The Wolf's Gold (15 page)

Scaurus pulled the highly polished helmet from his head, deliberately tilting it to send bright reflections flickering at the Sarmatae noble.

‘This old thing? This helmet has been in my family since long before your great-grandfather was pissing in his napkin, and not one of the seven generations that have worn it have ever brought shame upon it. By all means come and find me, Galatas son of Asander, and I will spare a moment to demonstrate to you why it is unwise to promise to do a thing so patently beyond your capabilities. Now be off with you. If you are still within bowshot after a count of thirty, I will have these archers turn you into a pin cushion.’

They watched as the Sarmatae prince rode away.

‘So, now that they’re here and likely to set up camp just over there, I suppose we really ought to get a couple of centuries of the Thracians up here to keep an eye on them. It’s all very well threatening a man with bowmen, but it’s probably a little empty as a gesture unless there are actually bows in the wall. First Spear, I suggest that it would be sensible to send a runner to their prefect and ask him to send some men down here with plenty of spare arrows. I’d better go and wake up my esteemed colleague to the fact that the war seems to have come and found us.’

Marcus and Silus watched in silence as the main body of the Sarmatae host marched down the valley past their hiding place, waiting until the barbarian infantry and the body of horsemen at their rear had all passed before risking even the most cautious of discussion.

‘Perhaps four thousand foot soldiers, and another four thousand or so horse to add to the two thousand that passed us earlier.Cattle too, perhaps two hundred oxen, and did you see the slaves they were driving along in the middle of all that infantry?’

Marcus nodded, his face dark with anger.

‘Yes. And I also noticed that a good number of them looked Roman. And they were not all men.’

Silus shrugged.

‘There will always be some fools who put the pursuit of profit over common sense. Doubtless when the last emperor declared the Sarmatae pacified there were a fair few idiots who made tracks across the border in search of trading profits. Mind you, why a man would be stupid enough take his woman and children into that sort of risk is beyond me.’

Marcus looked down the valley at the barbarian host’s rear.

‘We’ll have our work cut out if that many men come at us together.’

Silus smiled knowingly.

‘But they won’t, will they? You found the tracks of scouts around the Saddle on the Ravenstone’s northern side, so it’s a fair bet that he’ll send a party of men up there to make a flank attack behind the wall. Not too many, mind you, or we’ll know there’s something going on just from the lack of numbers in front of the defences, but if a couple of thousand foot soldiers were to come down that north slope behind us it’d be about over. They’ll come at us from two directions at once, I reckon, and depend on us having to split our strength to cope with both attacks. Come on . . .’

He led the Roman back into the trees, and they remounted their horses and rode cautiously after the Sarmatae, allowing Arabus to lead and interpret the tracks left by the enemy host.

‘These men are travelling heavily laden.’ The scout pointed to the bootprints left in the soft ground by the passing foot soldiers, comparing them with one of his own deliberately laid alongside. ‘The print is deeper than mine. And see . . .’ – he bent and picked an ear of corn from the mud – ‘they are carrying sacks of grain. It seems that they have come prepared to besiege the valley, if an outright victory is not gained at once.’

They followed the tracks as they turned south towards the Ravenstone valley, and after a mile or so Arabus stopped, pointing to the ground before them.

‘The warband has split. Most of the men, and all of the horses, carried on down this way towards the entrance to the Ravenstone valley. But here’ – he pointed to their left, up a narrow defile almost hidden by trees – ‘a large party of warriors on foot has turned off the main route. They are marching for the Saddle, I expect. It will take them hours to reach it since the path into the hills will be difficult, but they will have scouted it well enough to be sure of reaching it before darkness falls. Either tonight or tomorrow at dawn they will attempt an attack on the valley by that route.’

Marcus nodded, staring up into the hills.

‘And they may well succeed, unless we can bring this news to the tribune.’

