Altar of Blood: Empire IX (27 page)

‘Certainly, my king. They will have been warned by the thieves.’

Reining their mounts in a dozen paces from the gate, they looked up at the defenders for a moment in silence before the king spoke again.

‘They look scared to me.’

Gernot smiled up at the legionaries.

‘Consider it from their perspective. They hear their fellow soldiers being tortured in the night, distant howls and shrieks of pure agony, and the chanting of our warriors as your priest sends their spirits to Wodanaz. They know we hate them above all others, and that if you were to throw the strength of the tribe at that fort it would be a burned-out shell before nightfall, populated only by their corpses. They have good cause for fear.’ He looked up at the men on the wall above them. ‘Shall I address them, my king? To do so is beneath your dignity.’

Amalric dipped his head in acknowledgement, and the noble straightened his back, calling out to the men on the wall closest to where they sat.

‘Soldiers of Rome, is this any way to greet the leader of a tribe with whom you claim to have friendly relations? My king has suffered the theft of something that is very dear to his tribe, and has come here with all speed to request your assistance in its return, only to find himself faced by a wall of spears! I suggest that you put this presumably unintended insult to one side, and that we speak man to man with your commander!’

A grizzled centurion stared down at them for a moment and then turned away to speak to someone inside the fort. After a moment’s discussion he turned back and called out a reply.

‘Our prefect will come out to speak with you! Twitch in the wrong way while he is outside these walls and you two will be the first to die!’

After a moment’s pause the fort’s northern gate swung outwards, a file of legionaries issuing through the opening and fanning out to either side to form a ten-man escort for the officer who followed them. Looking up, Amalric saw that the easterners now had arrows nocked to their bows, while the fort’s bolt throwers had swung down to point at them in an ostentatious display of threat. The prefect strode forwards confidently enough, but as his questing eyes looked beyond the two horsemen to size up the threat posed by the men of the king’s household, both of the Germans could see his awareness of the situation’s delicacy. He stopped walking when he was five paces from their position and bowed, the minimum diplomatic gesture of the respect that could be expected by a king, then looked up at Amalric from beneath his helmet’s brow guard.

‘Your Highness, this is an unexpected pleasure.’

Gernot laughed out loud.

‘Apparently neither unexpected not pleasurable, for you to have all these men out of their beds and, as you like to say, ready for war!’

The Roman nodded his acceptance of the fact.

‘It was pointed out to me yesterday that I might be receiving just such a visit, although the circumstances were not made entirely clear. It seems that the advice I was given was well founded.’

‘Advice given to you by a man who goes by the name of Dolfus?’

The Roman sniffed.

‘My informant didn’t identify himself. He was passing through the fort into your land on a mission for the governor, with four of his men.’

Amalric frowned.

‘Four?’

‘You were sent by the governor to wreck our mission.’ Scaurus raised his eyes to look at the iron-grey dawn sky. ‘That man’s idiocy seems to have no limit! But instead, and acting on the orders of a
higher
authority, you’ve rescued my men from the Bructeri, stolen a captured legion eagle that’s a sacred tribal relic, and sent their king off chasing those of your men you’ve used as decoys.’

Dolfus nodded equably.

‘That’s it, Tribune, more or less.’

‘A higher authority? Higher than the
governor
?’ The younger man looked back at him in silence. ‘You’re trying to tell me that you’ve been posted to the province by the same people who appointed Clodius Albinus, with instructions to subvert his orders should they run counter to whatever it is that your masters think should be happening?’

The cavalryman raised his eyebrows without saying a word, and Scaurus shook his head in frustration.

‘I gather you don’t feel able to comment.’

‘No.’

The tribune walked away for a moment, then turned back, a decision clearly made.

‘Dubnus, get the men fed and ready to move.’ The Briton nodded and turned away to his task. ‘Centurions Varus and Corvus, accompany the decurion and me down the gully a way and bring the giant’s father with you. And Qadir …’

The Hamian came to attention.

‘Tribune.’

