Silus waved as he caught Odo’s eye on the far side of the pavilion. Odo smiled and waved back. Beside him Oclatinius exchanged a look with Atius that Silus couldn’t read, and he felt an unease for which he couldn’t quite pinpoint the source.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘What?’ replied Atius.
Silus turned back to Odo. He was seated on a bench next to his father Boda, about halfway back in the audience. Not the most important of the Alamanni, not the least. Odo nudged his father and pointed to Silus, and Boda lifted his hand in a salute which Silus returned. Seeing them together gave Silus a pang of guilt. He was sure they wouldn’t approve, if they knew about him and Ima. But he had nothing to really be sorry for. Ima had seduced him, after all. Twice. And though he still thought about his wife every day, she had been dead a long time now.
Still, there was a nagging feeling that he had somehow let Odo down, and for reasons that weren’t clear to him, the boy’s approval felt important.
The general chatter died down as Caracalla entered the pavilion, followed by Julia Domna and Macrinus and four of his German bodyguard. The Germans chosen over the usual Praetorians at important conferences to impress the gathered Alamanni, no doubt. Politics over ceremony.
Caracalla walked to the raised seat that had been prepared for him, but remained standing. He waited until Domna and Macrinus were seated, then spoke.
‘My friends of the Alemmani confederation, greetings. To all you chiefs and leaders and noble warriors, I bid you welcome to the part of Germania that belongs to Rome.’
There was a smattering of polite applause. Silus thought he detected an air of caution amongst the Alamanni, willing to hear what Caracalla had to say, but reserving judgement on whether to accept it or not.
‘Rome and the tribes of Germania have a long history of warfare and strife,’ continued Caracalla. ‘Since the Teutones and Cimbri first clashed with the Roman Republic, and were defeated by Gaius Marius, through the time of your famous victory under Arminius against Varus in the Teutoburg forest, to a time within living memory when the Marcomanni fought our great Emperor Marcus Aurelius, Rome and Germania have struggled along our mutual border.
‘This has brought great suffering and destruction. Armies on both sides have been massacred and enslaved. It drains our resources when we both have problems elsewhere.
‘I have recently defeated the tribes of Caledonia, in a tremendous victory for which I was awarded the title Britannicus Maximus. And soon I must march to the opposite end of the empire, to deal with the troublesome Parthians. It would help Rome and myself greatly to know there was a settled border along the Rhenus.
‘For your part, I know you want no war with Rome. Yet not all the tribes of Germania feel the same. The Chatti and the tribes at the mouth of the Albis river plot against us, and against you. They resent your romanisation, your closeness to the Empire, and they wish to crush you just as much as they wish to drive us from our territories in Germania, maybe all the way back to Rome.’
There was a general murmur of agreement among the Alemmani leaders, though a minority shook their heads and muttered angrily.
‘Noble chiefs, the Chatti and their allies are our common enemy. I propose today an alliance between the Alamanni confederacy, and their true friend, myself, Imperator Caesar Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus Pius Augustus Britannicus Maximus, on behalf of the senate and people of Rome.’
This now brought cheers of approval from the majority of the audience, though some remained sullen and silent.
‘Together, we shall join forces, and crush the Chatti. I will then depart for my war in the east, and the Alamanni will rule Germania Magna as the unrivalled power in the region. What say you?’
There was a long pause, then a grey-haired, stooped man who had been seated on the front row got slowly to his feet. Though he obviously spoke Latin well, with only a light Germanic accent, his voice was hesitant and slow.
‘Augustus, I thank you on behalf of the Alamanni confederation for inviting us here today. I am Chnodomar, son of Serapio, son of Chnodomar. The chiefs and princes of the tribes of the Alamanni elected myself and Suabgast as joint Paramount Kings of the confederacy. After Suabgast’s unfortunate accident yesterday, I find myself in the troubling situation of having to speak for the whole of the Alamanni alone.’
At the mention of Suabgast’s name, Silus’ heart suddenly started pounding, and he felt a drop of sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The thought that anyone would notice his discomfort made him sweat even more, not helped by some angry, disbelieving mutters at the mention of an accident. Still, they remained in the minority. Obviously enough believed that Suabgast’s death had not been deliberate to keep the peace talks on track, and that was what mattered. And no one seemed to have noticed Silus’ sudden outbreak of perspiration. Oclatinius put a calming hand on his forearm. He took a deep breath, and his racing pulse began to slow.
