The Eagles' Brood

XXIII

I spent the next hour touring the fort, assessing the damage and making arrangements to move our colonists out, while we cleaned up the mess and made the fort fit for living in again. There was food available, but I had no stomach for it. I was in the grip of a force that kept me functioning and thinking clearly about every problem brought to my attention, but there was a constant, distant buzzing in my head that separated me from everything else going on around me, so that I seemed able to concentrate only upon individual matters, one at a time, without being distracted.

I called Popilius to me and walked with him to the main entrance of the fort, where we stood looking down in silence at the confusion on the plain below. Directly below us, looking like a boy's unfinished model, lay the fortified camp that Popilius and his men had been building at the time of the attack. Further away on our right, to the west, the scattered detritus of Lot's encampment lay strewn across the countryside. The rest of the plain, the entire length and breadth of it, was littered with bodies, tiny stick men and horses thrown carelessly in every attitude of death and abandonment. Far to our left, around the shoulder of the hill, smoke still drifted sullenly from the villa. The wind had dropped.

Popilius's voice broke through my thoughts. "That has to be cleaned up. It will take time."

"Aye, but we have time. How many prisoners did we take?"

He shrugged. "About three hundred, at the last count I heard of, but there may be more as our people come back."

"What were our losses?"

"Not as heavy as I expected." He stopped talking and worked to undo the chin strap of his helmet, finally pulling the heavy helm from his head and wiping sweat from his brow with the crook of his elbow. "Your cavalry arrived just at the right time. Head count isn't complete yet, but I know of three hundred infantry dead, and sixteen hundred wounded, two hundred of those serious."

"Those are large numbers, Popilius."

"Aye, but smaller than they might have been had you not guessed Lot's plans."

"I guessed wrong."

"Only by one day, Commander. If you had not guessed at all, we would have been taken completely by surprise and slaughtered."

"Aye, Popilius, perhaps." I sighed and then nodded towards his armed camp below. "That was a good idea. I commend you on the speed of your reactions."

He shook his head abruptly. "It was your father's idea, not mine. We had hoped to bring all the colonists inside the walls and have a garrison down there to hinder Lot, supported from up here."

"We can still use it," I told him. "Split your men in two—half to double the size of the camp down there and finish it, the other half to start collecting the dead for burial. Set the prisoners to work digging pits, deep pits and large, and keep them at it until the job is done. Lot's carrion we will bury on the right, there, where he camped. Our own dead will lie on the far left, towards the villa. See that both batches are buried well, Popilius. The stink of rotting friends is as foul as that of foes. As soon as that is done and the camp enlargement is under way, start moving everyone out of the fort. We will all live down there on the plain for a time. The interior of the fort will have to be gutted, cleansed and rebuilt. I want every sign of fire, every charred piece of wood, every last hint of stink removed and buried or otherwise disposed of. Take the debris out through the small back gate and burn as much of it as you can on the hilltop there.

And that reminds me, we have to find a way that will ensure we are never surprised from the rear like that again. Any suggestions?"

"Aye." Popilius nodded his grizzled pate. "One."

"Well?"

"Set up a permanent camp out there, behind the walls on the top of the hill."

I stared at him. "That's it! Do it. Eventually, we'll extend the walls of the fort itself to cover the whole hilltop." I stopped and turned to look behind me at the fort, my eyes searching for I knew not what. "Now," I asked myself aloud, "Have I missed anything? Yes, the refurbishing." I turned back to Popilius. "Every mason, every carpenter, every craftsman we have will work full-time inside the fort until it is done. All labour to be supplied by the prisoners. Feed them adequately. Keep them healthy, strong enough to work hard and long, but kill any of them at the first sign of recalcitrance. They caused this carnage; they will rectify it."

"And afterwards?"

"After what?"

"When the work is done? What then?"

"Then they will work in the fields, replacing the men they killed."

"All of them?"

"As many as remain alive, yes."

"But where will we keep them, Caius?"

I shrugged. "Let them build their own prison camp on the hill behind the fort, in the space normally reserved for stables. They can build cages for themselves." I looked back down to the plain below. "Collect all the officers' bodies in one spot, Popilius. We will bury them in a single grave there, in the middle of the campus."

