by Nick Brown
‘Got some coins on you, Simo?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Keep an eye out.’
‘Of course.’
Cassius found it a struggle to summon a smile but his polite greeting persuaded the man to halt. He looked to be around forty and seemed wary of the two strangers.
‘Thank you for stopping,’ said Cassius. ‘I won’t keep you. I need some directions. Happy to pay, of course.’
‘I don’t need money,’ said the man sternly.
‘Ah, well … I’ve lost my guide and I need to get back across the Rhone. How far south is Otomagus?’
‘About eight miles but I wouldn’t advise going in that direction.’
‘Oh?’
‘The Twenty-Second Legion is on the move – to reinforce the garrison there or cross over and attack. My farm is only a mile away.’
‘You wish to avoid the fighting?’
‘I wish to avoid the soldiers. Once the fighting begins, discipline will break down. Only a matter of time before some gang of rats ends up at my door, wanting to rob me and mine of everything we have.’
‘Do you know if they’ve reached the bridge yet?’
‘We’ve only seen scouts but it won’t be long. If you do want to risk it, simply head back the way we’ve come.’
‘Ah. Thank you.’ The man’s wife nudged him in the back, clearly keen to keep moving.
‘Sorry to have kept you,’ added Cassius. ‘Best of luck.’
With a polite nod, the man led his family away.
Cassius looked along the road that led to the Retreat. He was again tempted to ride back there.
‘Indavara will be here, sir,’ said Simo.
‘How can you be so sure? Your Lord told you?’
The attendant didn’t answer.
As they returned to the trees, Amarante came out to meet them.
‘What did they tell you?’
‘We’re eight miles from the bridge at Otomagus. But there are soldiers on the move.’
‘So we should leave now,’ Amarante said firmly.
‘Sir, look there.’
Simo pointed towards the departing family, who were now several hundred yards away. They had halted.
Cassius ran up to the bank and shielded his eyes. Far beyond the family he could see a column of soldiers approaching from the north, the front rank bearing standards.
The decision had been made for him.
‘Simo, get the horses.’
Indavara grimaced and spat. Though he’d downed plenty of wine and water, the taste of flesh and blood was not easily removed. Hanging from his shoulder was the sheathed eagle-head sword. He liked the weapon a little more now.
Seeing something above the trees ahead, he reined in. The third horse had at first been skittish but now seemed glad to be away from the Retreat. Steadying it with a few calm words, Indavara spied the great column of dust some way ahead.
He knew it could only mean one thing: an army on the move.
XXIII
The horses were tiring. The milestones told them that there were only three miles to Otomagus but Cassius knew he had to give the animals a break. Fortunately, the road soon passed through a hamlet with perhaps a dozen timber-built houses on either side. The place seemed deserted but there was one old fellow present who directed them to a well. While Simo lowered the pail, the local asked Cassius what he knew of Tetricus’s troops.
‘I gather they’re coming this way.’
They had managed to stay ahead and out of sight of the column but Cassius knew they couldn’t tarry long. Despite its double load, the black horse was remarkably strong and swift. Cassius felt sure it could do another three miles at pace, despite the sweat now covering its sleek, powerful body.
‘I shall stay here,’ said the local, who was afflicted by a crooked back and walked with a stick. ‘Safer in a wooded area where they can’t manoeuvre.’
‘I believe they’re aiming to cross the river and engage the enemy on the eastern side.’
‘They’ll not make it,’ said the old man.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Master Marcus usually knows what he’s talking about.’
‘Who’s Marcus?’
‘Tax collector. He rode through with his sons an hour or so ago. Apparently, the enemy are already at the Otomagus bridge. They must have seen off the garrison – mind you, there was only a few dozen of them. As long as they don’t think you’re a spy, they might let you cross. You’re not a spy, are you?’
The Gaul seemed to think this was funny.
Cassius ignored the comment. ‘Do you have something for the horses to drink from?’
The old man nodded and walked towards a nearby outhouse.
‘Quickly, Simo.’
‘Going as quickly as I can, sir.’
Cassius looked back along the road. He could see a cloud of dust rising above the trees. ‘That’s not just the cavalry. That’s the whole bloody legion.’
‘Many men?’ asked Amarante.
‘Five thousand or more.’
Her eyes widened. ‘In one place?’
‘There’ll be ten thousand when they fight the Third Italian. More still if the Second Parthian are sent this way.’
‘Ten thousand?’ Amarante shook her head in disbelief.
The old man returned with a rusty cauldron. Once Simo had poured in half the water from the pail, Cassius helped him place the receptacles in front of the mounts. They drank thirstily, leaving their snouts in the water.
Cassius gave them a minute then said farewell to the old man and mounted up. Simo helped Amarante up behind him, then climbed onto his own horse.
‘Do me a favour,’ said Cassius to the local. ‘Don’t tell anyone you saw us.’
The local gave a quizzical expression. ‘Are you a spy?’
‘I’m just trying to get this young lady out of danger.’
The old man raised a finger to his lips.
