‘I’ll take that as a yes, then. Now make yourself comfortable, sir, this is going to hurt.’
Vespasian rested his head back on the blanket and looked up at the almost full moon. Its gentle light spilt through the leafless branches of the trees that lined the riverbank, giving them a silver outline that was filled in from below by the orange flicker of the fire that Marius and Sextus had built up.
Magnus drew his sword and thrust it into the heart of the flames, then he went back to Vespasian and knelt down to examine his right leg in the firelight. The dagger had pierced his calf by about three inches but it was the bronze greave, through which it had passed, that held it tightly in place. Magnus pulled on the handle gently to test the strength of the grip that the bronze had on the iron blade. It seemed to be stuck fast.
‘Owww!’ Vespasian yelled.
‘Sorry, sir, just seeing what needs to be done; one thing I can tell you is that you were very lucky. If you hadn’t been wearing greaves the dagger would have gone straight through your leg and gutted your horse. You would have been arrested and your walking days would have been over; not that you would have had much need for walking with what Sejanus would have had in mind for you.’
Vespasian grimaced. ‘So we’re looking on the bright side, then?’
‘We most certainly are, sir.’ Magnus looked round at Sextus and Marius. ‘Now, lads, this will be a three-man job. Sextus, you hold the greave. Once I’ve pulled the dagger out, yank it off.’
‘Hold it then yank it off – right you are, Magnus,’ Sextus repeated, anxious not to get anything wrong.
‘Marius, as soon as that greave is off, take the sword out of the fire and press the flat tip to the wound until I say stop.’
‘Got you, Magnus,’ Marius said, pleased that he had a onehanded task.
‘All right, sir, we’ll do this very quickly.’ He handed Vespasian an inch-thick stick. ‘Bite on this.’
Vespasian did as he was told and braced himself.
‘It’s best you don’t look, sir. Ready?’ Magnus asked.
Vespasian closed his eyes and nodded.
‘All right, lads,’ Magnus said, putting one foot on Vespasian’s ankle and grasping the dagger’s hilt with both hands. ‘After three. One, two, three.’
Vespasian heard the rasp of metal scraping metal and felt a jolt in his leg, then a blinding flash of pain hit him; it eased slightly as the greave was yanked off, and then it escalated into red-hot agony. The smell of burning flesh hit his nostrils as he passed out.
‘Wake up, sir, we need to be off.’
Vespasian felt himself being pulled out of a dreamless sleep. He opened his eyes; it was still dark. Magnus was kneeling over him shaking his shoulder.
‘How’re you feeling?’
‘Better thank you, Magnus, but my leg is stiff as a board.’ He put his hand gingerly on his wounded calf and felt a rough bandage protecting it. ‘How is it?’ he asked.
‘Not too bad; the burning stopped the bleeding and closed it. We’ve been taking it in turns to piss on it. My grandmother always did that if she couldn’t find any vinegar.’
Vespasian’s face wrinkled. ‘I’m sure that with the amount that you all drink the effect would have been the same as vinegar.’
‘More than likely, sir. We should have some breakfast now and be ready to leave at first light.’
Sextus brought some bread and cheese over to them and then started to bury all traces of the fire, whilst Marius struggled to fill the water skins in the stream.
‘Which way should we go?’ Vespasian asked through a mouthful of cheese.
‘My guess is that the Praetorians know you are wounded and will have realised that we’d have had to stop fairly soon after dark to tend to you, which we did. So they would calculate that if they rode on for another two or three hours into the night they would most certainly pass us. Then all they need to do is block the road and maintain patrols on either side to stop us skirting round.’
‘It sounds like they’ll have got us trapped,’ Marius said, still struggling with the water skins. ‘Perhaps we should head east to the Via Aemilia Scaura; it can’t be more than twenty miles away and it ends up in Genua as well.’
‘I thought about that, mate, but they know where we’re heading so I’m sure that they’ll have that road covered too.’
‘So where does that leave us, Magnus?’ Sextus asked. ‘Going back to Rome?’
‘No way, they’ll be checking everyone going into the city for days to come. No, lads, we’ve just got to go forward cross-country, keeping a sharp lookout, and try to slip past them.’ Magnus got to his feet. The first rays of the sun had appeared over the horizon sending long shadows through the wood. ‘Come on, lads, mount up. You’d best not wear that red cloak, sir, it’s a bit of a giveaway, if you take my meaning? Here, take mine.’
Vespasian didn’t argue and wrapped the warm woollen cloak around his shoulders, and then packed his military one in his kit bag. He managed to get back in the saddle unaided but the exertion made his head spin and he had to hold on to his horse’s neck to steady himself.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ Magnus asked, concerned.
‘I’ll be fine, thanks,’ he replied as his vision steadied.
‘At least we’ll be going slowly, as we don’t want to go carelessly blundering into any of their patrols. So you just hang on, sir, and shout if you need to stop.’
Magnus kicked his horse and moved off; Vespasian followed, praying to the gods that he would have the strength to last the day.
Keeping the Via Aurelia a mile or so to their left they picked their way across country. The undulating landscape was mainly farmland criss-crossed by small tracks and dotted with woods and olive groves. Here and there they saw a farmhouse or a country villa and skirted around it, keeping as far away from prying eyes as possible, but always maintaining a north-westerly direction. The occasional glimpses they had of the sea, a few miles to their left, helped them to keep on course, the sun now being visible only intermittently through the steadily thickening clouds. After a couple of hours, during which they’d covered over ten miles, Magnus stopped and turned to his companions.
‘By my reckoning we should be nearly level with the roadblock so watch out for their patrols. From now on we’ll try to keep as much as possible to the woods, olive groves and river beds.’ He looked at Vespasian, who seemed to be very pale. ‘Sextus, get something to eat for the young gentleman.’
A quick rummage through his pack produced some more salted pork that he gave to Vespasian, who ate it thankfully as they pressed on with caution.
By midmorning it had completely clouded over and a light drizzle of rain was falling. They were threading their way through an alder wood when a series of shouts stopped them dead.
‘What was that?’ Vespasian whispered, coming out of the reverie that he had fallen into and now suddenly alert.
‘Fuck knows,’ Magnus replied, looking around. ‘But whatever it was, it was close.’
Another shout, which seemed to come from up ahead of them to the right, echoed around the wood. Suddenly, about fifty paces away to their front, three horsemen dressed in dull travel clothes crashed through the wood from right to left pursued by half a dozen red-cloaked, spear-toting Praetorian troopers.
Vespasian and his escort stayed motionless, hearts pounding, as the Praetorians raced through the wood in pursuit of their quarry. So concentrated were the troopers on navigating their way through the trees and dead undergrowth that they could neither look right nor left. They drove their horses furiously as they sped out of sight, enveloped by the wood.
‘The bastards must think that was us,’ Magnus said as the last red cloak disappeared.
‘Then they’re not very good at counting, are they?’ Sextus pointed out.
Magnus looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘That’s rich, coming from you. Anyway, who cares? The main thing is that they’re occupied so let’s take advantage of it.’ He moved off quickly; the others followed. As they crossed the line of the chase more shouting came from their left, then a scream.
‘It sounds like they’ve got us,’ Marius said, smiling grimly.
‘Poor buggers; still, they must have been up to no good if they ran when challenged,’ Vespasian observed, feeling much revived by his racing heart.
‘Even if I was as innocent as a Vestal Virgin I think I’d run from a Praetorian patrol that wanted to ask me a
