"Look at the little fellow go. He can't be down there, perhaps in the stomach of a wolf but not alive. No, I think he went that way. Lets search that ridge up there. He's an old man, he won't go far."
Corbulo raised his head. His eyes had finally adjusted themselves to the darkness. Where was the pup's mother? Off hunting? She wouldn't be gone for long. Outside he could hear nothing.
"It will be growing dark soon," one of the men said suddenly.
"Doesn't matter," the other said from further away, "He has got to die. You heard what Vellocatus said. Come on, let's find him and finish it."
Chapter Thirty - The broken hypercaust
It was dark when Corbulo crawled out onto the forest floor. The wolf had not returned. Maybe the pups mother had caught his scent in her den and thought it wise to find another home. If she had returned, Corbulo thought grimly, she would have got his sword straight between the eyes. For a moment he crouched under a large pine listening to the noises in the night. It was a cloudless sky and a multitude of stars twinkled in the blackness. Satisfied, he slipped quietly through the trees in the direction in which he thought the road was. His pursuers would expect him to take the road but he had little choice. Following the road would be the fastest way to Inchtuthil. He couldn't waste any more time. But he would travel at night from now on and rest up during the day. The road was easy enough to follow in the darkness. But the whole episode with Vellocatus had left him annoyed and irritated. The amber and Vellocatus had complicated his search for Marcus just when he didn't need it. Suddenly he wished he had never approached the slaver, that he had not listened to Agricola's advice, but it was too late for that now.
He crouched in the bushes beside the road and paused to listen but all seemed as it should be. Keep going north along the military road and you will eventually reach Inchtuthil the merchant in Eburacum had told him. Inchtuthil is the gateway into Caledonia. It should take you ten days on foot, the merchant had added. Fat chance of that Corbulo thought. He took a piece of stale bread from his pack and ate it in a slow and measured way. On the journey from Rome he had learned to eat something every twelve hours. The quantity didn't matter. If he ate his food slowly the hunger in his stomach would recede for a while. Another trick was to fill his belly with water but he hadn't seen any streams since he had left Eburacum. He tried to remember what the two assassins looked like. He had only given them a cursory examination when he'd seen them standing outside Vellocatus's door. They seemed an odd couple. The Briton was no soldier. He had looked more like a tribesman, a hunter. What were an auxiliary soldier, a slaver a Briton tribesman doing together? He frowned and shook his head. He'd been right about Vellocatus though. The man wanted him dead. It was probably because of the amber. He Corbulo knew too much. Vellocatus would see him as a threat. He understood that. There would be many desperate men stupid enough to have a go at finding the amber if they knew about it. But to murder a man solely based on what he knew from hearsay, without any evidence, that was not right.
It was dawn when he woke. He was lying in a drainage ditch beside the road. The ditch was bone dry. Cursing he scrambled to his feet and looked around him. He had intended to walk by night and rest up during the day but somehow his exhaustion had got the better of him. "Damn, fool," he cursed himself. He relaxed slightly as he saw that no one was about. Then he noticed the wheat field a hundred paces away up the road. Wild blackberry bushes grew alongside the border of the field. He licked his lips, food. As he started towards the blackberry bushes he thought he heard a noise but when he looked round he saw nothing. He had just stuffed his mouth with the juicy forest fruits and had bent to pick up the one he had dropped when an arrow shot through the space where his head had been a moment before. He turned and his heart nearly stopped. Running towards him from the road were two men. One of them was fitting an arrow to his bow as he ran. Corbulo grabbed his pack and crashed through the bushes and into the wheat field beyond. Behind him he heard a shout and then another arrow zipped past him. Corbulo ran. How could he have not noticed them approaching? How could he have been so stupid? He had to be more exhausted than he realised. He tore on through the field. There would be no hiding place here. Another arrow whistled past him and instinctively he ducked. He snatched a glance over his shoulder. The auxiliary soldier was ahead of his companion. The man was gaining on him. There would be no point in turning and fighting it out. They would not give him a fair fight. The bowman would kill him from a distance. Run.
