by Nick Brown
‘A half-hour. We’ll drop back into the trees while we rest.’
The cavalrymen seemed grateful and were the first to guide their horses into the shadows and dismount. Cassius followed them and quickly handed his horse off to Simo. He had already been introduced to the five other cavalrymen by Iovius but now took the time to greet each man personally and remind himself of their names. Though Iovius was clearly a dutiful fellow, Cassius sensed considerable doubt from the others and it was crucial to win them over. He would continue to hold out hope that Indavara would find his old self again but the six soldiers might make a crucial difference. Two had superficial wounds and Cassius swiftly ordered Simo to examine and treat them.
Iovius was an impressive character: quietly authoritative and blessed with that overtly muscular frame. Cassius spoke to him last of all, and found him removing a single red plume from his helmet.
‘Not exactly suitable for a covert mission, sir,’ said the guard officer before instructing the others to do the same.
‘Indeed not.’
‘Your scout seems to know the territory well.’
‘Enca? Yes. He’s been invaluable so far.’
‘You don’t know this area, sir?’
‘Not at all, that’s why I need him. I was only recently posted to the Second Parthian. My men and I have been in the East for several years. When did the Third Italian arrive?’
Cassius knew that the legion was normally posted in Raetia. Like several armies called west by Aurelian, they were now part of the effort to conquer Tetricus.
‘March – as soon as the roads were cleared. We have plenty of local auxiliaries and scouts though. Hadn’t expected to cross the river so soon, I must admit.’ Iovius cast a curious glance at Indavara, who was removing something from his boot. ‘It’s not often I see a man with more marks upon him than me. Especially one so young.’
‘He was a gladiator.’
Iovius seemed impressed. ‘I used to enjoy the contests but my wife does not approve.’
‘She’s back in Raetia?’
Iovius nodded. ‘Her brother is a Christian. He preaches peace and virtue. We have some interesting discussions around the table at festival time.’
‘I’m sure.’
Cassius was glad to see that Simo was already cleaning one of the soldier’s wounds. It was situated on his upper arm. The other man’s injury was close to his wrist.
‘They’ll both be able to fight?’ asked Cassius quietly.
‘Don’t worry about them, sir.’ Iovius took his long spear from his saddle and picked mud off the blade. ‘I wonder if anyone made it back to the Third – if the prefect knows he’s lost his cavalry.’
‘I’m afraid they may be the first of many.’
Iovius retrieved a cloth from a saddlebag and began cleaning the spear. ‘Many on both sides. When we were first sent west, a lot of the men didn’t like the thought of it – fighting other Romans. We have spent most of the last few summers battling the northern barbarians – this seemed like a strange prospect. But the prefect addressed the whole legion last week. He reminded us what we stand to gain; a united empire, a whole empire like the good old days. That’s something worth fighting for.’
‘Quite so,’ agreed Cassius. ‘It has often occurred to me that we in the army are at least fortunate to have an emperor worthy of the name. Aurelian has achieved a remarkable amount in so few years.’
‘Do you know how many emperors I have sworn allegiance to?’
‘At a guess, ten.’
‘Twelve,’ replied Iovius. ‘I don’t have much longer to serve and I like to think that Aurelian will be the last of them.’
As darkness closed in around the fortress, Volosus met Bibulus coming up out of the cellar.
‘Just going to get another lantern, sir.’
‘How’s Gutha doing?’
‘Quite clever, sir. Making friends with him. Complimenting him. Offering him things.’
‘Any results?’
‘He’s got him talking. I’ve a feeling he’ll work it round to what we need soon.’
‘No time for that. I gave him until dusk.’
‘I know, sir, and I didn’t think he’d get anywhere but you might wish to consider-’
‘His time’s up.’
Volosus took the steps carefully because there was so little light. He said nothing as he descended and came upon a scene that seemed almost intimate.
The giant mercenary was sitting on a chair opposite Dolabella, who was leaning against the wall, now alert enough to turn as Volosus approached. The captive instinctively cradled his injured hand again. His face had been cleaned. Beside him was a rag and a half-full jug of water.
