Fortress of Spears (45 page)

‘Most of them?’

Excingus laughed, shaking his head.

‘Very well. All of them, if that helps you to feel better, and more besides, no doubt. The fact remains, young man, that I am an imperial enforcer, and, having reached the dizzy rank of centurion in the Camp of the Foreigners, therefore without any real choice in this matter. Gentlemen, I am an urbane version of the men that collect their tribute from the businesses of the Subura district, but no less of a hired sword for all that, and I am as subject to the praetorian prefect’s will as if he were riding alongside us. Were I sufficiently weak minded to yield to the “justice” in your words, and release you to run again, what do you think would happen to me, eh? I would be dead before the sun kissed the western horizon, of course, and dead, I should add, at the hand of the very man with whom Prefect Perennis has paired me for the task of finding you, and erasing you from this pathetic existence that you’ve chosen as being preferable to a quick death. I have neither illusions nor any choice in this matter, Valerius Aquila, and neither do you, but to play your part, and die with as much dignity as can be managed under the circumstances.’

A long silence held for a few moments before Marcus spoke again.

‘And the decurion here? What has he done to merit whatever torture you plan to subject him to?’

Excingus raised an eybrow at the cavalry officer.

‘Do you want to tell him? No? Very well. Cornelius Felix is here because on the day of the battle in which the Sixth Legion lost their eagle he watched you take part in the violent death of the man who had betrayed the legion to the barbarians. Since that man was Prefect Perennis’s son, our pursuit of you has been invested with more than a little of his personal interest. But that wasn’t the end of it. The decurion here told a friend of his, a legion tribune called Paulus, what you’d done as you walked past them one night in camp, and that friend got drunk and told his colleague Quirinius, the legion’s senior tribune. Quirinius was then sent back to Rome, fell on hard times and imagined that he could bargain with Prefect Perennis. He sought to trade the identity of his son’s killer for some favour or other. Fool …’ He shook his head sadly. ‘He had a beautiful wife, and a sweet child, and I had no choice but to turn my colleague the praetorian and his thugs loose on them as part of the routine cleaning up after such murders. Anyway, he told Perennis who it was that had told him about your hiding place here on the edge of the world. The prefect, being rather unhappy about a series of letters he’s received from Britannia, threatening him that the truth about his son might easily become public knowledge, gave us a second mission, more important to him than the quest to find you and put you down, believe it or not. He ordered us to find the letter writer and to silence him for good, and that trail leads from Quirinius to Paulus and from Paulus to Felix here. After that I’ll wager there’s only one more link, the letter writer himself. I’m pretty sure that the final link in the chain is your tribune, in fact I’d put good money on it, but I’ll need to be quite sure before unleashing the hounds on him and his family, which means that your questioning is likely to be somewhat
enthusiastic
…’

He tipped his head to the two riders set to watch his approach to the Tungrians, who had left the shade of the trees, and were cantering their horses towards the three horsemen.

‘And so that, Centurion, is why your friend Felix is accompanying us back to our camp. And now, I suggest, you might want to keep your complaints about the injustice that you’re about to suffer to yourself for a while. I like to pride myself on having a good deal more understanding of the contradictions inherent in the role that my kind and I play than my companions, but I think you’ll find these particular gentlemen a little less informed than me. That, and a lot more willing to take out their frustrations on an unarmed prisoner. So, unless you really want your woman to suffer at their hands as a means of teaching you to keep your mouth shut …?’

He raised an eyebrow, waiting until Marcus had wearily conceded the point with a dispirited nod before looking away, speaking out into the empty landscape as if talking to himself.

‘Good lad. I knew you’d see the sense of it.’

12

‘They’re here, Centurion, Excingus has them both!’

Rapax nodded at the man he’d set to watch for his colleague’s return, getting up from the fallen tree on which he’d been sitting.

‘Good. Once this Felix tells us who witnessed the death of Perennis’s son we’ll be able to finish the job and get out of this shithole of a province and back to some sunshine. Come along, my lovely, let’s you and I get ourselves out of sight before your boyfriend gets here. You two, come with me. The rest of you can provide the centurion with a suitably warm welcome once I’ve got his woman squawking.’

