War Raven: Barbarian of Rome Chronicles Volume One (29 page)

Yanking his mount around, he fled back along the trail. He bent forwards in the saddle, making himself a harder target.

An arrow thrummed past this head and he crouched lower. A sudden rush of air past his right hip was followed by a strangled scream of pain.

He felt the piebald shudder between his thighs. A spear shaft grew from its neck, bright blood squirting across his front. Despite the awful wound, the brave beast laboured on for a further half-mile before staggering to a halt, its forelocks crumpling.

Guntram jumped clear as the mount keeled sideways, a snorting death rattle escaping its throat.

He snatched up his water skin and food sack, and plunged off the trail into the forest. Desperate to place distance between himself and the Gauls, he did not pick his course, but simply ran with all the speed that his long legs could muster.

Frantic minutes passed and a small clearing opened up in front of him. He stopped to catch his breath. Ignoring the sharp pain in his side he swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea. He looked around and saw that the glade was bordered on all sides by a dense thicket of trees and bushes. He sucked in air, knowing that even as he paused the Gauls were closing the initial gap he’d opened up. Snapping his head around, he looked back in response to a long drawn out whoop that burst from the forest. Close by, it was answered by a chorus of exultant yells some way distant, and then the forest was quiet again.

He realized the Gauls were using a familiar chasing-down tactic that comprised of a lone runner being sent ahead at breakneck speed. This lead runner was instructed to make his pursuit heard, with the aim of forcing the quarry to even greater speed and early collapse. Despite the fore-runner being quickly worn out, the pack’s goal was achieved.

Guntram drew his knife, a rage building inside him; that of a hunted beast ready to turn at bay. He entered the wall of trees, before looping back on the careless trail he’d cut through the clearing. Concealed amongst the thicket’s dense greenery, he had a clear view of the glade. Hardly a branch quivered around him.

As he waited, all signs of life seemed to have fled, and it felt as if the very clearing was holding its breath. For an agonizing space there was nothing, and then the peace was shattered.

Red faced, gasping, the front runner halted on breaking from the trees. He placed his hands on his knees, dragging air into bursting lungs as his eyes warily scanned the glade. He lifted his head and rendered a loud cry – a signal to the pack that he was gaining on his prey and for them to quicken their pace. Pushing himself upright, he jogged unsteadily across the clearing.

Guntram bounded from cover, his knife punching between the Gaul’s shoulders. The blade ripped through his heart before a shocked grunt of pain escaped his lips. Guntram wrenched his blade free, the Gaul pitching forwards onto the carpet of bracken and dead leaves.

Guntram glanced skywards and saw that night was approaching.
Thank Tiwaz! I’ve been running for longer than I
thought
. Crossing the glade he entered the forest once more, this time cutting a heading north-east to the Cherusci homeland.

Behind him for a time there was silence, and then a furious shouting broke out and he knew that the Gauls had found their man.

* * *

Chapter XXXIX

PAX
ROMANA

“They damn what they do not understand.”

Quintilian

Ulner watched the village burn.

The torch was doing its work and every building pushed black smoke up into the sky. Crops were ablaze, food stores had been spoiled and the wells were fouled by the carcasses of dead live-stock. The tribes would not quickly re-use the site.

His troop was leaving, and he knew that the job had been done thoroughly, for it was something that they knew how to do in the best manner in the least time. The attack on the settlement was planned and directed by his commander, and it had come in sweeping rush, allowing none of the occupants time to escape. After, they found the equipment stripped from the bodies of the Roman patrol recently wiped out, and a few old men and women and children. But no warriors...

As his commander rode up, Ulner leaned forward to stroke the neck of his back-stepping horse.

“It’s done then,” the commander stated.

“The villagers have been loaded on the wagons for transport as you instructed,” Ulner replied.

“Good,” the commander said, removing his helmet. Ulner studied him as he wiped sweat and the stain of smoke from his face with a rag. The face was a familiar one, its leathery skin tanned by service under distant suns, emphasizing the clear blue eyes set under a wide, intelligent forehead.

