slipped on the damp wood and his groin settled again on the point with a horrible sucking creak and he let out a moan. Then Cato understood. He was not trying to get himself off the stake, only hoping to put an end to his agonies by driving the point further into his vital organs. Cato felt his stomach knot tightly in disgust and nausea. He opened his mouth, ready to order Macro to put the Silurian out of his misery, but then stopped himself. If that was his wish, then he had no right to force it on his friend. Cato gritted his teeth and drew his sword. Hesitating briefly, he steeled himself to the task and then stepped forward and raised the point until it touched the bare flesh of the man, just below his ribcage. The Silurian’s eyes opened wide and he glanced at Macro before fixing his gaze on Cato below him. The eyes were a piercing blue, Cato noted, desperately trying to focus his attention away from other details.
The Silurian mumbled something between his cracked lips, softly spoken words, in a pleading tone, and then he nodded and winced at the terrible pain that even such a slight movement caused him.
Bunching his muscle, and drawing the sword back a short distance, Cato punched it up through the soft skin, under the ribs, until the point fetched up against bone. The Silurian flung his head back and let out a sharp gasp. His body tensed as Cato twisted the blade, left and right, and then ripped it free. A rush of blood followed the blade and spattered down on to the ground below the stake, where a barely visible curl of steam licked into the air. The Silurian began to tremble violently and his breathing came in snatched, ragged gasps, growing weaker all the time until at length his body went limp and his head slumped down on his breast. The body hung in the cold air like a side of meat in a butcher’s shop. Cato fought to keep his expression neutral as he bent down to wipe the blade clean on a tussock of grass. He removed as much of the blood as he could before straightening up and thrusting his sword back into its scabbard with a sharp snap. He looked round to see the other men watching him.
‘We’re finished here. Time to move on.’
There was a pause before Trebellius cleared his throat. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but this is where my men and I turn back.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘This is where the valley starts, sir. Like you said yourself, these bodies mark the turf controlled by the fort. You’ll be safe until you reach your new command now.’
Cato stared at the decurion and saw that he was doing a poor job of disguising his fear.
‘You may be right, but I would prefer it if you and your men escorted us to within sight of the fort before leaving us. Just so that you can report back to the legate that we arrived in one piece and didn’t disappear somewhere along the route. If you understand me.’
Trebellius nodded slowly. ‘I understand, sir. But, as I said, I’m turning back.’
This was too much for Macro who turned on the decurion with a ferocious glare. ‘Abandoning us, more like. You coward! What are you afraid of?’ Macro gestured to the bodies hanging on the stakes. ‘You think these cunts are going to jump down and give you a good hiding? Trebellius, for the gods’ sake, grow a pair!’
The decurion gritted his teeth and answered in a cold, flat tone. ‘I ain’t a coward. I’ve been fighting on this cursed island for the last eight years, like most of my men here. I’ve got five years to go before my discharge. So I obey my orders, to the letter. And my orders say for me and my men to escort you and the prefect to this valley. That we’ve done.’
‘Then I’m giving you new orders,’ Cato interrupted. ‘I’m ordering you to escort us to Bruccium.’
The decurion did not reply but stared back defiantly. Cato decided to try another tack. He continued in a more reasonable tone, ‘Look here, Trebellius. You know what’s waiting for you when you return to Glevum. You’ll be held accountable for the loss of your standard back at the outpost. If you stay with us as far as Bruccium, I give you my word that I will put in a good word for you with the legate.’
The decurion considered the offer but shook his head regretfully. ‘Sorry, sir. I am not going on. I doubt any of my lads would want to follow me even if I agreed to do as you ask.’
Cato stared hard at him for a moment, giving him a chance to change his mind, but Trebellius met his gaze steadily and kept his silence. With a sigh of frustration Cato resolved to make one last appeal to discipline. He strode over to his mount, took the reins and swung himself up into the saddle. ‘Now let’s get moving.’
His instruction was met with silence and stillness. Cato felt his pulse quicken and the cool air suddenly seemed colder still. Trebellius met his gaze flatly and his men sat in their saddles waiting to follow his lead.
‘You heard the prefect!’ Macro called out. ‘Form column and prepare to advance!’
‘No. . sir,’ Trebellius responded loudly enough for his men to hear. ‘We take our orders from the legate. Not you. Either of you. Column! About face, and form up!’
‘Oh no you don’t,’ Macro growled as he reached for his sword. There was a soft scrape as the blade began to leave its scabbard.
Cato hurriedly jerked his reins and moved his horse between Macro and the decurion and hissed, ‘Don’t, Macro. Trebellius and his men are terrified. You try and face him down and anything could happen.’
‘But-’
‘Leave it be. That’s an order.’
Macro frowned for an instant and then gave a frustrated shrug and slid his sword back. ‘At least someone is obeying orders around here. .’
They watched as Trebellius and his men hastily formed a column of twos and when they were ready, the decurion turned in his saddle to salute his superiors. ‘You should reach Bruccium before dark. Good luck.’
Cato nodded while Macro clenched his jaw and muttered, ‘And fuck you too.’
Trebellius raised his arm. ‘Column, forwards!’
The riders urged their mounts into a trot and moved off, back up the track through the pass. Soon the last of them had dissolved into the mist and only the sound of the horses’ hoofs carried to Cato and the others for a while longer before there was silence and they were alone. Decimus looked around anxiously, then chewed his lip.
‘What now, sir? It’s not too late to ride after them.’
‘Keep your mind on the reward,’ Cato said gently. He looked at the body of the young Silurian. ‘There’s no point staying here.’
Macro nodded. ‘Conversation’s a bit limited. Just hope we find some live ones soon, and on our side. All this mist and quiet is starting to piss me off.’
Cato smiled. ‘What better reason to get moving?’
He clicked his tongue and steered his horse on to the path, giving the body a wide berth, and Macro and Decimus urged their mounts to fall into place behind the prefect. Decimus tugged on the rope tied to the mules and with a muted bray they followed on. The prisoner mumbled some prayers to his gods as they continued into the mist. The track descended another mile to the valley floor. Gradually the grey shroud began to lift a little and they could make out the loom of the forested slopes on either side. It was Decimus who noticed first, and he used his crop on the mule’s back to urge it closer to the two officers.
‘Sir, there’s someone behind us.’
Cato and Macro slowed to a stop and turned in their saddles. For a moment all three looked back, ears straining. Then Macro sighed heavily.
‘You’re imagining things, Decimus. Your only danger in this place is the prospect of frightening yourself to death.’
Decimus shook his head. ‘Shhh! Just listen.’
‘What do you think you heard?’ asked Cato, after a brief silence.
‘A horse. . Horses. I’m sure of it, sir.’
‘Well, I can’t hear anything.’
‘Like I said,’ Macro sniffed contemptuously, ‘he’s jumping at shadows.’
A faint whinny sounded some distance behind them. All three froze, and Cato felt an icy tingle spread across his scalp.
‘Shadows, eh?’ Decimus muttered. ‘I told you, sir. What do we do? Run for it? Find somewhere to hide? If they catch us, then they’ll be sure to do to us what Quertus did to their mates. Or worse.’
Macro glanced at him and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Worse? I think I must have underestimated your imagination. . Should we turn and face ’em?’
‘No. We’ve no idea of their number. Best to keep moving and let them think we’re not on to them yet.
