The Encircling Sea

XVIII

THE ROUND TOWER loomed up against the night sky, shaped almost like a vase, its walls curving inwards. The point of a conical roof must have been at least thirty-five feet up in the air. It was too dark for Ferox to see either the thatch or the huge dry-stone walls, plain and without any windows or other openings. At its foot were three roundhouses, also of stone, although the roof of one had long since collapsed. None had doors on the outside, and the only way in was through the main entrance, which snaked between the buildings before it led into the tower.

The only way in was through that main door, unless the Red Cat and the others were right and they could climb up and break their way through the roof. Ferox could not rely on them and, at best, it would give him an extra edge. He still wished that Bran had not wanted to go, but the boy assured him that he was an excellent climber, used to scaling cliffs in search of birds’ eggs, and in the end he had given permission.

They had landed as the grey day came to an end, shielded from hostile eyes by the thick mist on the sea. Only nine could cram into the ship’s boat at a time, including the two rowers and a helmsman, so it took three trips to bring all the men ashore and another for the sacks of supplies. Then the boat rowed back to the ship and they were alone. It was not safe for them to stay on the beach. If all went well, they would signal with torches and the sailors would row back in to pick them up. It was the weakest part of the plan, because Ferox knew that it would mean several trips to carry them all, the numbers of those left behind to hold off any enemies growing smaller and smaller all the time. He could not think of any alternative. They would just have to hope that with most of the pirates away, the others would be slow to respond.

Ferox, Duco and the two northerners set off inland, leaving Vindex to guide the others and follow at a distance. There was no sign of anyone. A few damp sheep stared forlornly at them as they passed. Ferox had asked the prisoner whether they ought to paint their faces and hands black.

‘We only do that to frighten others,’ Duco said dismissively. Ferox still thought of him as the prisoner even though he was helping them. He did not think treachery was likely, but had quietly told the brothers to kill the man at the first sign of falsehood. The centurion found it hard not to grin at the irony of asking two men who had sworn to kill him to keep a watch on another forced companion. Their oath would hold for the moment, and he needed them and their hardness.

They came in sight of the tower after no more than twenty minutes, and he spent some time circling it, taking a good look. A chink of red light showed the entrance at the end of the causeway. In the dark he could not make out whether this path was natural or made from piled stones, but it went straight out from the shore to the entrance. No one was visible, whether at the tower, on the causeway or on the shores around the lake. This part of the island seemed empty.

By the time they had circled again and gone back to the low rise on the far side of the lake, Vindex and the others were there. Ferox smelt fresh blood, and noticed that Falx the gladiator had the carcase of a sheep over his shoulder. One of the Batavians was carrying another dead animal.

‘Best to have as much food as we can,’ Longinus told him, and Ferox wondered why he had not thought of it.

He patted the one-eyed veteran on the shoulder. ‘You know what to do?’

‘Yes, sir. Stay back out of sight. If fighting starts we pile straight in. If not, I count to one hundred and then pile in.’ Longinus would command the main force. The Red Cat, Bran, and one of the younger scouts were to wade or float using some pieces of timber, crossing the lake behind the tower. The old thief swore that he could climb the wall and break in through the roof and the other pair had volunteered to go with him. Ferox, Duco, Falx and one of the Batavians were to walk across the causeway and try to bluff their way in.

Ferox saw the huge gladiator lifting the dead sheep.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Keep it.’

Falx stopped in the middle of the movement.

‘Do as he says,’ Probus commanded, and the man hefted it back onto his shoulder, where it looked no bigger than a puppy. The merchant was to stay with Longinus and the others, waiting back in the shadows.

The causeway was solid and flatter than Ferox had expected. He and the three others walked across, not hurrying and doing their best to look natural. There was still no sign of life from the tower, apart from the glimpse of firelight.

Ferox walked towards the tower. They were more than halfway across, the lake water a deep black pit on either side. Each man had his sword, and Ferox had his dagger as well, but they carried no shields and their armour was covered by their cloaks.

‘Halt!’ The challenge could have come from the sentry at an army base. Even after all these years some of their training still clung to the mutineers. ‘Who goes there?’

‘Is that you, Flavus?’ Duco called out before Ferox could say anything. ‘It’s me.’ He started to walk forward again. Ferox and the others followed.

