‘This is a reversal of fortune,’ said Maglorix.
Silus squinted up at him through eyes that were closing up with swelling bruises. They were tied up in Maglorix’s tent, Atius and Silus bound hand and foot with constricting ropes. Menenius had been brought in too, but though he was also bound, this seemed redundant as he showed no evidence of having any fight in him.
The first rays of dawn were illuminating the animal skin tent. Some sun at last, suggesting that finer weather was finally coming to this miserable land. Silus regarded Maglorix balefully.
‘Why are we still alive?’
‘Silus, my people are embarking on a great campaign. We will punish the Romans for their depredations and atrocities. Their occupation of our lands, the burning of our crops, the slaughter of our tribes. We march in a few days. It will be glorious.’
‘You were slaughtered last year,’ said Silus. ‘Why do you think it will be different this time?’
‘Because you Romans always think the same. Severus or one of his sons will react to my provocation by dispatching a powerful force north. My scouts will track its path – there will be no hiding the march of an army of that size. In a week, it will be deep in Caledonia, being harried by small bands of warriors. And we will bypass it. While your legions chase their tales in the north, looking for a fight, my men will move south and destroy everything in our way, all the way down to the Emperor’s palace in Eboracum.’
Silus’ heart beat faster. If Severus or Caracalla led the legions deep into Caledonia, then Eboracum would be all but defenceless. Yes, there would be a garrison, but the size of the Maeatae force that Maglorix had gathered around him, not to mention the Caledonians, would be unstoppable without the legions. It would be a massacre.
‘That still doesn’t explain why you haven’t killed us yet,’ said Silus.
‘I would not have so much pride as to embark on a campaign such as this without a blessing from the gods. And what better way to ensure their blessing than by offering them the blood and flesh of our enemies?’
Silus went cold. Human sacrifice was not common among the Celtic tribes, but it was certainly not unheard of in times of strife or war. Sometimes the victims were criminals. Sometimes they were the diseased and infirm. And sometimes they were enemies and prisoners. So this was why Menenius had been kept alive, and why Silus and Atius were spared.
‘This is Lon, my tribe’s Chief druid,’ said Maglorix. ‘He can explain more. I think your sacrifice will be so much sweeter if you have some time to anticipate it.’
Silus looked at the man standing behind Maglorix’s right shoulder, taking in his druidic hairstyle. Lon wore a long scarlet robe with gold embroidery and a gold torc around his neck and carried a wooden staff with a bell tied to the end. He looked down at the three prisoners gravely.
‘Tonight will be the full moon. We had meant to sacrifice this one’ – he indicated Menenius – ‘to Teutates, the god of the tribe. But now the Aos-sídhe have seen fit to provide us with a more powerful sacrifice for the war gods. At midnight, the three of you will undergo the triple sacrifice to Teutates the Tribe, Esus the Lord and Taranis the god of Thunder.’
‘Have you heard of the triple sacrifice, Roman?’ asked Maglorix. ‘It is a very powerful magic. Three men – criminals, prisoners, enemies – are sacrificed, one to each of the three high war gods, each in a different way. To Teutates, the chief of your fort here will be made a sacrifice by drowning. To Esus, your odd-looking friend here will give his life by burning. And you, Roman, slayer of my father, betrayer of the natives of this land, you will be hanged from a tree and the skin delicately sliced from your body.’
Silus’ bowels and bladder loosened, but he was too terrified of the awful punishment to feel shame. Being flayed alive was surely one of the most terrible ways to die.
‘Just kill us,’ said Silus. ‘Please.’ Now the shame came. What would Velua and Sergia say now if they saw him, bound, soiled, begging for a merciful end? But he couldn’t help it. Courage failed him completely now.
Maglorix laughed. ‘Tonight, Lon will command his Vates to perform the sacrifices while he performs the rituals, and my men will see the proud, invincible Romans for the weaklings they really are, and the bards will sing across the land that the end of the Romans is near. I wish we could begin the fight tomorrow, but we are still waiting for the Caledonians to arrive. Just one more week, and we march!’ He turned and walked out, Lon following close behind him.
‘What did he say?’ asked Atius, his voice high with desperation.