‘It is no secret that Suabgast had doubts about an alliance with Rome. His family suffered in the Marcomanni wars, and it was hard for him to adjust. My grandfather too fought against your Emperor Marcus Aurelius. But I was taught at his knee that the Romans are men of honour, men of their word, and though they may be fierce and ruthless in battle, their dignity and honesty is more important to them than their lives.
‘I will do nothing without the agreement of the princes and chiefs with me today, but I tell you now that my desire is to accept your proposal for peace.’ He turned to the seated conference delegates behind him. ‘What say you? If you wish for peace, stand.’
For a moment, no one moved, an obvious reluctance to show the roll of the dice too soon. Then Odo stood, and yelled, ‘I am for peace!’
Boda looked at his son with an expression equal parts exasperation and admiration. Then he stood as well, and with a hand on Odo’s shoulder announced, ‘I, too, am for peace.’
Their declarations broke the dam, and soon most of the chiefs, princes and minor nobles from all the tribes of the Alamanni were standing and declaring themselves for peace with Rome, amid cheers and clapping on their backs. A significant minority remained seated, glowering and cursing, but it was clear what the majority decision was.
Chnodomar turned back to Caracalla.
‘On behalf of all the people of the Alamanni, I accept your offer of an alliance.’
‘I ask you then,’ said Caracalla, ‘to summon your warriors. Bring them here, outside the walls of Colonia, ready for war, in seven days. That day, we will feast as brothers. And then, as one, we will march on the Chatti, and defeat them utterly.’
The Alamanni chiefs cheered and Chnodomar bowed his head. ‘It shall be so.’
Caracalla smiled broadly, and for a brief moment, the deep lines in his forehead disappeared. He stepped forward and took Chnodomar’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. The meeting broke up as the delegates, at least those in favour of the outcome, mingled with the Romans and their German bodyguards. Those who didn’t approve slunk quietly away.
Odo and Boda came over to Silus, who had been standing near the back of the pavilion next to the ever watchful Oclatinius.
‘How does a lowly soldier like you get invited to an important peace conference like this?’ said Boda.
Odo gave his father a backhand slap on the arm. ‘He is not a lowly soldier. He is one of the Arcani, and you know it.’
Boda’s grin showed that he did know it, and had been teasing Silus, although Silus himself wondered what made Oclatinius invite him along to these sort of events. Oclatinius had told him in the past that it was part of his ongoing education, to be familiar with the politics and strategies of the Empire, but Silus always felt out of place, that at any moment someone would turn to him and ask what he thought he was doing there. As Boda just had, albeit in jest.
‘Oclatinius, this is my father Boda. Father, this is Oclatinius,’ said Odo. ‘He is the head of the Arcani.’
‘The secret organisation, the Arcani, you mean,’ admonished Oclatinius, though he was smiling. In truth, though the organisation of the Arcani kept a low profile, and its members tried to be discreet, most of the army and the politicians of Rome had heard of the Arcani, feared them, and only spoke of them in whispers, if at all. Which meant it could be very useful to announce that one was an Arcanus, from time to time. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Boda. Silus has told me how brave and resourceful your son has been. I thought he would be. I have an eye for talent. Maybe one day, he will become an Arcanus himself.’
Odo blushed, his skin visibly reddening between the spots and the wispy tufts of his beard. ‘And you know Atius,’ he said, trying to cover up his embarrassment.
‘Of course,’ said Boda, and offered his hand. Atius hesitated, then shook it perfunctorily.
‘Are you staying in Colonia?’ asked Silus, throwing a glare at Atius.
‘We will return home tomorrow,’ said Boda, ‘and gather our men for war. The planting is done, and if the gods will it, we will be home long before harvest.’
‘Then tonight we will drink and gamble in the finest taverns in Colonia,’ said Silus.
‘I would love to join you,’ said Oclatinius. ‘But I have some reports to write, I am afraid.’
‘Well, you will have to make do with the company of myself and Atius,’ said Silus.
‘I can’t come either,’ said Atius.
Silus looked at Atius. He had never known him to turn down a drink.
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not feeling well.’
Silus thought he should backtrack and tell Odo and his father that on reflection he too would be unavailable, so he could find out what was wrong with Atius, whether it was an ailment of his body or soul. But he felt a resentment towards his old friend. Ever since his rescue, he had been moody and withdrawn, and while it was understandable to some extent, Silus could not comprehend or countenance his rudeness towards Odo, who had been an essential part of the effort to rescue him and save his life.
