The Singing Sword

XXII

It seemed to take hours for the light to grow full, but eventually we were able to see the buildings of the villa standing out clearly in the morning light less than two miles away across the open fields. Our force sat motionless. I heard the sound of a horse approaching me, and I swung around on Germanicus's back to see Picus coming towards me at a walk along the line behind me. He looked magnificent in his black and white and silver on his great, black horse, and I suddenly became aware of the colours of our group. The six men on either side of the space in the rear line where Picus had been were dressed in his colours, black armour and white tunics, and all six were mounted on blacks. My own men were mounted on unmatched horses but looked superb in their scarlet and bronze and brown leather.

Picus drew rein beside me. "Your men look good, Varrus. I don't want to waste this first charge. I want those animals ahead of us to get their first good look at a charge of Roman cavalry, so we'll wait a little longer until they can't fail to see us." "It's Roman-British cavalry, Picus, but I see your point." "Roman-British, of course. Anyway, I think it's light enough now. I'll walk back to my place and sound the advance. Where are your trumpets?"

"One beside me here on my left. One with Bassus at the far end of the front rank."

"Excellent. Will your men take up my call?"

"They will, they're waiting for it."

I watched him walk his horse slowly back to his position in the centre of the rear rank, passing the time of day with the troopers as he passed, and as he regained his place I returned my gaze to the villa, straining to see signs of movement.

Then the trumpet call rang out, harsh and brassy, to be taken up by our own trumpets. I watched the man in the line in front of me kick his horse to a walk and I gauged the gap between us until it was about fifty paces, then I kicked Germanicus and felt him move forward beneath me as I looked left to make sure that my own line was in order, with no one out in front of me. The space between the lines was crucial; too close together and the lines crossing into formation could be completely fouled up. My men were fine.

We walked for about a furlong and then I squeezed Germanicus into a trot, seeing the man ahead of me beginning to move to his left, angling towards his own formation point. The sound of hooves was growing louder now as the tempo of our pace increased. I glanced over my right shoulder and saw my trumpeter, who had been on my left, riding close behind me, just where he should be, and even as I looked, another man emerged behind him to his right. So far, so good. Our arrowhead was forming according to plan, just as we had rehearsed it on the parade ground so many times. Once again I looked ahead. The rank ahead of me had pulled far to the left, performing nicely. I checked over my left shoulder, resisting the urge to pick up the pace. The tail-end of my rank was now clearing the centre of our line of advance, heading obliquely towards me, and I saw the black and white of Picus's point coming forward. Now was the time to pick up speed again. I loosened the reins slightly and Germanicus surged into a canter.

The villa was less than a mile away now, and I could see men running back and forth in what I hoped was panic. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, and checked over my shoulder once again. My formation was complete; a solid wedge of men and horses surged behind me. Bassus, over on my left, was formed up, too. The noise of hooves was very loud now, and then I heard a thundering on my left as Picus brought his wedge up to mine at the gallop. I squeezed hard with my knees, flicked my reins loosely and felt Germanicus surge forward, matching Picus's big black pace for pace until we were abreast of Bassus's column on the far left and all three wedges were charging flat out. I gripped the handhold on my shield tightly, pulling my elbow close in to my chest to hold the shield against me, making a mental note to change the shape of it to make it less cumbersome. I was riding easily, exulting in the surging power of the horse between my thighs, loving the thunderous sound of our advance, noticing the lightness of the leather helmet on my head, wishing I held the spear that Equus hated as I felt the quiver full of arrows slapping against my back.

Ahead of us, I could see men running in every direction, but mainly away from us. And then, totally unexpectedly, I saw a group of horsemen break from one of the buildings that had not been fired. There must have been ten of them, galloping flat out, away from us to my right, to the east. I glanced over at Picus to see if he had seen them. He had, and was already waving me away after them. I raised my spear arm above my head and angled my horse to the right. I could hear the noise of my squadron coming with me as I swung east to try to head off the fleeing enemy. They had about a quarter of a mile lead on us and their horses were fully rested, whereas ours had been moving all night and had already run a mile and a half, and yet we overtook them steadily, closing the gap between the two groups to less than a hundred paces before we had covered another mile.

