‘Let us at him,’ a man demanded. ‘This ain’t your quarrel.’
‘How is it not?’ The boy was standing over Arminius. ‘He’s my chieftain, and you’re trying to kill him. Clear off to whatever shithole you call home, before we put a shaft in you, as we did with your friends.’
Despite the boy’s bravado, there was a tremor in his voice.
Stars flashed across Arminius’ vision, and nausea clawed the back of his throat, but a desperate sense of urgency helped him to half sit up. His rescuers were two boys, one tousle-headed, the other short and stocky, both close to manhood and brandishing full-drawn bows. They were ranged against four warriors, one of whom was wounded in the arm. Worse luck, one of the uninjured was the archer, who had a shaft ready to loose.
Seeing Arminius, he swept his bow round and down. The barbed iron head of his arrow pointed straight at Arminius’ face, and he thought, I’m done.
Ssshhhewww-tthhuunnkk.
The archer was punched backward by a shaft that took him through the chest.
‘Here.’ With a kick of his foot, the boy who’d shot pushed a hunting spear towards Arminius. Using it as a crutch, he struggled to his feet, trying to ignore the stabbing blades of pain from his thigh, and the sticky feeling of blood pouring down the inside of his leg. Upright, he was able to balance on his good foot and hold the spear ready to use.
There were three spearmen left, but one was hurt. Their hesitation when the boy who’d killed the archer was nocking a fresh arrow had been fatal, and they knew it. Now they faced a pair of ready bows, and Arminius’ spear. They glanced at one another, uncertain.
‘Come on, you filth,’ snarled Arminius. ‘At least one of you is going to die – if not all of you.’
His insult might have spurred the trio into action, but the sound of men approaching from the village put paid to any notion of finishing what they’d come to do. With a few choice curses, the warriors turned and ran.
Ssshhhewww! The second boy loosed, and missed.
‘Let the cowards go,’ said Arminius, slurring his words. His world spun, and his eyes could no longer focus. He would have fallen if the first boy hadn’t gripped his left arm and steadied him. Arminius’ head seemed too large and heavy for his shoulders, but he managed to look at his rescuer, whom he dimly recognised as the grandson of Tudrus, one of his father’s most trusted men. ‘My thanks …’
After that, he was falling, falling, down a bottomless, pitch-black well.
The first face Arminius saw when his eyes opened was Thusnelda’s. Red-eyed, cheeks drawn, it was clear that she’d been crying. Her gaze was fixed over him, towards someone on his other side. He was flat on his back. Above him, he recognised the roof of his longhouse.
Thusnelda let out a happy gasp, and caressed his face. ‘You’ve woken up!’
Arminius ran his tongue around a dry mouth. ‘It appears so,’ he said wryly. ‘A drink, please.’ After a mouthful of water, he asked, ‘How long was I unconscious?’
‘Perhaps an hour.’ She mopped his forehead with a damp cloth. ‘Long enough for the priest to remove the arrow.’
Hazy memories of an agony even worse than when the shaft struck floated around Arminius’ mind. His right hand roamed down, finding heavy bandaging on his thigh. A throbbing pain radiated from the area, not as sharp than before, but no less uncomfortable. ‘Did it come out easily?’
‘Easy enough,’ said Maelo.
Arminius rolled his head and grinned at his second-in-command, who was sitting on the other side of the bed. ‘Where were you when I needed you?’
Maelo made a guilty face. ‘I came the instant I heard the racket.’
‘Did you catch any of them?’ Maelo shook his head, and Arminius added, ‘Who were they – have you any idea?’
‘They were Cherusci, like us; I know that much.’ Maelo’s eyes glittered. ‘Who else could they have been but Segestes’ men?’
‘Killing me wouldn’t free Segestes,’ said Arminius, confused.
‘Maybe they were here to try and rescue him, but the dogs chanced upon you while scouting out the village. Seeing who you were, a hothead loosed an arrow. The rest had to follow suit.’
Maelo’s reasoning made sense, thought Arminius, feeling a swelling anger. He heaved himself upright, clenching his jaw against the stabbing needles this elicited from his thigh.
Thusnelda laid a restraining hand on his chest. ‘You have to stay abed.’
‘I must talk to your father,’ Arminius snapped. ‘Did you know about his men?’ Hurt filled her eyes, and her hand dropped away. He felt an instant remorse. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘No, you shouldn’t!’ She rose and stepped away from the bed. ‘Do as you wish. Start the bleeding again. I don’t care.’
Arminius watched her go.
‘Maybe you’d best stay here and rest. Segestes can wait,’ advised Maelo.
‘Help me stand,’ ordered Arminius. ‘Nothing’s going to stop me giving the old bastard a going-over.’ He chuckled. ‘I should say, watching while you give him a going-over.’
The discomfort from his wound was so great that he had to ask Maelo for help before they’d reached the door. Even with his arm around Maelo’s broad shoulders, it took three times as long as normal to hobble to the longhouse where Segestes was being held. The eight warriors on guard leaped up, their faces concerned.
He made a shushing gesture. ‘I’ve had worse wounds from sharpening a sword,’ he added, low enough for Segestes not to hear.
The warriors responded with unconvinced looks.
‘Any news?’ asked Arminius.
‘Not a thing,’ replied the first warrior. ‘He has eaten, and had his walk. Like as not, he’s having a nap. That’s what he tends to do much of the time.’
‘We’ll wake him up,’ declared Arminius with an evil smile. ‘Fetch a bucket of water.’ One man hurried off, and he eased down on to the low bench used by the sentries and closed his eyes. He would rest out here, so he didn’t look like complete shit before Segestes.
His strength had rallied somewhat by the time the warrior returned with a slopping wooden pail. The locking bar was lifted from its hooks with gentle hands and placed on the ground. A few creaks were unavoidable when the door was opened, but there was no cry of alarm. One of the sentries eased within, soon returning with the news that Segestes was still asleep. His two men were awake, however. ‘They’ll keep quiet if they know what’s good for them,’ muttered Arminius. ‘Tie them up as soon as we’re inside. Silence them if needs be.’
In they went, on tiptoe, all ten of them. Segestes’ followers looked startled, and one asked what in Donar’s name they wanted, but Arminius’ warriors had swarmed forward and overpowered the pair, and gagged them, before too much noise had been made. It gave Arminius huge satisfaction that Segestes’ slumber continued through the scuffle. He lay on his straw-filled mattress, a blanket half-covering him. Loud snores echoed from his open mouth, and a trickle of saliva ran from one corner of his lips.
They drew near enough to stand right over him. The man with the bucket stood ready. Arminius paused, taking deep breaths to control the waves of pain radiating from his thigh. Thinking of the warriors who’d ambushed him helped. Ready at last, he nodded.
The contents of the pail landed on Segestes with a mighty splash. He jerked up, roaring with fright and shock. Arminius’ warriors hooted with amusement, but he kept his expression stony hard.
Spluttering, wiping his face, Segestes focused at last on Arminius. ‘What was that for, you bastard?’