‘He got three,’ the queen said, ‘even after they stabbed him.’ She was trying to staunch a big wound to Falx’s stomach. Longinus called to Vindex to come back to the barricade, and Ferox went with him, but it seemed that the attack was over. Five pirates with their bodies painted black had floated across the lake on logs, paddling from behind the tower, so that they could come at the entrance from either side. No warning had come from the top of the tower, but by chance the gladiator had gone outside. ‘He was pissing,’ the queen explained, ‘and saw two of them, but then they were on him. He knocked one down, got the other around the neck and snapped it, and was drawing his sword when the other three came from behind.’ The queen stopped, her eyes empty like so many men after a fight, and Ferox knew that she could not remember all the details of what had happened.
It was easy enough to guess. Falx took a cut to the shoulder that did not break through his armour, then turned and got the thrust into his belly, which punched through the iron rings and padded jerkin underneath. The man who did it died a moment later, his throat opened to the bone. One of his companions sliced into the gladiator’s left hand, cutting between the fingers, but the big man held the sword tight and stabbed the man in the face. Brigita killed the one he had knocked down, and came back just in time to save the big man as he slumped down.
‘I fell asleep,’ Genialis explained when he was summoned. ‘I am sorry.’ His eyes flickered in the torchlight and he did not sound repentant. He seemed fascinated by the great bulk of the gladiator. They had taken him to lie out in one of the little rooms off the entrance tunnel. It took six of them to lift him and they did not want to take him any further. They cleaned him up, Sulpicia Lepidina supervising as they bound up his wounds.
‘I would like to make a poultice, but I do not have what I need,’ she said. ‘Pack this over the wound.’ She handed them some padded cloth. ‘We shall have to change it every few hours.’
Falx said nothing, but now and again he gave a gentle sigh. Probus came in and knelt beside his man. ‘You are free,’ he said, reaching for his hand and then realising that it was the injured one. ‘Do you hear me, you are a free man. When we get home, I’ll give you a farm or money to go wherever you will. You don’t have to fight anymore.’
Falx said nothing, his little eyes staring up at the bare stone roof. Ferox wondered whether it would be any comfort to be promised freedom and doubted it. Still, Probus had been a slave, so maybe he understood better.
‘Keep him warm,’ the lady commanded.
‘You heard, boy.’ Ferox had to stop himself from snarling the words at Genialis. ‘Get some blankets and do your best to make him comfortable. That is your job from now on.’
‘I am not your slave. Get the boy to do it.’
His father stood up. ‘Go on,’ Probus said. ‘He’s earned our thanks and more. If he hadn’t held them up then we’d all be dead.’
Genialis left, avoiding their gaze.
‘It’s my fault,’ Probus said after he had gone. Ferox was not sure whether he meant the gladiator’s terrible wounds or his son’s sullenness or both. ‘I wonder if he knows who he really is,’ he added, and then realised that the lady was still with them.
‘I had better go,’ she said, not seeking an explanation. ‘I could do with more rest, although I am sure you men need it far more. Thank you for what you are doing. All of you.’ She smiled at Probus and then crouched down beside the gladiator. Gently she ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. ‘You are a brave man,’ she said to him, and kissed his forehead for an instant.
Falx pushed himself up on his elbow, staring at her. His lips moved, as if he was trying to speak, and then he simply smiled and lay back down.
‘Be dawn soon,’ Ferox said. ‘You should get some rest, my lady.’
She left, just as Genialis returned, with a couple of blankets flecked with straw. The lady ignored the youth as he looked her up and down. Then he threw the blankets onto the floor.
‘Give me a hand, son,’ Probus said, and Ferox went out to check on the causeway. Longinus waved from the barricade to show that all was well.
*
A grey dawn came, windless and with a mist so thick that even from the barricade the shore was only just visible. Ferox, Segovax and the two Batavians resumed duty on the causeway. Even the northerner was tense, because it was so easy to imagine invisible enemies massing for an attack. Once or twice they saw a lone warrior walk to the edge of the water and stare at them.