They were alone except for a single guard, a young, serious-looking warrior who seemed honoured to be chosen for the task. A couple more guards stood outside at the entrance to the tent. That was all. Why waste more guards on these three pathetic men?
Silus tested his bonds but they were secure, and they were tied to stakes planted deep into the soil, far enough apart so they couldn’t reach each other’s ropes. They were in the middle of an enemy camp, friendless and alone. No hope of rescue. Every man sympathetic to their cause within a score of miles was tied up helpless on the floor of this tent.
‘Tell me,’ pressed Atius. Should he burden his friend with knowledge of their fate? They had a whole day to contemplate it. Atius surely knew he was going to die. How would telling him the time and manner help him?
Silus told Atius about Maglorix’s plan to attack Eboracum.
Atius looked grave, but wasn’t satisfied.
“What else?”
‘It was just taunting,’ said Silus. ‘Nothing of substance.’
‘Quiet,’ said the guard, in Brittonic, looking unsettled that he didn’t understand their Latin. Atius ignored him.
‘Don’t lie to me, Silus. I have never seen such terror in your eyes.’
Silus looked away, unable to meet his friend’s accusatory stare.
‘Silus? Is that you?’
Silus looked around in surprise to see Menenius with his eyes open, squinting in his direction.
‘Prefect?’
Menenius blinked, then noticed Atius.
‘Atius. My daughter.’ His voice cracked. His mouth worked, and he swallowed twice. ‘Menenia is safe?’
Atius nodded. ‘Safe in Eboracum, Prefect.’
Menenius let out a sigh of relief. ‘I never hoped… to have news. I thank you, more than you could ever know.’
Menenius tested his bonds weakly. There was not the slightest give. ‘So, it is to be…’ He took a breath. ‘It is to be the tripartite death.’
‘How do you know that?’ snapped Silus.
‘You don’t serve on the northern border of Britannia for thirty years without picking up a little of the local vocabulary.’
‘What is the tripartite death?’ demanded Atius.
Silus looked at Menenius uncertainly.
‘He has a right to know what awaits him.’
Silus wasn’t so sure, but Menenius had opened the drawstrings, so he had no choice now but to empty the bag.
‘It’s a ritual. A different death for each of us. Menenius will be drowned and you will be burned.’
Atius paled, and was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘And you?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It can’t be changed.’
‘I’ll pray—’
‘Spare me,’ spat Silus. ‘There will be no miracle rescue.’
‘That wasn’t what I was going to pray for. I was going to pray for courage in the face of death.’
Silus glared at him, then let his head droop and he stared at the earth floor.
Failure. Torture. Death. His family dead. His comrades, even his Emperor, under threat of being wiped out. What good had he done in his life? He thought of the woman whose rape he had interrupted, whose rapist he had killed, just hours ago. Maybe saving her balanced the scales in his favour, just a little.
The entrance to the tent was swept open. The guard stood to one side, his spear rigidly vertical. Lon entered and announced, ‘You are all to be fed and watered. To be a worthy sacrifice, you must go to the gods in good health. Enid, come.’ He held the flap aside and a woman entered with a tray of bread and water. Silus, still looking downwards, noticed she was walking stiffly. He looked up and his heart fell. It was the woman whose rapist he had killed. The one he had thought he had saved. The only good thing he thought was going to come out of this disastrous mission.
She was still enslaved.
Lon and the guard watched attentively as Enid got to her knees before Menenius, and offered him water from a clay cup. She was slight, freckled, with long red hair. Her face was blank, just as it had been when Silus had first seen her the previous night. Menenius took a small sip, swallowed, coughed, then took a deeper draught. When he had emptied the cup, she fed him some bread and nuts, taking care to give him time to chew and swallow. Then she moved to Atius and, after refilling the cup from a jug, did the same. He drank the water, but refused the food, no doubt too nauseous with terror to contemplate eating.
When she knelt before Silus and held the cup for him to drink, he paused and searched her green eyes. He couldn’t say anything, not with Lon watching. If the druid realised she was involved in the death of one of the warriors, even involuntarily, her punishment would be at least as bad as the one in store for him.
