“Your people don’t have time to packup their belongings and get far enough away from Petuar to avoidrunning the risk of the Brigantes falling on them.” I turned tolook Ivomagus in the eye. “Would you agree with that?”
He did not answer immediately, but I saw inhis face he knew I was right—he just did not want to admit it—andfinally, he gave a slight nod.
“Yes, Centurion, I wouldagree.”
“That’s why I have an idea,” Ibegan.
He listened, and while I saw he wassurprised, he neither fought it nor dismissed it.
In fact, once I was through, he stroked hismustache, which I had observed was a habit of his, before hefinally said, “That could work, Centurion.”
I had to stifle my sigh of relief, notwanting to run the risk of him becoming irritated or slighted insome way.
“Then we should get started,” was allI said, and he nodded.
It has been the practice of theLegions of Rome for as long as anyone can remember that when aLegion, Cohort, or in our case, two understrength Centuries buildsa marching camp, before they resume the march, either the next day,days, or weeks later, that they destroy it by burning whateverwooden structures have been constructed and fill the ditch in. Thishad not happened when Saloninus departed, and it was our camp thatformed the central part of my plan. It was not large enough to holdthe entire civilian populace of Petuar, of course, but if we packedthem together so closely that they barely had room to turn about,the women, children, and the old people of the town would fitinside the dirt walls of our camp. This was my hope anyway, andthanks to the gods, it was confirmed once Ivomagus, with the helpof the warriors present, essentially herded them out of the town,down the road, and into the camp. I was still mounted on the bay,but I had positioned myself just to the side of thePorta Praetoria, trying to appear asif it was a complete accident. Bronwen was easy to spot because ofher hair, standing out among the brown, black, and occasional headof blonde hair of the crowd being hurried along. Once they wereclose enough, I began cursing because I had specifically toldIvomagus that in order to have as much room as possible, they couldnot bring anything with them. Which meant, of course, every singleperson I could see, no matter their age, was carrying somethingwith them, and the children seemed to be the most heavily laden ofthe bunch, some of them with what looked like a wooden box strappedto their backs.
Seeing me, Ivomagus came ahead at the trot,but before I could say anything, he held up a hand, and he saidapologetically, “I know, Centurion. They were not supposed to bringanything with them, but this was the only way we could get them toagree to come.”
As soon as he said it, I realized I shouldhave thought of this, thinking how the women of my rankers wouldreact to a sudden order to leave their homes and told to leaveeverything behind.
“Well,” I sighed, “they may have to beholding their baggage in their laps or sitting on it. And,” I feltawkward for saying it, “you did the right thing, Ivomagus. Arguingwith them would have wasted time, and they wouldn’t have comewithout,” I waved a disgusted hand, “whatever they’recarrying.”
Now that the swiftest of this group,not surprisingly the older children, who, to my eye, appeared to bemore excited than scared, were almost to the Porta Praetoria, Ivomagus ordered a half-dozenof his warriors to dismount to lead the first arrivals into thecamp. I had entered the camp while I was waiting, and I was quitepleased with what I saw; the men had left nothing behind, and theonly way you could tell we had been there was the rectangles ofbeaten grass where the men had slept inside their tents. Once I sawthe size of the crowd, while it would be tight, I knew that wecould fit the townspeople inside the dirt walls. The only thingthat had yet to be decided was how many men Ivomagus would agree todefend it, and I suspected that the numbers we had in mind differedgreatly. It was as I thought about this that Bronwen, who wasroughly in the middle of the stream of people, reached thePorta Praetoria, and I swung off thebay to greet her.
“Why aren’t you carrying anything?” Iasked her, the first thing I had noticed. “Everyone elseis.”
She seemed surprised, although I did notknow whether it was the question, or that this was how I greetedher.
“We were told not to,” she replied, asif this were a ridiculous question.
I grinned down at her, joking, “You’d make agood Legionary following orders like that. But,” something occurredto me, but I was not sure how to phrase it, “given the kindof…merchandise you and your father sell, you’re running a terriblerisk leaving it behind, aren’t you?”
She surprised me, greatly, when she lookedup at me and replied, “I do not believe so. I saw that you arehelping Ivomagus to defend Petuar, so I think our goods areperfectly safe.” Shrugging, she finished with what sounded likeresignation, “Besides, soon it will not be my problem anymore.”
It took me a moment for the meaning,the real meaning of herstatement to sink in, and in truth, it was my stomach that signaledthe answer before my mind could comprehend, as it seemed to turnover inside me.
“So,” I said, “you knowabout…”
My voice trailed off, and she gave me a lookof bitter amusement as she finished, “That my father has sold meoff to Berdic? Yes.” Suddenly, she looked away, staring off in thedirection of the hall. “I was informed by Ivomagus two daysago.”
“If you want, I can kill Berdic foryou,” I