The column seemed endless. The soldiers were arranged in their centuries, most with shields and packs upon their backs. Every now and then, Indavara spied a standard bearing the golden Capricorn emblem, removing any remaining doubt that this was the Twenty-Second Legion. Eventually, the bright reds disappeared as the auxiliary detachments trooped past, divided into spearmen, archers and cavalry. Then came the pack animals and their handlers, laden with equipment, provisions and fodder. The army was blocking his path south.
‘Caesar’s balls.’
Still a hundred yards short of the crossroads and now within the shadows of a sprawling willow, Indavara looked to his left. The trees were nothing like as dense as the Maze; in fact, he could still see sparks of light far away: sun catching the polished armour of the legionaries. As long as he stayed in cover, he could still use the road to guide him.
He patted the horse and tried not to think about poor Patch. ‘No use for you now, mate. Hope your next owner looks after you.’
Leaving the animal where it stood, he tightened the sword belt and set off into the trees. As soon as he moved quickly, he winced at a bolt of pain from his cracked rib. But to come away from a scrap with that giant with only this, a sore head and a sore back?
He supposed it was shameful in a way but the victory brought him pride. He had not felt better in a long time.
Nothing would stop him getting back to his friends; nothing would stop him getting across that river; nothing would stop him finding his way home.
He came to a narrow stream, not quite parallel to the road but easier going then the trees. He broke into a run, splashing through the water with a grim smile upon his face.
‘There!’
The road ahead divided a grassy plain to the left and a huge field of wheat to the right. Close to the river, it met another road that ran south to the small town of Otomagus. Just before the settlement – no more than a mile away – was a narrow stretch of the Rhone and a three-arch bridge of pale stone.
‘By the gods, those are our m
en.’
It seemed that whatever units of the Twenty-Second had tried to hold the bridge, they had been easily overcome. Several centuries were already on the western bank and the rest were flooding across. At that distance, Cassius had no idea if he was looking at the Third Italian or the Second Parthian. Not that it mattered: if they could reach them, they were safe.
‘Sir, look there,’ said Simo.
A hundred yards away, dozens of enemy archers were trotting across the grass towards the road. Beyond them, a stationary quartet of horsemen watched the bridge.
‘Skirmishers and scouts.’
And now Cassius realised he could hear something from behind him. They had just come over a rise so the enemy army could not be seen. But they could be heard.
‘Are they singing?’ asked Amarante.
‘Marching song.’
She was sitting close up behind him and had taken to holding his belt when she felt unsteady. She seemed far happier now that salvation was so close. Cassius reckoned he would have enjoyed the experience in other circumstances.
The wheat reached as high as the horses’ knees and Cassius knew it would obscure treacherous holes and furrows. But with enemies ahead and behind, it was the quickest and safest route to the bridge. There was a wall running across the middle of the field and three groups of trees but otherwise their path looked clear.
‘With me, Simo.’
Cassius urged the black horse off the road and into the wheat.
The column halted. At shouted orders from their officers, the men moved off the road and began to prepare themselves for battle. A squad of heavy cavalry thundered past, the riders already clad in their armour and helmets.
Indavara accelerated, staying as close to the road as he dared. He passed hundreds of men and came eventually to the top of a rise where the tree line ended. Dozens of officers and their aides had gathered there; all on horseback, all looking down towards the Rhone.
He saw the wheat field and the bridge and hoped Cassius and the others had already made it. There was fifty feet of open space behind the party of officers and the first century. The officers were otherwise engaged but the century was immaculately arranged and commanded by an impressive centurion. Standing stiffly upright, a cane in his hand, he stared resolutely forward, awaiting instruction.
The battle was surely only minutes away. Indavara knew he had to cross the road now to have any chance of reaching the bridge. But how could he get past eighty enemy soldiers primed for war?
What would Corbulo do?
For all his faults, the man possessed the sharpest mind Indavara had encountered. Time and again, Indavara had seen him find a solution by examining every alternative, every combination, every possibility:
I could leave the sword but I have no other weapon.
I can’t just run across.
I can’t sneak across.
Indavara looked down at himself. Other than a few drops and smears of blood, he was dressed like a civilian.
They don’t know I’m an enemy.
Indavara remembered something Volosus had said back at the fortress.
Here goes nothing.
Holding the sword aloft, he ran into the middle of the road then stopped and faced the century.
‘The true emperor will win! For Tetricus! We will have victory!’
The centurion rolled his eyes and muttered a curse. Some of his men seemed amused, others shook their heads.
‘Bloody auxiliaries,’ said someone.
‘Piss off, fool,’ said another.
Indavara was happy to oblige.
Cassius only knew something was wrong when Amarante tapped him on the shoulder. They were about halfway across the field and had just trotted past a copse of trees.
‘What is it?’ He turned to see five auxiliary cavalrymen lurking in the shadows, all in dark tunics that would help obscure them from the attacking troops. More scouts. One of them was a tall, bald man. Cassius recognised the bulging eyes of the thief they had foiled.
‘You!’ shouted the auxiliary.
‘That must be the girl,’ cried another. ‘They’re the spies!’
Cassius gave no thought to arguing his way out of trouble.
