The Blood Crows (Roman Legion 12) (17 page)

‘Then I’m giving you new orders,’ Cato interrupted. ‘I’m ordering you to escort us to Bruccium.’

The decurion did not reply but stared back defiantly. Cato decided to try another tack. He continued in a more reasonable tone, ‘Look here, Trebellius. You know what’s waiting for you when you return to Glevum. You’ll be held accountable for the loss of your standard back at the outpost. If you stay with us as far as Bruccium, I give you my word that I will put in a good word for you with the legate.’

The decurion considered the offer but shook his head regretfully. ‘Sorry, sir. I am not going on. I doubt any of my lads would want to follow me even if I agreed to do as you ask.’

Cato stared hard at him for a moment, giving him a chance to change his mind, but Trebellius met his gaze steadily and kept his silence. With a sigh of frustration Cato resolved to make one last appeal to discipline. He strode over to his mount, took the reins and swung himself up into the saddle. ‘Now let’s get moving.’

His instruction was met with silence and stillness. Cato felt his pulse quicken and the cool air suddenly seemed colder still. Trebellius met his gaze flatly and his men sat in their saddles waiting to follow his lead.

‘You heard the prefect!’ Macro called out. ‘Form column and prepare to advance!’

‘No . . . sir,’ Trebellius responded loudly enough for his men to hear. ‘We take our orders from the legate. Not you. Either of you. Column! About face, and form up!’

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Macro growled as he reached for his sword. There was a soft scrape as the blade began to leave its scabbard.

Cato hurriedly jerked his reins and moved his horse between Macro and the decurion and hissed, ‘Don’t, Macro. Trebellius and his men are terrified. You try and face him down and anything could happen.’

‘But—’

‘Leave it be. That’s an order.’

Macro frowned for an instant and then gave a frustrated shrug and slid his sword back. ‘At least someone is obeying orders around here . . .’

They watched as Trebellius and his men hastily formed a column of twos and when they were ready, the decurion turned in his saddle to salute his superiors. ‘You should reach Bruccium before dark. Good luck.’

Cato nodded while Macro clenched his jaw and muttered, ‘And fuck you too.’

Trebellius raised his arm. ‘Column, forwards!’

The riders urged their mounts into a trot and moved off, back up the track through the pass. Soon the last of them had dissolved into the mist and only the sound of the horses’ hoofs carried to Cato and the others for a while longer before there was silence and they were alone. Decimus looked around anxiously, then chewed his lip.

‘What now, sir? It’s not too late to ride after them.’

‘Keep your mind on the reward,’ Cato said gently. He looked at the body of the young Silurian. ‘There’s no point staying here.’

Macro nodded. ‘Conversation’s a bit limited. Just hope we find some live ones soon, and on our side. All this mist and quiet is starting to piss me off.’

Cato smiled. ‘What better reason to get moving?’

He clicked his tongue and steered his horse on to the path, giving the body a wide berth, and Macro and Decimus urged their mounts to fall into place behind the prefect. Decimus tugged on the rope tied to the mules and with a muted bray they followed on. The prisoner mumbled some prayers to his gods as they continued into the mist. The track descended another mile to the valley floor. Gradually the grey shroud began to lift a little and they could make out the loom of the forested slopes on either side. It was Decimus who noticed first, and he used his crop on the mule’s back to urge it closer to the two officers.

‘Sir, there’s someone behind us.’

Cato and Macro slowed to a stop and turned in their saddles. For a moment all three looked back, ears straining. Then Macro sighed heavily.

‘You’re imagining things, Decimus. Your only danger in this place is the prospect of frightening yourself to death.’

Decimus shook his head. ‘Shhh! Just listen.’

‘What do you think you heard?’ asked Cato, after a brief silence.

‘A horse . . . Horses. I’m sure of it, sir.’

‘Well, I can’t hear anything.’

‘Like I said,’ Macro sniffed contemptuously, ‘he’s jumping at shadows.’

A faint whinny sounded some distance behind them. All three froze, and Cato felt an icy tingle spread across his scalp.

‘Shadows, eh?’ Decimus muttered. ‘I told you, sir. What do we do? Run for it? Find somewhere to hide? If they catch us, then they’ll be sure to do to us what Quertus did to their mates. Or worse.’