‘Duco? That you?’ The door opened, spilling red light and silhouetting a tall, thin man who stepped out to meet them. ‘What’s happening, brother? What do you want? I didn’t think you were back.’

‘I’m not. This is all a dream.’ They were getting closer. Ferox could see the sentry’s lean face. He had an army-pattern belt, the plates glinting faintly and a gladius on his right side.

Flavus laughed. ‘Whose dream? If it’s mine then it must be a nightmare. Why’d I want to dream of you?’

‘Because I’m beautiful and I’ve brought you food, you miserable old scragg.’

‘Who are your friends?’ Flavus asked, and his hand went down to his sword. ‘Didn’t know you had any.’

‘Don’t you recognise me?’ Ferox said, trying to sound offended. They were only a few paces away. Flavus started to draw his sword.

‘Ignore him, he’s an idiot,’ Duco said. ‘Cniva sent us. He wants the queen.’

The name of their leader made the sentry pause. ‘Don’t blame him. Although that bitch would kill you as soon as look at you. The chief got plans?’

‘He’s always got plans, always. But we’ve got mutton.’

Falx tossed the sheep onto the stones. Flavus looked down, and as he did so Duco drew his gladius and stabbed his old comrade in the stomach, putting his left hand across the man’s mouth to stifle his groans. Ferox drew his sword and dagger and ran through the open door. A man was in an alcove, sitting on a stool and holding a bowl of stew. Ferox kicked the stool, knocking the man over and ran past him, leaving him to one of the others.

A third sentry appeared around a bend in the corridor. He was holding a small round shield and with his sword down low, but although he had his weapons ready he was sluggish with surprise. Ferox hooked his dagger over the rim of the shield, jerked it to the side and lunged with his gladius, the long point driving into the pirate’s throat. There were shouts from further along the tunnel. A man appeared from another side room, wearing only trousers but carrying a sword. Someone else was shouting. Ferox dashed at the man, and the tunnel wound again so that he could see another warrior with a spear at the end of the corridor. A pair of torches burned in brackets on the wall.

A great bellow thundered along the tunnel. Falx pushed past him, crouching because the roof was so low, and charged. His left hand clasped his right wrist and even in the narrow space he swung the sword so that its wickedly honed blade opened the chest of the man in trousers. The gladiator lifted the dying man by the throat, holding him one-handed, took three paces forward and flung him at the spearman. Both pirates were down, the spearman trying to get up when Falx reached him and jabbed down. A woman screamed as the gladiator went through the doorway at the end of the tunnel. There was a grunt from behind him as the Batavian finished off the man who had been sitting on the stool.

Ferox ran after the gladiator, coming out into a wider room, its wooden ceiling about seven feet high. There were four doors around its roughly circular wall, and another open alcove filled with sacks. A grey-haired woman cowered down inside, screaming again and again. A ladder was ahead of him, Falx just starting to climb, his sword ready to thrust up.

‘Wait!’ Ferox yelled, feeling that he ought to take the risk and go first. The gladiator stopped, jumped down to the floor, so that a thrust spear narrowly missed his head. Falx grasped the shaft with one hand and jerked hard. A man appeared through the opening, coming head first and arms still clutching the spear. He let go, as the big man shook the shaft again. Ferox raised his dagger, aimed and threw, but it missed, bouncing off the ceiling next to the man. He ran past the gladiator and bounded up the steps, as the pirate vanished. By the time he came through the opening into the main living space, the man had picked up a sword and pulled it free from the scabbard. Ferox glanced around. There was a fire in the middle of the floor, raised on a stone base. A naked girl was pressed up against the wall, clutching a blanket to her, but there was no one else in the wide room, although a couple of sections were fenced off by wattle panels and hanging blankets. He could not see if there was anyone else on the raised floor that was mounted higher up on the wall to provide more space.

The man came at him as he pushed himself up onto the floor. The first jab was at his face, and Ferox rolled sideways to dodge it. He gave a wild slash with his gladius, hoping to catch his opponent on the leg or ankle, but missed. The man stabbed a second time, and Ferox rolled over again. The tip of the gladius missed his face by a few inches and drove into the timber floor. The man cursed, pulled it free, but then gave way because Falx appeared at the top of the ladder. Ferox pushed up, lunged and caught the warrior on the thigh. The pirate staggered back, hissing, and the centurion followed, slashing up and then back to cross the warrior’s stomach. He dropped his sword, hands clutching at the gaping wound and Ferox thrust the blade hard, driving the slim point through the pirate’s left eye.