‘Yah!’ Even as the thief set off, Cassius was already kicking the stolen mount into a gallop. Hoping that Simo was somewhere close behind, he headed straight for the bridge. Amarante held on tight. Cassius hunched low, thighs gripping the saddle, knuckles white on the reins.
Great and honoured gods. Fly us all the way to river.
The black horse charged across the wheat.
‘Cassius, Simo’s fallen!’
‘What?’ Looking back, he saw a rider-less horse galloping away, then Simo’s pop up above the wheat. The attendant raised his hands in surrender as two of the cavalrymen closed in.
The other three were still behind Cassius, eyes trained on their prey.
‘Shit.’
There was no point trying to help him. He had Amarante to think about.
‘Shit.’
First Indavara, now Simo.
‘They’re gaining,’ yelled Amarate. ‘What do we do?’
Cassius reckoned he held only one advantage. The black horse was tired but it was bigger and faster than the scout’s horses. They would have the stamina but this was a short race. It was time to test their horsemanship.
He veered to the right, pressing his mount into a full gallop down the gentle slope of the field. It was one of the swiftest horses he had ever ridden. Wind sang in his ears as the golden wheat whipped past.
‘You’ll have to watch them for me!’ he told Amarante, now having to shout every word. ‘I have to look ahead.’
‘They’re directly behind you. In a line. One’s fallen back a bit.’
Cassius forced himself not to worry about the hundreds of troops still massing and moving below. He pushed the horse onwards for another few seconds then turned towards the only copse of trees close enough to use. On his current course, he would pass it to the left.
‘What about Simo?’ asked Amarante.
‘He’s on his own for now. How close are they?’
‘Fifty feet.’
The horse was puffing but its stride remained long and true. Cassius hoped it could cope with this next manoeuvre. He was careful to give the horse – nor his pursuers any sign of what it would be.
He was almost at the copse when he jerked on the reins, slowing the mount suddenly. He then guided it to the right, the long way around. The black horse performed the manoeuvre with aplomb as Cassius steered it around the copse, tight to the trees. He then pressed back into a gallop as they charged once again for the bridge.
‘Where are they?’
‘Can’t see them yet.’
Cassius knew already that he’d stretched his lead a little.
‘There’s one,’ said Amarante. ‘Another. Can’t see the third. There – but he’s way back.’
‘Good. Now you really need to hold on.’
‘Why?’ asked Amarante as she tightened her grip on his belt.
‘We’re coming up on the wall.’
Indavara had seen the five cavalry horses fly out from their hiding place. Bolting out of the trees, sword in hand, he had then watched as Cassius rode clear and Simo was thrown from his horse. He now saw his friend standing with his hands up. The two cavalrymen had dismounted and now advanced, each armed with a lance.
Slowing to a walk, Indavara tried to approach behind their horses but the animals sensed him. When they began to fidget, the two soldiers turned and saw him.
‘Another spy,’ said one man. Moving apart, they wielded the lances double handed, the six-feet length giving them a considerable advantage.
Indavara didn’t have to face them both for long. He was utterly stunned to see Simo charge and smash into the back of the closest man, sending him headlong to the ground.
Before the other man could react, Indavara sprang forward and grabbed his lance near the tip. Hacking
down with the eagle-head sword, he sliced straight through the wooden shaft. Abandoning his main weapon, the cavalryman reached for his dagger. He almost had it out when the blade sliced across his brow, sending him flailing into the wheat.
‘Look out!’
At Simo’s cry, Indavara spun on his heels to see the first man back on his feet and driving his lance. Metal clanged as he parried aggressively, leaving the auxiliary off-balance. Indavara rushed past the lance-tip and hacked down at his hands.
Shrieking as the blade cut into his fingers, the man reeled backwards, dropping the lance. Indavara swung two-handed into his neck, felling him with lethal ease.
Simo gazed at the fallen pair, gulping anxiously.
‘Nicely done.’
The attendant shook his head then walked over to Indavara. ‘I knew you’d survive. By the Lord, I knew it.’
Hearing a shout, Indavara looked back at the trees. A long line of cavalry was trotting across the top of the field. Upon the road, several centuries of troops were on the march. He looked down towards the river. There, the second army was spreading out across the bottom of the field.
‘Come on, Simo. If we don’t get out of here quickly, we’re going to be caught in the middle.’
‘We can’t jump that!’
‘We can and we will.’
Cassius guessed the cavalry horses were a good three or four hands shorter than the black horse. The wall was at least six feet high but his steed had shown no fear as they rode along beside it. He veered right to give the horse some approach room then turned back towards the wall. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d attempted such a jump but as a young man he’d spent endless hours doing little else. Cassius told himself not to think about it; give neither himself nor his mount the time for hesitation or doubt.
It seemed to come naturally to the black horse too. Adjusting its stride, the animal slowed to a canter then used the immense power in its back legs to launch itself upward. The three of them sailed easily over the wall.
The landing was smooth enough but the speed and angle sent Amarante slamming into Cassius’s back. Feeling her slide off, he twisted to his right and put out his arm to halt her. Once sure she was safe, he kept the horse moving.
