The Encircling Sea

XXIV

THE RAFT WAS prepared in one of the ruined roundhouses beside the tower. They entered through a door off the main corridor, while one wall was low enough for them to lift everything out and make their way round the edge of the little island, but for the moment they prepared in the slight shelter provided by the stone walls and few remnants of the roof. Ferox wrapped the sack in rags and straw and then wound their clothes around it and placed the weapons on top in the hope of keeping it dry. With great reluctance, he decided against taking a mail shirt or two as well. Bran was wide-eyed as the queen lifted her tunic over her head and added it to the bundle of clothes. She stood there, completely naked like the rest of them, and started to rub soot onto her skin. Ferox smiled, thinking that with her long black hair she must fit the lad’s wildest dreams. Once they were in the water the soot would start to come off, but it might help them to sneak round to the back of the tower without being spotted.

‘You all ready?’ Vindex said. He had come to assist, or so he claimed, but made no effort to hide his scrutiny of the queen.

‘You’re a married man,’ Ferox told him.

‘Aye.’

A scream of sheer horror split the night air, rising over the drumming of the rain. Ferox pushed Vindex out of the way and ran. The door into the corridor was ajar and he burst through, knocking into one of the Batavians and slamming him against the wall. Ferox ran on, sprinting around the sharp bend, feet echoing on the stone. A man was yelling in surprise and anger, and then Sulpicia Lepidina was in front of him, screaming again and with blood on her dress. Fear and raw anger surged inside him. She pointed into the side room, and as he came closer he realised that the blood was not hers. In the little room Falx lay out in the floor. His throat was cut, the top of his tunic stained dark where it had flowed. Worse was the great gash across his belly, a new wound, and someone had dragged his entrails out of the hole and then bitten into them.

Sulpicia Lepidina stopped screaming and leaned back against the wall, panting as she struggled to breathe. Ferox ran past, turning again to reach the entrance. Probus was sitting with his back against the low wall, clutching at his thigh, which was pumping blood. Longinus knelt beside him, trying a strip of cloth tight above the wound. A Batavian was standing at the rampart, shouting angrily. ‘Little bastard’s got away!’ A shriller voice was calling something over and over again, but he could not catch the words.

Ferox came up beside the auxiliary, but could see nothing in the darkness. ‘Little shit Genialis has stabbed his own father,’ the auxiliary said. It was the man with the broken nose and for the first time he seemed genuinely shocked. ‘His own dad. Then ran off into the dark. It was so quick I let him go.’

‘He’ll be all right,’ Longinus said. ‘Leastways if you stop waving that in his face.’

Ferox had forgotten that he was naked. He crouched down to see the merchant better. In the dim light from the torch back in the corridor, Probus looked stunned.

‘He murdered Falx,’ Ferox said. ‘Then I think he ate some of his guts. I know what he’s done, but I don’t know why.’

‘Don’t reckon he thought we could win,’ Longinus suggested.

‘Cniva will give him power.’ Probus’ voice was barely more than a whisper.

‘He’s got wealth,’ the veteran said. ‘That brings a fair bit of power.’

Probus shook his head and then winced at a spasm of pain from his leg. Longinus finished adjusting the bandage. ‘I told him about going to Hibernia,’ The merchant explained. ‘Said he could come or that I’d try and make sure he kept some of the land if he wanted to stay in Britannia. I don’t think he listened.’

‘So he’s joining them.’

‘Maybe I told him too much about them.’ Probus’ voice was only just audible above the driving rain. ‘Cniva will let him kill, let him do what he likes. That’s more than I can offer.’

Longinus placed his hands on Ferox’s shoulders. ‘Listen. The boy will be over there telling them everything. If they didn’t know already, then he’ll tell them that Brocchus could be here any moment now. He probably will say that you are planning something as well, even if he does not know the details. You cannot keep secrets in a place as small as this. So either you go this minute or forget the whole thing and we wait here.’

‘We go.’

‘Then let’s hope the gods love a great fool.’ Longinus stood up, and stared out into the night. ‘You might make through in this, especially if he distracts them. Good luck.’ He offered his hand, and Ferox rose and took it.

He passed Vindex in the corridor. ‘You’ve got something on your face,’ the Brigantian said.

Ferox reached up and soot came away on his fingers. Sulpicia Lepidina laughed nervously, until she glanced down and took in his lack of clothing. She started to giggle and could not stop, fright turning into hysterical laughter. She tried to speak, but could not say anything and simply waved at him.

When he reached the others, he gave a quick explanation and chivvied them on. He and Brigita crept along behind the tower and lowered themselves into the water gently. It was cold, and deep in this spot, and as he pushed out he soon stopped feeling ground under his feet. With the reed in his mouth he ducked under the dark water and swam, the surface shimmering above only a little lighter than the gloom of the water.

