Altar of Blood: Empire IX (17 page)

‘Well then, gentlemen?’

Dubnus shook his head, his expression rueful.

‘I saw nothing, Tribune. My colleague here, on the other hand …’

Qadir turned away from the receding beach with his customary gentle smile.

‘One man that I saw for certain, and enough movement besides to indicate another one or perhaps two with a little more skill at remaining concealed, if not sufficient.’

Scaurus raised an eyebrow at Dubnus.

‘Which just goes to show that all those years squinting into beakers in dimly lit taverns weren’t necessarily your best choice, eh Dubnus? Did you make out any detail, Centurion?’

Qadir shook his head.

‘Almost nothing, Tribune. Perhaps a momentary glint of sun on armour, but my eyes might have deceived me. I could not swear an oath on the matter.’

Scaurus looked at Marcus, who was standing in silence alongside his colleagues.

‘So it looks as if your suspicion that you were followed yesterday was well founded, and a good thing that you chose not to talk openly with your cousin about our needs but met him when you weren’t under observation. It would also appear as if our old friend Decimus Clodius Albinus does indeed still secretly harbour ambitions of clipping our wings.’

The younger man raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s hardly surprising, given the humiliations that his previous attempts to put you down have heaped upon him. It seems that those events have only served to fan the flame of his urge to see us dead and disgraced, and while we have to fend off his attempts time after time, he only has to enjoy sufficient good fortune to put the blade in just once. Perhaps this should be the last time he makes such an attempt …’

Scaurus raised an eyebrow, surprised at the vehemence in the statement given the younger man’s apparent loss of vigour of recent days.

‘You feel that strongly that he needs to die?’

Marcus looked out over the ship’s rail at the dark, forested hills to the east.

‘I’m the wrong person to ask, I’m afraid. My urge for justice has run its course, leaving me with nothing more than a feeling of emptiness at having been cursed with being the cause of so many deaths. I have killed enough men in pursuit of my revenge to know with absolute clarity that not one of them ever gave me any genuine satisfaction.’ He sighed. ‘At least not beyond the brief surge of joy to be had from spilling the blood of men who had done my family wrong. The only man I would raise a finger to kill in cold blood now is too well protected for it to be anything other than suicide, and I have a child to raise. Leaving him fatherless would be the final insult to my wife’s memory.’

Scaurus put a hand on his shoulder.

‘I understand, and I would never ask you to do such a thing. But it occurs to me that the only way to stop Senator Albinus from continually plotting my early death is to arrange for his own premature voyage across the river, and it sounds to me as if you agree.’

Marcus turned to face him, his face set in tired lines.

‘Tribune, if you’re asking me to condone a decision to kill the man, I can only repeat what I said before. He only has to enlist the services of Fortuna once, whereas we call upon her every time we cross paths with him. I think you know the answer to that question well enough yourself not to need me to provide it for you.’

‘The governor was right. That man Scaurus
is
slipperier than a bag full of eels.’

Dolfus shook his head in disgust, watching as the naval vessel pulled away from the river’s western bank and got underway, the rowers working to an efficient rhythm that propelled the
Mars
out into the river’s channel, and away to the north at the speed of a cantering horse.

‘And there’s no way we can keep up with—’

He reached up and pulled the trooper next to him down into the cover of the fallen tree behind which they were hidden.

‘Keep down you idiot! They’ve got Hamians with them, and those easterners have got eyes like hawks. And if they can see you then they can also put an arrow in you.’

He leaned back against the tree’s rotting trunk with a thoughtful look.

‘We’ll have to let the governor know about this, and then get after them as best we can. You …’ he pointed at the nearest of his men, ‘ride back to the city and with the following message. Tell him that we saw them board a warship, the
Mars
, under the command of that red-haired lunatic that commands the local squadron and who presumably has some sort of connection with one their officers given the party trick they pulled on us yesterday to get some time with him unobserved. They were last seen heading north, and likely to get off the ship on the other side of the river, and that’s all we know. We’ll pursue, but that bloody ship can sail downstream a good deal faster than the horses can manage for any length of time, so we’ve effectively been left for dead. We’ll meet you at Novaesium with whatever orders he gives you. Go!’

