Fortress of Spears (19 page)

The Venicone leader nodded his assent, watching as his men lugged their heavy burdens into the fort and dropped them in front of the waiting warriors.

‘You’ll have a place with us for as long as you wish, provided you keep yourself to yourself. If I get any hint that you’re making the slightest attempt to undermine me, however, I’ll have you nailed up for the Romans to find when we leave this place. Do we have an understanding?’

Calgus nodded slowly.

‘Yes, Drust, I think we understand each other perfectly. And when will we be leaving?’

The Venicone king looked about him, as if taking stock of the fort’s stout stone walls.

‘You buried enough meat to feed every man here for days, and the river will provide for our water needs, so I see no need to break camp until the day after tomorrow at the earliest. Those cavalry fools can stand on that hill and stare down at us all they like, they’ll never dare to try forcing their way in here with so few men. Perhaps they’ll get bored and leave us in peace …’ He paused, looking quizzically at Calgus’s face. ‘What?’

The other man shrugged.

‘Nothing really, I was just wondering if there might be some value in sending out a few of your sharper men after dark to have a quiet look at their encampment. With a little bit of luck they might even take a captive.’

Drust nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows in appreciation of the idea.

‘A Roman prisoner. Information and sport for my men, something to take their minds off their surroundings. You might have something there.’

The sun was well below the western horizon by the time Marcus and his companions had found the detachment’s overnight camp, and another hour passed while he made sure that his horse was fed and watered and sought out Martos.

‘Prince Martos, there is a man I would have you meet. I found him wandering on the plain today, and took him into my custody rather than leave him to his fate, and in return he gave me news that I believe you’ll want to hear.’

The Votadini nodded his agreement, and Marcus waved a hand at Arminius, who was lurking near by with Lugos, and the German escorted the reluctant Selgovae to Marcus’s side. He nodded gravely to Martos.

‘Greetings, Prince Martos. I trust that Two Knives here has told you the story of our hunt today, and how we ended up adopting this stray warrior to save him from sitting out on the plain until some undeserving soldier either took his head or sold him into slavery?’

Martos looked at Marcus, tipping his head to one side, then looked up at the silent Lugos, taking stock of the massive warrior’s bloodstained clothing.

‘I have the feeling that there is more to this story than you’ve told me so far …’

Marcus took hold of the Selgovae’s right arm and turned it over to display his legion prisoner brand.

‘We came across a party of men this morning on the plain, and rode them down, all bar Lugos here. I recognised him at the last moment as a man I fought with some weeks ago, while he was a captive of the Sixth Legion, and put my spear up. He tells me that he was forced into a warband by Calgus’s men, and that he managed to escape in the confusion last night. The rest of the …’

He stopped, realising that Martos’s face had taken on a hostile cast.

‘This man is Selgovae?’

‘Yes, but …’

The Votadini prince bridled with anger, putting a hand to his sword.

‘You bring a warrior from the sworn enemies of my tribe to me, and expect him to be welcome at my fire? When his fellow warriors are busy plundering my tribe’s home, and destroying my life!?’

Lugos took a step back, and for a moment Marcus tensed ready to unsheathe his own weapons, but Arminius put a heavy hand out and clamped it over the prince’s sword hand.

‘I suggest you listen to what the man has to say. Then judge how you should act.’

Martos stared into his eyes for a long moment before shrugging off his grip, and placing both hands on his hips.

‘Very well. Speak, Selgovae, but do not expect to find me sympathetic to your tale. Your tribe has done more hurt to me and mine than a lifetime of retribution will put right.’

Lugos looked at Marcus and then shrugged, speaking in the language shared by the tribes.

‘I understand. The Selgovae tribe has done many wrongs in one short summer. This man has every right to be angry for it is true, Calgus did murder his king.’ He bowed to the bristling Votadini prince. ‘Prince Martos, I went to war the first time of my own choosing, happy to fight the Romans and force them to leave our land, but I saw things in the first few days of our war that made me sad for my brothers. Death without reason, and things that would make our goddess turn her head away. Now a Selgovae warband has marched into Alauna, a holy place. They can only bring more disgrace on the Selgovae people, and I want nothing to do with this. More than that, I will do whatever I must to rid the shrine of their defilement.’