‘Whether this Boraz is a junior partner in this war or not, it seems that our defences are ready just in time to confront the barbarians with something a little more difficult than what they may have been expecting. Our scouts estimate six thousand horsemen and perhaps three or four thousand foot soldiers from their dependent peoples.’ Tribune Belletor looked at the assembled officers for a moment before continuing. ‘We expect them to make a serious attempt at getting over or around our wall soon after dawn, so I want every available man either on the wall or behind it, and ready to fight from first light. Yes, Tribune Sigilis?’

The youngest of the senior officers stepped forward, pointing at the map with one finger to indicate the long ridge that ran along the valley’s northern side.

‘Sir, it seems from Centurion Corvus’s scouting report as if the enemy plan to attempt a flanking attack from the north.’

Marcus and his companions had made their way into the valley over the Saddle just before dark, having used game paths scouted out by Arabus to lead their horses around the Sarmatae warriors they had tracked up the side valley. Picking their way carefully through the traps laid out across the flat ground earlier that day by the Tungrian pioneers, they had descended wearily into the valley as darkness fell. Their arrival had resulted in a combination of relief that they were safe and consternation at their news, and Sigilis had swiftly agreed to go through with Scaurus’s suggestion that he attempt to influence Belletor into defending their Ravenstone’s obvious weak point. He indicated a spot on the map of the valley, putting a finger on the Saddle’s location.

‘I must admit that I had anticipated such a move, given the centurion’s report of the open ground up there, and so I suggested to our colleague Rutilius Scaurus that he might get his pioneers to give the ground up there a bit of attention, in anticipation of a fight for that particular piece of high ground . . .’

Scaurus stepped forward with his face carefully composed.

‘Which I was happy to do, given the wisdom I saw reflected in the suggestion. Although as we all know, to a determined enemy an undefended obstacle is no obstacle at all. It might be wise to detach a part of our strength to watch this potential point of attack – perhaps five centuries from my First Cohort and three centuries of the Thracian archers? Indeed further to that, colleague, I think that the command of such a critical part of the valley’s defence is a job for a senior officer, and so I suggest that Tribune Sigilis might be given an independent command in this instance? Perhaps Centurion Corvus here might act as his second in command, and assist him in the control of unfamiliar soldiers?’

Sigilis looked to Belletor in question, and after a moment the tribune nodded graciously to Scaurus, who saluted gravely before turning to the younger man.

‘Thank you, colleague. Tribune Sigilis, I hereby detach half of the First Tungrian Cohort to your command, with Centurion Corvus to assist you. Use them wisely, Tribune, I’d like them back in good condition when you’re done with them. You are to organise the movement of the required forces this evening, and put your men in place before nightfall. I’d expect the attack to come at first light, but we’ve no way to know this Boraz’s intended schedule, so let’s not run the risk of the show starting before your men are in place. On your way, gentlemen. Now, as to the rest of the defence, if I might make a suggestion . . .’

Marcus and Sigilis slipped out of the briefing through ranks of centurions, intent on Scaurus’s instructions as to how the battle would be fought the next day. Outside the command building the young tribune held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, shaking his head at the quizzical look he received in return.

‘We both know why Gaius Rutilius Scaurus put you under me for this task, Centurion, so let’s not be under any illusions. You know because you’re experienced enough to know how these things need to be done, and I know because he took me to one side and told me so, slowly and clearly and without any room for doubt. You’re the experienced soldier and I’m a neophyte, and if anyone’s going to get hundreds of soldiers up on that hillside and ready to fight it’s going to be you, not me. So just to be really clear, I’m intending to watch and learn, and most of all not to get in your way over the next few hours.’

Marcus nodded.

‘In that case, Tribune, I suggest we both go and fetch our thickest cloaks and an extra pair of socks, because it’s going to be bitterly cold up there once the sun’s gone down. And be sure to bring your most important piece of equipment.’

Sigilis nodded earnestly.

‘I will. And that would be?’

‘Your spoon, Tribune.’

Scaurus returned to his quarters to find Theodora waiting for him outside the tent, her face reflecting the anxiety she was clearly feeling. He bowed formally, raising an eyebrow in question.

‘I trust you’re well, madam? You’ll have to excuse my rather fleeting attention, but I have rather a lot on my mind at this point in time.’

She smiled warmly at him, stepping close in a wave of perfume and taking his hands in hers, staring up into his eyes.

