Enemies of the Empire (21 page)

‘Get down,’ the optio shouted, shooing Marcus and me into the oaks which flanked the road. It was an unceremonious order to a man of rank. Marcus showed signs of protest, but then changed his mind and dived after me into the cover of the trees. This was no time for preserving dignity. The riders were already thundering round the bend.

There was a moment of complete confusion. We were still sheltering within the woods, and it was difficult for us to see, but we were aware of shouts and oaths and clattering hooves. There was a shrill whinny, the clang of metal sword on shield, a swirl of dust and thuds, and then – as if by magic – all this faded into silence. There was an unearthly calm.

Marcus looked at me, and I at him. He was not at his most imposing, sitting on the ground with bits of fallen oak leaves in his hair, but he was still my patron and it was obvious what he expected me to do.

I ventured out from underneath the overhanging boughs which had provided us with our hiding place and saw that the riders had drawn up short and were dismounting from their animals. Even at first glance I could see that they were in Roman uniform and obviously the optio had called off the defensive manoeuvre. He was striding forward down the path to talk to the newcomers, and our kneeling guards were climbing slowly to their feet again. Regulus was among them, and I caught his eye.

‘Some of our own outriders, by the look of it,’ he said sheepishly, coming to assist me back onto the road. ‘That was almost a catastrophe – they were coming at us very fast. If the optio had not realised who they were and bellowed to them in the nick of time, they would have charged us and we’d have had to cut them down. There would have been some bloodshed, if we had. There’s one cavalryman wounded, as it is.’

He nodded to the far side of the road, where one rider – obviously unhorsed – was sitting on the margin of the track, his head between his knees. His arm-guard was unbuckled and the sleeve of his tunic rolled back to the neck. He was bleeding heavily from a sword-thrust in his arm. No one was paying much attention to his plight, although one of the junior officers was attempting to round up the horse, which was sidling down the roadway with its bridle loose and every evidence of acute alarm.

‘Will the rider be all right?’ I said. It looked very nasty to me.

Regulus nodded. ‘It’s a flesh wound only. You see a lot of those. He’s lost a lot of blood, of course, but nothing vital’s hurt. He is more shaken than anything. See, one of his comrades has gone to help him now. He should have some herbs that he can pack it with, and some that he can chew to dull the pain.’

Sure enough, the rider was sitting up again and his companion was supporting him, while taking a small packet of something from a bag round his neck. He shook a little out, put it in his own mouth and chewed it into a wad before binding the result against the cut. Only then did he offer the wounded man a pinch of herbs to chew.

Regulus was watching dispassionately. It was obviously quite routine to him. ‘He should be all right. We’ll get him to a marching-camp and let the army doctor take a look at him, if necessary. But I expect he’ll soon be fit to ride again – though he may have to work one-handed for a bit.’ He was so matter-of-fact that I was not surprised to hear him add, ‘I am a bit worried about that animal of his – it has had a nasty stumble and a fright, and it’s looking very skittish. Someone could easily get hurt. I’ll go and lend a hand.’ And off he went, to help to catch the horse.

I turned back to Marcus, who was by now emerging from the trees, looking more than a little dishevelled and annoyed. ‘Only our own outriders coming back,’ I said, as I assisted him across the ditch. ‘Just as well the optio was so alert.’

Marcus was wholly unimpressed. ‘So you say.’ He brushed twigs and dead leaves from his soiled toga as he spoke. ‘I do not welcome being forced to cower in a ditch, like some common peasant. It seems particularly unfortunate when there was not even any form of threat.’ His voice was dangerously cold and I shuddered for the optio who now came bustling up to us. His chances of promotion were disappearing fast.

‘In the name of His Most Imperial Majesty and Divinity the Emperor Commod—’

‘Never mind all that. Get on with it,’ my patron interrupted. He was seriously angry now. He would not normally treat the Emperor’s name with such dangerous disrespect. ‘I take it you have something to report. I trust it is sufficiently momentous to account for my having been obliged to scuttle ignominiously beneath a tree? These are our men, I understand, so there was in fact no threat to us at all.’

