The Sword of Revenge (28 page)

Moving swiftly and silently, he was able to enjoy the sensation of being back in wooded countryside. At every opportunity, Aquila would make for an outcrop that afforded him a view of the progress of their pursuers. The party had left the plain and started up the hills, but even though they were out of sight he knew their location. Such a large group of men made a great deal of noise and you could place them by the flurries of birds scared out of the trees. He was following the trail down and they were following it up. They were bound to meet!

He found his spot, a narrow ravine where the sides rose some fifteen feet above the trail. Ideally he would have liked a place further down but there was no guarantee he would find anything as good as his present location. Aquila surveyed both sides, careful not to step on the trail, for if his pursuers had any sense they would not just blunder through a dangerous gully like this; at the very least they would be prepared for an attack. Odds of thirty to one were somewhat lessened by the narrow defile which would confine them to a maximum of three abreast, but those three and the men behind them would be ready, quite possibly with bow and arrows. Anyone standing up to cast a spear would
present an easy target so he had to unsettle them, to do something to spoil their aim. First he collected dry twigs, laying them across the gaps in the trees that led round the ravine to the spot he had chosen for his attack. If anyone came by those routes he would be warned and could get away.

The next bit was harder, and given the lack of available time he was blessed with good fortune. Catching snakes is never easy, even when you know where to look, especially during the middle of a hot day. Aquila searched carefully through the long grass with the end of a specially cut branch, food sack in hand, concentrating on the shaded areas, under rocks, where they would sleep. He found two adders, pinned them with the head of the stick, then picked them up and slipped them into the sack. Taking up position, he laid his bow and three arrows in front of him. Then he was still, so that the forest around him, disturbed by his presence, could settle back into normality.

Those ascending were making a tremendous racket, blundering through the undergrowth at the side of the trail and scaring animals large and small, some of which ran past Aquila. He froze at the sound of breaking twigs, then spun round as a massive wild boar shot past his outstretched feet, too intent on escape to afford him even a passing look, but being a huge beast Aquila stared after it eagerly. Thigh high to a standing man, the curled
horns on its snout were long enough to disembowel him, backed up by enough weight to break both your legs if it ran into you full tilt. In better times, he and Gadoric would have had great pleasure hunting such an animal.

The noises stopped, his pursuers having reined in their horses, and he strained to hear the voices, but the only sound was a faint hum of murmured instructions, followed by hooves muffled by the loose sandy trail. He loosened the neck of the sack, easing it towards the edge of the ravine as two men appeared, one looking at the trail, the other scanning the sides of the gully, shortly followed by several more riding in pairs abreast, bows at the ready, with arrows slotted into the gut. The man in front was a tracker and he was Aquila’s target. He turned and beckoned behind him and Aquila inhaled sharply as Flaccus appeared. The old centurion stopped his horse at the head of the column and raised his head, seeming to look straight at Aquila, sniffing the air, as though that would alert him to any hidden danger. Clearly in command, he turned and beckoned for the others to follow. If Aquila was going to stop them, this was the moment, but Flaccus, in the lead, was blocking him from his favoured target. Logic told him that killing the leader would do just as well but sentiment made that impossible. Flaccus might be cruel and avaricious yet he had been good to the
youth who now held his life in his hands.

The snakes were hissing madly and trying to wriggle out of the sack, their heads waving from side to side. Aquila took hold of the material at the bottom, jerked his arm and propelled the reptiles down onto the sandy track. They landed with a thud, two feet in front of Flaccus, and immediately wriggled away from him in panic. Flaccus’s horse, right in their path, was rearing within a second of their arrival, which caused the horses behind to buck and turn. Aquila stood up and there was a fraction of a second when the two pairs of eyes locked. Flaccus must have seen Aquila whip an arrow into his bow, must have been sure, with the boy’s prowess, that he was going to die. Aquila was pulling on the string, the head of the arrow still aimed at the old centurion’s heart. He twitched it to one side, no more than half an inch, but it was enough. The tracker, whose horse had turned right away from the snakes, took the bolt, which missed Flaccus’s head by a fraction. The thud was quite audible as it struck the man’s back, feathers quivering on the long shaft.