No attack came, and after four hours Longinus and Vindex came out to relieve them. Around noon the mist was thinner and they could see sentries dotted around the shore. Cniva and a few other horsemen rode around the lake and then vanished. The wind picked up, blowing from the south west, which was a good direction to speed rescue. It stripped away the last of the grey mist, but then it turned northerly and that was not so good. Ferox and the others returned to the barricade and the day wore on. Bran and the Red Cat were both up on the tower, and the boy waved if he saw anyone glance up.
Part way through his watch Vindex strolled out to join them. A knot of a dozen or so pirates stood twenty paces back from the causeway, and a few more were over on their left. Each group held their shields up in a wall, but made no attempt to come closer.
‘Volunteering for extra work?’ Ferox said, watching the enemy to see whether they planned to do any more.
‘Just stretching my legs,’ the Brigantian replied. ‘You know how I hate crowds. That place is like a city.’
‘We’re getting less and less of a crowd all the time.’
‘I know. Donnotaurus just died.’ He was the scout wounded in the neck the day before.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ferox said. He had not known the man at all well, and struggled now to picture his face, but he meant what he said.
‘Aye, well, so was he. Bit surprised he lasted this long.’
‘The Carvetii are tough.’
‘Aye. Near the end he asked me for a promise. I gave it to him, but I won’t be able to do it without you.’ The scout rubbed his lean, skull-like face. ‘Aye, you’ll do it because you know it’s right. He made me promise that we kill every last one of these bastards.’
‘We will.’ It was always a surprise when Segovax broke his habitual silence. ‘Every last one.’
The only time Ferox could remember the Brigantian hating as strongly as this was when the Stallion’s men had buried a boy while he was still alive. He knew how both men felt. There was an evil in this place and in these enemies that cried out for vengeance. Neither of the northerners had any doubt that their families were dead, and he was sure they suspected that they suffered a lot before the end came. Even if they hurt Cniva and his men so badly that they never tried to raid the province again that would not be enough. To let them lurk up here and trouble villages and farms far away from the empire was an impiety. These were men who should not be allowed to live after what they had done and were still doing.
‘I vow it to all the gods and spirits who are listening,’ he said, hoping that they would all be spared long enough to fulfil the pledge.
Vindex nodded. ‘Good.’
An arrow struck the barricade, sticking into the top of the barrel inches from Ferox’s finger. Another came from the other side, whipping through the air just over Vindex’s head.
‘Bugger,’ he hissed. ‘Well, we’re humped.’
Two more shafts came a moment later, one sticking into the causeway behind them and the other bouncing off the barricade. Ferox could see an archer behind each cluster of shields. The group closest to the causeway started to walk forward, keeping in rank, the archer shooting over their shoulders.
Ferox ducked as another arrow whipped past. Neither of the archers were very good, and their bows were not strong, but that did not matter because they had no way of replying.
‘Time to go, boys,’ he said. Vindex had not brought a shield. ‘You keep behind us.’ He stood up, shield braced. Segovax joined him on
the right and one of the Batavians on the left. ‘Keep it steady. Back a pace at a time.’
An arrow struck his shield and stuck there, but only the very tip of the point came through.
‘Back,’ he said. Vindex dashed away at a crouch, and the other Batavian saw the danger and caught an arrow aimed at the scout on his shield. The pirates charged along the causeway, while the archer ran out to the flank.
‘Keep together,’ Ferox called. ‘Back, lads, back.’ The tone mattered more than the words. The black-clad warriors were in the ditch, and for the moment they were in the way and stopped the archers from shooting. The second group were rushing to join them, and twenty more pirates ran over the little hill and down towards the causeway as well.
An arrow skittered across the stones next to Ferox’s feet. They took another step back, and another and he was trying to remember how many paces there were to the second wall and the shelter of the entrance.
A tall man clambered onto the top of the barricade. Bareheaded, his long blond hair and thick beard were a stark contrast to his drab clothes and black shield. He brandished a black-shafted spear and his mouth was open, teeth bared, but he made no sound. ‘Bastard!’ Segovax screamed.