I glanced over my shoulder then to see, to my great dismay, that my squadron had strung out far behind me, and when I looked ahead again, the fugitives had vanished beneath the brow of a hill. Then I felt my great Germanicus falter, and I knew he had reached the end of his endurance. Raging inwardly, I released the pressure on him and let him slow down in his own good time. By the time I crested the brow of the hill, he was walking, his breath coming in great, shuddering snorts, his flanks heaving like mighty bellows. Then, as the crest of the hill dropped below my line of sight, I could see our raiders still galloping for the safety of the forest in the distance, and I nearly wept with fury and frustration.

I heard a noise from below and looked down to see a riderless horse, rearing and flailing as it tried to free itself from its reins, which were tangled in the branches of a fallen tree. There was no sign of its rider. I heard the sound of my own men coming up behind me and waved them away. They stopped. I scanned the hillside below me. Nothing moved, except the snared horse. I guessed at first that it had stumbled and thrown its rider, but then I noticed an oddity about its appearance and decided that it must be a pack-horse, for it had a pack-saddle of some kind strapped to its back. That was why I could see no rider. It had none.

I waved for the men behind me to come forward, and when they had approached I sent one of them down the hillside on foot to bring back the trapped animal. He stopped some distance from the horse and bent over something in the long grass, and his voice came back up the hill to where we sat watching him.

"There's a dead man here, Commander."

I sent two more men down to bring up the body. They picked up the corpse with surprising ease and carried it back up, while the first man gentled the frightened horse, freed it and began to lead it back up the hill.

The corpse was dumped unceremoniously on the ground at my horse's feet and he sidled away from it, nervously.

"It's just a boy."

"Aye, Commander. A rich boy, whoever he was. Look at his clothes."

"I'm looking. Here, take these." I handed him my shield and spear and unslung my bow from around my shoulders, handing it down, too. Unencumbered now, I swung my leg over Germanicus's rump and lowered myself to the ground, where I knelt by the side of the dead boy. His face was badly scraped, but there was little blood, and his head sagged unnaturally sideways.

"Broken neck."

"Aye, Commander. Broken back, too, by the way he flopped when we tried to pick him up the first time. He landed among some fair-sized, solid rocks down there."

The boy was blond and wore a tunic of some rich, blue material. There was a gold collar round his neck and strong leather boots on his feet. Over his tunic he wore what looked like a metal shirt that laced right up to his neck, made of thousands of tiny, overlapping metal rings. I reached out and undid the thong binding it at his throat and slipped my fingers inside the shirt. It was lined with soft, supple leather onto which the rings were sewn. It was impressive, much finer than the one left me by my Grandfather Varrus with his treasures so many years before. The art of crafting them was improving. I straightened up.

"He can't be any more than fourteen, but he was old enough to ride to war, and old enough to die for it. Strip that tunic and shirt off and throw the body back where you found it. He was no Christian, whoever he might have been, and I have a feeling we'll have all the burying we can handle when we reach Sulla's place." I looked at the horse that had been brought up from below. "Bring that horse over here."

It was a fine-boned animal, small and suited to a stripling lad, but it was the contraption on its back that held my attention. I looked around me. Everyone was staring at the thing. I stepped forward and laid hold of it, pulling it towards me. It was some kind of saddle, as I had guessed, for it was solidly anchored, fastened firmly around the horse's belly. It didn't budge when I pulled at it.

"Does anybody know what this is for?" No answer. "Has anyone ever seen anything like it before?" No one had.

"Some kind of saddle, but it looks more like a chair, set sideways, doesn't it?" someone said, obviously referring to the thing's high back.

"Then it's a damn small chair," said another voice.

"Aye, Brutus, too small for your fat arse!" There was a roar of laughter which I silenced with an abrupt motion of my arm.