He fired off one more arrow, then ducked quickly to his right as the return fire whistled through the trees above his head, one or two passing the spot where he had been standing, but all, in the melee, were badly aimed, because the horses, still spooked by the snakes, had tried to bolt. The confusion was
evident in the mass of shouted and conflicting instructions, until the roaring voice of Flaccus raised itself above all others, commanding everyone to be quiet. Aquila slung his bow over his shoulder and retrieved his last arrow, then he was off, running diagonally across the hillside, spear in hand, through thick undergrowth that men on horses would not attempt. Flaccus was no fool; he would have some dismount to chase him on foot and he could only hope that he could either outrun them, or through superior skill in these woods, evade capture.

He moved swiftly, ignoring the disturbance his passing caused, for the woods were now in turmoil, with every bird calling in a unified chorus of alarm; that, added to the sound of men pursuing him, calling to each other as they came crashing through the undergrowth, spurred him on. He burst through a clump of bushes to another trail, made by animals over the years, and started to run uphill. The huge boar was coming down, so close to him that he would die if he tried to throw his spear so Aquila dived to one side, throwing himself into a thicket of painful nettles. Unable to turn swiftly the boar shot by, but it pushed out its hooves and finally shuddered to a halt.

Aquila leapt up and threw the spear to one side. His bow was up and the arrow slung, waiting for the animal to attack, even though he wondered if
such a weapon would be of any use against such a creature. But it did not turn; the sound of the men chasing Aquila, to an enraged and short-sighted animal, was a stronger lure than his proximity. It lumbered off down the trail, rapidly gaining momentum on the steep slope. The youngster was up and running by the time he heard the screams, the first being of a man in danger, swiftly followed by that same man in agony as the boar took him. Then his howls mingled with those of the boar, high pitched and squealing, as his companions tried to save their friend by killing the animal. The whole forest reverberated with the screeching of man and beast, both, judging by the sound, in their death throes. Aquila hoped that the boar had failed to kill, for a badly wounded man would slow the chase down even more.

Gadoric and Hypolitas were obviously still asleep, there being no sign or sound of movement as he made his way past the hidden ravine to check on the horses and his snares. He saw the grass, discoloured by the angle of the sun, at the spot where he had lain earlier that day. After six hours it could not be flattened, that is, unless someone else had lain in the same place. Aquila stood still, listening, his eyes darting around the area, seeking clues. Gadoric might have come up to the ridge but if he had, why was he not here now and if he had lain there
recently, he could not have failed to observe Aquila as he covered the last patch of territory through the sparse trees. Perhaps what he hoped for earlier had happened. If so, he must move carefully, to avoid creating alarm.

Aware that there was even higher ground from which he could be seen, every move he made was carried out with slow deliberation. The horses, now rested, watered and grazed, kicked skittishly as he removed the hobble ropes and they followed readily as he led them down to the hidden ravine. Nothing would get them through the gorse bush, so he tied them off to the branches before pushing the gap open and making his way through. He knew by the way his two companions were standing that they were not alone; Gadoric had him fixed with his single eye and he rattled off the warning in his heathen tongue, not that it did any good. The two spears were pressing gently against his side before the man had finished and hands removed his own spear, his bow and quiver, his sword and his knife as he was pushed into the centre of the small clearing.

‘Well, this is no slave,’ said a voice, speaking Greek, behind him.

Another voice replied. ‘Looks like a Roman to me, Tyrtaeus.’

‘His name is Aquila. He works for that bastard Flaccus, who took over the Falerian farms two harvests ago.’

‘Bit young, Pentheus,’ said the first man.

The voice that had spoken his name was full of hate. ‘He’s old enough to kill women and children.’

Aquila turned slowly; three men, no metal or leather, not soldiers. The man in the middle, the tallest of the three, curly haired with a hooked nose, stood with his sword swinging easily by his side. The others had spears, which were aimed in his direction, not that he feared them; if they decided to kill him it would not be done with a spear.

‘Flaccus himself is just down the mountain, with about thirty men.’

‘Just down the mountain is too far away to save you, boy,’ said the man called Tyrtaeus.