There was noise from above them, and something landed on the raised floor so that it quivered. The Red Cat looked down over the edge, took in the scene, and grinned.

‘Check through there,’ Ferox told the gladiator, pointing at one of the fenced-off sections. This time there was no hesitation, only the prudent caution of the fighter.

The girl started to sob loudly, her body shaking, although whether from fear or relief it was hard to say. ‘My lord,’ she gasped, and the thin voice was familiar. It was Aphrodite, Brocchus’ slave.

‘It’s all right, girl,’ was all that he could think to say. ‘You’re safe.’

Falx held his sword low and wrenched back the blanket hanging across the opening. He stepped in, moving slowly, then flicked his massive arm up to block a blow and sent someone flying back into the side room. He raised his sword and then stopped.

‘You!’ The petulance in the voice was familiar. Ferox went up behind the gladiator and saw Genialis rubbing blood off his lip.

The Red Cat came down the ladder onto the main floor, with Bran and the scout close behind.

‘Search the rest of the rooms up here,’ Ferox said. He turned to the youth. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Don’t know. They kept me up here all the time.’

There was shouting from down below but no sounds of fighting and Ferox guessed that Longinus and the rest of his force had arrived. ‘Your father is here, boy,’ he said, and went down the ladder onto the ground floor, just as Probus appeared, following a couple of Batavians into the tower. ‘He’s fine. Up there.’ He gestured towards the opening in the ceiling.

Simple wooden bars held shut each of the doors on the ground floor. Ferox beckoned to one of the Batavians to be ready, lifted the first one and eased the door open. A cow with soft brown eyes and a calf suckling on her stared at him. The second room held two barrels, some amphorae marked as containing oil and sauce, and a few sacks. There was a sound as he opened the third door and his heart leaped, only to see a big sow and a row of piglets lying on the straw. He began to worry that they had got it all horribly wrong. Someone was shouting for him from higher up in the tower, but he ignored them and wrenched the bar up on the final door, flinging it back.

Sulpicia Lepidina let out a long breath when she saw him. She sat on the rush-covered floor, her feet and arms shackled. Her pale blue dress was ragged around the edges and dirty, her hair wild and around her shoulders. She still wore a necklace and pearl earrings, and there was no mark of injury on her. To Ferox she glowed, and he felt relief flood over him. Brigita was beside her, chained in the same way, her yellow dress drab with dirt and badly torn, but he barely noticed her.

‘You are safe, my lady,’ he said, adopting the same soothing tone he had taken with the slave girl upstairs. ‘It is over,’ he added, not believing it but wanting to reassure. He repeated the same phrases in the language of the tribes, so that queen would understand. ‘We’ll soon have you free of those.’ He went forward, crouching down to look at the irons. They were fastened with pins and he managed to knock the first one off, freeing one ankle. ‘Come on, man, lend a hand,’ he called to the Batavian, who went over to assist the queen.

The other pin was harder, but he hit it with the pommel on his gladius and eventually it came free. The lady wriggled her legs, smiling with joy to be relieved of the weight and grip of the shackles. ‘We’re here, and you are safe,’ he said softly.

‘I knew you would come,’ she whispered.

Sulpicia Lepidina began to cry.

‘My lady, it is a joy to see you.’ Ovidius was at the door. ‘Centurion, you are needed up above,’ he added, and for once the poet sounded like a man giving an order.

Ferox had released one of her wrists and waited to finish the other.

‘We can do that, centurion,’ Ovidius insisted. It came free and the lady rubbed her ankles with her hands.

‘I must go,’ Ferox said.

Longinus was looking down through the hole in the ceiling. ‘Up top. It’s bad news,’ he said.

Ferox climbed up to the first floor, then onto the raised platform. They had lowered a rope through the hole they had made in the roof and the Red Cat was sitting up there, waving his arm. Ferox scrambled up, wishing that he had that agility with ropes that seemed to come so naturally to others. The northerner helped haul him up and they both lay against the thatch, looking out over the rim of the wall. It was cold up here after the fug and dust of the tower. The sky was clearer, stars appearing.

Out to sea, their ship burned in the night.