The optio flushed but he retained his calm and military air. ‘I regret to tell you, Excellence, that you are misinformed. There is a very present threat indeed. Not only are there rebels in the wood, from whom it is my clear duty to protect you if I can, but it appears that this encounter was no accident. These are the men that I sent out with Subulcus to the far field where the horses were, to chase the raiders at the farm.’

Marcus’s manner did not thaw. ‘So? Are you about to tell me that they caught the thieves, discovered where their hide-out is, and were riding frantically to tell us so?’

A little pause. ‘I fear not, Excellence. But—’

‘As I suspected. No success at all. And all this at the expense of much indignity and one rider wounded, I observe. Well, what have you to say that is of such importance?’

The optio kept his face impassive. ‘Merely, Excellence, that it appears they met a messenger – a man in imperial uniform – who told them that you had been attacked and ordered them to come to your assistance instantly. That is why they came at such a pace and with their weapons drawn. If I had not recognised the leading man, and managed to shout the password of the day and order him to stop, I believe there might have been a dreadful outcome here. They were all ready to attack our group on sight.’

Marcus looked shaken. He is not a patient man, but he is not wilfully unjust and his manner changed abruptly as he said, ‘You think it was a plot, to set our men against each other? And you averted it? I see.’ He frowned. ‘But who could have sent that message? And who was the messenger?’ He looked at me as if I could conjure the answer from the trees. ‘Libertus?’

I did my best, and spelt out the obvious. ‘I think it was clearly one of the rebels, Excellence, dressed in the uniform of the Isca messenger they caught the other day. I knew there was a danger that they would try something like that – I didn’t expect it to be quite so soon, or to be the victim of the ploy ourselves.’

‘I’d come to that conclusion too.’ Marcus turned towards the optio. ‘Did they not challenge him? Require the password, or something of the kind?’

He shook his head. ‘It seems not, Excellence. Unfortunately they are not the mansio’s men, and they assumed that he was one of ours. Let the leader tell you for himself.’

He signalled to the leading horseman, who approached, though he was clearly terrified. He told his story but had nothing much to add. They had chased the horse-thieves, but found nobody. After a fruitless scramble they gave up the chase and were working their way back towards the place where we had left the vehicles when they were accosted by a Roman messenger, who told them that there had been an ambush further down the road and ordered them to ride down in support. ‘We knew that there were rebels in the area, after that problem at the farm, so we set off at once. He had a seal, and uniform and everything,’ the hapless rider finished breathlessly. ‘We didn’t question his authority.’

‘You did not stop to ask the password?’ Marcus growled.

‘We thought you were in danger, Excellence. In any case, he was not from our command. The password is not necessarily the same.’

Marcus harrumphed, but he was clearly mollified by this. ‘Very well. In the circumstances I can see that you’re not totally to blame. The rebels set a trap and you fell into it. We always knew they were a ruthless group – it appears they are a cunning one as well.’

‘And, with respect, Excellence,’ I put in nervously, ‘we also know that they are still at large, and in the area. It would be prudent not to linger here, perhaps? It makes us an easy target for attack. I think we should be safer on the move, especially now that we have at least some of our mounted outriders again.’

Marcus nodded. ‘You may be right, old friend,’ he conceded, with an alacrity which indicated how alarmed he was. ‘See to it, optio.’

‘At once, Excellence,’ and he bustled off, happily bristling with responsibility. He was soon back again, however. ‘With your permission, Excellence?’

‘Well?’

‘One of our riders has been hurt, and though it is possible for him to ride, he will delay our progress. However, he is fit enough to march, and he can be supported if necessary. Permission to give his mount to Regulus?’

Marcus looked momentarily vexed, then nodded briefly. ‘Very well.’

‘Then we are ready to proceed.’

We took our places at the centre of the group, with the wounded horseman in the rank behind, where Regulus had been. There was the usual parting ritual – ‘Are you prepared for battle or for death?’ ‘We are!’ – and we were on our way.

It was comforting to have the outriders again, and we marched in silence, as before. In fact we moved so quickly that for me, at least, conversation would have been impossible. My heart pumped and my old legs ached with keeping up, and even Marcus, who exercises regularly at the baths, was beginning to look flushed and out of breath. The foot soldiers, however, marched as though we were on a gentle stroll.