‘If Flaccus catches me, I’ll suffer a worse fate than he’d mete out to you. I’ve stolen his horse and weapons, killed at least one of his men, but worse than that, I’ve shamed him before Cassius Barbinus.’

Pentheus sucked in deeply at the mention of that name as Tyrtaeus looked past him to Gadoric and Hypolitas. ‘These men say they’ve escaped and looking at them it’s easy to believe, but you, well fed and well armed?’

‘These men would not have escaped if I hadn’t helped them. By now they’d be strung up on a cross of wood.’

‘Why did you help them?’ demanded Pentheus. He was a sallow-faced individual, with prematurely
grey hair and a pair of large brown eyes with dark rings underneath. It was plain by his look that he found the idea preposterous.

‘He helped me,’ said Gadoric.

The explanation that followed was disjointed and, by the look on Tyrtaeus’s face, totally unsatisfactory. Gadoric was still weak and he had poor Greek. Hypolitas, when asked, could at least reply clearly, but he did not know Aquila at all, so he could only confirm that the boy had, indeed, helped them both to escape.

‘A neat way to trap us, perhaps,’ said Tyrtaeus. ‘Free a couple of slaves, make your way into the mountains and hope to find some more. You say that Flaccus is chasing you. Perhaps he’s following you instead.’

‘Then why would I kill his men?’

‘We only have your word for that,’ Pentheus hissed. The spear dropped slightly as he addressed his words to Tyrtaeus, who was obviously the leader. ‘I tell you I know him. You would too, if you’d ever seen that hair on his head, let alone the thing on his neck. I remember when they first arrived. He was like a son to that Flaccus, rode everywhere with him while the mercenaries brought from the mainland did the dirty work, flaunting that gold eagle and a well-fed body while women and children starved.’

Tyrtaeus looked at Aquila enquiringly and the
boy held his gaze, forming the words in his mind that he would need to save himself. Phoebe had only taught him a small amount of Greek, which did not extend to explaining the impression he had: that part of Pentheus’s anger was probably compounded of jealousy as much as hardship and the way he looked at the eagle talisman was clearly suffused with greed.

‘He speaks the truth. I was close to Flaccus, for reasons that it would be of little use to explain.’ He raised his hand towards Gadoric, still struggling to follow the conversation. ‘But I was closer to this man, who helped to raise me after my father went off to war. When I saw him tied to a stake, and heard what his fate would be, I could not leave him to die.’

Pentheus jabbed his spear into Aquila’s stomach. ‘Don’t trust him, Tyrtaeus. Let me kill him.’

‘I don’t trust him,’ replied the taller man, ‘but neither will I behave like our late masters and condemn him out of hand.’

‘I’m in a poor position to offer advice, but Flaccus and his men are headed this way, following our trail. All I have done is make him cautious, which will slow him down, but he’ll be here before nightfall. Either you have enough men to stand here and fight him, or you too have to flee.’

‘How many men we have is our business. Tie him up, Pentheus.’

The ex-slave grinned, dropped his spear and
dashed to obey. Tyrtaeus walked over and addressed the other two, his hand indicating the marks of fresh wounds. ‘You are welcome, whatever else. Your scars are like the insignia of our tribe.’

‘I’ll take care of you myself,’ whispered Pentheus, pulling the rope that held Aquila’s arms tight. Then he grabbed the eagle on the chain, and jerked Aquila’s head forward until their noses were nearly touching. ‘I lost a woman and two children to your lot. I’ve dreamt of killing Flaccus ever since, but you’ll do in his place. One thing I promise you, and that is a slow death.’

Tyrtaeus walked back, his arms through those of Gadoric and Hypolitas. ‘Pentheus, help these two fellows onto the horses.’

‘And him?’

‘He’s well fed. The bastard can walk.’

Marcellus read the despatch while his father watched him. They had become more like equals now; not that Lucius had mellowed, it was just that his son was becoming too mature to be treated as a schoolboy.

‘My first impression is that Silvanus is exaggerating.’ Lucius nodded, as Marcellus continued. ‘Obviously he has to pay for calling out his auxiliaries, but sending troops to Sicily would be a burden on the state. How venal is he?’