She was quiet as well, but her eyes held something he couldn’t read. Compassion? Regret? Or something else? She proffered the cup to Silus again, and he drank. Like Atius, he had no stomach for the food, and turned his head when she offered it. But he fixed his eyes on hers again, and she held his gaze with an intensity he couldn’t read. Then she stood, and Lon ushered her out of the tent, following after her without a backward glance. The guard took up his position again near the tent entrance.
The three condemned men sat in their bonds in silence, each alone with his own fears. Silus’ tried to focus on Sergia and Velua, but try as he would, he couldn’t suppress images of himself suspended by the neck, trying to draw breath to scream as they sliced his skin and peeled it back, exposing his raw flesh to the chill air. Panic was beginning to overwhelm him, and to stop himself from screaming and struggling madly and pointlessly at his ropes, he spoke to Menenius.
‘Prefect,’ he said, trying to keep his voice even. ‘What happened to you?’
Menenius looked off into the distance, but his eyes were unfocused. For some time he said nothing, and Silus was about to return to contemplating his own fate.
‘Atius, you saw it was hopeless,’ said the Prefect. “That there was nothing more we could do?’
Atius nodded. ‘You did everything in your power to hold the fort, Prefect. Even now, I feel guilty that you sent me away.’
‘You saved my daughter, Atius. You made sure something precious survived the destruction.’
Atius bowed his head, and Silus saw glistening in the corner of his eyes.
‘We saw the fort, on our way north,’ said Silus. ‘We could see where you made the last stand. And we found some bodies in the nearby woods, stripped and nailed up. We thought that you and Damanais were among them. The crows had made it… hard to be sure.’
‘I watched them nail Damanais up. I could still hear him cursing them as they rode away, taking me with them. Maglorix told me he had me marked for a more useful death.’
‘Sacrifice,’ said Atius glumly.
‘He never said. Many times over the last weeks he has threatened to kill me. Had me on the back of a pony beneath a tree with a rope around my neck. Had me held under water until I was sure I would drown. He once tied me to a broad tree trunk and had his warriors see how close they could fire their arrows at me without hitting me. Some failed. Once he even let me go, for his warriors to hunt me down. I was so weak by then I must have lasted less than an hour before their dogs found me. They savaged me before the warriors arrived… to save me.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. Then something seemed to occur to him.
‘Why are you here? You thought I was dead, so it wasn’t to save me.’
Silus looked to the tent entrance and lowered his voice.
‘We have orders from Caracalla himself. To kill Maglorix.’
‘Oh, what went wrong?’
Silus looked over at Atius, unwilling to blame his friend. Atius spoke instead.
‘It’s my fault. I was… distracted from the mission.’
‘I have… not been myself,’ said Menenius distantly. ‘I think they broke something inside me. But I remember… I remember you, Atius. You… killed my captor. You cut my bonds. You urged me to flee.’
Atius said nothing but looked distraught.
‘And I didn’t move, did I? I sat there like a bull stunned with a hammer before a sacrifice.’
‘I tried,’ said Atius. ‘I did everything I could to get you moving. I even told you Menenia was waiting for you.’
‘I’m seeing it now as if looking through fog. You pulled, you cajoled, you swore. And then… oh gods, then I cried for help, didn’t I?’
Atius stared down, and tears dropped to the ground.
‘Forgive me,’ said Menenius, his voice a hoarse whisper. ‘I brought the warriors down on your head. And they took Atius straight to Maglorix, and caught you too, Silus. Am I right?’
Silus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
‘Fortuna. What have I done?’
The day passed in a strange combination of boredom and terror. It was his last day alive, and Silus felt they should be having profound conversations about lives well lived, and the afterlife. But he could not bring himself to speak, and the others clearly felt the same. Each retreated into his own inner world to confront or hide from what awaited them that night.
The day was punctuated with two more visitations for food and drink. None of them ate, though they all drank, especially as the tent was becoming warm in the late spring sun. The drinks were brought each time by a different slave unaccompanied, just watched by the bored guard. Silus was relieved none of them were Enid; he didn’t want to be continually confronted with such a stark reminder of his failure. The guard remained silent throughout their captivity. Silus had expected taunting and mockery, but the young warrior was seemingly respectful of the status of the sacrificial victims.
The light leaking through the diaphanous tent walls brightened to a peak, then faded, until eventually darkness fell.
‘Three hours from sundown to midnight at this time of year,’ said Menenius.