‘Stay with us,’ Ferox yelled at him, sensing the man’s hatred. Two pirates scrambled over the barricade and jumped onto the causeway. ‘Back!’ Ferox called again. He knew that they were close now.
‘Come on!’ That was Longinus, and Ferox risked a quick glance over his shoulder. The Batavian covering their rear was past the wall and back in the entrance. Longinus and Vindex were at the wall, swords and shields ready.
‘Nearly there, boy,’ the centurion told the others.
The enemy charged, three swordsmen in front, a pair behind with spears, and the blond-haired warrior urging them on from behind. A stone smashed into the causeway at their feet. One of the pirates looked up and a second rock struck him full in the face, snapping his helmeted head back. The others faltered, raising their shields and two more stones flung from the top of the tower thumped onto the wooden boards. Back on the shore, the bowmen started to shoot up. A last stone came, hitting a man on the toe of his boot and making him yelp, but then there were no more.
More pirates came over the barricade, forming behind their comrades and raising their shields over their heads. The formation was rough, not the well-practised testudo making a roof of shields of well-trained legionaries or auxiliaries, but it would do. Ferox and his men reached cover, and he pushed the others behind him so that he stood in the gap next to the wall. Longinus nodded to him. Segovax stayed close behind his shoulder.
The Harii shuffled forward, keeping together. Arrows whipped through the air, seeking out the men on the top of the tower. A stone came back and bounced harmlessly off the roof of shields, prompting two more shafts. Ferox could see the faces of the three men in the front rank, their teeth bared and eyes wild. No doubt he and his men looked much the same. The one facing him had a spear, so must have replaced the one hit on the head with a stone. The weapon was long and awkward in such a close formation, and after a few tentative thrusts, he lowered it so that it was underarm. It would have been better to drop it and draw his sword, but Ferox never minded the enemy making a mistake.
They were close now, and after another step the arm lunged with the spear, aiming below his shield at his unprotected calves. Ferox cut across with his sword, saw splinters come from the wooden shaft, but knew that he had not done much damage.
‘Huh!’ the three pirates grunted as they came forward together, close enough that Ferox could see that the spearman had stained teeth and a scar across the bridge of his nose. The man feinted low, and then turned it into an upwards thrust, trying to get past the side of his shield. He blocked it, the spearhead biting through the calfskin outer layer and the board of his shield. Ferox stabbed forward, elbow back and sword at eye level, and the pirate tried to dodge back, but the next rank was too close and the long point of the gladius speared into his left eye. It was not a fatal wound, for he had pulled away enough to stop that, but the black-clad man dropped his spear and staggered back. The roof of shields wavered. A stone dropped from up above, through the opening and fell harmlessly onto the ground, somehow missing everyone in the crowd. The testudo closed again and the next missile banged off the overlapping shields.
Longinus and Vindex were watching their opponents, waiting for a chance, and the enemy were just as cautious. After a moment of confusion, the wounded pirate was hustled to the back of the formation and a new opponent came at Ferox. This one had dyed his beard black, but the dye was washing out and there was plenty of pale grey in it. He had his sword up, matching Ferox’s stance. The pirate feinted, but held back when the centurion twitched his shield up and was about to jab forward.
‘You’re going to die, Roman.’ The man hissed in a thick Rhineland accent. It was a shock, because these warriors so rarely made any sound. Ferox did not have the breath to spare for an answer. Next to him, Longinus took a cut to the shoulder, but it was not a strong blow and his mail was not broken. Vindex slashed and was rewarded with a yelp as he grazed the face between the cheek pieces of a helmet.
Ferox’s opponent punched at him with his shield, a savage blow that rocked him back and he only just had time to sway to the side as the point of the man’s gladius stabbed where his head had just been.
‘You’re going to die.’ The man was laughing, but the sound was nervous and Ferox had already recovered. A bold warrior would have followed up the advantage and tried to push him back, but men in a testudo liked to huddle together because it made them feel safer. Ferox was tired, his legs and arms feeling as heavy as lead and just as soft, but he stamped his left foot forward and punched with the boss of his own shield, wishing he had a solid legionary scutum rather than this light shield taken from the pirates. The man gave way only a little and laughed at him again.