"That's enough! We have little to laugh about this morning. Someone leg me up onto my horse. And bring that with us." I pointed at the horse. "I'll examine it more closely later. Have you got those clothes safe? Don't lose that shirt, or I'll have your hide." They had just finished stripping the torso, which looked white and pathetic on the cold ground, but I had no sympathy to squander on raiders merely for being young. As I had already said, if they were big enough to go to war, they were old enough to die. "Get rid of that," I said, nodding towards the corpse. "Let's go."

I stepped into the cupped hands of the soldier who was waiting to help me up, and he hoisted me to where I could throw my leg across Germanicus. I swung him around, hard, and headed back in the direction of Vegetius's villa. Just before we reached it, I looked back. My men were all behind me, riding two abreast. "All right, there, smarten up! We didn't catch the enemy, but that doesn't mean we should ride in looking like failures! Form up on me!" I flicked the reins and brought Germanicus to a trot and we arrived at the villa looking like a military unit.

We found the place deserted, except for a few scattered corpses, and the stink of charred wood was appalling. I looked all around, but I could see no female bodies and no children. Then I saw Vegetius. I had looked at him and past him already, not recognizing him, for his face was completely masked in blood, but now I recognized his armour. He lay huddled on a pile of straw bits at the base of a stone wall. I flung myself from my horse and went to him, thinking he was dead, but as soon as I touched him I knew he was alive. He had taken a bad blow from something that had torn the skin from his forehead, leaving a bloody flap dangling down over his eyes. I lifted it clear and pressed it back into place on his brow with the palm of my hand and he immediately looked far better. There was hardly any blood in his eyes at all, but he was unconscious.

"Cato!" I yelled. "Bring me that boy's blue tunic!" He brought it at a run. "Rip me a strip off that and bind it round Vegetius's brow. Be quick." He did as I ordered. "That's better. Now help me to move him up onto this pile of straw." As we moved him, I wondered idly why the straw had not burned, and then I really looked around me for the first time. Most of the buildings were intact. Only three had burned: the villa itself and two others. It made sense that the stables would have survived, since the raiders had ridden horses. As I looked around me, Cato spoke.

"Here come the others, Commander."

I turned to see Picus and Bassus emerge with their troops from the edge of the trees that surrounded the rear of the yard. They saw us and cantered towards me ahead of their men.

"Is that Vegetius?" Picus nodded towards the activity by the wall.

"Yes. Not dead, just unconscious."

"Where was he? Where did you find him?"

"Right here, against the wall, but don't ask me how he got here."

"I don't have to. He came alone, ahead of everyone else. He led the infantry into place and then disappeared. He must have been trying to reach his family."

"Aye. Well, he didn't find them."

"How did you make out? Did you catch them?"

I grunted my disgust. "No. We lost them. Their mounts were fresh. They outran us. What about you? Much trouble?"

He grinned, totally without humour. "Worked like a sorcerer's spell. They ran like cattle, out through the trees at the back there, where they thought we couldn't follow, and smack into the spears of our infantry. It was slaughter, and we didn't lose a man. A few of the foot-soldiers were wounded, but none of them seriously."

"Any prisoners?"

"Seventeen."

"How many were there, altogether?"

"About ninety."

"Any idea who they were?"

"Aye. Apparently they're Franks."

"Franks?" I was astonished.

"Aye, Franks, or Burgundians."

"But what about the horses?"

"What about them? They brought them with them."

"In boats?"

"Apparently, unless they swam behind." Picus dropped down from his horse and began to knead his buttocks. "God, I could eat my weight in something."

"How in Hades can you be hungry with so much blood around? I wonder where Vegetius's family went to? They're not here. Did you leave orders with the infantry about the bodies?"

"The prisoners are digging a pit to bury them."

"It'll take a deep pit to hold ninety corpses."

"That's their problem. They've nothing better to do."

I turned to Bassus. "I want you to pick twenty of your best men and follow the horsemen who escaped. They left a plain trail. Find them and destroy them, then return to the Villa as quickly as you can."

