The village consisted of half a dozen roundhouses at the top of a hill, and they could soon smell the burning wood and peat and see the smoke drifting out from the central holes that were situated in the roof directly above the firepits. There was no palisade, and no sign of activity beyond a few cows grazing in the nearby fields. Silus instructed Menenius and Enid to stay out of sight, and he and Atius approached. He reflected as they left the other two behind that he was giving orders to his former commander, who obeyed like a beaten dog. Those barbarians really had broken his spirit.
As they neared, they could make out a few outbuildings. One looked like a store, while the others seemed more likely to be stables. They quietly approached one, and Silus eased the door open. It was pitch black inside, but the lactic faecal smell suggested it housed milking cows. A high-pitched bleat and a low confirmed that at least one nursing cow was inside. Silus quietly closed the door, hoping that the bovine sounds were sufficiently innocuous not to alert any of the villagers.
They made their way over to the next stable, and this time Fortuna seemed to be on their side. When their eyes had adjusted to make out the occupants, in the moonlight shining through the high window on the opposite wall they could see two decent-sized horses and two smaller ponies tied to posts. Silus eased inside, extending a hand to the first. They snickered and shifted nervously from foot to foot, but these rides were properly broken. They put up little protest as Silus and Atius retrieved their saddles and bridles from their hooks on the walls and got them ready.
Once they were all saddled up, they untied them, opened the doors wide, and led them out of the stables. That was when they realised Fortuna had not been quite so generous. One of the horses was limping badly, ducking its head down every time it put weight on its front left leg. Silus felt down its leg and found the foot above the coffin joint was swollen, and there was an odour of pus.
‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘He has an abscess. We can’t take this one.’
‘There’s a stable we haven’t checked,’ said Atius. ‘Maybe we should try in there.’
One of the horses, maybe perturbed by the break in its routine or the unfamiliar people handling it, let out a loud neigh. A long-limbed, shaggy dog which had been asleep in front of a nearby roundhouse lifted its head, spotted the strangers, leapt to its feet and started barking loudly. Other dogs joined in and a chorus of barks and howls began. Voices came, sleepy, questioning.
‘Time’s up,’ said Silus. ‘Let’s go.’
They mounted two of the horses, and led the other sound one at a canter out of the village. Behind them, doors slammed open, and shouts and curses followed them as they fled.
Menenius and Enid were waiting where they had been left. Enid stood when they approached, her face a broad smile. She frowned though when she counted the horses.
‘Only three?’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ said Silus.
‘You’re a thief, not a beggar.’
‘Menenius and Atius are the heaviest. They get a pony each. You and I will share a horse.’
Enid looked like she would protest, but realised there was no point and shrugged.
‘Come on, mount up. If Maglorix’s men come here, they will know for sure it is us and be straight on our arses. Let’s get going.’
Atius helped Menenius up, then mounted himself. Silus grasped the saddle and heaved himself up and over, then reached down to help lift Enid up behind him. She was light, undernourished, and he hoisted her easily up. She settled behind him, hesitated, then put her arms around his waist. He suddenly became acutely aware of the young woman’s body pressed against him and was glad for the darkness that hid the flush of his face from his companions. He kicked the horse into motion, and they cantered away into the dark, leaving the shouts of the outraged villagers far behind.
They rode through the night, sticking to deer trails and badger tracks, avoiding any paths that looked like they were frequented by men. The terrain changed from rugged hills to marshy lowlands to dense woods, and they picked their way through with as much speed as they dared without endangering their mounts. Every time his pony stumbled, Silus felt his stomach lurch. A foot caught in a badger hole could easily snap a leg, greatly reducing their chances of reaching safety.
But the mounts stayed sound until dawn. In the east, Silus watched the dark sky lighten, turn cerulean, then a vivid orange. The low-hanging scattered clouds glowed with a fire that brought unbidden images of burning thatch to Silus’ mind. He shook his head to rid himself of the distraction. Behind him, Enid still clung to him, her cheek pressed to his back. He thought she had slept for some of the ride, and he had found himself occasionally nodding off as well. Atius had remained alert throughout the night though, watching out both for his own path and keeping an eye on Menenius, who at times seemed to be struggling to stay in the saddle.