It took longer than he expected, and then suddenly the ground was shelving and when his feet kicked out they brushed against pebbles. He surfaced, spitting out the reed, and as the water cleared from his eyes he could see the bank only a few paces away. There was no sign of a sentry. He waded slowly towards the shore, all the while scanning the darkness. A leather belt, tightened to make it short, was over one shoulder, and he looped it free, drawing the pugio from its sheath. A vague white-ish shape slithered onto the bank beside him and he realised that the queen was already there. She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the right. He nodded. The rain was hard, stinging his skin until he felt almost numb, and making him blink all the time so that he could see.

Ferox kept low, a hunched shape that might just confuse any watching eyes. Whenever he had looked in the daytime, the sentries here were some way back from the shore. No challenge came from the darkness and he saw no sign of movement apart from the long grass swaying in the wind. Still crouching, he went on, knife held down. The ground was boggy, so that his feet squelched into the mud.

He did not see the warrior until it was too late, and he tripped against him, toes hurting from stubbing against a man wearing mail. The pirate lay, face down in the grass, and a quick exploration showed a wound at the back of his neck. It was a neat job, from someone who knew just where to strike, and that was not true of most soldiers or warriors.

A shape appeared, white and naked, with her long hair plastered down over her back and some on her chest. ‘There is another over there,’ Brigita hissed. ‘Like that one. I think they are the only ones.’

Ferox whistled, and then they both kneeled down to wait. ‘Your brothers and sisters?’ he asked, for it was hard to know who else might have killed these men, unless Cniva was facing a challenge from within his own band.

‘Perhaps.’

Bran and the Red Cat appeared, carrying the equipment. They dressed, although Ferox was so drenched that he did not feel much warmer. It was good to have boots on again, to feel a sword on his left hip and pull a dark cloak around him. At the very least the dull clothes made them less visible.

They headed for the beach, taking them almost in the opposite direction from where they wanted to go, but the hope was that this should also take them away from any sentries or patrols. The Red Cat went first, and Ferox and the others followed, just keeping him within sight. All the while the rain hammered against them and showed no sign of relenting.

Like the swim, the walk towards the beach seemed to take far longer than it should. That was the way of things at night, especially in weather like this. Apart from a few animals scurrying across their path they saw no sign of life. Neither was there any sign of boats on the beach. Still, there was no particular reason for Brocchus to land on this beach, just because they had done so.

Swinging to the left, they followed the coastline. Ferox planned to reach the midway point on the island before heading inland towards the anchorage on the far side. After an hour the rain stopped, so abruptly that his battered face took a few moments to register the change.

The Red Cat halted and dropped to one knee. Ferox had felt the same thing at almost the same moment, that instinct that they were not alone. He gestured for the other two to stay, and went forward, squatting beside the northerner. Nothing was said and they both peered into the gloom, listening for any harsh note as the wind hissed through the grass and stunted bushes. They were on a low bluff, above a stony beach, the whitecaps of the incoming tide very bright in the darkness.

Something moved ahead of them, a shape briefly silhouetted against the sky, before it went down behind a fold in the ground. Ferox stared after it and then thought he heard a moaning that was not from the gale. He drew his sword, worried that it might betray them with a glint but not wanting to be unprepared. The Red Cat did the same. He pointed for the northerner to go around to the left, while he looped to the right, onto the edge of the beach. The other two would have to catch up, and he hoped that they would be careful. The wind howled, plucking at his cloak even though it was soaking wet and heavy. It slackened and once again he heard moaning. There was a grunt and the moaning stopped. A man laughed.

The beach opened out behind the low rise. Ferox touched the hide frame of a small rowing boat as he walked past it, stepping as lightly as he could to avoid making noise as he crossed the shale. There was a little rocky headland, and he kept close to it, using its shadow. Then a yellow light that seemed brilliant sprang to life on the beach. It was a lantern, suddenly unveiled, and he saw a cluster of dark figures around it, looking down at something on the small patch of sand at the edge of the pebbles. There was more laughter, and one of the figures got down on his knees in front of the others, and he glimpsed someone lying down. The sound of ripping was loud until it was lost in more laughter.

Ferox started to run, no longer caring as his boots crunched on the stone. All of the last days, the worry, the horror, the sight of Sulpicia Lepidina screaming and covered in blood, and seeing good men cut down at his side erupted in an all-consuming rage. One of the men turned and saw him, shouting a warning, but by then Ferox was close enough to stamp forward and lunge, and the superbly balanced gladius took the pirate in the throat. Twisting it free as a second man came at him, Ferox cut first, a furious blow that chopped through the warrior’s right arm, so that his hand was still clutching his sword as it fell onto the beach.