He coughed, clearing his throat. "Your father too, Commander?"

I looked at him. "No, Popilius. My father will be buried here in the fort, beside his own father and Publius Varrus."

"Aye, Imperator!" He saluted me with the formal title of Imperial Commander.

"Don't call me that, Popilius. It is a Roman title, foreign now, and we have no need of it here in Camulod. Now, can you think of anything else I have missed?"

He cleared his throat and answered, "Aye, yourself, Commander Merlyn. The fires are under control and nearly all out, and everything is in hand. I will set the rest in motion, and as our people come back, things will return more or less to normal, or as close as they can be. You still have to deal with those whoresons in your uncle's house. Your quarters are intact, untouched. You would feel better for a wash and a change of clothing."

I was staring again at the scene laid out below, watching the tiny figures of our soldiers moving in the field, counting the dead, identifying the fallen, searching for wounded. I nodded in agreement. "That is logical, Popilius, and probably true." My voice sounded dead and distant, ringing in my head. "I'll take you at your word. When they come looking for me, tell them where I am." I left him and made my way back to my quarters. On the way I met Ludo coming from the kitchens. He looked at me solicitously and asked me when I had last eaten. I shook my head and waved him away without an answer, my concentration now focused cm reaching my quarters without collapsing.

There was a soldier on guard outside my door, and I was grateful for his assistance as I stripped out of my filthy clothes and washed the grime of the battlefield away. By the time I had dried myself and changed into fresh clothes, Ludo had found me again, and had brought a huge bowl of meat and vegetable broth, "drinking temperature," he told me, and insisted on standing there while I drank it. It was delicious and invigorating and by the time I had finished it, I felt like a man again.

I thanked both of them for their trouble and went looking for Popilius. I found him in the centre of the main yard, supervising the clean-up crews. All the fires were thoroughly doused by now and there was little smoke left, although the entire fort stank like a charnel house. As I approached him, however, and before I could speak, a runner arrived looking for me, with word that Caspar and Memnon had come out to speak with me again. I had time only to learn from Popilius that there was still no sign of our cavalry returning, and that our death toll had now climbed above the seven-hundred mark. As I turned to leave Popilius, I noticed the ruins of the Council Hall for the first time. Nothing remained of it but the walls, and the sight of it triggered a thought. "Tiles, Popilius," I said.

"Commander?"

"Tiles, clay roofing tiles like the ones on the villa. Make sure we use them in future on all our roofs. No more thatch within the fort. Will you see to that?"

"Aye, Commander."

The two grotesques, Caspar and Memnon, were lounging in front of my uncle's doorway, awaiting my return. The sight of them stirred up the sour sickness in my belly again. They straightened up as I approached, looking me over from head to foot and I was glad I had washed and changed. The sneering smile was back on Caspar's face.

"Commander Britannicus. I am honoured that you should feel obliged to dress for us."

I cut him short immediately. "Shut your evil mouth for everything but our business," I snapped at him. "I have neither time nor patience to waste on you. You live or you die by the end of this conversation. There will be no further talk after that."

He smiled again at that, but his voice dropped low. "We will all live. Except, of course, our twelve unfortunate companions whom you have sworn to kill. Memnon and I have put our minds to work as you suggested, seeking a means of ensuring that our lives will not depend entirely on your personal goodwill. We believe we have a solution." He stopped talking, evidently waiting for some kind of response from me.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"Well, we have two problems. The first of these is caused by our companions, those same twelve men. We do not believe, Memnon and I, that they will trust us fully in disposing of their lives and welfare. Had they remained in ignorance of your aunt's importance in your eyes, our task would have been far simpler. You, however, brought her to their attention, so we can hardly be expected to persuade them to relinquish her to our particular care. They see salvation in her now."

"What's your second problem?"

"Ah, yes, the second problem. That concerns the release of your aunt and our unhindered departure from your lands. That one, we feel, can be resolved to everyone's satisfaction. The first is far more pressing."

"How many hostages do you hold?" The question had been burning in my mind for hours.

"Eleven, plus your aunt. Nine women, two men—all servants."

"Have they been harmed?'

He made a face, indicating a lack of both knowledge and concern. "The men have been subdued; the women, used. In war that happens."

