Eagles of Dacia

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘You seem very calm?’

  ‘These Roxolani,’ she replied thoughtfully, ‘they are Sarmatian? They are horse people. Proud. They might be no friends of Albinus, but then neither are we. I would rather crawl a thousand miles through their lands than ride a hundred through those of Albinus. We will be much safer among the Roxolani.’

  Rufinus blinked. Safe? Was she mad?

  ‘It will not be easy.’

  ‘Nothing worthwhile ever is,’ she replied with a smile. ‘But beyond their lands is Moesia. I thought Moesia was dangerous too? The governor had taken money from Albinus, yes?’

  ‘Moesia Superior we were in, where that cadaver was on Albinus’ payroll,’ Rufinus corrected her. ‘Near the coast is Moesia Inferior. Different province. Different governor. Of course, he might still be in Albinus’ pay, but then he might not, and so it’s the safest option. Still, if we get there…’

  ‘When we get there.’

  ‘If we get there, we will have to be careful just in case. Move quietly and subtly and find a small provincial port, not some great metropolis. Look for a private ship, no questions asked, even if we have to pay over the odds. You should be good at that,’ he added, with a wry grin at her.

  ‘Well,’ Senova said, leaning back in the saddle and looking up, ‘we have food and we have horses and we have money. We can travel for many days like this without worry. More use than a spear,’ she reminded him with an acidic jibe that he wearily ignored. ‘And best of all, the rain is stopping.’

  Rufinus looked up. Between the clouds he could see the shape of the moon glowing. The pattering droplets around him were simply those hoarded by the trees and then dropped in stages over the next hour.

  Somewhere behind them, up on the hill, a horn sounded loud and long. Desperate and urgent. Bells clanged and more horns and whistles rose to shatter the night. Lights began to bob this way and that as men ran along the fortress walls.

  ‘I think our absence has been noted,’ Rufinus said.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Now, we ride.’

  XX – Flight

  They rode for that first day with few pauses to rest, all three of them knowing full well how imperative it was to put as huge a distance as possible between them and Tribune Celer, who would have been rampaging around Potaissa blaming Rufinus, the Fifth Macedonica and very specifically Pescennius Niger. The countryside to the east and south of the great legionary fortress consisted mostly of rolling green hills and shallow vales with trickling small rivers, occasional stands of leafy trees and periodic Dacian farms and villages. They saw no sign of a Roman town or fort all day and, when Rufinus paused once and rummaged in the pack until he found the map, he had been able to confirm their route.

  They crossed country, shunning the arterial roads and making directly for their next destination. They no longer had a vehicle with them, and their mounts could easily handle this gentle terrain. This had numerous benefits as a plan. Avoiding the roads, they would find only native settlements, as they indeed had, they would be harder to track, for word would not circulate so easily. Plus a direct line made the travel that little bit faster.

  Their destination: Castrum Sex. It was marked on the map some two days’ hard ride from Potaissa, where the foothills of the Carpates began once more. Senova had queried the sense of making for a Roman position important enough to be marked on the map, but Rufinus had been adamant. The best part of a hundred miles from Celer and his men there shouldn’t be too much trouble. Castrum Sex was close to the frontier and therefore probably more concerned with the mountains and what lay beyond them than with the administrative affairs of the governor. And Castrum Sex had a symbol on the map which, investigating similar in places through which they’d already been, suggested it had a mansio. They would be able to clean up and get a good night’s sleep before tackling the mountains and the passes toward Roxolani lands. And at a mansio, Rufinus would likely be able to get wind of any news or rumour concerning them floating around the cursus publicus. It might be a little risky, but the potential benefits outweighed the dangers, in his opinion.

  The day was marked with difficulties for Rufinus. Extended periods in the saddle were extremely uncomfortable for his back with the tight bindings, though he could do nothing about that but suffer. At least is was more ache and discomfort than actual pain. Whenever they needed to mount up, he still needed Luca’s help to get into the saddle. And when he dismounted, he lifted a leg over the saddle horns with some difficulty and slid to the ground, every time suffering a pulling of all those stitches as he landed, though they felt tighter and better knitted with every passing day now.

