Ironroot (Tales of the Empire)

by S. J. A. Turney

  The captain pointed at the small grassy area beneath the three beech trees in the centre of the village.

  “Drop him there and then go pick up his friend and anything of theirs you can find in the barn. Be quick.”

  Salonius flashed a quick, worried glance at his companion and then nodded and allowed the unconscious man to fall unceremoniously to the turf. Whatever it was that Varro had in mind, Salonius was pretty sure the man wouldn’t be walking away at the end of it. As he walked off, he deliberately avoided looking at both the captain and their prisoner. He shut his eyes tight as he heard the captain’s next words, then opened them and picked up his pace as he crossed the bridge toward the outlying farm buildings.

  “You!” Varro turned and pointed at a group of half a dozen concerned spectators gathered outside the front of the inn. In other circumstances it might have humorous the way the individuals in the crowd automatically shuffled away from the finger, leaving a startled man leaning on a cane in the centre of a widening circle. The man gave Varro a frightened look and spoke, his voice shaking.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Varro shook his head in irritation.

  “Somewhere in this village there are ropes, nails and a hammer. Find me them.”

  The man turned his head left and right briefly, casting helpless looks at the crowd around him, none of whom met his eye. Quivering slightly, he picked up his stick and turned toward the house next to the inn.

  Varro moved his finger and pointed at a young woman nearby.

  “You go with him and make sure he finds those things for me. I don’t like to be kept waiting, and I’m not the world’s most patient man.”

  As the woman turned and rushed after the absent man, Varro turned to see a lone figure standing across the green. Where the deep, narrow river briefly widened out into a pool, probably used for washing clothes, a fence with a gate had been erected, presumably to prevent children and animals falling into the rushing water. Leaning on the fence was a large, heavy set man with a drooping red moustache and a shiny bald pate, dressed in a huge leather overall. A blacksmith, clearly. And watching Varro with something akin to anger and visibly no fear at all. The captain smiled. Could be trouble; could be useful.

  He waved a hand to the smith and wandered over.

  “I need a hand to take a rail off this fence. Top rail only; it’ll still stop children and animals drowning.”

  The big man glared at him.

  “I have no interest in helping you, brigand!”

  Varro smiled unpleasantly.

  “I’ll let that one pass. I’m no brigand and, as always, what I do is for the good of the Empire.” He reached the fence and stood next to the blacksmith, considerably shorter, gazing up at him with a flinty look. His voice dropped to a low growl. “You will help me. If you do it without comment, we’ll be on our way shortly. You wouldn’t want to cause an ‘incident’!”

  The big man glared at him for a while and then nodded slowly.

  “You give me your word you’ll move on quietly and not come back and I’ll do what I have to in order to speed you on your way.”

  The two men locked eyes for a moment and then Varro nodded. He gripped one end of the fence rail preparing to heave and blinked in momentary surprise as the large smith casually tore the rail form the fence, accompanied by the tortured shriek of stressed iron nails. He turned with the long piece of wood and walked back across the green.

  As the two of them walked, Varro noted with interest the way the smith’s grip on the rail changed momentarily. With a smile, he ducked down and drew his belt knife. Even as the smith swung the huge rail at head height, Varro was underneath it and stood once more with the tip of his blade pressing very gently into the big man’s side by his kidney.

  “Last warning, friend. Go stand with your neighbours.” He pointed to the growing crowd outside the inn.

  Grunting, the smith dropped the rail to the grass and walked angrily away to join the throng. Varro looked around, stretching his shoulders and neck. Shame about this. Good people these, and the captain disliked looking needlessly cruel. Still, there were greater issues here.

  Across the bridge, he saw the stocky figure of Salonius emerge from the cow byre, a body slung over one shoulder and a bag over the other. Back near the inn, the man with the stick and the young woman had reappeared from the house and were milling around at the back of the crowd, blending in. Varro dropped his head and smiled to himself, but then put on a fierce visage as he raised it again and used the knife to gesture to the man.

  “Nails! Rope! Hammer!”

  The man came hurrying nervously and jerkily with his stick as a third leg around the edge of the crowd with a small bag. He reached the green, stepped nervously around the body on the floor and stopped a few yards from Varro, holding out the bag with a terrified look in his eye. Varro smiled at him, trying not to look too fierce.

  “I’m not here to hurt you. Drop the bag and go away!”

  The man needed no second telling, scurrying across the grass, barely allowing his stick to touch the ground. Varro hid his smile as he removed the hammer and a long nail from the bag. Picking up the rail, he rested it against the tree at shoulder height and hammered the nail deep, driving it home until it protruded only half an inch and then bending the excess over. Collecting another nail, he grasped the other end of the rail and lifted it so that it rested at shoulder height on one of the other trees. With three efficient strokes of the hammer, he repeated the process. In short order he drove two more nails into each end for good measure and then tugged at and leant on the rail, testing the weight. Satisfied, he stepped back and examined his makeshift frame.

  Behind him, panting with the effort, Salonius arrived with his burden.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?”

  Varro grunted.