The track they were following intersected with a wider path, with parallel grooves in the stone-speckled mud suggesting it was a route used by carts and wagons. Silus pulled his horse up and waited for Atius to pull alongside him.
‘I guess we are about a half day’s ride from Horrea Classis,’ said Silus. ‘That is if we only stop to give the horses enough time to rest. Should we push on and try to make safety as soon as possible, or should we stop?’
Atius looked around to see Menenius bring his horse slowly to a halt behind them. He swayed in his saddle, looked about to fall, then caught himself, and with great effort sat upright. He gave Atius and Silus a weak smile. Behind Silus, Enid was fast asleep.
Atius shrugged. ‘My head says we should carry on. My heart says we need to rest. So does my arse.’
‘If only we knew how far behind us they are. Or even if they have picked up our trail at all.’
‘We have to assume they have at least a few warriors following. There are so many of them that they can search many trails at once. And with the shape we are in, a few warriors would be enough to finish us.’
Silus nodded. ‘Speed is our best chance. Our only chance. But what will get us to safety quickest? Pushing the horses and ourselves beyond endurance, or resting now hoping we’ll make up the time?’
‘If it was just the two of us, I would say we keep on. But look at the others. They need to rest.’
Silus looked behind him, squinting into the darkness to the north-west. He half expected to see a host of barbarians burst out of the gloom, screaming their war cries as they descended on them. But all was quiet. Before him, the cart track stretched out, beckoning him to safe haven.
He sighed. Atius was right. Menenius couldn’t go on, not without a short respite. Silus pointed to a nearby copse.
‘Let’s rest up there for a couple of hours, then get moving.’
‘You don’t think we should wait for night again?’ asked Atius.
‘No, if they are following us with dogs, darkness will not save us.’
They rode together up to the copse, then dismounted and led the horses into cover. Once the horses were hitched to trees, they settled into the hollow made by the roots of an elderly yew tree. Silus passed out some bread and water from his pack and they ate and drank eagerly. Then Menenius slumped against the trunk and immediately passed into a fitful slumber. His eyes twitched from side to side behind closed eyelids, and his body jerked intermittently as if he was being kicked in the ribs. Silus made himself comfy in the leaf litter, leaning against a protruding loop of root.
Enid came over and sat next to him. She slid her arms around him and put her head against his chest. He stiffened. She looked up at him, puzzled. He turned, putting his back to her. After a moment she got up and sat next to Atius. When Silus looked over, Atius was cradling her in his arms. Silus gave him a warning glance, and Atius feigned innocence.
‘I’ll take watch,’ said Silus, standing up abruptly. He walked to the edge of the copse, looking out as the terrain became more and more visible under the lightening sky. He wondered if he would ever feel comfortable in the presence of a woman again.
Atius was snoring loudly, arms wrapped tightly around Enid, when Silus booted him in the backside. He woke with a jerk, which made Enid awake and emit a cry. Atius gave Silus a filthy look, then extricated himself from Enid.
‘Time to get moving,’ said Silus. Menenius still slept, face pale, head lolling, mouth open. Silus knelt down and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Menenius’ eyes flew open, and he grabbed Silus’ wrist in sudden terror.
‘Calm, sir,’ said Silus gently. ‘You are safe. But we need to be on our way.’
Menenius gathered himself, then nodded. ‘Of course.’ Silus helped him to his feet. He wondered how much of Menenius’ damage was physical and how much was to his soul. Clearly both his mind and body were badly hurt. Atius and Silus helped Menenius onto his pony again, and then the rest of them mounted up.
They rejoined the cart track which led east, and pushed their rides to a gentle trot. Silus tried to estimate how far they had come, how far they had to go and how much longer it would take at this pace, but he soon gave up. There were so many guesses that it was just unknowable. He wasn’t even sure he was on the most direct route to Horrea Classis, in any case. It was entirely possible that they weren’t going to intersect the great fortress port on this path.