‘I wonder when they will come for us,’ said Atius.
Silus remained silent. Menenius’ breathing was stertorous, and beyond, he could dimly make out the sounds of war songs and chants, laughter and cries of anger. All the usual sounds of a large gathering of warriors, killing time before the proper killing started.
The tent flap opened again, and a slave came through bearing drinks on a tray. This time it was Enid. Silus sighed. He didn’t want to see her. The guard looked at her with little interest, and then turned away, maybe lost in thoughts of the battle soon to come. Enid knelt before Silus, and he saw her draw something metallic from the folds of her tunic. Silus looked at the knife, then at her in surprise. In one smooth motion she rose, turned, and plunged the blade into the guard’s throat. She clamped her hand over his mouth to cover his gurgling cry. Silus feigned a loud coughing fit to cover up the sound, although there was plenty of noise from the revelling barbarians outside. The guard slid to the floor in a pool of blood.
Enid slipped over to Silus and disappeared behind him. He felt a sawing between his wrists, and then the ropes parted. Blood rushed back into his hands, and he was immediately gripped by a spasm of agonising little stabs in his fingers as the circulation returned. He flexed his fingers as she worked on the ropes at his legs.
The agony hit his feet just as Enid knelt before him and offered him the knife.
‘Enid,’ he gasped. ‘It’s too risky.’ She put a finger to her lips and held the knife out to him again. He rubbed his hands and gestured to Atius and Menenius, and she scurried over to free them too. When she returned, Silus stood, stiffly and uncertainly. She put a hand out to steady him.
‘Since the barbarians captured me,’ she whispered, ‘I have been less than an animal to them. You are the only one who has shown me concern.’
‘We are so grateful to you, Enid,’ said Silus. ‘I just wish you had run when you had the chance.’
‘Where would I run to? I could never get back to my own lands, a woman alone. But with you…’
Silus understood. She was freeing them not only out of undoubtedly genuine gratitude, but also to obtain her freedom.
‘It will be dangerous,’ said Silus. ‘But if you don’t slow us down, you can come with us, south. We are going to warn the Emperor so he can meet the threat. If we fail, the province will be at the mercy of the barbarians.’
‘I won’t slow you down,’ said Enid firmly. As Atius and Menenius gingerly got to their feet, Silus looked to his two comrades in silent consultation. They both nodded, their faces bearing a grim set.
‘Very well.’
‘We don’t have much time,’ said Enid. ‘They said they were going to come for you around an hour before midnight, to prepare you.’
‘So we have maybe a two hour head start,’ said Silus. ‘But they have horses and dogs.’
‘And we are in poor shape,’ said Atius, purposefully not looking at Menenius.
‘We can only try,’ said Silus. ‘But let’s agree one thing: not one of us will be taken alive, right?’
He looked in turn at each of the other three, and they all gave him a firm nod back.
‘Come then,’ she said. ‘Make a hole in the back of the tent. There are no guards there.’
Silus slit the canvas with the knife. Enid slipped out through the tear and into the night. The three Romans followed her.
Enid clearly knew her way around the camp, and leaving turned out to be an easier task than entering. This time they were not trying to find out Maglorix’s whereabouts or to kill him. The patrols, such as they were, were designed to detect people trying to enter, not leave, and the great holes in the fortress walls made it simple to find an unguarded exit.
Silus wondered briefly if he should return to his mission, and attempt to kill Maglorix. He rationalised that the information that he had about the attack was vital and getting back to Eboracum to warn the Emperor was now more important than killing the barbarian war leader. Deep down, though, he knew that Atius could complete that mission on his own, while Silus made an attempt on Maglorix. But he couldn’t take his mind off the hanging and flaying that awaited him if he was captured again. He burned with shame as they left the ruined great fortress behind, but that didn’t stop his legs wobbling with sheer relief.
Once they were a short distance from Inchtuthil, Silus took the lead from Enid. She may have known the camp, but these environs were as foreign to her as they were to the rest of them, and it was Silus’ job to find their way. First, he led them to where their packs were buried. They hastily clothed themselves and retrieved their knives and rations. Silus handed out some hard biscuits, but made it clear that they were to eat on the move.
