The Fort

XVI

‘IT REALLY IS good to see you,’ Ferox said and meant it.

‘Oh yes,’ Vindex added, but he was not looking at Bran. He winked at Bran’s companion, who continued to ignore him.

‘I took an oath,’ Bran said.

‘Yes, and I am all the more glad that you gave it,’ Ferox told him.

The five of them were riding a hundred paces ahead of the main force with the line of outriders ahead of them. At the moment the woods were more than half a mile away, and otherwise the ground too open to hide many enemies. Soon, they would have to be far more careful. They were higher up the valley, some twelve miles from the fort, looking for the missing half of a patrol. The remainder had split away to follow a different path as they returned to Piroboridava and ought to have met up when they were almost home. There had been no sign of them, and still they had not returned, so Ferox had decided to go and look. Sabinus had argued, saying that they ought to wait or send someone else, but Ferox used his rank to make it an order. Apart from anything else, he was hoping for a little time to speak to the new arrivals when the grip of the army did not hold them all so tight. Bran and the other warrior were from a world beyond Rome.

Bran must be about sixteen by now, and it was an effort to see in the confident young warrior much trace of the boy they had captured on that desolate beach almost six years ago. He had grown, not so much in size or breadth, for he was still small even by the standards of the Selgovae. His tribe were not large people, but they were slim and much stronger than they looked in both spirit and strength. The Selgovae thought highly of themselves and did not bother to hide it, and he saw some of that in the boy, but far more, for his assurance was as much the mark of knowing his own skill. Bran moved like a cat, always careful, always balanced, his eyes steady and unblinking. If the lad drew the gladius on his belt then Ferox had no doubt that it would move as an extension of his hand, every cut and thrust fluid and practised. That was the training he had received in the last few years, taught by the Mother, that head of the strange cult living on one of the smallest islands far to the north west of Britannia. She taught a select few, boys and young women from the tribes, who passed her tests and survived the hardships of getting there and winning her respect, showing them how to use sword, spear or whatever came to hand as a weapon.

‘The Mother is pleased with my brother,’ Enica said, giving Bran a smile. Interrupting her education as a good little Roman, her parents had sent her to the island to become a warrior. ‘As she is of my sister.’ Bran had come with a woman a few years older than him, a Hibernian whose family had all been slaughtered in a power struggle within her tribe so that she had no home left to her. She had raven black hair, today coiled under a bronze helmet, and a beguiling, pale face utterly misleading in its softness. Her name was Minura and she did not say much, or at least had not done so far in Ferox’s hearing. There was a hardness in her eyes and the hint of great sorrow.

Vindex gave the woman another encouraging smile. ‘Aye, bound to be proud of you both.’

‘So am I,’ Enica continued, for once not indulging the scout. Minura and Bran both touched their chests, where Ferox knew the members of the cult had a tiny scar given by a blade. Enica had the same mark between her breasts and a moment later she pressed her fingers against the mail rings above it.

‘We have travelled and we have fought,’ she added, and it sounded like a quote, but Ferox did not recognise it so wondered whether it was from a song of the Brigantes or verses special to the Mother and her children. So far the queen had said little about their activities in the last few months. He suspected that it was all part of her scheme to secure the rule of her tribe once and for all. As things were, there was little point in prying, for they had little time alone and then she was not forthcoming in any way. He hoped that the knowledge was not dangerous, or that if it was she would tell him in time. That it involved death he did not doubt. The Mother taught remarkable skill at arms, but her children did not kill during their time with her and some never managed to do that well. A mere glance at Bran and Minura revealed to eyes willing to see that they had already walked that path. There was simply an extra edge to their bearing.

The man with them, whose horse had bucked when the missile struck nearby had fallen, was not helped by having his hands tied. Landing badly, his neck had snapped and he had been dead before anyone reached him. Neither Bran nor Minura would say much about him, apart from the obvious fact that he was their prisoner, and that they were bringing him here as instructed.

‘Later,’ was all that Enica would tell him, for she clearly knew all about it, but later had not yet arrived. Ferox had looked at the body, seen the hair dyed red and tied into a knot on the right-hand side of the man’s head, the thick beard and the pale grey eyes and the little tattoo on his left wrist. With his dark, almost black trousers and the striped tunic, he was clearly one of the Quadi from across the Danube near Pannonia. Yet he wasn’t just that, for there was the look of a soldier about him, something hard to pin down, but obvious even before he pulled up the man’s sleeve and saw another tattoo, this one of the she-wolf suckling the twins on his arm. That was the relic of some drunken furlough outside an army base. Too young to have served his full stipendia and too hale to have been invalided out, this one was surely a deserter turned bandit or trader or both. Whether originally one of the Quadi who had crossed into the army and stayed as long as it suited him or a soldier who had gone over the rampart and found a new life among the tribes was hard to say. He thought of the former slave they had met with the Roxolani. People ended up in odd places – like a good Silurian boy turned Roman centurion and stuck out here in charge of a fort, he thought grimly. Bran and Minura had not chosen this captive by chance, that was for sure, and must have been sent to fetch him and bring him here. Ferox had overheard the young warriors asking Enica whether ‘he’ was here, seen her shake her head and say, ‘Ah well, it does not matter now.’

