The Encircling Sea

XX

A HORSEMAN CAME just after dawn and stared at the tower for some time, before riding away. The corpses of the defenders were laid out in a line beyond the causeway, and when he had found out they were there Ferox had wondered about telling his men to hide them. There was not really any point, since the barricades were there for all to see.

It did not matter, and when morning came he had other things to worry about. Encouraged by Sulpicia Lepidina, the slave girl Aphrodite had eaten some stew and then gone up onto the raised floor to sleep. When the lady had gone to rouse her this morning, she found her dead, stabbed through the heart, dried blood all over her bedding.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ Sulpicia Lepidina asked him when he arrived, summoned by the commotion. She looked pale, although not as white as the bloodless girl. There was a cruel echo of the other time they had made love, for the day after that they had found another murdered slave. Ferox thought of Ovidius’ comments about gods with a black sense of humour.

Nobody had been seen climbing the ladder to the raised platform, but then most of the night people had been asleep or outside on guard.

‘Was she violated?’ Ovidius asked. Ferox could see no sign of it, although the poor girl had been forced so many times by her captors that it was hard to tell, and at least it offered a motive. He did not really know any of the Batavians apart from Longinus, but the latter had vouched for them all when they were chosen and that was good enough for him. He could not believe it of Vindex and his men, or of the northerners, for all their grimness. Ovidius seemed unlikely, Bran too young, and he could not think of any reason for either of the women to kill the slave.

That left Probus and Falx, and it was easy enough to believe the gladiator capable of any cruelty, but hard to believe that he had sneaked up without being noticed. People tended to be very aware of the huge man wherever he was. Probus also seemed unlikely, for what would he gain? The man was rich enough to take pleasure with as many slaves as he wanted. The same was true of his son, but Ferox remembered Genialis trying to rape the girl all those months ago. He thought of the delight the youth had shown when he stabbed the Red Cat’s son to death. There was also the archer who had ambushed him. From what Duco said such a skilled horse archer was unlikely to have been one of the pirates. On the other hand, there were surely plenty of former cavalrymen among the employees of the merchant and his son. The boy might easily have promised one of them a rich reward to revenge himself on the centurion for not giving in to his every whim.

Sulpicia Lepidina said that the lad had been well treated by their captors. Ferox wondered whether that had extended to letting him rape the girl. That might explain why Genialis was on the first floor when they stormed the tower, and not chained up with the other captives. The boy had been more nervous than sullen since they had arrived, and Ferox had assumed that this was because of the hard glances shot at him by Segovax and his brother. Most of the time he kept close to his father. Ferox wondered about saying something, but he had no proof and for the moment he needed Probus and especially his bodyguard. Now that the horseman had seen them, it would surely not be long before Cniva and his men arrived.

Ferox put the Red Cat and Bran on top of the tower. They were there to keep watch in case the pirates did what they had done and sent men to scale the wall and get in through the top. Ovidius insisted on joining them. ‘I’m not much use with a sword, but I believe that I can throw a stone and sometimes hit what I want.’ Ferox agreed, and added Genialis because it got the youth out of the way, and perhaps the sight of him would deter the attackers from anything too bold.

The others were split into three groups. Ferox led the first, with Duco, Segovax and two Batavians. They would make the first stand at the barricade. Longinus led the second group, with the other three Batavians and Falx, who would wait by the entrance and the smaller wall there. Vindex, his scouts, Probus and the queen waited in the tunnel as reserve. Brigita had donned a mail shirt, one of those captured from the defenders, and under it had a man’s tunic, which left her legs bare from the knees down. Her long hair was platted into a pigtail, like the ones the northerners wore, but she had coiled some of it up so that the bronze army helmet, also taken from the dead sentries, was not quite so loose.

‘Well, she certainly frightens me,’ Vindex said. ‘That and other things.’ He sucked, baring his big teeth, making his face even more horse-like than usual.

‘Thought you were a married man,’ Ferox replied.

His friend shrugged. He was sitting in the tunnel and running a stone along the edge of his sword. ‘Still a man,’ he said. ‘And you know a funny thing about that? Well, about you.’