“We found the patrol’s equipment, but no weapons.” Ulner pointed to an area of dug up ground.

“So I was informed,” the commander confirmed, his tone even.

“The tribesmen are doubtless sharpening them as we speak.” Ulner couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. He’d asked to pursue the settlement’s fighting men that had left the German settlement some hours before the attack. His argument was that if they weren’t dealt with, the raising of the settlement would accomplish little, since they could easily quarter themselves in another. He maintained that given a few more days he could locate and force them into a battle, and erase the threat that such a force presented in the region. His request was refused.

“I see you’re still unhappy about the warriors.”

“Yes I am, and my men too,” Ulner replied. “Inaction makes them testy.”

“The men will follow orders,” the commander said flatly.

“Of course. Yet, it’s still strange.”

The commander raised his eye-brows, prompting Ulner to explain.

Frowning, Ulner said, “Today they fled from us, whereas any other day they would have stood and fought. It’s not like them, and you know this as well as I. There’s a planned feeling about it, and it makes me uneasy.”

“You’re a good soldier Ulner, and like all good soldiers you’re suspicious of your enemy’s every move,” the commander said, now wearing an easy smile. “Believe me when I tell you, it’s our reputation that’s caused the young warriors to flee. They are beginning to understand that they cannot defeat the strength of Rome. Also, the governor’s orders were clear, and that was to burn the settlement and take no further action. Varus doesn’t want to risk any set-backs before winter comes...not with the campaign ahead.”

Ulner knew that the tribes hated Rome and its figure-head Varus, who taxed them severely. But, Ulner also believed there was good there too, and he’d seen it. Many of Rome’s leaders were quick to think and act and their scholars knew the science of line and construction. There was much to see and learn: how to transport water and make it pure, and how to heat a dwelling with just hot air. Rome had given him his life...given him Jenell.

“Cheer up Ulner, there’ll soon be plenty of action for both you and your men.” The commander’s hand clasped his shoulder. “When we get back to camp I’ll share a jug of mead with you.”

Donning his helmet, the commander reined his horse about.

Ulner watched him disappear into the troop’s dust trail. He rubbed his neck, trying to coax away the edgy doubt.
Fool! You’re just getting old,
he chided
. And, when has Commander Arminius ever been wrong?
Noting the thick vapour of his breath, he shivered.

Kicking his horse forward, he was the last to leave.

* * *

Chapter XL

HORSE
SOLDIER

“Only the dead know the end of war.”

Plato

The shapes of the wood-clothed hills to the east of his position appeared familiar and Guntram paused to catch his breath. He’d not eaten in three days and his attempt at trapping fresh meat that morning had proven fruitless. He was exhausted.

The forest seemed strangely empty of wild-life, and left him wondering what had frightened them off? Despite this, his mood had lifted on entering Cherusci territory, together with the knowledge that he was finally free of pursuit. After cautiously back-tracking, he’d uncovered no sign of the Gauls.
They know what their fate will be if discovered here
, he reassured himself with a grin.

Attracted by the sound of running water, he came to an icy stream. Lifting his head after drinking his fill, he flinched at the image in the water staring back at him: hollow cheeks beneath a frost-tinged beard, and eyes wild, blood-shot. The pace he’d set in eluding his pursuers had taken its toll, more than he realized.

Rising to his feet, he attempted to club some life into his leaden body. Then suddenly, he tipped his head to the side, like a wolf sniffing something faint.
Tiwaz! Smoke!
he confirmed.

He followed its trace, cutting a cautious arc through the intervening forest. It wasn’t long before he discovered its source. Squinting through a break in the trees and saw a village in flames.

Buildings crackled angrily in the fires and the space between them was littered with butchered cattle. Aghast, he felt as if he’d been struck a blow to his guts. Memories of his village’s destruction shunted into his mind and with them the urge to rip and kill.