‘Do forgive me, Tribune, I have no desire to waste your time. I just wanted to tell you that we’re all very grateful that you’re here to defend us from the barbarians. I believe their attack is expected in a matter of hours?’

The tribune put a ressuring hand on her arm.

‘It seems that nothing escapes your vigilance, Theodora. But you can rest assured that we’ve completed the valley’s defences to my satisfaction. Nobody’s going to get inside this facility without a good deal more strength than I believe this man Boraz can muster.’

‘But I saw men climbing the northern side of the valley?’

‘A precaution, nothing more.’ He bowed again. ‘And now I must beg for your forgiveness. If you’ll excuse me?’

She released his hands, trailing her fingertips across his palms.

‘On the contrary, Tribune, you must forgive me for keeping you from your duty. I wish you the best of luck.’

He smiled wistfully at her back as she swept away down the line of tents, then ducked inside his own with a call to his bodyguard.

‘Arminius? Where is that blasted—’ Realising that the big German’s blanket was missing from its usual resting place at the bottom of his bed where the bodyguard routinely slept, he nodded his head in belated realisation of where he was likely to be. ‘I hope you dressed warmly, old friend . . .’

‘Don’t be put off by Arminius’s forbidding exterior; he’s the most amenable of men once you get to know him properly.’ Marcus popped a chunk of pork into his mouth, blowing steam out into the night air as he gingerly chewed at the hot mouthful. ‘I was lucky enough to be in the right place to save him from harm a year or so ago, and he still won’t allow me anywhere near unfriendly men without looming over my shoulder like a particularly unaccommodating doorman.’

Sigilis laughed through his own mouthful, and earned a raised eyebrow from the German.

‘Don’t worry, I’m very much used to intimidating barbarians. My father has half a dozen house slaves who were taken during the German Wars. He used them to accompany the female members of the family out in the city, depending on their fearsome looks to keep the ladies safe from robbers and charlatans. Mind you,’ – he looked over at Arminius with a calculating glance – ‘there’s none of them quite the match of your friend here. What do you feed him on?’

‘Tribunes.’

Marcus shook his head at the German’s retort.

‘Rutilius Scaurus has been trying to cure him of the habit of answering back to his superiors for as long as he’s owned the man, but to no avail. And since he won’t let me go anywhere the slightest bit risky without the pleasure of his company, I’ve found it best to tolerate his occasional flashes of wit, rather than rising to them. Though why he still feels the need to stay so close when Lugos here is getting on for twice his size is a bit of a puzzle.’

The massively built Briton grinned at Arminius across the fire, earning a snort of derision in return.

‘When that monstrosity can best me with a sword – with a
sword
mind you, Lugos, not that bloody great hammer – then you’re all his. Until then I’ll do what I’m sworn to, and hope that young Lupus will make a good enough swordsman to replace me at your side before my master is ordered to a different command.’ He gave Sigilis a dirty look. ‘Or to put it another way, until your friend Belletor decides he’s had enough of being made to look like a fool.’

Marcus and Sigilis exchanged glances. The well-known fact of the young tribune being the obvious choice to succeed Scaurus in the event of his provoking Belletor one time too many had been hanging over their conversation all evening. Sigilis sighed and put down his bowl, looking about him at the cooking fires that studded the hill’s northern slope, then leaned forward and looked first Arminius and then Marcus in the eyes.

‘I wouldn’t do it, you know.’ The German’s return stare was hard with disbelief, the Roman’s carefully neutral, and the younger man shook his head in irritation, showing a spark of maturity beyond his years. ‘Don’t patronise me, Centurion!
Don’t
pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’ He pointed at Arminius, his lip curling. ‘See, the truth of it is there in his eyes. I told Domitius Belletor that if he were to try getting rid of our colleague Scaurus I wouldn’t be prepared to take on his cohorts. For one thing I lack the experience, and for another . . . well it just wouldn’t sit well with me.’

Marcus raised his eyebrows.

‘And your career? Surely refusing such an opportunity would be an ignominious start to the sequence of offices?’