He pulled Felicia into the trees, retreating far enough into their cover that he could see out into the clearing without being visible. The remaining soldiers spread out in a half-circle to receive the riders, who rode into their midst and stopped at the corn officer’s command, the two praetorians who had escorted them in peeling away to either side. Rapax dragged Felicia deeper into the forest’s cover, his hand clamped over her mouth to prevent her from calling out to Marcus.

‘All in good time, he’ll hear you screaming for me to stop soon enough, but let’s not spoil the surprise, eh?’ He turned to the guardsmen following him. ‘You two, stop gawking and stand guard. I don’t want anyone creeping up on me while I’m otherwise occupied. Now then, Doctor, let’s get down to …’

In the moment of his distraction Felicia, knowing that she could wait no longer, reached under her skirts and pulled the razor-sharp blade free from its scabbard. As Rapax turned back to her, and before the watching soldiers could shout a warning, she struck with all the speed and strength she had, plunging the knife up into the soft skin beneath his jaw until only the bone handle protruded. The praetorian staggered backwards, his eyes flickering as the weapon, stabbed up through his tongue and palate, ran with blood that streamed down the bone handle and on to his boots. He reeled back another step with his eyes rolling up to show only their whites and then straightened, gripping the knife and tearing it free from his jaw with a terrible groan.

Slack jawed at the sight of their officer’s wound, the guardsmen failed to notice that their prisoner had turned and run deeper into the trees, wrenching their attention back to the fleeing woman only when the stricken centurion pointed after her.

‘
Ged ’er!
’

Turning away from their officer as he swayed and staggered, blood running down the front of his armour in rivulets, the praetorians did as they were bidden, Rapax’s plight quickly forgotten as they chased the running woman into the forest with the smiles of men who intended to fully enjoy the fruits of their hunt when they ran her to ground.

Marcus looked about him at the praetorians gathered in a half-circle around the three horsemen, shaking his head wearily.

‘Eight of you? To kill one tired soldier?’

Excingus shrugged, gesturing for his prisoner to dismount.

‘My colleague Rapax is a thorough man, and your reputation with a sword goes before you. Now do get down and meet your fate with a little composure. The decurion and I will provide an audience for your commendable stoicism.’

Marcus frowned and spread his empty hands before him.

‘If I had a sword I could understand your colleague’s caution. But then if I had a sword you’d already be face down with your guts hanging out, and this scum would be in the fight of their lives, rather than putting an unarmed man to death.’

One of the praetorians stepped forward, resheathing his gladius with a slow metallic scrape.

‘Well then, sonny, why don’t you come down here and show us how tough you are without a weapon in your hand. But keep your ears pricked for the sound of your woman squealing her lovely little lungs out, our centurion should be putting it to her any time now. Beating you to death with our bare hands will give you more time to appreciate the thought that we’ll all be taking a turn at her once he’s done.’

Marcus climbed slowly down from his horse and turned to face the men gathered in a loose half-circle around him, his face white with anger both at the guardsman’s words and the look of satisfaction on his face. Taking up a loose stance with his hands hanging by his side, he looked the praetorian up and down, shaking his head slowly and sighing loudly.

‘Very well, then, come and put me out of my misery!’

He watched through eyes slitted in concentration as the guardsman turned to his mates with a confident smile.

‘Hold off, boys, I’ll take first turn at him. It isn’t every day that I get the chance to knock an officer about.’

He stalked towards his would-be victim, clenching his impressive fists in readiness to fight.

‘You see,
Centurion
, the advantage I’ve got over you is that I fought my way up from the gutter to where I am today. I’ve beaten hundreds of men into the dirt in my time and you’re going to be just the same as all of them once you’re on your back seeing stars. I’m going to …’

He leaped forward in mid-sentence, clearly intending for his words to have distracted Marcus sufficiently for the sudden attack to take him by surprise, throwing a fast punch at the Roman’s face with the intention of putting his opponent on the defensive. Swaying back to evade the blow by the width of a finger, Marcus hooked the guardsman’s forward leg with a swinging boot and dumped him on to his back, the breath audibly knocked from the praetorian’s body as he hit the ground. Reaching into the neck of his tunic, following the thin leather cord that ran down across his chest, he grasped the handle of the hunting knife that Martos had slipped over his head during the act of removing his armour and ripped it from its hiding place. Then, dropping to one knee, he thrust the knife’s blade up under the praetorian’s jaw and ripped his jugular open in a spray of blood, pulling the dying man’s sword from his scabbard and jumping back to his feet. The remaining guardsmen gaped for a moment before one of them drew his sword, prompting the others to reach for their own weapons. His knife-hand red with blood, Marcus turned to face them, speaking to the wide-eyed corn officer without turning to face him.