The clear sky was a boon to navigation, though when he looked up to orient himself, he shivered at seeing the full moon glaring balefully down on them. Still, the light allowed them to move faster, and for now it was a blessing, although it may become a curse once the barbarians were closer on their tails.
Silus took them first to the nearest stream, then made them all walk downstream. The icy water numbed their feet, and they stumbled along the uneven, rocky bed, stubbing toes and stabbing their soles onto sharp points. Enid grumbled incessantly at the discomfort, but Silus was more worried about Menenius. Though he was silent and plodded forward with a fixed face and gritted teeth, Silus walked near him, offering a supporting arm whenever needed, which was often. Despite this, Menenius still managed to catch his foot on a submerged root, falling headlong into the water. Silus and Atius hauled him quickly upright, but he was now soaked to the skin and soon shivering uncontrollably.
Before long, both Silus and Atius were supporting him, one on either side with a hand under each elbow, guiding him like a blind man. Atius looked over at Silus, and Silus grimaced and gave a little shake of his head.
‘How long must we stay in this freezing water?’ asked Enid. ‘I can’t feel my feet any more.’
Silus considered. They had managed about a quarter of a mile and were now in thick woods. Although the stream would be doing a good job of masking their scent from the dogs and disguising their trail from the trackers, progress was slow, and they had no idea how long it would be until their absence was discovered and the hunt began.
‘It’s enough,’ he said. ‘It’s time to start getting some miles between us and the barbarians.’
Enid quickly scrambled out of the south-easterly facing bank and removed her shoes. She rubbed her feet hard, whimpering as the returning circulation stung. Atius climbed out next and took Menenius’ hand. With Atius pulling and Silus pushing, they indelicately manhandled the prefect out of the water. When he got to the bank, he sank to his knees, then rolled onto his back, breathing heavily.
‘We need to get moving,’ said Silus. ‘Atius, take the other two due east for a mile, then head due south. I’m going to smooth over the first part of your trail, then double back and lay a false trail along the bank to the south-west. I’ll catch up with you. Or I’ll try. If for any reason I don’t meet you, you must get to Segedunum, and from there get a message to the Emperor about the Maeatae attack. That mission takes precedence over everything else.’ Silus looked pointedly at Enid and Menenius. ‘Everything. Do you understand?’
Atius hesitated then nodded reluctantly. Menenius made no sign of having heard, but Enid, though not comprehending the exchange in Latin, glared at Atius and Silus suspiciously.
Atius and Silus helped Menenius to his feet, then Silus took a twiggy branch from a tree and began to scrape away the muddy tracks of their exit from the river, and to conceal the flattened area of ground where Menenius had been lying.
‘I hate them, too,’ said Enid suddenly.
Atius looked to Silus for a translation, but Silus said nothing, just faced her with squared shoulders.
‘They killed my family. Took me from my home. They have used me as a house slave and a whore. Treated me as less than their dogs. I want to return home. But first, I will help you, if helping you hurts them.’
‘Thank you,’ said Silus. ‘For all you have done. If you want to hurt the barbarians, then help Atius and Menenius reach Roman lines. Then you can go back to your people knowing you will have damaged the Maeatae beyond all imagination.’
Enid nodded, then turned to Atius. ‘Come.’ She beckoned, and he placed an arm under Menenius’ shoulder and together they moved into the undergrowth of the trees. Silus followed behind for a few hundred yards, carefully erasing their trail as they went. When he felt he had done enough, he clapped Atius on the shoulder, and without a word headed back the way they had come.
He moved quickly but carefully, ensuring the signs of his passing were minimised. From his own internal clock and the position of the moon, he estimated they had been gone an hour. They had maybe one more hour until their absence was discovered, if they were lucky. Then it would be down to Fortuna’s will. When the hunters found the stream, they would have a straight toss-of-a-coin chance as to which way the fugitives will have gone. But if Maglorix allocated sufficient resources – and he would, as both pride and the success of his surprise attack were at stake – they could split and track in both directions. Hopefully, they would then follow Silus’ false trail, but when that ran out, they would either return to the stream, where they may pick up the subtle signs of passage that Silus couldn’t completely remove, or failing that, they would institute a thorough search pattern that would find them, given enough time.