‘Fine, just me,’ said Silus. ‘But don’t worry. I have a nose for trouble. By the end of the evening we will be bruised, drunk and broke.’
Boda laughed. ‘That sounds like my type of celebration.’
‘With your permission, Oclatinius, Boda, I will take my leave,’ said Atius.
Silus watched him go, then shrugged his shoulders. He would come round in time. Tonight he was going to have fun. And try not to think about Ima, as he got drunk with her brother and father.
‘You sent for us, sir.’
Oclatinius, seated at his desk, ignored Silus and Atius standing before him. He stared intently at the markings on a wax tablet before him. Silus tried to peek at the writing, but as far as he could see, it made no sense. Just random Latin words. Some kind of code, he guessed, from one element of Oclatinius’ web of spies. He shuffled his feet impatiently.
Oclatinius looked up. ‘Am I keeping you from something?’ he asked testily.
‘No, sir. Itchy foot.’
Oclatinius looked back down at the tablet, and Silus had the distinct impression he was no longer reading, just making Silus wait to annoy him. Eventually, he tossed the tablet aside.
‘I’ve got a job for you both.’
It wasn’t a shock; that was the usual reason for Oclatinius to summon them. But Silus wasn’t in the mood for more killing. So it was a pleasant surprise when Oclatinius said, ‘I need you to take a message to Mogontiacum.’
‘A message. What sort of message?’
‘A secret one.’ He handed Silus a scroll, with a wax seal. ‘Take this to the camp prefect in the Castra. You leave straight away.’
‘But… the Alamanni warriors arrive the day after tomorrow. There is the feast and celebration of the new alliance.’
‘Do I need to give you a reason why this message is urgent?’ asked Oclatinius acidly.
‘Well, it would be nice.’ That was the sort of rejoinder Atius would have usually made, Silus realised. Atius just stood in silence, making no indication he was even listening.
‘Just do as you are told, centurion.’
Silus took the scroll and saluted formally. ‘Yes, sir. Right away, sir.’
‘Get out.’
Silus strode out of Oclatinius’ office, fuming.
‘What are we, contractors for the cursus publicus now?’ he said.
Atius shrugged. ‘It’s something to do, isn’t it?’
Silus glared at him. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ He sighed. ‘Come on, let’s go and find horses. It’s well over a hundred miles. I guess we won’t be going to the party.’
Silus took a glug from his cup of beer and looked across the table at Atius, who was toying listlessly with his food. They had covered good ground in the day and a half since they had left Colonia, riding at a steady pace, leaving them half a day from Mogontiacum. They’d stopped as night fell to change their horses at one of the stations of the cursus publicus, before finding a tavern. Silus tried again to make conversation, though he was on the verge of giving up and going to bed.
‘Caracalla may bring Tituria back from exile,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ said Atius. And then as an afterthought, ‘That’s good.’
‘Is that all you have to say?’
Atius looked up from his plate, surprised.
‘What?’
‘I just told you that Tituria might be going back to Rome. The little girl who has been imprisoned on that forsaken island all this time. Whose family I killed, and which I feel guilty about every day. And all you say is, “that’s good!”’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I don’t know. Anything. Something to show me that you give a shit. Something to show me that the Atius who left Lipari to go back to work for the Arcani, who laughed and drank and fucked everything that moved, is still alive, and didn’t fucking die in Germania.’
His voice had got louder and higher as he spoke, and he realised that his eyes had filled with tears, and they were overflowing down his cheeks. But he didn’t care.
‘You are my best friend. Close as a brother. I love you. But you are gone. I feel like I’m grieving for you, even when you are right in front of me.’
Atius’ eyes were sorrowful. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being distant. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
‘Then talk to me. You used to be able to tell me anything. Whether it was which girl you were chasing, or doubts about your faith.’
‘I… I can’t.’
‘Is it what they did to you when you are in captivity? I get it. I get it was horrible. But you are tough, you can bounce back.’
‘What do you know about it?’
‘You think I haven’t suffered? You forgot I watched my wife and daughter die?’
‘No, but…’ Atius sighed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not that anyway.’
‘What then?’
Atius took a deep drink. ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter any more. By the time we return, it will be all over.’
A chill settled over Silus. ‘All over? What will be all over? What are you talking about?’
Atius pursed his lips.
‘Don’t hate me.’
Silus didn’t move, didn’t speak. His throat felt like it was threatening to close, to shut off his air supply. His eyes were locked on Atius’ eyes, unwavering.
Atius swallowed. ‘This mission is horseshit. Look at the message.’