We were still on the alert for ambushes, of course, but if there were still rebels in the woods they did not trouble us. It occurred to me that we were far too strong a force, and that they would not confront us while we outnumbered them. That was a comfort and I moved more easily, and was even able to enjoy the sombre beauty of the place – autumnal leaves that rustled underfoot and patches of feeble sunlight dappling the massive trees.

My private soliloquy was interrupted by a commotion in the ranks behind. The wounded horseman had reeled and fallen to the ground. There was a moment’s pause while he was hoisted to his feet and supported by the men on either side, and then the column moved briskly on again. There was no perceptible change in pace at all, though when I glanced behind me I saw that his feet were dragging on the ground and he was being borne along by his companions. They did not even falter in their stride. It was an amazing display of strength and discipline.

There was still no sign of bandits anywhere. We passed another traveller on the road, a fat man with a donkey cart piled high with skins, who moved into the ditch to let us pass. The presence of this simple, unarmed trader put our fears to shame, and I for one felt rather foolish marching by, protected by a fierce contingent, leaving the man to coax his animal back onto the road, and rearrange the dislodged cargo on his cart.

A moment later, though, I had forgotten him. We turned the corner and found ourselves back on a familiar stretch of road, near where we had left the transport, and one of the front outriders was galloping back towards us, visibly distressed.

‘Optio, sir, and your mightiness!’ It was Regulus, wheeling his borrowed mount beside us and reporting breathlessly. ‘There has been a sort of accident ahead. The horses . . .’ His voice tailed off. ‘Round the corner, sirs. Perhaps you had best come and see for yourselves.’ He cantered off.

The phalanx surged forward, almost breaking ranks. There was the clearing and the path, and there was the carriage and the carts, but they were not exactly where we’d left them and it was clear at once that something was amiss. For one thing there were signs that there had been a struggle here. Baskets and belongings from the luggage cart were spread about and lying in the road, and the grass around had been trampled and was dark and stained. A body was stretched out on the verge, a red-headed youth in plaid, but there was no other living thing in sight except ourselves. No slaves, no guards, and – appallingly – no horses, even on the carts. The very harness straps and chains had been removed and the vehicles leaned drunken and useless on their shafts.

‘There were men here on guard! Where have they gone?’ The optio abandoned all restraint and ran forward, clasping his helmet as he went. After a minute Marcus followed him, and I trailed after them, staring at the scene in disbelief.

This time there were no questions about who might have been responsible. None of us had any doubt at all. The men who had stolen the horses from the farm had clearly stolen ours. It was also evident that Marcus had been right, and that a cunning mind was working here. Turning our own outriders back on us with false rumours of attack had achieved a double purpose. Not only had it caused them to attempt to ride us down, but it had also prevented them from returning here and helping to protect the transport. I looked up and down the track, but there was no sign of any other guards, alive or dead, only the motionless Silurian on the ground.

I knelt beside the dying youth and saw, now that I came close to him, that he had taken a spear-point through his ribs. It had broken at the hilt and he was moaning piteously. I raised his head.

‘What happened here?’ I whispered, signalling to Regulus to bring a water-skin from the luggage cart. Pouring a few drops of liquid on his tongue was all that I could do. To move the blade would kill him instantly.

For answer the young Silurian turned his head and looked me in the face. His eyes were glazing over. Then, summoning the last remnants of his strength, he spat at me. ‘That, for all enemies of Karak . . .’ he began, in a voice that cracked and broke, but the effort was too much for him and he slumped back, dead.

I looked at Regulus, who had witnessed all of this, with a questioning lift of my brows. He had come running over straight away, not stopping to search the luggage cart but unfastening his own small water-bottle from his belt. He shook his head. ‘Karak? Must be some sort of tribal name. It doesn’t mean anything to me.’ He knelt down beside me as he spoke and himself held the water to the Silurian’s lips, but we both knew that it was far too late. He sighed and rocked back on his heels. ‘Now that’s a pity. If he’d lived, even for an hour, we might have got something out of him. As it is, he is no use to us at all.’ He got back to his feet.