Suddenly as the field ended he saw sunlight reflecting on water. Beyond the field was a river. The water looked slow moving and not very wide but its banks were steep and covered in nettles and tall reeds. He sprinted towards the river. His breath was coming in ragged gasps. How far behind him were they, thirty, forty paces? He leapt from the bank and crashed into the water. The coldness was shocking but he hardly felt it. He gasped and struggled his way into the dense tangle of reeds. The current was surprisingly strong and tugged at his body. He pushed himself deep into the water as his feet scrabbled on the river bed to find a firm footing. Then when only his nose and eyes were above the water level he stopped moving. A moment later, through the reeds, he saw the auxiliary appear on the riverbank above him. The assassin stared at the ripples in the river. The man had a sword in his hand. Then he began to search amongst the reeds. Corbulo stared at him willing him to pass on.
"He's hiding in the reeds," the man cried out.
The bowman appeared alongside his companion on the river bank.
"Go fifty paces down river and we'll work our way towards each other," the auxiliary barked. He turned towards the reeds. "You are not going to escape this time," he shouted at the river bank.
The bowman moved out of view.
Suddenly a duck sprang quacking into the air from where Corbulo had disturbed it. Corbulo's eyes widened. The assassin was only a few paces away.
"I see him," the auxiliary yelled pointing a finger.
Without hesitating Corbulo rose, took a deep breath and flung himself into the middle of the river. Frantically he kicked his feet to give himself some propulsion. He lost his grip on his pack. Behind him something large plunged into the water. Corbulo lashed out with his arms as the current seized him and bore him downstream. The auxiliary was in the river behind him, swimming after him, his sword held in his teeth. Where was the bowman? Wildly Corbulo stared up at the river bank. Then he saw him. The Briton had notched an arrow to his bow and was taking careful aim. Corbulo sucked air into his lungs and disappeared under water. The arrow hit the river a split second later and scraped along the skin of his left arm. Corbulo burst from the water, his lungs heaving. Lashing out he grabbed hold of a branch from an old willow tree beside the river bank and pulled himself up and out of the water. He had no time to see what the bowman on the opposite bank was doing. As he flung himself up the river bank an arrow buried itself into his left shoulder. Corbulo screamed and fell forwards onto the muddy embankment. Adrenaline was pumping into his veins. He was not going to die like this. He was going to find Marcus. With a savage roar Corbulo clawed himself up the river bank. Ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder he reached the top and collapsed into cover behind the Willow. In the river the auxiliary was yelling out instructions to the bowman.
His chest was heaving with exhaustion, his wet clothes were weighing him down but the pain in his shoulder was far worse. This was the fourth time he had been wounded in his life. Grimacing he risked a peek around the tree. The archer had his bow aimed straight at him. Corbulo pulled his head back just in time as an arrow zipped past his head. Then he was up on his feet and ignoring the screaming protests of his body, he scrambling away through the bushes. Run, run you old bastard an inner voice screamed.
From somewhere he found the strength. He ripped and tore his body and tunic on the thorns and brambles but he didn't feel the cuts. It was as if his mind was blocking out the pain. Then he was through the bushes. Ahead was an open field and beyond that a ruined buildin
g.
He staggered across the field expecting another arrow but nothing came and when he snatched a glance behind him he saw only the auxiliary in pursuit. The man too seemed to be tiring. With a savage movement he reached across to his left shoulder with his right hand and snapped the arrow shaft in two. He bellowed in pain as a gush of blood welled up from his wound. His leather torso armour must have slowed the arrow down but the iron head remained embedded in his shoulder and his left arm dangled uselessly at his side. He bit his lip and bellowed again. The pain could not be denied any longer. Up ahead the ruin looked deserted. Corbulo staggered towards it. He would make his stand in the ruin. He still had his sword and his right arm.