Silus reached into his pack and drew out the scroll Oclatinius had handed him. He looked down at the wax seal doubtfully. The thought of opening it made him shiver, so ingrained was the prohibition against breaking an official seal. But Atius was scaring him. He broke the wax with his thumb and tore open the papyrus scroll. He read the message, then read it again. He turned the scroll over to check he hadn’t missed something written on the other side. Then he read it one more time, to be sure.
‘What the fuck is this?’
‘What does it say?’
‘It says, “Please thank the bearer of this message, and send him back to me. O.”’
Atius nodded. ‘I thought it would be something along those lines.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Come on, Silus, you’re not stupid.’
‘He wanted us out of the way?’
‘Not us. You. I’m just babysitting you.’
‘What’s going to happen?’
Atius put his palm over his lower face, covering his mouth.
‘Come on,’ said Silus impatiently. ‘You’ve got this far.’
Atius took a deep breath, and told him. Silus stared as he spoke, disbelieving. When he had finished, Silus sat in stunned silence. When he could speak, his words were little more than a whisper.
‘How long have you known?’
‘Since before I was captured.’
Silus shook his head in disbelief.
‘I can’t let this happen.’
‘It’s too late. By the time you get there it will be all over.’
‘I’ve got to try.’
‘I can’t let you.’
‘You think you could stop me?’ Silus’ voice was a growl.
‘Before… everything. Yes, I could have stopped you. Now?’ He looked down at himself, a shadow of the powerful, muscular man he had once been. ‘Probably not.’
‘Then don’t bother trying.’ Silus stood abruptly, his stool tipping over backwards with a clatter. ‘I’m going to see how fast these cursus publicus horses really are. As for you,’ he pointed his finger, so the tip was only an inch from Atius’ eye. His mouth worked as he tried out cutting phrases, and discarded them unspoken. ‘Just stay away from me,’ he said eventually.
Atius looked down into his beer, and did not look up again until Silus had strode out, slamming the door behind him.
He knew he would be too late, even as he rode at breakneck speed down the cobbled road. He stopped at every station of the cursus publicus along the way, leaping from the saddle of his sweating, breathless mount and shouting for a slave to bring him a fresh one, before galloping off into the night once more. There were few travellers on the road at night, the occasional farmer taking his vegetables to market, some richer merchants with tough, scarred veterans as bodyguards. Once, two bandits tried to stop him, standing in the middle of the road with swords drawn, signalling for him to halt. He rode them down, their screams as they writhed, clutching at broken limbs, fading into the distance.
But it wasn’t enough. The sun rose, casting a beautiful fire across the underside of the low cloud in the east, and it continued higher as the mile markers to Colonia counted down with painful slowness. He had covered more miles faster than ever in his life. But the gathering was at noon. He wouldn’t make it.
The sun must have been at its zenith when he reached the city gate. He raced through, yelling at the startled guards that he was on urgent business for the Emperor. The streets were emptier than usual, with conspicuously fewer soldiers marching and parading. Fewer citizens too. Many of them were former soldiers themselves, and had a nose for trouble, and had holed up with their families in their homes until whatever was about to happen had happened. He rode straight for the governor’s villa, Caracalla’s headquarters. The guards on duty were more diligent than those at the city gates and when he dismounted and tried to enter, they barred his way.
‘Stand aside,’ he said, breathless and weak-kneed.
‘State your business,’ said one of the guards, a Praetorian in immaculate uniform.
‘I’m an Arcanus. Here to see the Emperor.’
He had no idea what he was going to say to Caracalla. He hoped inspiration would come. Maybe he would just get on his knees and beg. But the opportunity did not arise anyway.
‘He’s not here.’
The voice came from within the palace. He looked beyond the guards and saw Oclatinius walking towards him.
‘You,’ growled Silus. ‘You knew about this. You sent me away because you knew I would try to stop it. In fact, I bet this was all your idea.’
Oclatinius shook his head sadly. ‘No, this was all down to him. I can’t take the credit. Or the blame.’
‘Just tell me where.’
‘You can’t do anything.’
‘I have to try.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? Because…’ He wasn’t sure he could put it into words. Maybe it was just because someone had to. And of course, there was Odo. ‘Because it’s wrong.’
‘You think you know better than the Emperor what is right and wrong?’
‘I know that for sure. Now tell me where it’s happening, Oclatinius, or I swear to all the gods on Olympus I will never work for you for the rest of my life.’