Gutha stood. ‘Sir, I believe we’ve made some progress here. The general and I have been discussing an agreement.’
‘Is that so?’
‘He is prepared to disclose to us the precise location of all enemy legions, including the First Italian.’
Volosus could feel his patience wearing thin already. ‘And?’
‘And that is all,’ said Dolabella flatly.
Gutha raised a hand, as if he could still silence the captive even though he had spoken.
Volosus looked up at the mercenary. ‘You are of course aware that he has already lied to us.’
‘I will give you the locations,’ said the general. ‘On my oath as a soldier of Rome.’
‘I need more detail,’ said Volosus. ‘Movements, dispositions, targets.’
Gutha addressed the captive. ‘General, no one need know that you were here. You can claim to have escaped. Give us the information and you can live.’
Dolabella actually smiled; before breaking into a chuckle that became a full-blown laugh.
‘You – you – expect me to believe that I will leave this place alive?’
Volosus walked to the back of the cellar and perused Bibulus’s selection of tools once more. From it he selected a small cleaver.
The sight of it was enough to quieten the general.
Bibulus came down the stairs holding a lantern. ‘Shall I help, sir?’
‘No, no,’ said Volosus, weighing the cleaver in his hand. ‘Our friend here seems very keen to assist the interrogation. Gutha, position his arm so I can cut the hand. We’ll start with his right thumb.’
XV
Hawkhaven seemed a gift from the gods; and a more secure position was hard to imagine. The monolith of pale rock stood between two higher peaks to the north and south. The slopes of the peaks were steep, layers of white and grey separated by lines of green where hardy bushes grew at unlikely angles. The faces of Hawkhaven were almost vertical.
The fortress itself was invisible in the dusk but Cassius and his party had spied several pinpricks of light during their approach. They could also make out the two thick ropes hanging down one face. To Cassius, the two lights at the base of the formation were an encouraging sign.
He was currently lying in thick grass on a low ridge to the east alongside Indavara, Enca and Iovius. The scout had done well again; guiding them along a route using hollows, streams and woodland to obscure their advance. Cassius felt reasonably confident that his party could not have been seen. Behind them, well covered by the ridge, were the other six. It was too risky to take the horses any closer.
‘What do you remember about the lift?’ asked Cassius.
‘Not a lot, sir,’ replied Enca. ‘It was several years ago.’
‘Do you think they keep it at the bottom or the top?’ asked Iovius.
‘Not sure, said Enca. ‘If they wanted to be very secure, the top. I’m pretty sure there was some sort of building down at the base. Stable, I think.’
‘The lights suggest sentries,’ said Iovius. ‘And presumably some signal to summon the lift. If it’s as high as it looks, shouts won’t be heard.’
‘In any case, we need to take a closer look,’ said Cassius. ‘We’ll take everyone except Simo and Ocella.’
Ocella was one of the
injured men and he had shown increasing signs of weariness throughout the day. Cassius was surprised by his own condition; tension and fear continued to keep him alert.
‘Should we leave our spears and shields?’ asked Iovius.
‘As you all have swords, yes.’
‘Only one javelin left, I’m afraid.’
‘Bring that too,’ said Cassius.
He turned to Indavara. ‘We’ll need the coil of rope and something to use as gags. We’ll also dull the metal on our belts and scabbards and dirty our faces. We’ll make a decision on helmets and armour when we’re closer.’
‘You have mail-shirts?’ asked Indavara.
‘Of course,’ replied Iovius with a grin. ‘We’re cavalry.’
Cassius had one of his own; a very expensive example reinforced with copper that had saved him on numerous occasions.
‘You can borrow Ocella’s,’ Iovius told Indavara as they stood and descended the ridge.
Enca was the last to head downward. ‘And what about me?’