Still, he knew that Horrea Classis lay on the south bank of the Tatha, at its confluence with the Uisge Èireann. The Tatha was a vast river, so if they continued south-east, they would hit its northern bank, and could then find a boat that would take them to their safe haven.
The sun rose and they encountered occasional travellers in both directions: drovers of livestock, merchants, itinerant craftsmen. All looked at them curiously; some greeted them with friendliness or suspicion. Some seemed inclined to conversation, but Silus didn’t engage them. There was nothing of use they could discover, and the more they spoke, the more the fact that they didn’t belong there may become apparent.
The path wound around the foot of a hill. Silus looked behind them, but there was still no sign of pursuit. Surely they must be getting closer to their destination now. A treacherous hope began to arise deep within him.
They rounded a corner, and ahead of them, coming in their direction, some fifty yards distant, were two riders. Silus’ stomach lurched. He prayed that they were just locals, riding from one hillfort to the next, but he knew in his heart that they were discovered.
The riders pulled up and sat, watching them. Silus raised a hand in greeting and urged his horse forward, hoping to reach them or at least close the gap. The riders conferred briefly, then wheeled their horses around and sped away.
Silus swore and kicked the mount into a gallop, Atius accelerating at his side.
The riders were too fast. Silus’ horse was weighed down by two riders, and Atius’ pony was too small for his bulk. The distance opened up between them and Silus despaired. Then one of the fleeing horses stumbled and pulled up lame. Its rider cursed, tried to get it moving, but the horse was going nowhere. The rider’s companion looked back at his friend, then rode on, taking a left fork in the path that curved to the east. The rider with the crippled horse shouted at him angrily, then dismounted, pulling his spear from his saddle bag, and turned to face his pursuers.
Silus and Atius drew near and circled the man, clearly a Maeatae warrior. He spat at them.
‘The traitor, the Roman scum and the slave whore,’ he said. ‘And the broken prisoner, back there. Your time is short. We are nearly on you.’
‘Where are the rest of your men? How far away?’
‘Close,’ said the warrior. ‘Very close. Your punishment for denying the gods will be so brutal, you will wish you had died last night.’
Silus blocked out the words, though they chilled him. He would not be taken alive, nor allow the same for any of his companions. He was aware that Enid was still behind him, vulnerable, and still holding him, restricting his movements. He slowly dismounted, and Atius did the same behind the warrior. The man could only point his spear in one direction, and it was an unwieldly weapon for close quarters combat. He feinted at first at Atius and then at Silus, but without conviction.
‘Tell us where your brothers are and you will live. Your friend has escaped already, so there is no benefit to killing you.’
‘I would rather die,’ said the warrior.
The tip of Atius’ sword burst through his chest accompanied by a gout of blood. The warrior coughed a stream of red, then fell forward.
Silus stared at Atius open-mouthed.
‘We don’t have time for this. His friend has escaped and will be bringing a storm down on our heads at any moment.’
‘It wasn’t your decision to make,’ growled Silus. Atius shrugged and mounted up. Silus looked down at the corpse lying in the blood-stained mud and shook his head. He got back in the saddle and beckoned to Menenius, who had been making his way to them slowly. When he reached them, he dismounted slowly, gingerly. He bent down to pick up the warrior’s discarded spear, then remounted. He looked at Silus steadily, but said nothing. Silus simply nodded and said, ‘We ride hard now. We need to make the river and find transport before they catch us. Is everyone ready?’
When he had their assent, he tugged on the reins to orient his horse along the path and kicked hard. They rode at a brisk canter, taking the right fork that led south. Every part of him screamed to increase the pace, to put the horse into a gallop, to put as much distance between him and any pursuit as quickly as possible. But though he wasn’t a skilled rider, even he knew that a horse could only sustain a gallop for a mile or two before fatiguing.