‘Alauna?’ Martos closed his eyes in despair, then opened them and turned to Marcus with fire in his eyes. ‘Alauna is a sacred place, and long accustomed to the protection of your soldiers. A warband of any size will rip into the inhabitants and find no resistance worthy of the name. We must march on them tomorrow, and put an end to whatever suffering they are inflicting on my people!’

Marcus nodded.

‘Agreed, but easier said than done. The fort at Alauna is intact, and it appears that they are strong enough to mount an effective defence. Tribune Scaurus will want the threat removed before he passes north, but he won’t be able to ignore the fact that the time he can give to doing so is limited. Lugos here, however, has an idea as to how we might be able to resolve this problem in a swift and suitably bloody manner – if you’re willing to play a part that might not come naturally to you and your men.’

The detachment’s command conference was in full swing, and Tribune Scaurus’s tent filled with officers by the time Marcus managed to disengage himself from the discussion between Martos, Arminius and Lugos. He stopped inside the doorway, saluted and turned to leave, intending to return at a quieter time to explain his proposal to his tribune, but Scaurus waved him into the gathering, calling for a chair.

‘You’ve arrived at just the right time, Centurion Corvus! Perhaps you can tell us what’s happening on the other side of the hill?’

Taking the offered seat, the weary centurion told the assembled officers the story of the day’s events with a swift economy, watching the faces of the men around him as he outlined the likely fate of those of Alauna’s inhabitants who had failed to flee. First Spear Canutius seemed unconcerned, unlike Frontinius and Neuto, who had both clearly served in the fort at some time or other to judge from the sick expressions both took on as the point of his story became clear. Unexpectedly, the first man to speak was Tribune Laenas.

‘We should bypass this insignificant band and leave them to their own devices, Scaurus. Our duty is clearly to push on to the north and storm this “Dinpaladyr” place. Any delay or detour might be construed as a failure to do that duty.’

Scaurus turned his head to look at his colleague, realising with amazed anger that the man was serious.

‘Any man that accused me of any shyness with regard to my duty would stand need of both a sword and the skill to use it,
Tribune
Laenas. I’ve got ten years of service on the frontier with Germania, and my scars are all on the front of my body.’

The legion officer reddened and looked down at the floor after barely a second’s withering stare from his temporary superior. His first spear smirked slightly, and Marcus found himself scowling at the centurion in disgust.

‘My, ah, apologies, Scaur … Tribune Scaurus, I sought in no way to impugn either your record or your willingness to do your duty.’

Scaurus waved the apology away, looking slightly guilty at having browbeaten his colleague in the presence of their respective subordinates.

‘Forget it, colleague, I know the spirit in which you spoke and I agree, we can’t afford to spend any time camped out round five hundred barbarians when there’s a tribal capital we’re under orders to free. But I will not simply pass by and leave the inhabitants of Alauna to their fate. Nor can I leave five hundred Selgovae warriors loose in our rear, for that matter. You’ve seen the fort, Centurion Corvus, was there anything that sprang to mind with regard to getting in without a long siege?’

Marcus shook his head.

‘No, sir, there’s no quick way in without the legion’s artillery to bang a hole in the walls. If the warband chooses to stand and fight, it could take us days to get men on the walls, and we already know that the Selgovae will fight like cornered rats. But somebody said something to me during the ride here that’s making more sense every time I think the problem over. Perhaps getting in isn’t the real problem?’

An hour or so later, with the last details of their plan for the following day agreed, Scaurus wearily dismissed the officers to their cohorts. As he’d half guessed would be the case, Laenas waited in his place while the others filed out, a penitent expression on his face. Raising a hand to forestall any apology, Scaurus shook his head.

‘No, colleague, it’s me that should be apologising. I was hasty and overbearing with you in front of our brother officers, and I should have reacted differently. I know you meant no harm by what you said … although you might reflect on a better way to have made the point?’