  Acheron loped alongside Senova’s horse on the journey and Rufinus felt oddly betrayed that the great black hound now often favoured her over him. He suspected it was all those journeys lying in cushions in her carriage. The beast had gone soft. Senova had wanted to change Rufinus’ dressings at noon, but he had refused. He would wait until they reached Castrum Sex and he could clean down properly. Then they could apply fresh unguent and re-bind him.

  As they travelled those calm, easy valleys, the day warmed and the shreds of cloud that had brought the shower during the night vanished, leaving only a wide blue sky and a glowing sun once more. Had the constant threat behind them not soured the experience it would have been a most pleasant journey, even at this pace.

  They stopped whenever Rufinus felt the horses were starting to tire, trying to coincide such halts with local settlements. There, they supplemented the supplies they’d been given at the fortress with fresh produce. They bought a few extra things too: a roll of wool that they could use as new bandages in an emergency, a pot of some goo that a local woman seemed to be claiming was good for wounds although, from the strange leery hand motions she made, it might just as easily have been an aphrodisiac. Extra food, some wine that smelled like feet, and finally two new weapons. It was time, Rufinus decided, considering the circumstances, to make sure they were all adequately armed.

  A blacksmith in one of the larger villages had a small selection of blades up to a foot long or so for sale on a table. Rufinus had told Luca to choose one, which would mean he could have his good military pugio back at last. He’d expected Luca to choose one of the daggers, but the boy had instead picked up the large wood-axe standing by the table. Rufinus had shaken his head and told the lad to choose something more sensible. Luca had spoken then, and Rufinus realised with a start it was the first time he’d actually ever heard the boy talk.

  ‘I am more comfortable with the axe.’ He had a Greek accent.

  Rufinus frowned. ‘But it’s too big.’

  At that, Luca had stepped back and begun to swing the heavy axe like an expert. Rufinus watched in surprise and as the lad finally swung the weapon down and rested the chisel head on the gravel, the praetorian whistled. ‘Where did you learn that?’

  ‘Chopping wood. I am a slave,’ reminded the lad, and Rufinus was irritated to feel himself colouring again.

  ‘Very well. The axe for the boy,’ he said, and then repeated himself with appropriate hand motions to explain to the smith. He then turned and rolled his eyes. Senova had rounded the table, ignoring the sensible blades and was examining something hanging on a wall.

  ‘What is this?’ she said, tapping the weapon.

  Rufinus shuddered at the sight of it. ‘It’s a falx. A sort of scythe meant to harvest humans. Brutal bloody thing.’

  ‘I like it. Can I try it?’

  ‘No,’ Rufinus said flatly. ‘It’s too big and too dangerous. In Trajan’s time thousands of legionaries died because of them. They’re the whole damn reason we have a reinforced cross on the top of our helmets these days, ‘cause those things went through the old helmets like a knife through a boiled egg.’

  ‘I like it. If it kills legionaries, it might be handy.’

  Rufinus shuddered again. ‘Anyway, it’s not for sale. This table is the shop.’

  Senova blithely ignored him, unhooked the f
alx from the wall and carried it over to the man, who shook his head and blathered away in his native tongue.

  ‘I think it’s his,’ Rufinus said. ‘Or possibly his father’s. That thing is probably a hundred years old. It probably killed Romans in Trajan’s wars.’

  Senova wandered across to Atalanta and started to rummage in a bag. Rufinus hurried over to stop her, but her glare of warning pulled him up short and he watched unhappily as she produced five silver coins, which was probably enough to buy everything on the table, and held them out to the smith, gesturing to the falx. He nodded, greedily. Of course he did for five denarii. Damn the woman, but they’d be broke again in a week at this rate. She was a Briton and a former slave and consequently had seemingly no clue about the relative values of goods and of Roman coinage. But then, he remembered hearing that the Briton tribes used to mint their own coins, so maybe she was just generous and bloody-minded. Either way, Rufinus decided to divide the bag of coins and hide a sizeable portion of it among his clothes to make sure they could still afford a ship when they reached the coast.