I said nothing. I was unsurprised and unconcerned. I knew my aunt's serving women. They could survive the humiliation of mere carnal abuse. It would be unpleasant but none of them would die from it. I was thinking furiously about how to separate the twelve men from the others, and the more I thought about it, the more insoluble the problem appeared. It was unthinkable that these men would be foolish enough to separate themselves voluntarily from Aunt Luceiia, whose value was now known to them. I felt anger and frustration building up in me, arid cursed myself for not having seen the futility of trying to bargain my way out of this situation. There seemed to be no way out. I would have to release all of them, and still rely on Caspar and Memnon for Aunt Luceiia's safety. The realization sickened me. But then my frustrated silence gained me an unexpected reprieve. Caspar himself presented me with the only possible solution.

"How badly do you want these men of mine? Alive, I mean."

"Explain yourself," I answered, trying to school my face to show nothing even while my interest quickened. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said," he responded. "If you want them alive, you will never have them. Dead..." He wiggled his fingers fastidiously. "That might be., .achievable."

"How? My men could never get close enough to surprise them."

"No, but Memnon and I could."

"Twelve of them?" I heard the scorn in my own voice. "Twelve men who don't trust you in the first place?"

A small frown appeared briefly between Caspar's brows and he hastened to correct me. "When I said that, I meant simply that they would not trust us to deal with you for their lives. They are not depraved enough to think that we might kill them ourselves. These are simple men, Commander."

I felt my skin break out in goose-flesh at the calmness of his voice. I swallowed hard and fought to keep the loathing out of my voice as I continued speaking. "How could you do that? Physically, I mean? How would it be possible?"

Caspar smiled. "That is our business and you may leave it to us. Our bargain was that you would trade the Hibernian prince for the twelve men and the other hostages, was it not?" I nodded in assent. "Well then, I have merely to return and say I suspect you of planning something to undo our efforts, and to suggest that we separate the hostages, one to each man, except for myself and Memnon. Any one of them, at random, may guard your aunt. Then we will move them into separate rooms for strategic safety. It will be done. They will believe me, since one of them will have the old woman. Once they are...separated, Memnon and I will remove them, one or two at a time.. .Efficiently."

I shuddered in spite of myself and tried to turn it into an angry shrug. "No," I snapped, "I will not allow that. It is too dangerous. My aunt could be killed."

"She will not be harmed, believe me. Memnon and I have means at our disposal for the silent dispersal of death.. .means of which you could never conceive.. .All we require is time. When we are done, we will open the doors again and you can count the bodies as we throw them out. After that, you will release your captive to us and we will send out the hostages."

"No! Hostages first, and then you get the Scot."

"Commander!" Caspar's voice seemed filled with genuine pain. "You must show a little faith. The Scot is our passport home to Lot. The other hostages mean little or nothing to you, you have said as much. We will still have the old woman. What difference can it make at this point?"

I gnawed on my lip, but I was prepared to concede on this point. "Probably none," I admitted finally. "Very well. That's how we'll do it. How long will it take you to get rid of the twelve men?"

"Two hours, perhaps more. It will have to be done cautiously."

"Aye, I believe you. So be it. Get about your work. I have no wish to discuss the how of it with you now or later." I watched him walk away, hearing Donuil's words in my head: "These people deal only in death." A wave of faintness and nausea swept over me and I stood there gritting my teeth until it wore off, after which I signalled a centurion who had been standing behind me, out of earshot, watching everything that went on. He came smartly to my side and I indicated Uric's bowmen who still held their watch in a semicircle around the yard.

"Centurion, I want you to relieve the bowmen here. They've been standing guard for hours. Replace them with our own soldiers. They are to stand watch vigilantly, but make no move towards the house. Inform me immediately if any noise is heard from within. If the silence holds, I expect the doors to be opened again in a matter of hours.

Send runners to find me when that happens. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Commander." He repeated my instructions verbatim and I left him to carry them out as the first drops of rain started falling from the afternoon sky, which had turned leaden without my noticing. I glanced up and saw that the clouds were heavy and unbroken. Rain would provide a mixed benison. It would settle the flying ash and douse the last of the smouldering timbers within the fort, but it would also make life unpleasant for the men on burial duty and for the soldiers working to enlarge the camp on the plain below.

