Crispinus had gone first. ‘All right for him,’ Longinus had shouted into Vindex’s ear, ‘look how light he is.’ The Batavians followed, one by one, and then Sepenestus. Gannascus hesitated, and no one could blame him. Sepenestus came back and offered to lead over the other man’s mount. The giant shook his head, so the archer took a pony over instead. As soon as they were across Gannascus spat for luck and strode onto the bridge. The rest watched, at once horrified, fascinated and a little amused. Halfway across a piece of wood broke away and fell, and they waited for more, but it did not come, and then with half a dozen more steps the warrior reached the bank, his horse following. Some of the Batavians clashed their spears against their shields in approval, and the German shook his fist at the stream. The scout went next, got his horse over without trouble and then came back for the pony.
Vindex did not see any sign until the bridge began to collapse. The last pony reared and screamed, until the planks lurched down and it slid into the water.
‘Let go!’ Vindex screamed at the scout who was leading the animal. The man gaped, and must have wound the lead around his arm as he had tried to drag the skittish beast over the widely spaced planks of the little bridge. As the pony fell he was yanked down after it. Both disappeared into the foam. A couple of times Vindex glimpsed the head of man or beast as they were whisked away, slamming into boulders, until they vanished over the top of the waterfall a long bowshot away.
Ferox heard the shout and galloped down to the bank.
‘Poor bugger,’ Vindex said as he arrived. They were the only ones still on this side, Crispinus having ordered the centurion as next most senior officer to bring up the rear of the little column. He had also suggested that perhaps Ferox might disguise their tracks, in the hope of throwing off pursuit. There had been little point in explaining the impossibility of hiding the passage of so many heavy riders across spongy soil thoroughly soaked in the storm.
‘Can you hear me?’ The tribune had cupped his hands around his mouth and was yelling across the chasm.
Ferox raised his thumb and shouted that he could.
‘Longinus thinks there should be another way across about three miles to the south, and maybe twice that to the north! You know where we are going! Catch up when you can! Understand?’
Ferox raised his thumb again.
‘Simple as that.’ Vindex spoke loudly and Ferox was beside him, but still strained to hear. ‘Humped again.’
They headed south. The land dropped sharply, making it a difficult route, so they led their horses down little paths clinging to the mountainside or along rocky defiles. It drizzled, making the ground even more slippery, and they went slowly. If one of the animals fell and broke a leg then they would be in even more trouble.
After three hours they had gone less than a mile from the bridge as the raven flew. They kept close to the stream, not in any hope of finding the scout alive; at best they would see his corpse and Vindex could say words over it. It might be a small comfort to the man’s wife and parents. They found a path above a thirty-foot fall. It got ever steeper as it led down until it reached the narrow gap between two bluffs. There were piles of sheep droppings in the little track winding along, all hard so weeks old at least, and once Ferox saw the print of a boot that was more recent, although at least a few days old. People came here, even if it was hard to know why.
‘That’s that, then,’ Vindex said as they stared at the fallen rocks blocking the defile. There was no way around. ‘Looks fresh.’
‘Probably yesterday. Oh well, back we go.’ It took even longer retracing their steps, for they were getting tired, and they were halfway back to where they had started by the time they stopped and rested. This was also the first good path heading away from the ravine once crossed by the broken bridge.
‘Come on.’ It was Vindex who urged them to move, for Ferox was enjoying the freedom of being away from the others. Still, there was another hour or two before this gloomy day would turn to night and he knew they must go. So far the Ordovices had been wary of seventeen well-armed Roman cavalry. They might not prove so cautious when it came to two riders on their own, although the pair on the greys seemed to have got away with it. By now those two could be at the bridge, perhaps even starting to follow them south.
He got up. ‘Follow me then.’ Both men wore mail and Vindex wore his old-fashioned helmet. Ferox left his crested helmet tied to the back of his saddle and in spite of the drizzle he kept his hood down to see and hear better. The sword at his side was a regulation gladius, slimmer and with a shorter point than his own lost blade. It would serve, although as he tapped the oval pommel he once again missed the feel of his own weapon. He had given up wondering how much of what Acco had said was nonsense, but the druid was right in one thing. It was a true killer’s sword, and lucky with it. Vindex had a spear light enough to throw if he needed and a small round shield, the dark blue paint on it so faded it looked black and the white figure of a galloping horse only visible if you stared hard. The locals would think them well worth killing to steal such equipment, apart from wanton malice.
Ferox led his horse and did not hurry as they followed the path away from the stream. After half an hour they came across another shepherd’s track, looping as it went up a hard rocky slope. He took them up it, the horses needing to be coaxed and threatened. The top of the hill was long and low, with outcrops of dark rock at either end, and he remembered looking up at it from the far side as they had climbed towards the bridge that morning. On the far side the valley was shallower.
Vindex muttered curses all the way up, and when they were near the top Ferox raised his hand to halt.
‘Wait,’ he said, handing the other man the reins of his horse. The centurion went up on foot, moving carefully and crouching as he got nearer. As he went he imagined warriors squatting among the rocks, hefting javelins, waiting for the fool to come close so they could spit him with ease. He was almost at the crest now, and flinched when a black shape leaped out into the air. Wings flapped and a harsh voice called as the raven brushed against his hair. Ferox was breathing hard with more than the exertion of the climb. The Morrigan’s bird was here, watching the world with its black, beady eyes, and in his heart he knew that warriors would soon spill their blood.
No tribesmen waited for him at the top, but they had been here, not long ago at all, at least three of them from the prints. Perhaps they had watched as the Romans rode past early that day, and then sometime later they had jogged off towards the bridge. Ferox kept low and went to the far end of the hilltop, where the land sloped down and even on this gloomy day you could see for a couple of miles. There was no sign of the main body of cavalry, and even from up here he would have seen their tracks in the valley below if they had already passed.
Ferox went back to help Vindex with the horses. ‘A few warriors were up there,’ he explained. ‘They’ve gone now, but could be they are following those boys riding the grey horses. I’ve a mind to take a look.’
‘Just look?’
‘We’ll see.’ The raven circled above them and gave another cry. Vindex grimaced.
They crossed down into the valley. Ferox did not want to risk leaving the horses, at least not yet, and they could not be led along the top of the crest. Down on the main path the prints of two small horses were clear and fresh, overlying the marks of Crispinus and the rest of them.
‘So by now they’re at the bridge,’ Vindex said. ‘Can’t go on, but how about they follow the two idiots who went south, and the Ordovices follow them, and then we come up behind. Do you see we might end up going in circles for days!’ There was no response. ‘Well, it will keep us all amused.’