The trooper slithered away across the forest floor, and Dolfus lifted himself to squint over the tree’s bole, watching as the warship vanished around the river’s next bend.

‘They’ve fooled us alright, almost as if their tribune suspected that they might be followed.’ He shook his head with a sour expression. ‘Right, let’s get after them. Nice and easy, mind you, there’s no point exhausting the horses if we’ve no chance of catching them. They’ve got the jump on us for the time being, but if we play this right we can still find out what they’re up to.’

‘There.’

The prefect followed Gunda’s pointing hand and nodded his agreement.

‘Couldn’t have picked it better myself. A nice little anchorage on the outside of the bend where the current keeps the water deep close in to the bank. Oars!’

He marched back down the ship’s length barking orders, the rowers swiftly killing the vessel’s way to leave it drifting slowly into the bank’s leafy canopy. Scaurus glanced over at the western bank, looking for any sign that they were observed.

‘Your guide has chosen well, Tribune. The road veers away from the river’s western bank to avoid that outcrop of rock, and those cavalrymen who were following us will be miles behind us.’

The tribune nodded at Qadir’s words, turning to Dubnus.

‘Take them ashore, Centurion, and give me a perimeter for fifty paces in all directions, archers leading. The rules of engagement are to be as we agreed – if anything moves, we kill it.’

The Briton nodded and turned away, leading the detachment down the hastily lowered boarding ladders and splashing through the thigh-deep water to lead them away into the forest’s gloom. Pausing a dozen paces from the bank he looked about him at their expectant faces.

‘The Crescent, and just as we practised it. In pairs, keep your spacings and don’t lose sight of the men to either side. Fifty paces and go to ground, watch and listen. Archers, if we’re spotted and the man in question escapes we’re most likely already dead, and our mission over before it begins. If you see a man outside bow range you wait for him to either come closer or go away. If there’s more than one of them then you wait until they’re so close that you can get them all. The rest of you are only there to protect the archers at this point in time, so go to ground, shut your mouths and keep them shut until you’re relieved. Understood?’

The men gathered around him nodded confidently.

‘Good. Don’t fuck it up.’

He watched as they split into their predetermined groupings of archers and axemen, each pair heading away into the forest’s shadows along their allocated bearings.

‘All that practice seems to have borne fruit, I see? Perhaps now they can see the reason why you made them play that game so many times on the way north.’

He turned to find Marcus and Varus at his shoulder, the latter speaking softly as he watched the Tungrians disappear into the sun-dappled foliage. Dubnus nodded grimly.

‘I think the game just turned serious, don’t you? We looked at the map and said, “Yes, we can walk from the river into the heart of Bructeri territory,” but it’s not until you actually stand here on the ground that you realise just what a challenge we’ve set ourselves. We have no idea where we’ll have to go to find this woman, but what we do know is that we’ll have to walk all the way there through this. We’ll just have to hope that the Bructeri king is keeping her close at hand and not in some remote hiding place fifty miles up the River Lupia.’

He waved a hand at the seemingly endless expanse of trees before them, directing a question to Varus.

‘And when we’ve found her, and presuming that we can take her from her guards, we’ll have to do it all over again to get back here, more than likely with tribesmen hard on our heels. Are you still pleased that you were so set on coming with us?’

Before he could answer, Scaurus climbed over the riverbank’s crest and crouched next to his officers, watching in satisfaction as the detachment’s men slowly moved out into the forest.

‘Excellent. I see all that time spent drilling this little manoeuvre wasn’t entirely wasted. Once we’ve got the perimeter cleared you can leave the Hamians on watch while turning your axes to a little bit of tree-felling for me before we head off into the unknown. Just a precaution, but I do like to make sure the ground’s in my favour as much as possible.’

‘Purpose of crossing?’

Cotta looked steadily at his interrogator with a slight smile. Having left the fortress without fanfare at dawn the previous day, it had taken his party the best part of two days to make the forty-mile journey to the bridge and its protective fortress at Novaesium.