The sun rose higher in the sky, warming them, and riders and horses alike began to sweat. This damned country seemed to go on forever. His father had once shown him a map of the world in a book by a man named Ptolemy, who had tried to gather the knowledge of the geography of the world in one place. Silus remembered marvelling at discovering places on the far side of the world like Sinae and Taprobane, places so far beyond the boundaries of the empire that all that was told of them was legend and myth. But when he had examined the area around Britannia and Caledonia, he had been disappointed. He knew that the end of the island of Britannia was far to the north, not deviated at a right angle, as the map showed, so that the tip was to the east, and he knew that the Tatha flowed west to east not north to south. If he had been using the map instead of his knowledge of the country, they would have had no chance of finding Horrea Classis. Still, the map did give a sense of scale, of the vastness of this land beyond the empire. Silus fought down a rising panicked feeling of hopelessness.
Then at last, as the sun was descending towards the horizon, they crested a hill and saw, some two miles away, the wide river Tatha. The path they were on led down the course of a tributary, dry at this time of year, but with a damp bed and the type of vegetation that suggested it seasonally carried water. The banks were steep, the path narrow, but the footing seemed firm. Silus pulled up, waiting for Menenius and Atius to draw level.
‘There,’ he said. ‘We’ll find a boat to take us to Horrea Classis, and we are home safe.’
Behind them a dog barked. Then another. Silus looked back. Ascending the slope of the hill they had just climbed were half a dozen Maeatae warriors, their mounts eating up the ground, throwing clods of mud behind them as they laboured up the incline. It was hard going, but their horses looked like tough native breeds, and fresh. They would be on them in moments.
‘Ride!’ yelled Silus. He urged his horse into flight, kicking it and screaming in its ear to encourage it to full speed. The frightened mount charged down the river bed, skittering and skidding on slippery rocks. Silus hung on to its neck and Enid clutched him tight. He could hear her breathing heavily, but she said nothing, just trusted to his riding and to the natural instincts of the horse. Atius yelped as his own pony lost its footing momentarily, nearly tossing him off, then cursed, ‘Christos, that was close,’ as mount and rider recovered.
The track was too narrow to ride side by side, but Silus could hear Atius right on his tail. The hounds were baying excitedly, and the shouts of the warriors became clearer as they neared. Silus was desperate to look back, to see how near the pursuit was, to gauge whether they were going to make it, but he knew it would make no difference to their chances, except to risk a fall, which would be swiftly fatal.
Atius had no such compunction.
‘What the fuck is Menenius doing?’ he yelled.
Silus turned now and swore loudly. ‘Oh Mithras and Mars. Menenius, no.’
Their superior officer had fallen behind. He must have realised he would not outrun the pursuit, so he had turned his pony, and was standing, his spear tucked under his arm, waiting for the warriors to reach him.
‘We have to go back,’ cried Atius, tugging on the reins to pull his horse to a halt. Silus stopped too, staring in horror.
‘We can’t. Atius, it’s too late, and they are too many. He is buying us time to escape. With his life.’
‘Silus, help me. We can still save him. But I can’t do it on my own.’
‘No, Atius. We must reach Horrea Classis. We need to get news of Maglorix’s raid to the Emperor. It’s more important than any one of us.’
‘Damn you, Silus. He is our commanding officer!’
‘I am your superior. Follow me now. That’s an order!’
Without waiting for an answer, Silus kicked his horse into flight once more. A few moments later, he heard Atius behind him, the pony breathing hard, hooves clattering on the rocks. He looked back, past his stony-faced friend. The warriors reached Menenius, but the width of the path allowed them to confront him only one at a time. They pulled up and conferred, then one launched his spear at Menenius. The old Roman ducked in time, the missile skimming over his shoulder.
The leading warrior was passed another spear, and this time he trotted forward. As soon as he was in range, he thrust out. Menenius tugged on the reins with one hand, and the pony stepped sideways as he parried the thrust with his own spear. The warrior cursed and drew back to stab again.