  “These men accepted the risks when they signed up. As far as I’m concerned, and you too, they’re enemy combatants, spies and assassins. They deserved to die, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so, sir, but I can’t say I like it.”

  “Neither do I, Salonius, but sometimes you have to do things you don’t like. Sometimes it’s our job as officers to be harsh and unyielding for the greater good. And we’re not hurting an innocent here.”

  Salonius nodded and let the mangled corpse drop to the floor. Dropping their kitbag next to the captain, he wandered over to the unconscious prisoner and grasped his wrists. With a deep breath he hauled on them and dragged the body across to the new construction. He glanced briefly at the now surprisingly large crowd outside the inn.

  “I realise you’re trying to create a distraction, but I’m not sure how this is going to work?”

  Varro nodded. “They’ll need a little prod, but keep watching. Now lift them up so I can tie them on.”

  Salonius hauled the body up to the level of the rail and the captain tied the wrists to the wood. As he let go, the faceless, visceral body dropped and sagged, the legs dangling at uncomfortable angles to the floor. Reaching into the bag at his feet, he drew out two more nails. Placing one between his teeth, he held another over the man’s wrist, between the two bones and hefted the hammer.

  Salonius looked away and ground his teeth, wincing as he heard the first thud. With open sympathy, he began to heft the unconscious man. Another two bangs. He paused and waited without looking. He heard the second nail being positioned and three more bangs. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the grisly scene, lifting the unconscious prisoner to the bar. While the whole idea of what they were doing repulsed him, the captain was right and he knew it. These men deserved this; they deserved worse than this in truth, and Varro was doing nothing needlessly cruel.

  He forced himself to watch as the captain tied the man’s wrists to the rail. With a glance at the crowd before the inn, he realised that he had to appear as invested in this as the captain. He reached down to the bag and withdrew two nails, grasping the hammer. Varro raised an eyebrow.

&n
bsp; “My turn” Salonius rumbled, looking distinctly unhappy. “I assume you’ve got a speech ready?”

  Varro nodded.

  “Then go speak” the young man said, holding the nail in position over the wrist. Gritting his teeth, he swung the hammer. Of course, Varro’s victim had been dead for quite a few hours and had bled mostly dry. This was a whole different matter. He made sure he stood to one side, grateful that he’d taken the opportunity to give the man a heavy blow to the head on the way over to the tree. Though he wasn’t quite dead, the chances of even agony waking him now or ever again were very small. Continuing his grisly work with a professional concealment of his true feelings, he concentrated on Varro’s voice and allowed himself the bliss of detaching himself from his work.

  “You think we are brigands or murderers. But even out here at the frontier, there is justice in the Empire.”

  He waited a moment for his words to sink in and then continued.

  “These two men are traitors. They have betrayed not only their own unit, but the army and the people of the Empire. I have seen first-hand evidence of their involvement in corruption, murder and intrigue and their fate is clear under Imperial law. As a captain in the fourth army it is my duty to carry out that punishment.”

  He turned to see Salonius standing back, the blood-soaked hammer hanging in his blood-soaked hand, an unreadable expression on his face. Bending, he retrieved a sword from the kit. He turned, made sure the crowd was watching and then slowly, deliberately, and with great force, drove the blade through the chest of the hanging man. With a sigh he let go of the hilt and left the sword jutting out of the chest of its former owner.

  Salonius shuddered and let the hammer drop, speaking in a quiet voice, unheard by the crowd at the inn.

  “Are we done? Did we achieve anything?”

  Varro nodded.

  “While you were busy, I saw three men disappear off up the road toward the way station on horseback. I suspect in an hour or more this village will be filled with panicked guardsmen and two very angry conspirators. We need to get back to Catilina and get ourselves hidden.”

  The young man nodded and, leaning down, wiped his hands on the grass, taking the opportunity to look up subtly and observe the crowd around the inn. There was a tense silence as the population of the village hovered nervously between the dangers of confrontation and the consequences of inaction.

  “Which way?”

  Varro nodded toward the road and, stretching, began to walk.

  “Same way we came in, bold as iron. Nobody’s going to follow us after that. They’ll just be glad we left.”

  Salonius fell in alongside him and tried to keep his face impassive and stare straight ahead as they passed the villagers. As they passed the last house he felt a little of the tension drain from his back and, despite willing himself not to, his pace picked up a little until the pair of them had rounded the first bend in the road and the village had disappeared from view.

  “We’d best get off the road,” he said, glancing ahead with some trepidation, expecting to see riders bearing down on them round the next corner.

  Varro shrugged. “Should have at least a quarter of an hour yet, even if they tried to break their horses.”

  The pair walked on. Despite Varro’s casual comments, Salonius noted that their pace picked up considerably as they rounded the corner. After perhaps half a mile of dusty road, they recognised the small village boundary stone that marked their departure point. Taking a deep breath and a nervous glance up the road, Salonius stepped on to the grass and held up his hand to ward off the thin branches snapping back at his face in the captain’s wake.