He struggled into the courtyard. The ruin must once have been a farmhouse for it had a barn and a crumbling enclosure where cattle would once have been kept. In the middle of the courtyard was a well. The barn had burnt down. Corbulo stared at the jumble of charred and broken beams and stones. Weeds were growing up amongst the rubble. No one had lived here for years. The roof of the farmhouse had collapsed inwards but the stonewalls were still standing. He came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, pulled his sword from its scabbard and turned to face his pursuer.
Just then he heard something that made him turn. In the meadow just beyond the ruin, a black horse was staring across at him. Corbulo stared back at the beast as a sudden spark of hope came to him. He sheathed his sword and staggered into the ruined farmhouse just as the auxiliary burst into the courtyard. Corbulo stared at him through a crack in the wall as he tried to calm his heaving chest and catch his breath. The man had stopped in his tracks and was staring around at the ruined buildings. He was still alone. Maybe his companion could not swim? But the bowman would surely not be far behind. Corbulo edged away from the doorway through which he had come and looked around at the debris and rubble that littered the house. Part of the floor was still visible and a few floor tiles had been ripped away exposing the dark cavity of the under floor heating system, the hypercaust. Corbulo crouched, lowered his feet through the hole and then dropped down through the floor into the space below. It was cramped but just high enough for him to crawl through on his stomach. Dozens of small pillars made of brick held up the floor above. As silently as possible he began to crawl away into the darkness. The arrow head in his shoulder was a dull ache now and his left arm was useless. He bit his lip until it bled. To his right he suddenly caught a glimpse of daylight. He turned and started to crawl towards the light. Then he froze as above him, he heard footsteps crunching on broken tiles.
"Come on out and fight me like a proper man. I am tired of all this running," a voice snarled in Latin.
Corbulo closed his eyes as he struggled to keep quiet.
"What's the matter with you," the voice above him called out, "Are you afraid old man. Afraid you will piss yourself when you die."
The man fell silent. Corbulo edged forwards and with his right hand reached out to touch the crack in the wall through which the daylight was streaming in. Whoever had built the wall had done a shoddy job. He pushed against the stones. Nothing. He pushed harder, gritting his teeth and this time one of them moved. He pushed again and one of the stones clattered away and the crack had turned into a small hole. Beyond the hole he could make out a green meadow and trees. Above him there came a triumphant cry.
"I knew you were hiding down there."
Corbulo raised his head and saw that the Auxiliary had jumped down into the hole in the floor. Frantically he pushed at the stones with all his strength. Another came loose and then another tumbled away. From the hole in the floor he heard a shuffling noise. The man was under the floor and crawling towards him. Corbulo tore at the masonry in desperation. The hole was widening. Fuck, it would have to do. He heaved himself forwards and pushed his head through the hole. The stones scraped sharply against his skin and shoulders and he screamed in sudden agony. From close by he heard laughter. Then the man was coming for him, skittering like a running crab. With a savage thrust Corbulo wrenched his body through the hole and rolled out into the meadow and the sunlight. The shuffling noise under the floor had stopped. Corbulo grimaced and touched his shoulder. Then he edged up to the hole he had made. He paused as he brought his breathing under control.
"Now why don't you stick your ugly head out here," he cried.
There was no reply from his pursuer. Corbulo glanced at his shoulder wound. His leather torso armour was soaked black with blood. Gods he was tired. He'd lost his pack in the river. His pack had contained all his food. He glanced down at the hole and drew his sword. The Auxiliary was the one trapped now but his companion, the bowman was still out there. Wearily Corbulo leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
"You are an idiot, you auxiliaries always were."
"Fuck off," came the muffled reply.
Corbulo opened his eyes and glanced at the black horse in the meadow. The beast had turned and was looking straight at him.
"Tell Vellocatus that I have no interest in the amber," Corbulo said. "I am not here for that. I just want to find my son. Tell him that his business is his own and that I don't want anything to do with him."