Oclatinius shrugged. ‘You will only be in time to be a witness.’
‘If that’s all I can be, I will be that.’
Oclatinius passed his hand over his eyes, and it suddenly struck Silus how old the spymaster was. He sighed.
‘To the north-east of the city, about two miles out, there is a valley, with a small tributary of the Rhenus flowing through it. In the floodplain at the bottom, the warriors of the tribes of the Alamanni will be celebrating their new alliance with Rome.’
Silus opened his mouth, but he could not bring himself to thank him. Maybe Oclatinius wasn’t responsible. But he had certainly done nothing to stop this. He turned on his heel, grabbed his horse’s reins, remounted and kicked his heels into its flanks. The horse leapt into motion again, heading back for the city gates.
The gathered warriors of the Alamanni confederacy should have been an impressive sight. Tall, broad, fearsome looking. Not the sort of men you would want to be looking at from the pointed end of a sword. And present in vast numbers too. Seeing them all together in one place like this truly impressed on Silus how vast the Alamanni people were. And of course, many of the tribes remained at home, protecting their families from other tribes and predators, working the fields or making weapons and tools. On top of that, the Alamanni were just one of the many conglomerations of barbarians that inhabited Germania beyond the Empire’s borders. United against Rome, they could be unstoppable.
But now they had come in peace. Unarmoured, unarmed, feasting, in friendship with their new allies. And noticeably drunk.
The smell of roasting meat hung over the gathering. The number of oxen and sheep slaughtered to feed this mass must have been vast. The Roman hosts seemed remarkably few in number, but they mingled with their guests, the slaves providing food and wine, and serving too as the object of various clumsy, unpleasant and unwanted attempts at seduction. A few Roman soldiers circulated as well, mainly centurions and officers, dressed in their uniforms, and armed. No doubt the Alamanni had been told their swords were purely for ceremonial purposes.
At the far end of the meeting place, opposite from where Silus had arrived, sat Caracalla, mounted on a pristine white gelding, flanked by mounted Praetorians. He was too far away for Silus to make out his features, but he could picture the creased forehead, frowning out at the revellers.
Silus tied his horse to a tree, and thrust his way into the throng of bodies. Despite what Oclatinius and Atius had said, despite his own misgivings, it looked like he really was in time. He would throw himself on Caracalla’s mercy. Use reason, begging, threats, blackmail. Anything.
He pushed forward, thrusting bulky bodies aside, earning curses and shoves. Progress towards the Emperor was painfully slow.
‘Clear the way,’ he yelled. ‘Stand aside.’
The Germans gave him curious stares. And suddenly he realised the Romans had gone. Not the slaves, of course, they still served, and were molested, oblivious. No one cared about them. But the Roman soldiers had slipped away, none to be seen. Silus, right in the centre of the mass of bodies, stood on his tiptoes, peering over the tall heads.
And then he saw them.
To the north, quietly, with perfect discipline, row upon row of legionaries had formed up on the slope of the hill, perpendicular to the river. He looked west and south and saw the same. The only place where no Roman soldiers stood was the riverbank, the fast-flowing water forming a natural barrier. He felt ice in his chest.
There was no stopping it now. All he could do was find Odo.
He grabbed the nearest German. ‘Odo. Have you seen Odo? Boda, Ewald?’ The barbarian looked at him with incomprehension, and replied in German. Frantic, Silus pushed through the crowd, craning his head this way and that.
‘Odo,’ he yelled. ‘Odo!’
His shouting drew some attention, even over the singing and laughter of the feasting Alamanni. One tapped his shoulder and pointed. ‘Odo.’
Silus saw his young friend, talking politely to a Roman slave girl, who was looking downwards demurely, maybe enjoying his company, maybe just relieved she hadn’t been dragged away for the amusement of some barbarian brute.
Silus grabbed his arm.
‘Silus!’ Odo embraced him, squeezed hard. The boy was not drunk. That was a small mercy. Silus prised Odo’s arms off him, and gripped his shoulders.
‘Odo, where is your father? Where is your brother?’
Odo frowned in puzzlement. ‘I don’t know. Father took Ewald and went to talk to his cousin. I stayed here because…’ He looked at the slave girl and reddened.
Silus looked across to Caracalla, then around at the soldiers. They were in position now, ready, waiting patiently. There was no time.
‘Listen to me. I have a very important mission. It’s vital to the safety of Rome and the Alamanni. But you must come with me right now. Understand?’
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘No time to explain. Follow me.’
