Crispinus scanned the hillsides in the fading light, watching the Selgovae as they watched the Romans. ‘We are with allies, so you tell me. And we have their leader’s son at our mercy.’
‘If that’s who he is, and assuming his father actually likes him.’
For the first time Crispinus appeared shocked.
‘It will probably be all right,’ Ferox said. ‘Probably.’
X
IT WAS A nervous night in a cold camp, the rain turning into a downpour that doused fires and made it hard to see very far or hear any movement until it was close. Crispinus and the other senior officers slept very little, all of them visiting the sentries in each of the four watches. Early in the third watch there was a scare from the picket in front of the northern entrance to the camp.
‘There’s something out there, sir.’ The Tungrian in charge of the six-man picket was certain. ‘Something moving towards us.’
Crispinus and the other equestrian officers had heard the call and run to see what was happening. They squinted as they tried to see in spite of the driving rain.
‘There are a lot of them.’ Cerialis had almost to shout into the tribune’s ear to be heard above the howling wind. ‘Look, up there!’ He pointed. ‘We should sound the alarm.’
Crispinus hesitated, and then jumped when a hooded and cloaked figure slid out of the darkness and came up beside him. He fumbled as he tried to grab the wet handgrip of his sword.
‘I’m on your side, tribune,’ Ferox said, throwing back the hood and grinning.
‘Have you been out there?’ Crispinus was breathing hard, his face so battered by the rain that it felt numb.
‘Just took a little walk.’
‘They’re coming closer!’ Cerialis shouted again, but by some chance the wind slackened and his voice sounded terribly loud.
‘It’s cows,’ Ferox said. ‘The warriors have all gone to shelter and I don’t blame ’em. It’s just a herd of cows.’ He was feeling happy, after testing himself to see whether he could still move quietly in the darkness. Silurian boys were taught stealth and concealment from infancy, to help them hunt game and enemies alike, but he knew that he was out of practice. In truth the main danger on a night like this was stumbling into someone else rather than being spotted from a distance.
The rain stopped late in the night, and in a grey, sunless dawn the column prepared to move. There was no sign of the Selgovae, apart from a thin tendril of smoke rising from one of the hearths in a farm half a mile away, but there was also no sign of a horse and mule, taken from inside the camp. The animals had simply vanished, and no one seemed convinced when Ferox assured them that the creatures had been stolen.
‘But how did they do it?’ Crispinus demanded, since all his sentries swore that they had seen nothing.
‘Why is as big a question,’ Brocchus suggested. ‘Do they mean to break the agreement?’
‘They did it because they could,’ Ferox said, ‘and to show you that they could and so are men to be treated with respect. They could do it because men get tired and sleepy on guard, and if you take the time and know what you are about you can get past them.’ He had to keep reminding himself that none of these men had spent long in this part of the world, apart from Titus Annius, who did not ask foolish questions. ‘They’re not breaking the treaty. If they were doing that we’d be counting slit throats, not a couple of animals gone.’
‘Allies aren’t supposed to rob each other.’ Cerialis sounded genuinely offended.
‘They see it as up to us to look after our property. If we’re daft enough to let ourselves be robbed then that’s not their fault.’
Crispinus frowned. ‘This is a strange place,’ he said.
The column moved out in the usual order, save for the addition of twenty more Batavians to add to the tribune’s escort when he joined Ferox and the scouts. They headed westwards, as far as the land allowed, which at first was not much, so that they kept going north into the teeth of a cold wind. The aim was to move closer to the bigger force coming up the Western Road under the legate of II Augusta, and at noon they dropped into another valley taking them in that direction. They were sheltered from the wind, but the sky remained a resolute and unbroken field of grey.
In spite of the agreement with Egus and his people, there was little more sign of life. Farms were empty when they arrived, although now and again they saw flocks of sheep and clusters of brown cows in the far distance. Warriors riding ponies watched them, sometimes letting Vindex’s men come close enough to exchange greetings or joking insults.
Just before noon they left the territory of Egus’ people and entered the lands of another chief, a man named Venutius, who never looked anyone in the eye and was renowned as a great cattle thief.
‘You make that sound like a compliment,’ Crispinus said when Ferox described the man.
‘It is in these parts.’
‘Well, at least he ought to have enough hides to pay his tax.’
The valley was just as empty, but the sides were dotted with clusters of pine trees, straggling groups of alder, and thick heather.
Crispinus was beginning to learn. ‘I presume that we are being watched.’ Ferox just nodded.
An hour later they saw a dozen riders some way ahead. Half an hour after that there were other horsemen high on the hills behind them, watching the main force march along the bottom of the valley. One of Vindex’s scouts came back, clutching at his side. His tunic was dark with a spreading patch of blood, which oozed between his fingers as he pressed them against the wound. He had been one of a pair of men sent along the valley side to the left. The other warrior did not return.
Ferox and Crispinus reached the wounded man as Vindex and two others were lowering him to the ground.
‘Bastards with horses marked on their heads,’ Vindex told them, looking grim even by his standards. ‘Shouldn’t have happened, though. The lad he was with rushed after the first one he saw. He’s one of the new boys.’ He shook his head. ‘Brigus here went after him and three of the buggers jumped him.’
‘What does it mean?’ Crispinus asked.
Ferox was scanning the trees on either side. ‘That we need to be more careful. And that we are probably in for a fight.’
Vindex kept his scouts closer from then on, and let the Batavian horsemen leading the main force come close before he pressed on. More and more little groups of warriors on horseback and on foot moved on the heights above them. A rider came from Brocchus to say that there were others closing in behind them.
They pressed on, fighting a sense that the valley was about to close in over them. The land sloped down and a little brook meandered along, finding the easiest path downhill. They had to cross the water again and again, following a track used by cattle. Up ahead there was the blackened trunk of an oak tree, struck by lightning and long since hollowed out, yet still standing.
‘I see it,’ Ferox said when he saw Vindex turn round. Crispinus strained, shading his eyes against the pale glare from the clouds, but shook his head because he could not make it out, until they got closer. Then he blanched.
The severed head of the lost scout was nailed to the wood. Whoever had done it had used an army nail, one of the long heavy iron pieces used to fasten great beams of timber. They had also cut off the man’s genitals and stuffed them into his mouth. Above the head, impaled on another long nail, was a straw effigy of a man, dressed in a tunic with red wool for hair and grey to show a breastplate and helmet. There was something wrapped around one of its arms and tied into place.
‘Do not touch it!’ one of the Brigantes shouted as Ferox jumped down and walked towards the ghastly warnings. Vindex did not speak, but looked as worried.