‘What?’

‘You don’t know, do you? You really don’t. Although I must say you look happy this morning.’ The Brigantian seemed to leer knowingly, but his face was made to leer and in the shadows of the tunnel it might be no more than his imagination.

‘I am happy,’ Ferox said. ‘It’s morning, and we are still alive. I can’t promise that will be true by the end of the day, but we may as well make the most of it.’

‘All right, don’t tell me, and don’t ask?’

‘Ask what?’

‘My wife’s name.’

‘Haven’t I asked you that?’

‘No.’

A call came from out on the causeway. ‘No time now,’ Ferox said, and ran out, dodging past the smaller wall and heading for the main one.

Half a dozen horsemen were on the shore. Their ponies were various shades of brown, and they wore silver and bronze scale or iron mail armour, but everything else about them was black.

‘That’s Cniva,’ Duco said as the centurion reached the men on the barricade. He was pointing at a rider who was a little ahead of the others. The man was small, narrow shouldered, and his black beard and hair were streaked with grey. He did not look much, but looks were so often deceptive, and Ferox did not doubt that he was a killer. The question now was whether he was also a talker, and would try to persuade them to give in.

Behind the horsemen a file of soldiers appeared over the crest of the low ridge. They came four abreast, marching in step and in silence like a regular unit. Bronze helmets gleamed dully in the morning light, their mail shirts looked grey, and both were bright against the black tunics, trousers, and oval shields painted black. Even the shafts of their spears were painted in dark colours. At the head of the column a man carried a vexillum, its ornate and highly polished spearhead glittering above a plain black flag.

One of the Batavians, a tall man with dark brown eyes and a broken nose, spat over the barricade. ‘Cheeky buggers,’ he said.

Ferox grinned, and adjusted the cheek pieces of his iron helmet with its tall, transverse feather crest. He counted some two hundred men including the riders, which meant that there were likely other pirates to come. A glance back at the tower showed Ovidius and the others on top, looking all round as they were supposed to and giving no warnings of other threats.

The column wheeled to the right, processed along the ground a little back from the shore, and then turned into a line four deep.

The tall Batavian applauded mockingly. The other auxiliary trooper laughed nervously. Segovax rubbed the mail shirt he had been given after they took the tower, but his face was impassive. Duco was breathing deeply, sucking his lips back over her teeth. All of them had helmets, mail, a shield – three of them the plain black of the pirates – a sword and a good spear. They waited.

Cniva kicked his horse and walked the beast on to the start of the causeway. Here it comes, Ferox thought and waited for the boasts, threats and offers of mercy. The horse did not like the look of the stones and the water lapping softly against it as the wind blew across the island. It tried to shy away, and the pirate leader held the reins ruthlessly to keep it there. He began to whistle, softly at first, but growing louder and stronger, and he raised his arm to point at them, ending with a snap of his fingers and a wave. He went silent, glaring at them, and even at this distance his eyes burned with a dangerous hatred that reminded Ferox of the Emperor Domitian in one of his most murderous moods. Then Cniva turned away, and trotted back up the gentle slope to join his foot soldiers.

‘Can we go home now?’ the Batavian asked.

Duco was gripping the top of the barricade tightly, staring at the departing leader. ‘That was a curse.’

‘From a man who eats people?’ the Batavian with the broken nose said. ‘Piss on him, what does he know.’

‘That he’s got two hundred and we haven’t got twenty,’ the other auxiliary said.

‘They won’t have so many soon.’ The man with the broken nose reached up and tugged at the horse hair glued to the top of his helmet. It was coming loose and he fiddled with it.

‘You’ll make it worse,’ his comrade said. ‘Then think of the trouble you’ll be in.’

Twenty of the pirates jogged out of the line and came forward. Ferox had not noticed anyone give an order, but then he heard a whistle and at that the men ran onto the causeway. Another dozen peeled away from the main force and headed for the shore, javelins raised. The first group stopped and raising their oval shields began to bang their spears rhythmically against them. One of the ones on the shore threw a javelin, which whistled through the air and splashed into the water. Another missile hit the front of the barricade.