I made another tour of Camulod, this time seeing far more than I had taken in on my previous circuit. The damage did not seem as extensive as I had feared earlier, although it was bad. The Council Hall was completely destroyed, of course, and so was the larger part of the stables. Most of the storage buildings were intact, however, and so were the bath houses, the kitchens and the large dining hall. The officers' quarters and the sick bay had escaped entirely, which I already knew, and the major portion of the common barracks seemed unscathed, although the entire section of buildings against the north wall—mainly barracks, tanneries, and barrel-makers' cooperages—had been gutted. The large building that housed the centurions had been badly damaged—again the northern part, which was the cavalry centurions' quarters. The huddle of buildings in the centre of the fort seemed to have burned in places and survived in others, with no apparent pattern to the damage. The potter's shed and warehouse were untouched, as were the two main forges, but the wheelwright's shop was gone from between the forges and the ale-maker's store behind the potter's warehouse had been burned out.

I saw Popilius by the main gate and crossed to him, and as I did so die heavens opened. The noise of the torrential rain striking my helmet was deafening, and we had to shout into each other's ears to make ourselves heard. He had a final report on the casualties, up to the flight of Lot's army. In all, we had lost close to nine hundred dead. Of that number, two hundred and thirty-nine were colonists and non-belligerents: old men, women and children. Another hundred and ninety- two were cavalry casualties, and the rest, some four hundred and sixty men, were infantry. In addition to these losses, he informed me, we had another hundred or so seriously wounded who were not expected to survive, and there were more than three hundred dead horses on the field below. As soon as I heard this last item, I realized that I had made no provision for the burial of horses, but he had already taken care of the oversight and there were teams hauling them away even now.

The numbers apalled me. Nine hundred dead and another hundred marked to die! That, added to the other casualties we had sustained over the previous few weeks, meant that our overall strength had been severely depleted. I added the numbers quickly in my head: more than fifteen hundred men in all; almost one-third of our total fighting strength gone within a month! Popilius was still shouting in my ear, talking about enemy dead, but I had missed the gist of what he was saying, except for the number. I stopped him and asked him to repeat Lot's total losses. Almost four thousand. Good but not enough.

Suddenly, as quickly as it had begun, the cloudburst died away and the sensation was as though a fog had sundered. I had been staring towards the main entrance gate, seeing nothing through the driving rain for long moments, and then I found myself gaping in almost superstitious awe at the apparition that confronted me in the open gateway. Two gaunt, dark, ravaged figures stood there, leaning on staves, looking like the very harbingers of death, until I recognized the taller of them as the leader of the zealot priests my father had banished from our lands months earlier. As I watched him, still powerless to move or say anything, this priest looked all around the littered yard and raised his staff high in his claw-like hand, pointing it to the sky. His shout broke on my ears like the screech of a rusted hinge.

"This chaos is heaven's judgment on Godless men!" The vigour of his shout stopped all men who were within the sound of his voice. People on all sides stopped whatever they were doing and looked around to see who was making' this disturbance, and die priest knew they were listening and his voice grew even louder. "Look on the power of the Lord of Hosts and be ashamed and walk in terror! They that mock His word will be cast down..."

I heard no more, for I was running, fumbling for the sword beneath my water-sodden cloak. My feet felt like lead and I seemed to be running through high, wet grass that tugged at me and hampered me, slowing me down to a dreamlike, struggling crawl. The priest's companion saw me coming and tried to step between us, his eyes wide with alarm and fright, but I picked him up like a baby and threw him aside as though he were weightless, and then my hands closed around the scrawny throat of the still-screaming zealot. I drove him back, hard, against the wall on one side of the gate and still he shouted and spat, his adam's apple wobbling beneath my thumbs. I smashed my right knee hard into his groin and threw him sideways and he fell and lay face down, buttocks in the air, one hand clutching his testicles, his neck stretched, dirty grey and inviting like a duck's neck on a chopping block. My sword came easily into my hand now and I swung it high and brought it hissing down as someone's shoulder crashed into my ribs and dashed me backwards into darkness.