There were three of them left, one still on the ground, bottom bare where he had lowered his trousers, another holding the lantern up, sword still in his scabbard, and a third who took one look at Ferox and ran. He went to follow, but saw a shape coming out of the night and the fugitive ran onto a glinting blade that ripped into his stomach.

The pirate dropped the lantern. ‘We were going to share,’ he said. ‘Honest. Just having fun before we took her back.’ Ferox guessed that he thought they were Harii, and then remembered their black clothes. Yet it was surprising that he seemed to accept the slaughter of his comrades so readily, but perhaps failing to share plunder or captives was one of the band’s greatest crimes. Ferox kicked the kneeling man hard in the back, pitching him over. A woman lay in the sand, shaking her head as if in a daze, her tunic torn open to reveal pale skin. She was not tall and had a delicate figure.

‘Drop the sword,’ Ferox commanded the other man. Brigita came over to them, wiping her sword on her cloak. She said nothing, walking past the woman on the ground. The man who had been about to rape the girl was struggling with his trousers, pulling at them as he lay on his side. The queen looked at him for a moment, and then darted her sword forward, aiming carefully so that the point speared into the man’s crotch. He squealed, an awful, high-pitched cry of agony, more like an animal than anything human.

‘Fight,’ she said to the last pirate.

He licked his lips. ‘Who are you?’ He started to draw his sword, for he had made no move to drop it. Brigita bounded forward and slashed across his face before jumping back. It was not a deep wound, and the man licked his lips again and spat blood. His finished drawing his sword, but before he had it ready she came in again, the sword carving a gouge across his right arm. He dropped his gladius, clutching at the wound with his left hand.

‘Pick it up,’ she told him.

Ferox took a step and swung, the gladius almost singing through the air as it sank into the pirate’s neck. He fell, hands now clasping his throat as the blood sprayed from it. ‘We haven’t got time to play games,’ Ferox said harshly. Brigita stared at him, her face filled with the same sort of rage he had felt a few moments ago, and then she nodded. She went over to the screaming man, waited for the right moment, and killed him with a neat thrust.

The woman was stirring, pushing up, so that the remnants of her tunic fell away and she was bare. Although on its side, the lantern gave enough light for Ferox to see the little scar between her small breasts. A young man lay dead a few yards away, several bad wounds to his chest and stomach. Ferox guessed that he was the one they had heard moaning until it was cut short.

Brigita went to the woman and held out her hand. She spoke words he did not understand, but they seemed to reassure her and she grasped hold and let herself be pulled up. The queen unclipped the brooch on her cloak and handed it over. Ferox guessed that the woman was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen.

Bran appeared, wide-eyed again, but it was hard to tell whether this was from the sight of another naked woman or the carnage around them. The released captive put the cloak around her shoulders, then searched in the grass until she found a long sword, blunt tipped, of the sort many tribesmen used for cutting. A little further on she found a belt and scabbard and she fastened these on.

‘Time to go,’ Ferox said, although there was no sign of the Red Cat. He would have to rely on the thief finding them. ‘She can come with us if she wants, or go and find her own folk.’ Although the boat on the beach was small, Ferox guessed that it had brought at least three or four others to the island.

‘No need,’ the woman said.

Warriors came out of the night, the light from the lantern glinting on the keen points of their spears. There were a lot more than three or four. Ferox counted ten and thought that others were behind them. All were men, but it was clear that the woman they had saved knew them and trusted them.

‘You come with us,’ she said. ‘Give me your swords.’ There were two warriors behind him, and another in front. Any resistance would be brief and would probably doom Bran as well. He held out his sword, pommel first. Brigita brought her blade up when one of the men went to take it. The woman gently pushed him aside and came up to her. After a moment, the queen nodded and let her take the weapon. Ferox’s arms were pulled behind his back and tied there. The same was done to Bran, but not the queen.

‘Come on,’ the woman said, and led them up the beach. Soon they were climbing a gentle headland dotted with bushes and heather. It was higher than the fields around, and Ferox could see right across the island. There was a distant red light, which grew suddenly bright and strong.

‘That’s a ship,’ Bran said in a tone of wonder. ‘Their ship.’

Ferox had great faith in the boy’s eyesight and hoped that he was right. The warriors kept going, and crossed two more rises before they came down into a cove with another beach. Several boats were drawn up on the pebbles, and dozens of warriors were squatting on the rocks at the edge of the beach.

A woman’s voice greeted them, but it was hard to see the speaker in the gloom cast by the low cliffs. Then a tall, spare figure stepped out of the shadows.

‘Ferox,’ said a voice he had not heard for some time. ‘It is true then, you are here.’ A man held up a torch as Acco came towards him, his long beard and hair blowing in the wind as the light flickered. ‘I rather think I would be wise to have you killed.’