‘If I were you, reptile, I’d run while you still can …’

Excingus backed his horse away from the knot of men, shaking his head in amazement as his erstwhile prisoner stepped forward to meet the armed soldiers, raising the bloody knife for them all to see and nodding at the dead guardsman’s corpse.

‘You can all either run now, and save yourselves, or you can add your blood to his.’

One of the soldiers shook his head, raising his sword to fight.

‘You can’t fight all of us, not if we come at you together.’

Marcus smiled, shaking his head at the man who’d spoken and pointing the sword at him.

‘Well volunteered, you can be first in that case.’

Felix stepped Hades sideways, the coal-black horse responding easily to the familiar pressure of a knee in his ribs, then nudged the animal’s flanks with his boots, telling him wordlessly to advance a few steps while he made a show of pulling back on the beast’s reins as he goaded him forward with his feet. As the closest of the guardsmen turned to face the big horse, raising his sword to threaten mount and rider, Hades responded exactly as he’d been trained, rearing up and kicking out with a powerful forefoot which sent the soldier flying backwards in a spray of his own blood, his face smashed by the sharp edge of the animal’s hoof. Stepping down from the saddle, Felix slapped Hades’ rump, sending the horse cantering away from the vengeful swords of the two guardsmen who had turned to face him, and stooped to retrieve the dying soldier’s gladius.

‘I’d suggest you men get on with it and finish these two off, before they kill any more of you.’

The remaining soldiers advanced in response to Excingus’s goading, spreading out into a semicircle around the two men. One of the older guardsmen looked Marcus in the eyes, speaking to his comrades as he balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to attack.

‘When I give the word, we rush them. Nothing fancy, just mob the pair of them and get your iron into them. On my command … ready …’

As the praetorians readied themselves to storm their victims, each of the soldiers looking to his comrades for the signal to attack, a one-eyed barbarian warrior, covered in sweat and panting as if from a long run, broke from the trees behind the two prisoners. His sword was held ready to fight, and he weighed up the situation as the praetorians gathered around the two officers stared at him in surprise, panting out a question to Marcus.

‘
You’ve not … killed them all … yet, then?
’

The Roman shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face, and another warrior burst out of the forest to stand alongside the first, his chest heaving with the effort of their pursuit. He glanced around the men encircling Marcus and Felix, a wheezy chuckle fighting its way past his efforts to drag air into his lungs.

‘
You made … me run … all this way … to fight … these children … Martos? He could have … managed this many … on his own
.’

The last man to emerge from the trees topped the first two by a head, but he was barely breathing heavily despite the effort of the run. A massive war hammer was held loosely across his torso, its heavy iron head still smeared with blood and hair. Hefting the huge weapon on to one shoulder, he clenched his other fist and stepped forward into the ring of praetorians, his face a mask of snarling hatred as he gazed about him and spat out a challenge in his own language.

‘At last! Romans I can fight!’

While the praetorians were still staring at the newcomers with growing uncertainty, Lugos swung the brutal weapon in a wide single-handed arc, his massive strength making light of its dead weight and smashing the hammer’s wicked beak against a hapless soldier’s chest, dropping the man writhing to the grass with his ribcage smashed. Lifting the pole arm high over his head, he roared in triumph and smashed it down through the crippled man’s helmet to break his skull with a sickening crunch of iron and bone. The other two warriors exchanged a look and stepped forward alongside him, raising their swords to fight, but as they did so the praetorians broke and ran for their lives despite their weight of numbers. Lugos went after them with a bellow of rage, running down the closest man in half a dozen strides and snagging his shoulder with the hammer’s hooked counterweight blade, dropping the praetorian to the ground in a flurry of arms and legs and leaving the downed man to his fellow warriors as he chased after another panic-stricken soldier. Excingus took one look at the fleeing guardsmen and turned his horse away, spurring it away from the clearing and on to the road south.