‘Make sure our guide is
closely
observed at all times by men with arrows on their strings. He looks nervous to me, and I don’t want him vanishing off into the trees. We’ll never find him if that happens.’

He led the three officers and Lucius away from the detachment, until they were out of earshot.

‘You served with the legions?’

The older man saluted.

‘Yes, Tribune sir. I was a legionary with the Thirtieth Legion, before I retired on this side of the river to be with the woman I loved.’

I see. And you’re sure you know where this priestess is to be found?’

Lucius nodded.

‘She’s right under your nose, Tribune. There’s a hill to the east, less than five miles distant, where Amalric keeps her safe and sound, guarded by his men.’

‘To the east.’ Scaurus’s tone was suddenly hard. ‘One minute.’

He turned back to the detachment, calling up the gulley.

‘Centurion Qadir, I’ve changed my mind. Bring my scout here please.’

They watched in silence as Gunda was escorted, stony-faced, down the gully to where they stood. Scaurus stared at him for a long moment, and when he spoke his voice retained its iron-hard tone.

‘I asked you where the path to the east went, yesterday morning. You told me that it was just a hunter’s trail, and you led us away from it as quickly as you could. That wasn’t true, was it?’

The German shook his head, his face downcast.

‘No.’

‘Where does it lead?’

After a momentary pause the guide sighed.

‘To the place where my people keep my sister.’

‘Mithras help me …’ Scaurus shook his head. ‘This priestess is your
sister
?’

Gunda looked up, his expression suddenly hard enough to match the Roman’s.

‘Yes. My
sister
. I was expelled from the tribe for killing a man who threatened her, when one of her prophecies wasn’t fulfilled exactly to his liking. I told you that she sometimes only sees a part of what is to come, and this was one such case. She foretold a male child for the wife of one of the tribe’s noble warriors, but when the child was born it was evident that he was not the father. He threatened to kill her for misleading him, and I took my sword to him in her defence. The old king was merciful, partly for love of Gerhild and partly because the man in question was dangerously quick tempered, but he had to send me away if only for my own protection from the dead man’s brother Gernot. Ever since that day the kings of the Bructeri, old and new, have both kept Gerhild safe from harm in the tower where she has lived for the last fifteen years, a prisoner in a fur-lined cage. When you told me that you planned a mission into my tribe’s territory so close to Thusila, it didn’t take much intelligence to work out what your purpose was, and so I was even more determined to come with you if only to make sure that she wasn’t harmed.’

Dolfus and Scaurus exchanged glances before the latter spoke again.

‘And why is it that you think I won’t just kill you, here and now, and leave your body for the pigs? There’s going to be a lot of death in these woods today, so another corpse wouldn’t trouble me overly.’

Gunda looked back at him, shaking his head slowly.

‘Two reasons. Firstly, Tribune, because you’re not that sort of man. And that’s not a guess, it’s a fact. I may not be my sister, but I never fail to judge a man correctly. It’s a gift, compared to what might be said to be her curse.’

‘And the second reason?’

‘If you kill me, she’ll know. Don’t ask me to explain it, just believe me when I tell you that we have some sort of connection. If I die here then you’ll find her less than co-operative. And I wouldn’t want to be subject to my sister’s anger, not if I were you.’

Scaurus looked at him for a moment.

‘That’s a first. I’m being threatened, it appears, with the retribution of a woman who doesn’t even know I exist.’

The scout smiled back at him.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you, Roman. She sees
everything
.’

‘I see.’ Scaurus shook his head in disbelief. ‘This day is rapidly descending into farce, so I think it’s time we took control of it back from the Fates. I presume it’s a fair assumption, Decurion, that this …’ he gestured to the eagle inside its box, ‘is going to bring the Bructeri after us like a pack of wild dogs, once they get so much as a hint that we’re in the forest?’

‘I’d say that’s a safe assumption, Tribune. And it can only be a matter of time before they reach that conclusion. The decoys who led them to the bridge will have fulfilled their purpose very soon now.’

The tribune nodded decisively.