The main group came on again, the neat row of shields breaking up even though they were walking. Ferox wondered how often these men had fought against enemies who were not surprised and terrified. A javelin clattered onto the causeway behind him, sliding across the stones. Ferox stood in the centre, with Segovax on his right and Duco on his left. The two Batavians were a pace back, their shields ready to block any missiles coming from the sides. This was the formation he had planned, and they all took their positions without him having to give the order.

Four abreast, the pirates came on. One broke into a run and leaped across the shallow ditch at the barricade, impaling himself so hard onto Segovax’s spear that the weapon went through his mail, his body, and burst out the other side. The northerner let go of the shaft and the screaming man fell back, knocking over two of his comrades who had jumped into the ditch.

‘Spear!’ Segovax’s open right hand reached behind him.

The Batavian did not know the word, but guessed at its meaning and gave his spear to the northerner.

Ferox jabbed down into the upturned face of one of the attackers, driving the spearhead into his eye. Duco thrust and struck a shield, sending up splinters. The pirates were struggling to reach them with any force or aim. A spearhead thudded against Ferox’s shield, but the impact was slight. He stabbed down again, glancing off the cheek piece of a helmet and piercing the man’s neck. Someone threw a javelin at him from down in the ditch, but it went high.

No one spoke. There were no war cries, no oaths. The living grunted with effort and the maimed and dying gasped or screamed. Duco ran his spear into a man’s body, piercing his mail, and another of the pirates hacked at the spear shaft until it broke. Segovax killed another, and then the pirates were going back, dragging their wounded and leaving two dead men in the ditch and another who had fallen into the lake, blood spreading in the water around his corpse.

‘Three dead, a few more wounded and out of it. Another hundred and ninety odd and we really can go home,’ his comrade said to the broken-nosed Batavian. ‘They’re providing us with the weapons as well,’ he added, gathering up a pair of javelins from the causeway behind them.

The second time it was harder. Seven pirates ran across the causeway and into the ditch, while eight more came behind ready to hurl javelins over their heads. Other men still hovered around the shoreline, but as Ferox had hoped, the range and angle were poor for them to aim well and reach the men at the barricade. He was relieved that so far Duco had been proved right and there were no archers.

They had to hold their shields up to defend against the javelins lobbed over the top of the men in the ditch. One punched a hole in Ferox’s shield, but fell away when he shook it, and by chance the movement revealed the face of an enemy peering over the barricade. He thrust with his spear straight into the pirate’s mouth. Segovax killed the next man to appear, and Ferox had rarely seen a spear used with such speed and efficiency, for almost as soon as he had withdrawn the weapon, it darted forward once more, breaking through the cheek piece of a helmet and going through teeth and jaw. The pirate slumped back.

‘Spear.’ Segovax’s empty hand reached back again.

‘None left,’ the Batavian replied, having just used his second and last javelin to wound a man trying to wade closer to them. Segovax drew his sword.

Duco staggered as a heavy spear smashed into his shield. He stabbed forward, but a hand grabbed the shaft of his spear and jerked it down. Another javelin spun through the air and took him in the chest, knocking him back. The broken-nosed Batavian dragged him away. One of the warriors was pushed up by his comrades and came over the top of the barricade. Ferox turned, showing his right side to the enemy, and drove his spear into the man’s side, tipping him back, but losing the spear in process. A javelin came at him, and the centurion ducked just in time, feeling it brush against his high plumes. He came up again, turning so that his shield faced front once more, and realised that he had let go of his spear. His hand grasped the gladius and it slid from the scabbard. The Batavian was beside him in Duco’s place, but once again the enemy gave way.

Ferox panted for breath. No one said anything this time. There were more bodies in the ditch and a couple more bobbing just under the surface of the lake, dragged down by their armour. Duco was groaning. He might live or he might not, but there was no doubt that he was out of the fight.

Longinus led his men forward, before Ferox could signal to him. They came with care, all along one side of the causeway, so that the men at the barricade could retreat without leaving it undefended for more than an instant. They went back, Ferox helping one of the Batavians drag Duco away, the spear still in him. They needed to get him back inside before they could do anything to help.