"It's too late for that," came the reply from inside the house.
Corbulo closed his eyes in disappointment. Then he forced himself up onto his feet and stumbled towards the horse. The beast tossed its head and stepped backwards as Corbulo gently stroked its nose.
"Blessed Epona must have sent you herself," Corbulo muttered. Then he swung himself on to the horses back. The beast made no attempt to throw him.
"North, we go north," he whispered into the horses ear as he held onto her long dark neck, "Now ride."
Chapter Thirty One - Inchtuthil
It was early evening. The Legionary fortress of Inchtuthil, with two labour camps close by, nestled on a small plateau on the northern bank of the Tay river. The turf ramparts that protected the rectangular fortress had been completed but the stone cladding was still not finished in parts. A V shaped ditch ran alongside the wall to the gap in the rampart where one of the gatehouses was being built. The two guards on duty beside the unfinished gate stood in their wooden watch tower looking bored. After a hard day's construction work most of the Legionaries of the Twentieth Legion had retired to their tents and cooking fires inside the labour camps. To the south across the shallow, sand banked river a simple wooden bridge connected the fortress to the path that led away into the forest. The light was fading fast when a figure on a horse appeared on the path. The beast crossed the bridge and swung left towards the two guards on their high platform.
One of the guards called down to his comrades below and a moment later four fully armed Legionaries stepped out to bar the strangers way. The rider was half hanging off his horse and he looked to be in a bad state.
"Quintus," the man muttered as one of the soldiers caught hold of the horses mane. "Centurion Quintus of the first company, eighth Cohort, is that you?"
Then the rider slid from his horse and tumbled onto the ground.
***
Corbulo opened his eyes. He was lying on a camp bed in a large hall. Someone had placed an army blanket over him. The hot throbbing pain in his shoulder had gone and so had the fever. He raised his hand and wiped his forehead. He was still sweating but it wasn't as bad as it had been. He twisted his neck and drew back the blanket. A clean white bandage had been wrapped around his left shoulder. He lay back and closed his eyes in relief. His memories were blurred and confused. He remembered the horse and the jarring, cutting pain in his shoulder. The pain had got worse until he had hardly dared to move. Then the fever had come, bathing him in sweat and sucking the strength from his body.
A man wearing a leather apron was coming towards him. Corbulo raised his head and stared at him. The man was a Roman. Nearby he suddenly heard someone cough. He turned his head and noticed that he was not the only wounded man in the hall. The soldiers on either side of him looked pale and ill. Corbulo lay back and stared up
at the wooden beamed ceiling. He was in an army hospital. How had he got here? Where was he? What had happened to the horse?
"You are awake," he heard a man say in Latin.
A moment later the man with the leather apron was standing over him. He looked like an army doctor and there was something strangely familiar about him. The man touched Corbulo's forehead, grunted and gave his patient a stern look.
"Good to see you pulled through Corbulo. If you had arrived here a day later I don't think you would have made it. That fever was eating you alive. You don't recognise me do you?" the doctor said with a faint smile.
Corbulo stared up at the man, his mind was racing. Then his eyes bulged as he remembered why the man looked familiar.
"You are the doctor who patched me up after I got that stab wound on Mona. That was what, seven years ago?"
The doctor nodded. "Welcome back to the Twentieth, Corbulo. You are at Inchtuthil, our new base. Give it another year and they will have finally finished building the place. I am a bit surprised to see you though. I thought you had retired and packed yourself off to Italy?"
Corbulo sighed, "I have, I am here on a personal matter." He paused and his face suddenly grew alarmed. "How long have I been here?"
"You have been more or less unconscious for eight days. I managed to remove that arrow head from your shoulder," the doctor replied. "You should really have had that looked at earlier. The wound had got infected. That's why you got the fever. You were also exhausted. We had to force feed you with porridge. It's the only thing you wouldn't throw up." The doctor shook his head. "I suppose you don't remember a thing about that do you?"
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