There were mysteries aplenty, but for the moment the dangers they might pose were distant, and there could well be a real enemy waiting for them up ahead, so there was no sense in thinking about anything else.

‘Is Brigita well?’ Ferox asked. He had fought alongside the children and seen one Mother die to protect her pupils. She had been succeeded by Brigita, once queen of an Irish tribe, who had trained on the island in her youth.

‘The Mother cares for her children,’ Bran replied.

‘Sister, have you given the Lord Ferox the Mother’s message?’

Minura shook her head just slightly, and for the first time seemed abashed.

‘Come, it is what she asked of you.’

Minura kicked her horse so that she caught up with Ferox and rode alongside, staring straight at him, reins loose.

‘The Mother asks you to remember,’ she said, still gazing into his eyes. Then her left hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder, her right went to his chest, and for all his surprise his arms moved to grab her, until she kissed him full on the lips. Ferox pulled her body towards him, as he kept his mouth pressed to hers.

Minura started to pull away. Ferox held her for a little longer before letting her slip free. Her cheeks were red, although he doubted with passion so much as embarrassment.

‘The Mother said that I might be curious. Now I am curious no longer.’

Vindex roared with laughter, and Ferox smiled as he remembered Brigita saying much the same to him all those years ago. He was relieved to see that Enica was as amused as the rest.

‘Does that mean you’re going to hit me again?’ he asked, grinning.

‘I probably shall not waste the energy,’ Enica replied. ‘One of the soldiers can do it for me when it becomes necessary.’

‘Always happy to oblige, lady,’ Vindex announced. ‘Want him beaten up, just say the word.’

Ferox hissed for silence and raised his hand. One of the outriders was holding his spear above his head as a signal.

‘Wait here!’ Ferox told them and urged his gelding into a canter. He heard the hoofs coming up behind him as Vindex came up on one side and Enica on another. The bright green silk of her trousers shimmered in the sunlight.

‘You should not be here,’ he told her.

‘Neither should you, husband.’

‘It is too much of a risk,’ he said, ‘and it is unnecessary.’

‘No more than the commander of the garrison galloping headlong into trouble.’

‘Want me to rough him up, lady?’ Vindex asked cheerfully. ‘Wouldn’t be any trouble.’

‘There you are, I told you it was dangerous,’ she said, and the scout laughed so much that when they reached the man who had signalled to them he was obviously baffled.

‘Ignore them,’ Ferox said as he shaded his eyes to see better. ‘I see them,’ he added. It was not difficult. There were nine dark shapes in the grass a few hundred paces away. Smaller than the dead horses and mules, but standing out because they were so pale were the white corpses of the men. Ferox counted. ‘Looks like all of them,’ he said and was not surprised. ‘You,’ he said to the cavalryman who had signalled. ‘Ride back to the main force and tell them to come up and wait here, just where you have been. Tell the decurion not to do anything else unless I signal.’

‘My lord,’ the Brigantian said and trotted away. Ferox could not get used to soldiers calling him lord, but so far it was proving difficult to persuade the Brigantes to call him plain sir.

‘Suppose there is no point in asking you to wait?’ he said to Enica, who responded by walking her horse forward. ‘Didn’t think so,’ he added and joined her. ‘But nice and easy, all of us.’ He waved his arm for the other outriders to keep level with them.

His senses told him that the enemy had long gone, but sometimes feelings were wrong and there was no gain in taking a chance. He walked his horse steadily, scanning the ground ahead and especially the treeline only a hundred paces away. That was the obvious place if there was an ambush – and was clearly where the attackers had been earlier. Still, doing the obvious was something the best leaders would avoid whenever they could. He remembered that there was a little gulley up ahead, just beyond the furthest of the dead horses. It was only a few feet deep, with a tiny stream in the bottom rushing down to join the main river, but if a man did not mind getting a bit wet and was good at keeping still, then there could be a dozen or more in there, already within bowshot. Vindex was staring at the same place, so he must have remembered the ground as well. They were half a mile from where Vepoc and his men had been attacked and on that day they had come past this patch as well.

If they were waiting then they were good. There were carrion fowl picking at the dead men and beasts, and they flapped noisily into the air, voices harsh when Ferox suddenly put his horse into a run, wanting to rush at the gulley and spring any ambush if it was there.