Laenas nodded glumly.

‘I know I was wrong, Rutilius Scaurus, and truly it’s me that must make amends. You had every right to be angry. I all but accused you of cowardice. Being the son of a powerful and outspoken man doesn’t make for the best training in diplomacy.’

Scaurus shrugged, putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

‘Well said, and best we just both forget the whole thing. Our men will be looking to us to show a united command, given the risks we’re going to be taking over the next few days. Let’s try to give them what they need, eh?’

With the sun beneath the horizon, and the warband’s watch fires burning brightly at all corners of the fort’s walls, half a dozen men slipped quietly through the fort’s north gate, on the side facing away from the Roman camp. Their faces were darkened with mud, and their swords were strapped to their backs to leave both hands free without the risk of a scabbard catching on a rock or tree, and betraying them with unexpected noise. Moving slowly and silently, they eased around the fort’s walls until they reached the southwest corner, pausing for a moment to get their bearings under the night sky’s diamond-strewn vault before loping away towards the nearest of the three massive hills that stood guard over the Roman outpost.

Calgus ran with them, dragging the cold night air into his lungs with the delight of a man who had stood close to death only a day before. Drust had acceded to his suggestion that his local knowledge would be invaluable to the raiders with some reluctance, but had seen little choice once he realised the importance to Calgus’s tribe of the mountains towering over their refuge.

‘The hill closest to these walls was the Selgovae’s tribal capital, Drust, before the Romans ever set foot on this land, and I know it as well as I know the lines on the back of my own hand. Allow me to guide the raiding party and I will take them around to the far side of the enemy camp, where the cavalrymen will walk without fear of attack behind the wall of their spears. I am your best hope of this night resulting in the capture of a suitable subject for our questions, rather than the loss of half a dozen of your men to no effect.’

The small party crossed the open space between the shattered fort and the hill’s ancient and deserted settlement at a steady pace, every man alert to any sign of a Roman patrol, or for any hint that they might be the hunted rather than the hunters, but they reached the slopes of the northernmost of the three hills without either incident or alarm. Calgus took the lead, keeping their path close to the settlement’s rotting wooden palisade in order to make the best use of its looming moon shadow, padding carefully through the darkness with one eye to the east where the Petriana wing’s camp had been thrown up that afternoon. The Roman watch fires lit the camp’s earth walls perfectly when seen from the hill’s elevated perspective, and Calgus stopped the raiding party to point out in whispered tones the side from which he intended making their approach.

‘You see, to their north they have men patrolling every fifty paces, all watching the men to either side? To attempt abduction there is to cut our own throats, they’ll have a hundred men on top of us in no time. To the south, though …’

The Venicone warriors gathered around him followed his pointing arm. The camp’s southern face was far less well guarded, with only the occasional patrolling soldier to be seen.

‘We circle round to the place where the shadows lie deepest, and then we set up a lure and wait for a Roman to take the bait that we offer. I know these men, and the way they think, and I know how to bring one of them to us in complete silence for the sake of his own greed. Follow me.’

Centurion Cyrus stood in the knot of men facing Tribune Licinius as the Petriana’s commander addressed them in the torchlit area in front of his command tent.

‘It may be time to face the facts, gentlemen. The Venicones have wriggled out of the trap we set for them, with the aid of that devious bugger Calgus, and now they sit pretty behind walls that used to be our stronghold, with food and water enough to see them through tomorrow from the looks of it. They could hold Three Mountains against a force three times our strength without breaking sweat, and they may well be capable of outlasting us here. So, we can stay camped here and keep them bottled up in the fort, until the time comes for them to drive for the north again, or we can leave them to it and head south to join the rest of the army in putting down the Brigantes. I suspect that the latter choice might well be a good deal more satisfying than sitting here waiting for the buggers to do something.’ He looked around the twenty or so decurions gathered about him, spreading his hands in invitation. ‘Any views, gentlemen, before I make the decision?’