Macro glanced at him and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Worse? I think I must have underestimated your imagination . . . Should we turn and face ’em?’

‘No. We’ve no idea of their number. Best to keep moving and let them think we’re not on to them yet. Decimus, keep your ears open. If they sound like they’re getting closer, tell me at once. We’ll look for cover as we go. We can’t be too far from Bruccium now. Might even run into a patrol. Let’s go.’

The continued along the track, with Cato and Macro keeping watch on their flanks and the way ahead while Decimus nervously glanced over his shoulder every few breaths. The horsemen behind them seemed to make no attempt to draw any closer and aside from the odd soft whinny or the faint clatter of hoofs on stone, it was hard to believe they were not alone in this ethereal, menacing landscape of cold, damp and shadows. A half mile further on Macro edged his mount alongside Cato and spoke softly.

‘There’s more of ’em off to the left.’

Cato nodded. ‘I noticed them a few moments ago.’

‘And you didn’t say anything?’

‘Didn’t want to scare you.’

‘Ha . . . ha . . .’ Macro intoned, deadpan, as they both faced ahead but swivelled their eyes to the left. The ground was more even now, as the valley spread out on either side in the thinning mist. A quarter of a mile to their left was the edge of a forest. Moving along the trees was a line of horsemen, ten of them. They were too distant to make out in any detail. With a sudden inkling Cato glanced to his right. A similar distance away another party of riders was tracking them.

‘I fear we have walked, ridden I should say, into a trap, Macro. Look there.’ He gestured subtly and Macro turned, and swore under his breath.

‘Why don’t they attack?’ Macro asked. ‘Surely they can see they have the drop on us?’

Cato was thinking swiftly. There was no way out but to continue forwards. Half a mile further on the route entered a wood that sprawled a good way across the valley floor. If they could reach the trees far enough ahead of their pursuers they might be able to turn off the track and hide amongst the trees.

‘Sir!’ Decimus called softly. ‘Have you seen, they’re all around us!’

‘I see ’em,’ Cato replied calmly. ‘Just ignore them. Until I give the word.’

‘What are you thinking?’ asked Macro.

Cato did not answer. He calculated the distance remaining, and the angle the pursuers would have to take to continue following them into the wood. They would have to abandon the mules. The small beasts were too slow. Cato, as was his way, briefly considered all the alternatives, even ruthlessly abandoning Decimus to his fate in order to give himself and Macro a chance to escape. Just as typically, he instantly abandoned the notion. Whatever logic dictated, there was a code of conduct that embraced those entrusted with command, and it would be unthinkable to sacrifice Decimus.

Slowing his horse so that he dropped back towards his servant, Cato spoke quietly. ‘When I give the word, Decimus, you get off the mule and climb up behind me.’

‘What about the prisoner?’ asked Macro.

‘We’ll leave him behind with the mules. If those are his people, hopefully they’ll stop to set him free, and that’ll buy us a little more time.’

‘What are you planning, lad?’

‘We’ll ride hard for the treeline. They’ll be forced to angle across country to follow us, and lose a bit of ground. If we reach the cover of the trees sufficiently far ahead of them, we can leave the track and lose them in the wood.’

‘That’s madness,’ Decimus protested. ‘They’ll hunt us down.’

‘Maybe. But with two on my horse, they’ll catch us quickly in open country. We’ll stand a better chance of getting away from them in the wood.’

Decimus clenched his jaw and said bitterly, ‘I should have stayed in Londinium.’

Macro spat to one side. ‘Beginning to wish the same thing.’

‘Quiet!’ Cato ordered. ‘Just be ready when I give the signal.’

They were no more than a quarter of a mile from the edge of the wood when Cato noticed that the men on either side were moving closer. The time to act had come, he decided. Taking a deep breath, he reined in and spoke steadily to Decimus.

‘Now is the time. Up you get!’

Decimus slipped from the saddle of his mule and Cato offered a hand to help him scramble up behind the saddle. As soon as the man had a firm grip on the rear saddle horns, Cato spurred Hannibal forward.

‘Go, Macro! As fast as you can! I’ll follow!’

The centurion slapped his hand on the rump of his mount before leaning forward and urging it on towards the distant trees. The mules, spooked by the sudden action, brayed and trotted after the horses for a short way before the burden of the baggage and the prisoner slowed them to a halt and they stood uncertainly, strung out along the route, abandoned.