He saluted and left, moving quickly, and I left Picus, still massaging his buttocks, and went about the disposition of my men. It is always the same after every action — reaction, then inaction. By the time I had organized the preparation of a meal and set my men to clearing up the shambles of the farm, Picus was busy with his own six men, and I went back to where Vegetius Sulla was now being tended by one of our medics. As I approached, his eyes opened and I saw him look at me and recognize me, his lips forming my name as I knelt at his side.

"Vegetius. How are you feeling?" Stupid damn question, but what else can you ask, even though you know the truth?

His eyelids fluttered, closed, fluttered again and opened. He was looking directly at me. I watched his eyes focus on me, brighten and then start to glaze. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. Then he spoke my name, his lips barely framing the syllables. I leaned in to him.

"What is it?"

"The stable cellar. Tried to get them..." His voice trailed off into a slur, but he had solved the mystery of his family's whereabouts.

I took one of his hands in mine. "Don't worry, Vegetius. They're safe enough. We'll get them out."

His fingers tightened suddenly, convulsively, on mine and he arched in agony. I leaned forward to squeeze his shoulder, but my hand never reached him, for suddenly blood ran from his ears and from his mouth and the life went from him in a rush. I froze there in mid-action, stunned by the speed of it. The medic kneeling on the other side of him leaned over and closed his staring, agonized eyes.

"What happened?" I asked him. "He wasn't that badly hurt."

"Something must have burst inside his head, Commander. I've seen the like before with bad head blows."

I lowered Vegetius Sulla's hand gently onto his chest and tried to find a prayer for him, but I had none; my soul was empty. Feeling very old quite suddenly, I rose to my feet with a sigh and looked towards the entrance to the stables. Stella and her children would emerge from the blackness of that cellar into a lightless world. "Cato," I said. "Bring two of your men and come with me." I led them into the stable and started kicking at the straw on the floor.

"What are you looking for, Commander?"

"A trapdoor in the floor."

"Over here, sir." The words had barely left my lips before the answer came, and I felt my stomach lurch in awful anticipation at the speed of the response. I turned to see one of my young troopers pointing at a rectangular area of the floor that was free of straw. I walked towards it slowly.

"Open it."

They were all dead. Almost twenty of them, women and children. All of the females had obviously been raped, irrespective of age. The male children were all at the bottom of the pile. They had been killed and thrown into the hole and then the women and girls had been used, finished and thrown in on top of them. Sulla's wife, Stella, lay sprawled on the top of the pile, naked, bloody, battered, yet still easily recognizable. Her staring, dead eyes glared accusingly into my own. A vision of the face of the dead boy we had found on the hillside sprang into my mind and I wondered if he had taken any part in this.

I backed away from the horror of the sight, fighting the vomit rising in my throat until the edge of the trapdoor cut off my vision and I was no longer looking into Hades. My mind was recreating what must have happened here. Perhaps they had not thought to leave someone outside to cover up the trapdoor with straw. Or it could have been that one of the children made a noise and was overheard. Or had some late arrival been seen and followed? No one would ever know, now, but they had been found, and their sanctuary had become their grave.

I heard the wet noise of one of my men being sick and realized that it had been going on for some time, but instead of triggering me into a similar upheaval, the sound hardened everything inside me. I spun on my heel and marched out of the charnel-house, blinking hard as I emerged into the brightness of the morning. I called to the first trooper I saw and told him to fetch the Legate Picus at the double, and then I stood there, looking around the yard, my eyes squinting fiercely, unaccustomed yet to the bright sunshine after the gloom of the stable. I lost track of time, standing there so deep in thought that I didn't see Picus approach, and his voice startled me.

"What's the problem, Varrus?"

I pointed with my thumb, over my shoulder towards the stable entrance. "Take a look for yourself, but be ready for it. It's not pleasant." When he came back out, minutes later, his face was pasty white.

"Is Sulla's wife among them?"

"She's the one on the top of the heap. She must have been the last to die."

He was visibly shaken, and for a full minute neither of us spoke again. A party of soldiers approached the stable doors, carrying buckets. Picus stopped them in their tracks.

"Where are you men going?"