  They rode on through the lush green hills and valleys, Rufinus repeatedly rolling his eyes at the sight of the other horse, bearing a woman and a slave boy, with two huge and brutal, very masculine weapons strapped behind the saddle. He was fairly convinced they were more likely to hurt themselves or each other – or possibly him – than the enemy, should they be attacked. But woe betide a man who tried to stand between Senova and something she wanted.

  Finally, with the sun setting behind them over the rolling hills, they passed through another native village and Senova suggested they stay there for the night. A local inn with a warm inviting glow was definitely an attractive proposition, and Rufinus only turned it down with difficulty. ‘We keep going for another mile or two and camp in the wild.’

  ‘Why? Are you trying to save money?’

  ‘Someone has to make up for the small fortunes you keep doling out,’ he said, then held up mollifying hands at her dangerously narrowing eyes. ‘No, Senova. I just don’t want to spend any time somewhere where too many people can overhear and repeat. And I want to be somewhere defensible with a good view, just in case.’

  This logic overcame Senova’s irritation, and they rode on out of the village along the valley, angling more south than east, currently. Some two miles further on, they reached the end of the shallow valley where it met another, wider one stretching east to west. Rufinus reined in and pointed up to his left. A hill dominated the place where the valleys met, a small copse of beech and oak trees sprouting from the crest. While the valley through which they travelled was already in shadow, the sun was still lighting the top of the hill.

  They worked their way up the side of the slope to the higher reaches. Reining in near the trees, Rufinus tethered the beasts in an area of good lush grass, sliding with the same grunt of pain from the saddle, removing the packs and locating the tent. He was starting to remove it when Senova called to him and pointed out a cave that had been hollowed out hundreds, possibly even thousands, of years ago. It had clearly been used more recently as a den by some wild creature, and Rufinus considered the distinct possibility of an angry bear arriving in the middle of the night to find them asleep in his home, but they were armed and he and Luca would take turns on guard so they would have warning. He tucked the tent away again and removed the bedrolls, handing them to Senova.

  ‘You two start making up the camp for the night. I’m going to gather firewood.’

  As they busied themselves, Rufinus wandered over to the copse and began to search for fallen dead wood. There was plenty of it, and despite the one light shower the place had seemingly suffered early in the day, the fuel was dry enough to light a good fire, and quickly. The only problem he had was getting down to the wood to collect it with his back bound as it was. The pain was still little more than an ache, but the bandaging was rather restrictive. He had to resort to an odd swivelling motion to drop to a crouch and pick up the wood, and then the reverse to rise again. It was a slow job. Every now and then as he shuffled about beneath the boughs, gathering up thin branches and sticks, he would hear scuttling noises or odd snuffling grunts and stop, straightening bolt upright and hissing at the discomfort that would cause in his back. In the event, each time it proved to be some small woodland-dwelling rodent or bird among the bushes and, after almost half an hour of gathering, he emerged from the woodland with an armful of wood and a sore back. He would have to sleep carefully tonight.

  He strode across the greenery toward the low cave where the other two had begun to set up everything they needed, and where Acheron lay gnawing on salted beef. The sun had finally begun to set properly, and only a delicate arc of light stood proud of the western hills now. His eyes dropped from the dying glow and slid down the hillsides to the valley below.

  His blood chilled and his heart started to pound. Less than a mile away, along the valley, a small party of men on horseback had reined in and were gathered in a group. A score of them, Rufinus reckoned, and the dying light glinted on each figure, confirming that they were armoured. Armoured and in dark clothing. Legionary cavalry. They had to be.

  Dropping the pile of sticks, he stooped as best he could, which wasn’t much, and hurried across to the cave.

  ‘You took your time,’ Senova said in a tone half-mocking, and Rufinus waved his hands. ‘Shhh.’

  ‘What?’ she asked in a quieter voice.