Nothing happened. The birds complained and the wind hissed through the grass, but no warriors appeared and no arrows sped towards him. Ferox sighed before dismounting to take a better look.

‘What was that little gallop in aid of?’ Vindex asked as he and Enica rode up. Ferox was crouching, ignoring the nearest corpse and instead studying the ground. ‘Trying to be a hero?’

Ferox stood and shouted at the outriders to keep going and form a line nearer the wood. ‘From this distance they could drop every one of us as quick as boiled asparagus.’

Vindex frowned. ‘What?’

‘Don’t show off, husband,’ Claudia Enica said. ‘The divine Augustus could get away with using vulgar expressions, but you are not granted the same licence.’

‘Vulgar? Didn’t sound very vulgar to me. Not like…’ Vindex chuckled. ‘No, not in front of the queen.’

‘She’s probably heard it already,’ Ferox said automatically, without really paying attention.

The pommel of a sword bounced hard on the top of his helmet. ‘Next time I’ll use the blade,’ Enica assured him.

‘Next time I wish you would stay back,’ Ferox said. ‘I mean it.’

‘I am sure some fool will rush ahead to distract the enemy,’ she said, but there was a warmer smile than he had seen for a while. She was so close that he brushed against her silk-clad leg without Vindex seeing.

‘He’s right, my queen,’ Vindex said. ‘Be a shame for the lassies to grow up without a mother.’

‘If that mother is daft enough to let herself be killed they will feel no great loss.’ Enica edged her horse on, and this time tapped Ferox’s shoulder playfully with the flat of her sword. ‘My story does not end here or for a long time yet. This much I know.’ There was neither humour nor a trace of doubt in her tone.

‘Wonder if these poor souls thought the same,’ Ferox said, gesturing at the corpses, their places and the marks in the earth and flattened grass telling him of the story of what had happened as clearly as if he had been watching. There were seven Brigantes, one of Vindex’s Carvetii and an auxiliary duplicarius who had been in charge. The little fight had not lasted long as fifteen or more archers shot from the trees. Horses and men fell, as one flight of arrows followed another before the first had struck home.

The patrol had been careless as soldiers often were when nothing had happened on all the other long patrols. Half the horses were down and the rest wounded when warriors had come from the gulley and the archers had followed from the wood to hack down the survivors. Only two of the Brigantes had no arrows in them, and the rest were dead or staggering and bleeding as the little charge swept over them. One of the unwounded men had his whole chest opened by a savage cut. He cannot have been wearing armour, which would have taken some of the force from the blow, and Ferox made a note to check that all the Brigantes had been issued with a cuirass and that all wore it, whether it was uncomfortable or not. The other had a hole in the top of his skull, fairly small and neat, which probably killed him outright after punching through his helmet, which lay broken and discarded a few yards away. Ferox sighed, for he had seen wounds like that before, many years ago and knew what caused them.

‘Why not steal the horses?’ Vindex asked.

‘Too easy for us to track,’ Ferox said. ‘And they didn’t want anyone to get away.’

‘They took the clothes though. Stripped the poor buggers bare.’

‘We will probably find most of it dumped nearby. They will only take what they need.’ Ferox did not bother to explain that pieces of the men’s clothing would help some of their killers purify their bodies. Instead he went over to his own gelding. ‘We need to take care of them. Perhaps you two can deal with that and I’ll take a couple of men and see where the trail leads.’

Enica was by him now, holding his bridle. ‘That is not your job. Not anymore.’

‘It’s mine,’ Vindex said. ‘I am supposed to be in charge of the scouts.’

Ferox did not bother to argue. They were right, much as he regretted the days when he could head off alone or with just a handful of companions. ‘Don’t go far and don’t take any risks.’

‘Always sensible, me.’

‘Take Bran and Minura,’ Enica commanded. ‘And be careful.’

Vindex, already grinning at the mention of the young woman warrior, beamed. ‘For you, my queen, anything.’

After he had called the others, the scout headed towards the trees, the tracks that far very obvious.

‘Why can’t you be like that?’ Claudia Enica asked Ferox.

‘I am of the Silures,’ he said. ‘And I do not understand women – at least not the ones worth understanding.’

She treated him to another smile. ‘Your folk are all liars.’

They did their best for the bodies, by which time Vindex and the others returned. The trail was clear, heading through the woods. Bran gave a terse report. ‘About thirty or so, going up the valley, heading for the old tower or the pass. Weren’t trying to hide anything, so did not push our luck.’

Ferox patted him on the shoulder and praised Bran which for a moment made him seem like the happy little boy instead of the stern warrior. The ride back was easy, helped by the lengthening days, although Ferox missed the far longer spring evenings of Britannia and suspected many of the others did as well. It was two hours into the night by the time they rode back through the porta praetoria. Sabinus was waiting anxiously for their safe return and carrying news. Piso was awake.