Despite the darkness, Cassius didn’t want to take any chances. To remain in cover, they had to swing around to the east then use the trees carefully. The closest copse was no more than a hundred feet from the formation. Cassius led his eight men forward and they crouched there, a light wind sweeping through the branches above. He was grateful for the noise; coming through the woodland they had been unable to avoid snapping twigs and pine cones.
They were opposite one corner of the formation, able to see both the northern and eastern faces. An angular outline on the northern face betrayed the presence of the stable, where a single lantern illuminated a timber wall. Another lantern was alight at the base of the eastern face, and the watchers had already seen one soldier walk past it. Cassius needed to know how many others there were.
He could never get comfortable while squatting, so shifted his scabbard out of the way and sat on his backside. Trying to avoid the glow of the torches, he studied the rest of the scene but saw no more movement.
‘There,’ said Enca after some time. ‘Twenty feet left of the torch on the north face – a second man.’
Cassius peered into the darkness. He saw nothing but had by now learned to trust the scout’s eyes. ‘At least two then.’
‘I wonder if it’s just a stable,’ said Enca. ‘Might be a little guardhouse in there.’
Iovius spoke up. ‘Perhaps – if the guards stay out here all night.’
‘Not long since sundown,’ said Cassius. ‘At least there shouldn’t be a shift change for a while.’
They waited. Cassius was easily distracted by nature but his years in the military had helped him be more patient and more calculating. For all the peril his career had brought him, he now agreed with his father that the army was the best place for a young man to improve himself.
After a while, the two soldiers met not far from a lantern, sharing a drink from a canteen and exchanging a few words. One yawned extravagantly and, as they parted, the other laughed.
The watchers waited.
‘We can’t afford to waste any more time,’ said Cassius eventually. ‘Let’s assume it’s just the pair but keep an eye out for others. ‘Enca and Indavava, you take Cordus and Fimbria and approach from the left. Iovius, you take Ambustus and Quadratus and approach from the right. We have to take these men alive, so I suggest daggers.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Indavara.
‘I’ll close in slowly from here, so I can see both faces and cover any runners. Careful and quiet. Strike quickly and in numbers when the moment’s right. Any questions?’
There were none.
‘Go.’
‘I did try to tell you.’
Though the giant was behind him, Volosus did not turn. ‘You would do well to remember your place, Gutha.’
Bibulus slapped Dolabella once more but though the old man’s head was moved by the impact, his eyes did not open.
Volosus felt an odd sense of pride that he had been the one to chop off the general’s thumb. But when the prisoner had spat at him and unleashed a stream of bitter curses, he had chopped off a second finger, then a third. Both hands were now mangled and useless. Though ignoring the warnings of his subordinates, he had been careful to cut above the knuckle. Even so, the now-unconscious prisoner had lost a considerable amount of blood. Bibulus was still holding up the mutilated hand to staunch the flow.
Volosus picked up another cloth and wiped his own fingers.
‘I can cauterize it,’ said Bibulus. ‘That’ll wake him up and then we’ll get the truth.’
Volosus reckoned that might work but he could still not believe the will of the prisoner lying before him. He had not anticipated that this would be the hardest part of the operation; that the insane courage of an old man would foil his plans. After cursing at him, Dolabella had again labelled Volosus a traitorous rat and the lackey of a Gaulish dog. The general also assured his captors that Jupiter would punish them; that they would suffer what he had tenfold.
‘Flow is lessening,’ added Bibulus.
‘Good. Gutha here will assist you. I’ll tell Manilia to bring down some coals and a poker.’
‘More water also, please, sir.’
Gutha moved aside. Volosus ignored him as he hurried up the stairs.
It was a clear night, the air pleasantly crisp. He found Manilia in the guardroom, playing dice with his men. They all looked up when Volosus entered, clearly intrigued by the goings on in the cellar.
‘Is he still alive?’ ventured the optio.
‘He is. My men need a few things.’
Once he had listed them and Manilia set about fetching them, Volosus filled a bowl from the barrel kept in the guardroom and cleaned his hands more thoroughly. It required a brush and some oil to remove all the blood. After instructing Manilia to hurry up, Volosus left the guardroom and turned right, descending the steps to the platform.