The next attack was much like the others, although Ferox heard more of it than he saw. He and his men were back in the tunnel, resting, while Vindex and his group stood ready at the second wall. Cniva must have seen that new men were at the main barricade, but perhaps he thought that Ferox had already used his best fighters and that these would be easier to overcome. The sight of the towering Falx ought to make anyone think again, but the enemy did not. The pirates came on, supported by men throwing javelins, and the boldest died. The gladiator was a big target, and javelins grazed his right arm and hit him in the head, twisting his helmet around, so that he could not see for a moment. The pirates cheered, almost the first noise they had made, and tried to scramble up the slope of the barricade, only to die on the spears of the Batavians. One of the auxiliaries took a slash on the wrist, but it was not bad and he could still fight.

Yet they came again, the wall less of an obstacle because they were now standing on the corpses of their comrades. They grabbed a spear and hauled one of the Batavians over the edge. Ferox heard the screams as the soldier was slashed again and again. His comrades threw their own spears down into the mass, wounding two, but leaving them with a shorter reach. Behind the leaders, the pirates who had been throwing javelins ran forward, leaping into the packed ditch. Men were lifted or jumped onto the rampart, and another of the soldiers reeled away, slashed across the face. Longinus jumped back to avoid a spear and the first of the pirates was across. The one-eyed veteran killed him, but in that time two more were up and the rest swarming behind them. Ferox had run to the entrance and saw the crisis.

‘Go!’ He shouted to Vindex.

Falx saved them. He bellowed in rage, punching with his shield and knocking one of the enemy off the causeway and into the water. He slashed with his gladius and beheaded a second pirate, the blood jetting up like a fountain from the severed neck. Then he dropped sword and shield and ran at the barricade, grabbing one of the enemy, lifting him high and hurling him back into the mass. Longinus killed another, the remaining Batavian pushed a pirate into the water and then slashed down with his sword, cutting through helmet and into his skull. It was over before Vindex and his men arrived.

‘I read somewhere that Spartacus used corpses to fill in a ditch and let his army cross,’ Ovidius said, appearing behind Ferox. ‘Do not worry,’ he added, seeing the centurion’s expression. ‘I have nothing to report from our high eyrie, and I needed to stretch my legs. Glad to get away from Genialis as well. The boy treats all this like something from the arena.’

‘Why are you here, my lord?’ Ferox could not help asking the question.

Ovidius smiled. ‘Back to philosophy. Well, centurion and prince of the Silures, I am here because I have spent most of my life reading about the world. My wife died decades ago bearing our daughter who outlived her by barely a day, and I have never had the inclination to take another and risk the same pain. I am rich enough, comfortable enough, and if I chose could live on in this wealth and luxury for my remaining years, and I would do all that, never having seen the world. This is the wide world.’

‘Not the safest place.’

‘What does it matter? Apart from that I have confidence in you. And in the gods’ and goddesses’ sense of humour.’

‘Anything in your books that would tell us how to make some special weapon to save us, my lord?’

‘Sorry, centurion, I dozed off on that page.’ Ferox was about to go back out when the poet plucked at his arm. He was obviously struggling to raise something. ‘I was wondering,’ he said at last, ‘what you think will happen to the hostages if we are overrun? It seems unlikely that they would spare anyone. Except young Genialis. Should we let the others – and indeed ourselves – be captured if the worst comes to the worst? I do not like to think of the Lady Sulpicia in their hands.’

‘No,’ Ferox agreed. ‘It’s best not to think about it.’

Longinus and the others limped back, and Ferox went over to Falx to take a look at his head wound. The gladiator said nothing, but that was not unusual, and sat on the stool while Ferox cleaned and bound up the wound. Professional fighters were used to being fussed over by others.

‘Do you have your freedom?’ Ferox asked after he had finished.

The small eyes looked at him suspiciously for a while. ‘The promise,’ he grunted after a while, and jerked his head out of the entrance towards the barricade where his master now stood.