‘In that case I think we need to strike fast and hard, with as much distraction as possible, get what we came for and then get back to the river and the warships that are waiting for us. Once we’re under the protection of their archers and bolt throwers we might as well be on the far side of the Rhenus as far as the Bructeri are concerned.’

‘This man Dolfus brought
four
men with him through your gates yesterday?’

The fort’s prefect nodded tersely.

‘And two men came back through them this morning?’

‘Yes.’

Amalric looked at Gernot in puzzlement.

‘Those two men …’

The noble’s face darkened, as he drew the same conclusion to that which his king had already reached.

‘Were decoys! Intended to draw out our strength and send us chasing shadows!’

The king looked down at the Roman officer, who seemed none the wiser.

‘Was either of these men carrying a wooden box, bound with iron and big enough to hold your dagger in its sheath?’

The prefect turned to the senior centurion who had walked out alongside him with the look of a man spoiling for a fight.

‘First Spear?’

‘No Prefect. I watched them come back in myself, given the unusual timing of their arrival. They had nothing more than their standard equipment.’

Gernot looked down at him for a moment, then pointed back the way they had come.

‘If he’s telling the truth then we’ve been lured away from Thusila while the other three men who didn’t declare their presence last night are somewhere back there, doing who knows what!’

The king turned his horse in a whinnying half-circle.

‘And they still have the eagle!’

Marcus and Dubnus ran back down the track in the direction from which the detachment had marched the previous day, a mixed group of axemen and archers at their heels. Scaurus’s last words to the Briton had been stark in their intent, his face set hard as the detachment readied themselves for the fight.

‘Do two things for me, Centurion. Make me a diversion, something to get the Bructeri’s attention and lead them in the wrong direction. And make sure the man who’s been torturing our soldiers isn’t ever going to do it again.’ The two men had saluted and turned away, only for the tribune to add an afterthought. ‘Oh, and gentlemen, make very sure that anyone who fancies their chances of taking on this priest’s mantle as “the Hand of Wodanaz” has a
very
clear understanding of what Roman justice looks like.’

They stopped running a hundred paces from the clearing, taking a moment for their breathing to return to something close to normal before proceeding at a slow, careful pace with arrows nocked and ready to fly on either side. Pacing stealthily towards the grove’s entrance Marcus flicked a pointing finger to either side, waiting as the two axemen, chosen for their rare ability to move quietly in the forest, vanished into the foliage on either side of the path and were lost to view. The remaining members of the party sank down into the bushes’ cover and waited while Dubnus and Marcus silently counted down the agreed three hundred heart beats. Looking at each other they nodded, rose from their crouches and walked slowly and quietly towards the arch of trees. Stepping into the clearing Marcus eased his gladius from its scabbard with an almost silent hiss of metal and oiled leather, raising the blade to point at a figure busy at work on the grove’s far side with his back to them, his hands raised in the act of tying a fragment of plate armour to the tree before him. Ghosting forward with one hand up to ensure that his companions held their positions, he was less than ten paces distant from his quarry when the tiny sound of his hobnails scraping against a pebble gave the priest the slightest of clues that he was being stalked.

Whirling, his decorative task instantly forgotten, the German was in flight even as his eyes registered the Roman’s presence, making a bolt for the glade’s western entrance with a surprising turn of pace for a man of his age. As he passed through the arch the biggest of the pioneers stepped from cover, ducking the wild punch thrown at him by the fleeing priest and hammering a big fist squarely into his gut, leaving him coughing and gasping for breath on his knees in the path’s dust. At Dubnus’s command the two axemen swiftly pinioned the priest before pulling him to his feet and dragging him back to face the two centurions. Wild-eyed, his tunic and cloak filthy with dust, the German railed at them all in his own language, struggling as vigorously as he could against their iron grip.

‘What’s he saying?’

Arminius smiled darkly.

‘It may be better you never know, Dubnus. That sort of curse can get to you, given enough time to think about it. Although quite a lot of it seems to be him asking if we have any idea just who he is?’

The big Briton snorted, snapping a fist out without any warning and rocking the priest’s head back in a spray of blood that spurted across his tunic in a wide fan.