The two sentries present straightened up when he arrived. Volosus put his hand on one of the winches and looked east. He could see the distant moonlit waters of the Rhone. At least six legions were gathered on the far side of the river and despite having Dolabella within his grasp for almost two days, he was none the wiser about Aurelian’s intentions. Unless he could deliver something useful to Tetricus within hours, the whole operation would have been for nothing. How would he explain his inability to extract anything useful from a fat, old man?
Volosus spat. He was beginning to hate this place. It was unnatural for men to dwell half way up a mountain and he tired of the squalid conditions. There was only one advantage he could think of; the presence of Aphrodite. He could not know how the ensuing days and weeks would unfold but there would surely be limited time for such indulgences.
He would take her now.
And he would either get what he needed from Dolabella or personally throw the obstinate piece of shit off the fortress.
Nobody won every fight.
Volosus hurried back up the steps.
Crouching low, sword already drawn, Cassius advanced towards the corner of the formation. His gaze alternated between both faces but he caught no sight of either his men or the sentries. He was only twenty feet from the lantern to the north – his left – when he heard a grunt from somewhere to his right. It was followed by a quiet exchange of voices he could not identify.
Movement to his left. Indavara emerged from the darkness, dagger in hand. Behind him were Cordus and Fimbria, each cavalryman holding the shoulder of a sentry. Enca was directly behind the captive, hand and blade on the back of his neck. The sentry had already been disarmed, bound and gagged. Despite his bulky frame, he looked terrified.
Cassius met them close to the lantern, which sat in a natural niche within the rock. ‘Well done. See anyone else?’
‘Just him,’ said Indavara. ‘He was taking a piss. Didn’t give us any trouble.’
‘Wait here.’
Cassius ran back through the glow of the lamp. Here he passed a patch
of worn, marked ground: clearly the spot where the lift was lowered. He hurried around the uneven corner of the formation. Hearing a grunt and an impact, he advanced warily, sword up. Unable to see much in the darkness ahead, he was about to fetch help when someone spoke.
‘Corbulo?’
Iovius emerged from the deepest shadows beside the rock face, other figures behind him.
‘I’m here.’
‘Bastard wouldn’t come quietly. Hit Ambustus pretty hard.’
‘I’m all right,’ said the soldier, who was dragging the second sentry along with an arm around his neck. This man was still struggling and cursing, despite the gag in his mouth. A cuff to the back of his head from Quadratus quietened him down.
‘What about the others?’ asked Iovius.
‘They’ve got the other sentry. Did you check the stable?’
‘Yes. No more men. Four horses inside and a carriage behind it.’
‘Is that right?’ Cassius recalled that Dolabella’s abductors had used a carriage. He couldn’t think of many reasons for one to be present at the isolated fortress.
Gods. He really could be here.
‘Start questioning him about how we get up top – signals, numbers on the lift and so on.’
‘You don’t want to do it?’ asked Iovius.
‘I’ll be back once I’ve started the others. We’ll keep the sentries divided – see if what they tell us matches. Harder to deceive us.’
‘Good thinking.’
‘Keep a blade at his throat,’ added Cassius as he departed. ‘But don’t kill him unless you have to.’
He wasn’t sure that a shout would even reach the defenders high above but it wasn’t a theory he wished to test. Passing the lamp once more, he noted an iron hand-bell situated in another niche; evidently this was how the sentries communicated with the fortress.
Indavara’s group had already begun their interrogation. Surrounded by his four captors, the sentry answered in fearful stammers, and confirmed that the bell was used to summon the lift. Cassius also swiftly learned that the shift change was not due for two hours and that ringing the bell at other times was not done without reasonable need. The fortress was manned by an optio plus a squad of nine, leaving eight above. With the constant urging of Enca and the scout’s blade against his skin, the sentry obediently described the fortress’s layout.