So once Silus’ initial subterfuges were completed, it would all come down to speed. And that meant horses. As Silus reached the stream, then went about setting a more obvious trail, endeavouring to make it appear that four people had passed through rather than just one, he thought hard about where they could find mounts.
He couldn’t rely on there being any Roman forts along the vallum Antonini that were occupied by friendly forces since the latest Maeatae excursion, so they would have to make their way all the way down to the vallum Hadriani, a journey of many days even if they could find horses somewhere in this sparsely populated barbarian country. He pictured the region in his mind, imagining it as a drawing on a cloth, dotted throughout with landmarks joined by lines with the length proportional to the distance of the journey between each point. The vallum Hadriani and the province of Britannia seemed hopelessly far away. He populated the image with villages and minor dwellings he had come across in his scouting missions, and noted a few along their route from where they might be able to steal some ponies. He thought of the line of the vallum Antonini, an unknown number of its forts sacked and destroyed. Then, as he extended his mental picture outwards to the coast, he suddenly thought of Horrea Classis.
As a purely land-based soldier, he had never been to Horrea Classis, the port that served as headquarters for the British fleet, the Classis Britannica, since the start of Severus’ Caledonian invasion. But he knew it was a significant fortress, full of granaries to supply the legions, and as it could be supplied by sea, it could hold out against a siege indefinitely. Its vital importance to the Roman campaign as a route of supplies meant it was heavily defended. Maybe Maglorix had surprised it and sacked it already. The port sat deep in Veniconian territory, and it would be a major victory to the Maeatae, and to Maglorix personally, if he removed that insult to his people from his land. On the other hand, the effort and time he would need to take Horrea Classis wasn’t consistent with Maglorix’s plans to make a swift and devastating raid into Britannia with his full strength.
The more Silus mulled over the options, the more he became convinced that they must try for Horrea Classis. Yes, it was in the heart of Maglorix’s homeland, and yes, it may have been already overrun. But it was only two days’ ride from Inchtuthil, and it possessed boats that could swiftly send a message down the coast to Eboracum. It was their best chance.
When he decided he had gone far enough, he backtracked half a mile, then headed east, once again being careful to minimise his trail while hoping he would find the others quickly. Now that he had decided on a plan, his thoughts could wander, while he automatically picked his way through the woods. Inevitably, Sergia and Velua came to mind. Their sudden appearance in his mind’s eye still had the power to make him gasp and the air stick in his throat, and to make him feel like he couldn’t breathe. He tried to distract himself by concentrating on childhood memories: his earliest days with the Maeatae, the games he played with his barbarian cousins in the marshes and streams and woods – climbing trees and playing tag, whittling spears and wrestling in the mud – before returning home to a scolding from their mothers. He tried to think about his time with his father, his tough upbringing on wilderness treks and hunts. But always his wife and daughter forced themselves to the forefront. In the end, the only way he could take his mind off them and take away the pain in his chest and the weakness in his legs was to focus on Maglorix and what he would do to the cunnus if he ever got him alone again.
He judged it was around midnight when he picked up the trail of the others, and soon afterwards he caught up with them. Although they were now clear of the woods and in open marshy fields, they had made frustratingly slow progress, especially as he knew that the hunt would be well and truly on by now. Menenius was looking dead on his feet, shivering and pale, leaning heavily on Atius, who seemed exhausted with the effort of supporting the prefect. Enid looked impatient to be going, but wouldn’t move ahead on her own.
Silus clapped Atius on the back, embraced Menenius, then spoke to Enid.
‘We need horses. I think there is a village nearby. Do you know it?’
Enid thought for a moment.
‘I don’t know this area well. It is not the land of my birth. But the tribes did pass this way.’ She looked around, eyes narrowed, focussing on the landmarks she could recognise in the moonlight. ‘I think you are right. Beyond those hills. A few roundhouses, some sheep and cattle.’
Silus relayed the information to Atius.
‘This near to the war gathering, though,’ Atius said, ‘won’t they have requisitioned any horses already?’
‘Maybe,’ said Silus. ‘You know as well as I, though, how good people are at hiding their valuables from foraging armies. And as a bonus, their young men will likely have been drafted into the war gathering too, so they shouldn’t put up much of a fight.’
Atius looked at Menenius. ‘I’m not sure we will either.’