  On springy grass without the constant crunch of gravel beneath their boots, all the sounds of a summer morning flooded in and filled their ears. Birdsong, the buzzing of bees, the splashing of the fast, narrow river in the middle distance and the occasional scurrying noise in the undergrowth all combined to send a flood of calming relief through the two men as Varro finally pushed through the last branches and broke out into the clearing where Catilina sat on a rock. The reins of the three horses were tied to a branch behind her, while she, herself, sat with a hefty Imperial blade between her fingers, point-down on the grass. Salonius raised his eyebrows as he recognised the blade from his saddle. For some odd reason, the lady seemed perfectly natural and happy bearing a heavy military blade.

  Varro smiled at her and turned to Salonius, pointing up the slope at the side of the valley.

  “Can you climb up there as quietly as you can and find somewhere to hide? As soon as you see horses, get back down here fast.”

  Salonius nodded and strode across the clearing.

  “But for Gods’ sake don’t get seen coming back down!”

  The young man made an affirmative noise and began to clamber up the bank beyond the small knot of trees. Varro wandered across the clearing and sat on a stone near Catilina.

  “Shouldn’t be long; then we can get going up toward Saravis Fork.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking; it’s dangerous to come back this way, but I really can’t see an alternative. There’s no Imperial road other than this. I believe there are native trails but even then it could take weeks to get back down. Are you sure you want to risk this? Going to the very border of the Empire and maybe even getting trapped there?”

  Catilina nodded and patted him on the wrist in a soothing manner, idly spinning the blade on its point with her other hand.

  “I’m quite sure, Varro.”

  “But…”

  “You don’t understand” she stated, cutting him off. “It’s been a long time since we were together, but you knew I’d wait, surely? I knew you would. There’d always be time for us to be together again, but now…”

  Varro lowered his head and Catilina smiled sadly.

  “I don’t know whether we’ve got six months or two days. If Scortius is the genius they say he is, we may even have many years. However long you’ve got, you’re spending it with me. On that point there’s no give!”

  Varro looked across at her and grinned.

  “Who does know how long they’ve got eh?”

  Salonius burst through the leaves and ran out into the clearing, trying to arrest his momentum. Coming to a halt in the centre, he put his hands on his knees and breathed deeply, looking up at Varro and Catilina. The two were sitting close together with their hands on their knees. Catilina was smiling a genuine warm smile, while the captain appeared flushed and looked away momentarily.

  Salonius grinned at Catilina.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything my lady?” he muttered very quietly.

  “Of course not, Salonius” she replied, almost in a whisper, her smile taking on a mischievous edge. “I take it we’re moving?”

  The young soldier nodded.

  “They should be passing us any moment now.”

  “How many?” Varro enquired, professionalism once more taking over.

  “I counted eight.”

  Varro nodded with satisfaction.

  “Assuming they’re a normal outpost garrison, there’s only going to be two left up there.” He reached up and started to untie his reins from the branch. “And I’m guessing that our two friends are among the riders coming down here we’ll just have two lightly armed guards to deal with there.”

  Salonius reached out and grasped his own reins. He stopped for a moment and then put a finger to his mouth and cupped his hand around his ear. The others fell silent and listened intently. The drumming of hooves was deadened somewhat by the undergrowth between the open clearing and the road around six hundred yards away, but there were clearly several riders pushing their horses as hard as they dare.

  Once the sound of the hooves began to recede and the riders were out of sight in the direction of the village, the three slowly made their way out of the bushes and onto the road. There was no sign of the horsemen passing bar the slowly settling dust kicked up by their passage. As they mounted and began to move at a br
isk pace up the valley Salonius, with a troubled look on his face, cleared his throat and looked across at Varro.

  “I can’t do that again, sir.”

  “What?” Varro replied in confusion.

  “I’m a soldier” he said flatly. “It’s not fear. I’ll fight the enemies of the Empire. I’ll go into battle with no regrets, sir. But…”

  “What?” the captain repeated, with a trace of irritation.

  “I’ll fight the Empire’s enemies, sir, but I won’t execute any more of its men.”

  Catilina raised an eyebrow and leaned across.

  “I know Varro, Salonius. He won’t have liked this any more than you, but those men were no longer soldiers of the Empire. They were prepared to kill us. That makes them fair game.”

  “Yes ma’am, I know. It’s just… well I don’t think a soldier should be required to torture or execute. That’s why we have provosts.”

  Varro looked down for a moment and then fixed his young companion with a hard look.

  “Sometimes you have to be everything from the accuser to the executioner. It’s not a nice thing, but it’s necessary. If you ever intend to make it as a sergeant or even an officer you have to understand that. It’s not easy, and everything about you tells you it’s wrong, but you have to push yourself past that and do what needs doing.”

  “You’ve done that before, sir?” Salonius asked.

  Varro nodded sullenly.

  “A couple of years ago we had a problem with supplies. We were campaigning in the mountains about thirty miles west of here and had to drop to half rations for a week or so, to eke out our stores. But the supply trains never came. So we had to drop further, to quarter rations. I sent a request to Vengen for extra supplies but things were almost as bad there.”