"Centurion sent us to get some oats from the stable, General."

"You!" Picus pointed to the one who had spoken. "Go back and tell your centurion that your squad has been commandeered by me for special duty. The rest of you put down those buckets and split into two parties, one to guard this door and the other to guard the doors at the back. No one is to enter this building without direct permission from either myself or Commander Varrus. Move!" He turned back to me. "Let's walk."

We crossed the yard side by side and our presence had a visible effect on the men who saw us. One after another they all became very diligent about whatever it was they happened to be involved in. We ignored them and walked in silence until Picus spoke.

"We'll have to bury them, I suppose. We can't take them back with us."

"Why would we even want to do that, Picus? They're dead."

He shook his head. "This is going to cause a lot of shock in the Colony. Is this the first time you've ever been attacked directly?"

"No," I answered him. "The second. But it's the first time we've been hit so hard. And from this direction."

"What's to be done?" There was a strange tone in his voice that made me turn my head to look directly at him. He noticed my expression and went on. "It's the novelty of the situation that's throwing me, Uncle. This isn't military. Not in the regular sense. These people are civilians. And they're my own people, at least my father's and yours. I'm used to dealing with casualties impersonally, but these were friends of my Aunt Luceiia. War has come a lot closer to home, quite suddenly."

"Aye, lad, I know what you mean. But don't let that blind you to the facts here, which are military, whether you accept that right now or not. This is the most outlying of our properties, and it's too far from the home farm. That's a fact that's been tragically proven today. As a farm it is now useless to us. That's another fact, a proven extension of the first one. We're going to have to redefine our borders, cut down our properties and redeploy our forces to defend the ones we intend to hold. That's another fact.

"The animals who did this had cavalry cover. That's a fact, and it alters our whole concept of the forces that are coming against us. It means that the enemy, or part of them at least, are just as mobile as we are. From this time on we have to make allowances for that. That's a lot of facts, Picus, all military realities and none of them wholesome. We've got to get back to the Colony just as fast as we can and alert the Council. We have to define some new priorities for our growth and for our defence."

"What about burial for the victims here?" His face was bleak.

"They're already in their grave, lad. We'll lay Vegetius out beside his wife and sons and burn the place over them. As martyrs of the Colony, it will be a fitting end."

"You're right, Uncle, as usual. I'll see to it."

"Wait. Summon all of our men, infantry and cavalry, to stand as a funeral honour guard. They should know what we are doing and why it's being done. And bring the prisoners, too. They will be confronted with their atrocity and executed." He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "No arguments, Picus. They die."

He nodded, after considering the look of me for a few moments. "How do they die?"

"I ought to crucify the swine, and if I had the time, I would. But I don't."

"How, then?"

"In the fire. They burn. They seem to worship a fire god. Now they can meet him, face to face." He gazed at my face for the space of ten heartbeats, and when he spoke, his voice was low.

"You are a harder man than I thought you, Publius Varrus."

I spoke through my anger. "Vegetius Sulla was my friend. His wife was a gentle, kindly woman, full of dignity and peace. You saw how they used her. They burn."

"So be it. They burn."

"You still sound unsure. Does your conscience bother you on this?"

"I don't know, Uncle. Perhaps it does. They deserve to die, but burning them alive seems unchristian."

"Remember your friend Pelagius, Picus. Freedom of choice and personal responsibility. As I see it, that's the only route available now to men of true conscience. We're not dealing with Christians here. Turn the other cheek to such as these, as the priests would have us do, and we'll all be dead within the year. The old God of the Hebrew testaments suits me far better, now, with his eye for an eye, than the gentle Christ does. I choose His way and I'm ready to stand responsible for the survival of our people."

"Aye. You're right." There was conviction in his voice now. "I'll see to it. But what about the pit they're digging now, for the others?"

"Leave it. Let them rot in the open. None of our people will be around to smell the stink. Assemble the men. We'll march them past the pit and show them what has been done here, then we'll let them see justice done in the execution of the criminals in the pyre of their victims."

And so it was done.