A large block of stone hit the roof of the entrance way just behind him, flinging pebbles and shards of rock against his back. A Batavian swore vilely in a mixture of his own language and camp Latin. Ferox’s opponent attacked, sword low and trying to slip past the side of his shield, but failing.
The grey stone was almost a foot long and half as big on each side and hit the top of the shield above the pirate’s head, brushing it aside and slamming on to his helmet. Ferox glimpsed the bronze being crushed by the weight and the man fell. Another missile followed, almost as big and far larger that the hand-sized missiles they had gathered in preparation. It shattered one of the black oval shields and the formation scattered as another warrior dropped, his shoulder broken. Men were screaming, panicking, and then a splash of steaming liquid spattered down. There was not much, but one man was screaming as his face burned, and others cursed or yelled in pain. Ferox smelt the rancid tang of burning olive oil and heard a woman’s excited shout.
The archers stopped shooting. Behind the ruined testudo stood the blond-haired warrior, staring in shock at the carnage.
‘Bastard!’ Segovax pushed at Ferox so that he had to drop his sword and grab onto the wall to stop himself being shoved off the causeway. The northerner ran at the warrior, vaulting over the dead and injured. There was no trace of his limp as he sped along. A pirate, his helmet wrenched off and one side of his face red and blistered from the oil, blocked his path. Segovax ducked a wild stroke and slashed at the man, his blade striking just under the knee and cutting clean through the man’s leg. The pirate fell, stump up in the air and spouting blood.
The tall warrior recognised him. He waited, then threw his heavy spear. Segovax raised his shield in time, but the iron head burst through the wood and kept going, striking him on the chest, so that he staggered back. The blond drew his gladius and rushed forward. Segovax threw down his useless shield, but his boot was in a slick patch of blood and he slipped, falling forward. The blond yelled in triumph, shouting something Ferox did not understand and brought his sword up ready, and ran at him.
&n
bsp; Segovax dived, rolling as he hit the ground and thrusting up. It was instinct more than anything else, and if he missed he was surely dead, but the stubby point of his army issue sword took the blond in the groin. The shout of victory turned into an unearthly shriek of pain. The northerner twisted the blade and then pushed it in harder with both hands. Scream turning into a sob, the pirate toppled over. Segovax stood, and grabbed the man by the hair, lifting him half up. He hacked with his sword at the pirate’s neck. The third cut finished the job.
The victor stood, face expressionless, and he lifted the severed head in his left hand, holding his sword up in his right. He glanced down at the rest of the body and spat. A shout of joy came from the top of the tower, and Ferox guessed that it was the Red Cat.
‘Come on, man!’ he shouted.
Segovax turned his back on the enemy and walked slowly along the causeway. One of the pirates was pushing himself up, moaning, and the northerner almost absent-mindedly jabbed down into his neck. Blood jetted across his leg. An arrow whisked through the air, missing him by feet, and he turned and spat his contempt at the enemy.
The second arrow hit him on the calf of his good leg, spitting it so that the iron head and an inch or two of shaft came out the other side. He staggered, and another arrow struck his left hand, making him drop the head. Ferox ran out, shield ready, and Vindex came with him. Segovax shook him off when he offered to help, so the two men used their shields to cover him as he made his way back. Arrows banged into their shields, but the bowmen no longer seemed quite so accurate and they all made it back without injury. Ferox turned and looked at the wreckage on the causeway, the dead and dying pirates, the big stones and the broken shields and dropped weapons.
‘We’re still alive, then,’ Vindex said.
‘Who threw the oil?’
‘The queen,’ Longinus said. ‘She climbed up on top of the tunnel. ‘The lady heated it up for her, and one of my lads lifted it up. There wasn’t much. Helped, though, didn’t it.’ The one-eyed warrior grinned. ‘Just as well most women don’t fight. Reckon they’d be too good at it for the rest of us. She’s gone inside,’ he added, ‘so you’ll have to thank her later. She was complaining that it was the only oil we had.’
The Encircling Sea Page 23