Silus gripped Odo’s wrist, and dragged him through the warriors, east towards the river.
Some of the Germans noticed the legionaries now, and looked around in puzzlement, pointing them out to their colleagues. An uneasy murmur rippled through the air.
‘Silus, what’s going on?’
‘Shut up. Keep moving.’
They reached the periphery of the throng, near the river. The bank sloped gently until reaching a steep edge, a ravine cut into the soil and rock. Only a few Alamanni had come this far from the party, most of them to urinate, defaecate, vomit, or fornicate. All of them now were looking towards the arrayed legionaries, their armour glinting as the sun broke through the scattered cloud. They pointed and muttered, their stances uneasy.
They reached the edge of the ravine, and Silus looked over a ten-foot drop into deep, fast-flowing water. He turned back and saw, in the distance, Caracalla draw his sword and raise it above his head. The murmuring raised in pitch as the consternation increased.
‘Silus, I don’t like this,’ said Odo. ‘We should go back. My father…’
Caracalla swung his sword down in a slashing motion, and with a roar, the legionaries broke into a run.
There was instant chaos. The vulnerable Germans, weaponless and armoured only in linen and wool, ran in all directions at once. Some, the majority, ran towards the swords. Others ran away, searching for family and friends, or simply in blind panic. There was no leadership. None of the elders or warleaders imposed their authority on the mob. Silus suddenly understood his mission to assassinate Suabgast. Maybe he could have organised the Alamanni with their large numbers to fight back, even unarmed as they were. But there was now no one present with the authority and the force of will to turn these individual warriors into an army.
Odo was staring in disbelief.
‘Silus, I don’t understand. Why are they doing this?’
Silus thought he knew. Caracalla saw the Alamanni as a threat, a cooperation between traditionally uncooperative tribes, who now possessed the numbers and power to threaten Rome. Like the Marcomanni two generations before. Like the Caledonians and Maeatae only a couple of years ago. Caracalla was eliminating the threat, and he was doing it in a way that maximised his chances and minimised his costs.
The first line of legionaries crashed into the warriors charging against them. The angry shouts and jeers changed instantly to screams and howls. Gladii stabbed, piercing soft flesh, withdrawing, stabbing again. Interlocked shields formed an impenetrable wall that the barbarians broke against. Bodies fell, were trampled as the line of legionaries advanced, the rear lines stabbing down to finish off the wounded.
Here and there, a solitary, brave German, or a handful working together, managed to tear a shield away, to grab a spear or sword and turn it on their treacherous attackers. Such resistance was fleeting, the courageous fighters cut down within moments.
Silus looked at Odo. He was still as a rabbit before a fox. His face was pale, his mouth an O.
‘Father,’ he whispered. ‘Ewald.’
And then, without warning, his paralysis broke, and he darted forward.
Silus caught his arm.
‘No, Odo.’
Odo struggled, but in his shock and panic was ineffectual, and Silus kept his grip firm. ‘Odo, you can’t do anything. You can’t save them.’
Silus’ words had the opposite effect than intended. Odo’s struggles redoubled, and he kicked back into Silus’ shin, a painful thrust with his heel that felt like it had come close to shattering the bone. Silus cried out and his grip loosened. Odo pulled himself free, made to run. Silus dived on him, wrestling him to the ground.
‘Get off me. Get off me, curse you.’ His fists beat against Silus, no real strength behind them, but enough to make it hard for Silus to keep control.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Silus. Then he punched Odo hard in the side of the head.
There wasn’t sufficient force to knock him unconscious – a blow of that power could as easily kill as knock someone out. But it was enough to daze him, subdue the youngster. Odo went limp, struggling weakly. Silus lifted himself off his young friend and looked around. The small number of Alamanni who had been nearby had scattered, some towards the battle, some away. A few had dived into the river and were swimming away. Silus picked Odo up in his arms and carried him to the ravine. He sat him, still stuporous, on the edge, and slapped him lightly around the face.
Odo’s eyes focused, and he stared at Silus in dazed confusion.
‘Can you swim?’
‘You son of a cheap whore,’ said Odo, voice slurred. ‘Liar. Betrayer!’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ He pushed Odo firmly, and the young boy toppled over the edge with a cry, cut off as he disappeared into the freezing water. Silus watched for a moment that seemed to drag out, until his friend, who now hated him, surfaced, waving his arms and spluttering.
Silus gave him a sad wave. ‘I really am sorry.’ He watched for a moment longer, then turned his back and walked towards the carnage.