  ‘Riders. Has to be Celer.’

  He gestured for her to follow and skirted the hillside, staying close to undergrowth to minimise the risk of being seen. Finally, he reached an adequate viewpoint and looked down. The horsemen had moved off the road and dismounted. They were setting up camp for the night by the narrow river and near a similar copse for adequate firewood and water supplies. Two men remained on the road as the camp was being set.

  ‘You were right not to stop in the village,’ Senova breathed.

  ‘Definitely.’ Had they done so, these men would have been on them an hour ago. ‘Can you see the two riders in the road?’ he asked. ‘See what they look like? I can’t make it out.’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe some sort of brown cloak. Spears, too.’

  ‘No armour or helmets, though,’ Rufinus pointed out. ‘Nothing shiny apart from the spear heads. And I can’t see shields unless they’re strapped to the horses. I reckon they’re scouts. Native ones. Dacians hired at Potaissa. Might even be the ones attached to the Fifth there. That explains how they’ve managed to follow us so swiftly, considering the route we took and the pace we set. But I suppose once they were on the trail they only had to ask at any house and everyone would remember us, for Acheron if nothing else.’

  ‘It’s definitely Celer, then?’

  Rufinus shrugged and hissed in pain, regretting the movement. ‘Who else would it be? We’re a long way from any military installation or official Roman settlement or road. It’s Celer and Daizus and the cavalrymen from the Thirteenth. And there’ll be no quarter given by them now. There’s no Pescennius Niger here to help us. It’s just us and them, and we can hardly hope to face twenty of them, even with your falx and that axe-wielding lad back there.’

  ‘What do we do, then?’

  Rufinus sighed. ‘We just have to stay ahead of them. We can’t fight them, and we’d have to be really wily to lose them with their native trackers on hand. We just need to get somewhere safe before they can catch us. At least they don’t know we’re up here, or they wouldn’t bother camping down there so close.’

  Senova rose and began to move back to the cave, Rufinus in tow. ‘So what do we do?’ she asked again. ‘Ride through the night? Get ahead by a few more miles?’

  Rufinus shook his head. ‘Got to be careful with the horses. Can’t afford to break them. We might not be able to replace them easily and we can’t fit all three of us and the packs on one animal. The horses need a night’s rest or we’ll hardly get anything out of them for the next day. What we do is move camp to the
other side of the hill so that there’s no chance of movement catching their eye. But one of us needs to be here watching at all times. Luca and I will take shifts.’

  Senova shook her head. ‘We will all take shifts. I have better eyes than either of you, and I’m probably better rested than you, too.’

  Rufinus nodded. ‘Alright, then. Two hours each. That should mean we’re ready to move an hour or so before sunup. That way the horses will be rested, and we’ll still get the jump on the morning, getting out well ahead of them. I want to be halfway to Castrum Sex while they’re still yawning and scratching their privates.’

  They returned to the camp and relayed it all to Luca. Over the next few moments they took everything to the far side of the hill, using one sheet of the tent with two trees to make a lean-to rather than putting up a full tent that would take too long to pull down in the morning. With no fire and only cold salted meat, it was a miserable and tense evening meal and the shifts were quickly decided. Rufinus would go first. To aid his healing, he could not afford to have his sleep broken in the middle of the night. Senova would take the middle shift and Luca who, as a slave, was used to being up early in the morning, would take the final one waking them an hour before dawn.

  Rufinus left them to it and found a good sheltered position where he could watch Celer’s camp. They had a warm, blazing cheerful fire, which irritated him immensely. For two hours, shivering in the cold and listening to the eerie sounds of nature at night and the very distant noises of the cavalry camp, he sat on a rock, feeling tense and miserable. Every now and then he would rise and wander round in circles out of sight among the undergrowth, bringing life back to his freezing feet and exercising his back. It was definitely improved and getting better all the time. Thank the gods the sadistic bastard down there had been scourging for pain rather than damage. Finally, when he was starting to worry about dozing off on his rock, he jumped as Senova appeared suddenly.