Perhaps it was the sight of Probus, but a howl of rage came from the pirates and a new attack surged forward sooner than Ferox had expected. This time there was little organisation, but a couple of dozen warriors ran across the causeway and started scampering up the mound of corpses.

‘Come up if we look like breaking,’ Ferox shouted to Longinus, who nodded wearily. ‘You three stay here,’ he added, turning to Segovax and the Batavians. Then he ran towards the barricade.

The spears held them for a moment. Vindex put a man down with a thrust to the throat, Probus drove his spear through an upraised shield and into the arm of the man carrying it. He could not free the spearhead so let it go. One of the scouts stabbed forward, gouging along a pirate’s sword arm, but another of them grabbed the shaft and the Brigantian let it go rather than be pulled over. Another of the black-clad warriors bounded up the backs of his comrades and leaped onto the barricade. He had no shield, but cut with his sword and struck the scout in the neck, just above his armour. The man staggered back, clutching at the wound to staunch the flow of blood, and the pirate jumped down in his place. Brigita threw her spear at a warrior following him, hitting him in the groin, so that he shrieked and fell backwards. The man over the barrier hacked at the wounded scout, cutting off his arm below the elbow, and then barged him aside so that he fell into the lake. Another of the scouts took a spear in the face as he tried to close the gap. Vindex and Probus were fencing with opponents over the barricade, while the other scout tried to keep back two men who had waded through the water on the right-hand side.

The black-clad warrior was a big man, tall and rangy, and he went for the queen, who stood in his path. She brought her shield forward, but he was stronger and his left hand yanked it aside as his sword went up ready to cut down with a ferocious power that no helmet or armour would stop. Then he froze, gasping and coughing because Brigita’s right arm had shot forward and the tip of her gladius punched through his windpipe and throat so that it came out the other side. Ferox had hardly seen her move. Blood from the dying man sprayed across her face and armour.

Probus had lost his helmet and one of his cheeks was slashed, but he had put down his opponent. The scout had wounded one of the men in the water with a javelin, and his comrade helped him wade back to the shore. Vindex still had his spear and finished another of them, and they were going back. Both sides were struggling for breath.

‘That was a good stroke, lady,’ Ferox said.

The queen sheathed her sword, and then wiped her hand through the blood spattered across her face. ‘He had no skill,’ she said, as if it were nothing, and walked up to join them at the barricade.

Sometimes a man knew how a fight was going not by anything he could see but simply how he felt. The last repulse had taken the first heart out of the Harii and the rest, and Ferox knew that it would be a while before they came back. Cniva and the others had ridden away. There were a dozen or so men dotted around as sentries, none of them closer than fifty paces to the shore.

‘Aye,’ Vindex agreed. ‘They’ll give us a break for a while. Probably don’t realise how much they have hurt us.’ That was just as well. Five men were dead or badly wounded, and a few of the rest had wounds even if they could carry on. Nearly all the spears were broken or gone, and it would be harder to hold the barricade with swords. There were a few javelins, thrown by the enemy and still in good enough shape to use, but they had slim shafts and were not designed to be thrust.

‘Come on,’ Ferox said to the lean Brigantian. ‘Give me a hand and clear them away.’ He vaulted over the barricade, landing unsteadily on the enemy dead. Vindex followed and they began to lift the corpses and tip them into the lake. Ferox would have preferred to put them on the shore, but he doubted the pirates would let them. He just had to hope that the water nearer the tower would not be poisoned by the dead bodies.

One of the corpses stirred, moaning. Vindex drew his sword and stabbed down. He caught his friend’s glance. ‘They eat people. I’m not going to let him recover and do it again.’

‘So, what is it?’

The scout frowned. ‘What is what?’

‘Your new wife’s name.’

‘After all this time, I’m not sure I want to tell you. You’re supposed to be a friend.’

‘We’re not friends.’ Ferox began the old joke, one he had not made for more than a year. ‘I just haven’t got around to killing you yet.’

‘Well, don’t hang around,’ Vindex told him. ‘Or someone will beat you to it.’