speaking as much to his own men as to his captive, and he looked about with a genuine interest. When he spoke, he pitched his voice low and soft, forcing Obduro to lean closer to hear his words, momentarily blocking the sunlight that was making the Roman squint at him through half-closed eyes.
‘I’ve seen stronger walls fall.’
Obduro leaned back, a chuckle rattling out from behind the shining mask.
‘I’m sure you have, Centurion, but I’d bet good money that they fell with the assistance of a push from inside, eh? No man here would be foolish enough to consider such betrayal, not given his likely swift reward by wood and nails once the fight was over. I believe the penalty for brigandage is still prompt execution, carried out without exception?’
He turned to the encircling warriors, raising his voice to be heard.
‘The centurion here believes these walls can be toppled, but I think we know the truth of the matter, you men and I. First they have to find us. Then they have to reach this hill in a fit condition to fight. And then they have to batter in our gates, or come over our walls, and do so in the teeth of our resistance. And our teeth are very sharp! The goddess clearly favours us, as she demonstrated yesterday as soon as the first of the unbelievers set foot in the forest. We are too well hidden, too well protected, and too well defended for their efforts to end in anything other than slaughter and defeat.’ The bandits stood in silence, their gazes locked on Marcus, and Obduro turned back to face him. ‘Let us get to the point, shall we? I spared you, Valerius Aquila, in the hope that you will choose to join with us against a common enemy. You have suffered as great an injustice as any man here, and I would be honoured to have you stand alongside me. What is your answer?’
Marcus shook his head with an expression of polite regret, wondering as he did so how the apparently ruthless bandit leader might react to his rejection.
‘Thank you for your offer. I am, however, forced to decline your generosity. I cannot accept the offer of service against my own people.’ He paused for a moment, compelled to shoot a glance at Obduro’s shining face mask despite the futility of seeking any reaction. ‘I still serve the empire.’
Obduro turned away, shaking his helmeted head in disappointment.
‘A shame. I had hopes of you, Valerius Aquila. No matter, you can still serve as a messenger. So take this message back to Tungrorum! Your spears may have done for every other bandit in this entire province, but it would take a legion and more to dig us out of this place, and even then at a grievous cost in dead soldiers. And before I have you escorted to the edge of the forest, let me show you one more thing. Bring me his weapons!’ A man came forward with Marcus’s swords, and Obduro waited while he strapped the belt about him and hung the weapons’ baldricks over his shoulders. ‘You have a long sword of local manufacture, I hear, a fine weapon for which you paid a high price. May I see it?’
Marcus drew the pattern-welded spatha, conscious of the spear points waiting within inches of his back, and handed it hilt first to Obduro. The bandit leader tested the weapon’s balance and peered closely at its dappled blade, nodding his appreciation.
‘A fine weapon indeed, and worth every moment of the smith’s labour. I would call it the finest sword I had ever seen, were it not in the shadow of this…’ He handed Marcus the spatha and waited until it was sheathed, then drew his own blade and presented the hilt to his captive. ‘Be mindful that my men will kill you if you so much as look at me in the wrong way while you hold this weapon. They have seen the havoc that it can wreak upon the best- armed men.’
Marcus gingerly accepted the sword, holding it with one hand on the hilt and the blade resting across his arm, admiring the workmanship but frowning at the weapon’s metal, a darker shade of grey than any sword he had seen previously, its entire length dappled with a pattern so dark as to be almost black. Obduro chuckled.
‘Let me spare you the trouble of asking the question. You look at the sword and you wonder from what manner of iron it has been wrought. The answer is that even I do not know for certain, although the man from whom I took it boasted that it had been forged in Damascus, in the distant east, with iron brought along trade routes which run far beyond the empire’s frontiers. He called it his “Leopard Sword”, and claimed that it had magical properties bestowed upon it by the gods.’ The masked man laughed darkly. ‘As to whether it is so blessed is not clear to me, but whatever divine properties it may possess clearly did not extend to the man from whom I took it. Such a blade may make an expert swordsman unassailable, but he was nothing of the sort. But in the hands of a master, like myself…’
He held out a hand for the weapon, and Marcus handed it back to him with a final long stare at the marvellously patterned blade. Wielding the sword with a flourish, Obduro called out a command to his men, three of whom stepped forward to face him with their shields raised, drawing their swords and slapping the blades against the brass shield edgings in a challenge to fight. Reaching out to take a small round shield the bandit leader sidestepped towards his practice partners, allowing them to edge around him until he was surrounded on three sides. Speaking over his shoulder to Marcus he hefted the sword, ready to fight.
‘Even the best swordsman would consider this situation a challenge worthy of his years of practice, but even now this blade gives me such an unfair advantage that were this a real fight these men would already be standing