As soon as they realised what their prey was up to, the riders on either flank gave chase, making for an opening in the trees where the track entered the wood in an attempt to cut the Romans off. Macro had already drawn a short distance ahead and Cato was tempted to call out to him so that he would not leave his companions behind. It was an unworthy thought and Cato banished it in an instant as he gritted his teeth and dug his heels in, forcing his mount to rush headlong down the track, kicking up small stones and divots of turf in its wake. The cold and chill of the day were lost in the anxious hot thrill of the chase and the details of the world around him were leaping before his eyes as the powerful muscles of the horse galloped for the safety of the trees.

‘Come on, Cato!’ Macro shouted over his shoulder. ‘Keep up!’

The other men were close enough now for their shouts to be heard even above the din of the hoofs thrumming on the ground beneath Cato. But he could not make out the words, and leaned slightly further forward in his saddle as he and Decimus galloped on. Then the trees rushed up on either side and the track passed into the wood. Ahead, the route continued more or less straight, before bending around a clump of tall oaks and out of sight.

‘Macro!’ The driving impact of the horse made it hard for Cato to call out his instruction. ‘Once we get – past those oaks – get off the track – to the right!’

Macro nodded and the two horses pounded down the narrow route. Risking a glance back, Cato could not see their pursuers. Then, a short distance from the bend, he heard an excited cry and saw that the first of their pursuers had already reached the forest track, barely a hundred paces away. They still had enough of a lead for his plan to work, Cato thought desperately, and urged his horse on. Ahead, there was a short distance to the bend, and already Macro was swerving round the fallen branches and brambles at the foot of the ancient oaks and disappearing from sight. Cato could feel the flanks of his horse swelling and falling like bellows against his calves as the beast struggled under the weight of two men. It was already slowing down, despite his desperate urging. Then they reached the oaks and Cato leaned to the side as the horse galloped round the bend. He saw Macro no more than ten feet in front of him, sword in hand, facing down the track while his horse snorted and pawed at the ground. Cato pulled hard on his reins and his horse swerved to the left and glanced off the rear quarter of the other animal with a frightened whinny. Decimus was thrown forward by the abrupt halt and knocked Cato so that the coarse hair of the horse’s mane brushed his face.

He straightened up at once. ‘Macro, what the—’

Then he saw them. No more than fifty feet ahead, the track was blocked by more riders, sitting silently in their saddles, staring at the Romans. They wore dark cloaks and their hair straggled on to their shoulders. Each man carried a spear and an oval shield. That was as much as Cato took in before his attention was drawn to the sound of hoofs rapidly approaching from behind.

‘We’re fucked,’ Decimus groaned as Cato reached down and drew his sword.

‘Shut up!’ the prefect snapped, drawing his horse up alongside Macro.

‘So much for the plan.’ Macro smiled grimly. ‘What now? Cut our way through?’

Cato nodded. ‘That’s all we can do. Ready?’

Both men tightened their grip on their sword handles and pressed their legs against the sides of their mounts as they prepared to charge. Cato heard a dull scrape as Decimus drew his blade.

Behind them there was a sudden rumble of hoofs and cries of alarm as their pursuers reached the bend, saw the confrontation ahead of them and drew up in confusion. This was the moment to strike, Cato decided, while at least some of their opponents were disrupted. He drew his breath, ready to let out his battle cry, when a deep voice bellowed through the air. A figure emerged from the ranks of the men blocking the way ahead. He walked his horse forward casually and turned it so that it stood across the track, neck raised, ears pricked, breath pluming from its nostrils. Cato’s heart was beating so fast he felt sure that it must be heard by everyone around him. He stared hard at the man confronting them. Like the others, his hair was dark and tied back by a broad headband. His brow was prominent and his eyes dark and deep set above a thick beard that masked his jaw. Even though he wore a cloak, Cato could see that he was massively built and his bare arms were like hams, covered with dark bristles. The man stared at them impassively while his men waited on his command, spears poised to strike down the three Romans that had dared to ride into the heart of these wild mountains.

There was a pause that made every moment linger on Cato’s heightened senses; he took in every visual detail, every sound, and smell in what might be the last few breaths of his life. Then the figure settled back in his saddle and he rested his left hand on his hip.