A nearby trail cut a slash into the forest, and a column of Roman cavalry took shape, escorting a number of wagons packed with women, crying children, and old men.

Guntram watched, livid, as the vanguard rode from sight. A mounted officer brought up the rear, his distinctive head-plume in plain view. The burning settlement appeared deserted and left Guntram puzzling on the whereabouts of the younger men. He drew his sword, and then smiled, doubting that he had the strength to use it.

He waited long moments after the officer disappeared along the curve of the trail before stepping from cover. He headed in the direction of the settlement, desperate to find some food.

He was brought to a startled halt when a Roman horse-soldier reined up in front of him, his mount rising up on hind legs in response to the wrench on its bridle.

Guntram watched the Roman quickly calm the beast. He stood ready, his sword shaking in his hand. For still moments the two stared at each other, silent, before Guntram plunged into the cold forest.

*

The taste of muddy water in his mouth caused him to shake his head, spit. Guntram tilted his face to the drizzle, realizing that he’d collapsed and passed out. Groaning, he managed to push himself onto his back, and then using his elbows he propped himself up into a half-sitting position.

He was unsure of how much time had passed since the burning village...and the horse-soldier. Frowning, he tried to picture him. There was a flicker of something recalled, but it was too vague to get back.

He peered between swollen eye-lids. A pale sun climbed above the tree-line into a slate sky. Ahead, he saw that the forest began to thin out, with scattered tree stumps bearing the mark of an axe. His breathing quickened.
A village could be close! I must get to my feet!
He struggled onto his knees.

Then he heard them.

They stepped from the curtain of trees towards him, their faces set with twisted smiles, their long swords drawn. He tried to draw his own sword, but his arms felt like stone.

The nearest of the Gauls touched his cheek with the notched edge of his blade; a cruel taunt. Grinning, he lifted it high for the killing blow.

Guntram met the Gaul’s look and then closed his eyes. Picturing Chayna’s face he waited for the pain to come...

* * *

Chapter XLI

ARMINIUS

“Wise men learn much from their enemies.”

Caesar Augustus

A flute played softly and delicate brass cymbals tinkled on the fingers of dancing girls. The scent of perfume and oils was strong in the sultry air of the massive tent, and the rich carpets bore the stains of wine, meat juices and various fruits crushed underfoot. Governor Varus was in excellent humour.

Arminius caught the Governor’s eye, who then beckoned him to his couch.

“Sit here, Prince Arminius,” Varus welcomed, patting one of the cushions. “Does the feast remind you of your time in Rome?”

“Yes, it does,” Arminius said, smiling. “You have a talent for such things my lord. Even in Rome it would be difficult to match.”

“Thank you.” Varus leaned back on his couch, looking pleased, relaxed. “I’ve endeavoured to make this evening an enjoyable one.”

Arminius thought the Governor carried his fifty-four years well, his hawk-like face accentuated by dark, piercing eyes. A balding pate was ringed by closely cut silver hair, and his expensively acquired paunch was barely discernable.

“Before we discuss more pleasant matters, I would like to know how the German auxiliaries have reacted to the burning of the settlement?” Varus asked, his face serious.

“My people are an emotional race,” Arminius replied. “They have little culture and are often driven by their feelings alone. Naturally, the burning of the village doesn’t sit well with some of them.”

“Will there be trouble?”

“There will be no trouble,” Arminius said firmly.

“Some of my advisors say that it would be easy to start a rebellion.” Varus studied him over the rim of his wine cup. “Would it?”

“Easy perhaps,” he answered, his expression unchanging, “but foolish.”

“Excellent. The answer I wanted to hear; the Roman answer,” Varus said, still scrutinising his face. “Sometimes when we talk Arminius, I wonder, that after all the years you’ve served me...are you completely Romanised?”

“I know that five years ago I was a barbarian,” he answered, his look careful. “Rome has opened my eyes to the world and taught me many things: new languages, customs, military tactics and the different ways to fight one’s enemies.”