‘Trade.’

The legionary leaned forward, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword in a manner calculated to draw attention to the weapon.

‘Trade,
sir.
’

Cotta’s smile broadened.

‘You’re not a
sir
to me, sonny, I’ve already done my years. Left the army as a centurion, honourable discharge, handshake from the officers. You know, all that stuff you dream about when you’ve had a few.’

He turned his arm over to reveal the tattoo on his wrist, and the soldier’s look of contempt switched to the men standing behind the veteran, the biggest of them holding the reins of a decidedly unhappy-looking mule.

‘And this lot?’

The veteran waved an expressive arm at his immediate companions.

‘This long-haired item is Arminius, my German slave and business partner. The big bastard holding the mule is his brother Lugos, born mute, the poor sod. The ugly fat one standing by the cart is my money man, and the two-nasty looking lumps behind him are Saratos, he’s a Dacian, and a bit of a simpleton if the truth be told, and Sanga, who loves him like a son, which is why we tolerate his dim-witted ways and constant flatu—’

The soldier waved a hand to silence him.

‘Enough! I asked you who they were, not for their fucking life stories! Stay here.’

The soldier turned away, beckoning his superior over.

‘Traders, Chosen, asking for passage over to the far bank. Ex-army, or at least they say they are. This one says he was a centurion.’

The chosen man stalked across the road to stand face-to-face with Cotta, quickly summing up the veteran’s confident stance and hard smile.

‘So you’re a trader, eh Centurion? You wouldn’t be the first man to retire and reckon he can turn his local knowledge into profit. What are you trading then?’

The veteran shrugged.

‘The usual rubbish. Coloured pottery, hunting knives, cheap jewellery, and wine, obviously. They can’t get enough of that.’

The soldier nodded, familiar with the Germans’ eagerness for Roman products.

‘I’ve not seen you before. First time trading with the Bructeri?’

Cotta nodded equably.

‘It is. Been dealing with the Marsi mostly ’til now, but I thought I’d broaden my horizons so to speak. After all, how hard can it be?’

The soldier leaned forward, tapping his nose significantly.

‘I seen ’em come and go for years here, and most of them go out happy enough and come back a good deal less cheerful, or every now and then never come back at all. Drop the price of a few beers in my hand and I’ll tell you why.’

Cotta nodded to Morban, and a coin appeared in the veteran standard bearer’s hand with the dexterity of long practice. He dropped it onto the chosen man’s open palm, and Cotta grinned encouragingly at the soldier.

‘I was hoping you might be able to provide a fellow soldier with a tip or two.’

‘Well …’ The chosen man looked up at the sky for a moment, as if considering the words of what was undoubtedly a routine speech. ‘Two things to remember. Firstly, they really don’t like us, the Bructeri. Seems we fucked them over good and proper a hundred years ago or so, and they’re not the types to forgive and forget. Not even a little bit, and not any of them. So any idea you’ve got about charming their women to buy pretty coloured cloth or tempting the young ’uns with a smart new knife is out the window. The more you try to get them on your side, the more they’ll just tell you to fuck off and die. You need an angle to trade with these boys, and no mistake.’

‘And …?’

‘And what?’

And what’s the angle?’

The chosen man snorted derisively.

‘How would I fucking know? You’re the centurion!’

Morban nodded appreciatively at a fair point made well, while Cotta simply shrugged.

‘So what’s the other thing?’

‘Try to avoid paying the bridge tax.’

Morban raised a disgusted eyebrow.

‘The bridge tax.’

The chosen man nodded, clearly familiar with the hostile reaction of men asked to pay an unexpected tax simply for crossing a river.

‘I’d have thought you’d be familiar with the idea,
if
you’ve been trading with the Marsi. By order of the Emperor, all trade between the province of Germania Inferior and the German tribes is to be taxed at a rate of one coin in twenty.’ He leaned forward with a conspiratorial look to either side, as if to ensure that his next words were not overheard. ‘We’re not here to keep the long-haired bastards out, we’re here to collect the Emperor’s pocket money.’