Menenius yanked the reins in the other direction, and his pony reared and spun on its hind legs, so he was side on to his attacker. Silus marvelled – he hadn’t known that the Prefect was such an accomplished horseman. The man who so recently had seemed finished had come alive in battle.
Menenius roared and thrust out with all his failing strength. His spear went straight through his attacker’s mouth and out the back of his skull. Without a cry, the warrior toppled off his horse and hit the ground heavily, taking Menenius’ spear with him.
There was a moment of silence. Then two warriors dismounted, skirted their comrade’s horse, and grabbed Menenius, dragging him to the ground. The prefect was obscured from Silus’ view, but he could see the Maeatae spears thrusting down into his body over and over again in blind fury.
Silus blinked tears from his eyes, and faced front, concentrating on his own escape, praying to every god he could think of that Menenius’ sacrifice had been sufficient.
The distance to the river reduced rapidly, but soon the sounds of pursuit reached them again, getting louder. The tributary widened as it reached the river, and they clambered up its sides to find a wide path that ran along the north bank of the Tatha. Now they needed a boat.
But there was none. Silus wondered for a moment what he had expected. That the river would be thronged with barges and ferries, all waiting to transport some desperate fugitives to safety? They rode along the river bank, eastwards, heads down, galloping full speed. Their mounts were wide-eyed and they frothed profusely, and there were speckles of blood in the foam. Their breathing was hoarse and laboured, and Silus felt them tiring. Behind them the pursuers yelled curses. To the left was dense forest, to the right the fast-flowing river. They rounded a bend.
A boat!
A rowing boat to be precise, a hazel and ox-hide construction with two wooden oars. It was lying against the bank, and sitting in it was a boy eating an apple, while a trout caught in a net flapped in the bottom of the boat. He looked up in fright at the sound of the galloping hooves, then dropped his apple and grabbed his oars.
Silus reached him in an instant, leapt from his horse and grabbed the boat before the boy could row away.
‘Leave me alone,’ cried the boy.
‘Get in,’ yelled Silus to Atius and Enid, ignoring the young fisherman.
He held the boat steady and used his other hand to help Enid in, then Atius got on board, stepping carefully so as not to tip the craft over. The boat was meant for only one or two people, and with three on board it sat dangerously low in the water. If Silus got in, it would sink. He turned to see the warriors bearing down on them, a scant hundred yards away. He drew his knife, and prepared to face them, to sacrifice himself as Menenius had to buy time for Atius to get the all-important message to Horrea Classis.
A cry and a splash made him turn. Atius had unceremoniously upended the fisherman into the water where he flapped and spluttered in indignation.
‘Get in,’ urged Atius. ‘Now.’
Silus stepped into the boat, watched it sink deeper into the water, then settle, the sides just protruding above the waterline. Only then did he give a hefty shove to push the little craft out into the faster flowing water of the river. He grabbed an oar, and Atius did likewise, and clumsily, they rowed with all their strength. A gap opened between the bank and the boat. One yard, two, three. The first of their pursuers reached the bank. He leapt from the back of his horse towards the boat. He fell short, but for a moment Silus thought the wave he produced would flood the boat. They held on as the boat rocked. The warrior started to swim towards them, but Atius lifted his oar and brought it hard down on the swimmer’s head. He disappeared beneath the water and didn’t come back up.
The four remaining warriors lined up on the bank, yelling insults. Silus and Atius rowed hard, and the gap with the bank increased even further. There was no way the barbarians could reach them now. They were safe.
The warriors hefted their spears, drew their arms back, and as one, loosed them towards the boat. Four missiles arced through the air towards them.
One fell short and disappeared into the water.
One sailed over their heads.
One grazed Atius’ upper arm.
One buried itself in Enid’s chest.
She fell backwards into Silus’ arms.
Silus dropped the oar, which fell to the bottom of the boat. He stared down in to Enid’s wide eyes. He grabbed the spear shaft, tried to pull it but she screamed and gripped his hand, and he let it go. Blood oozed around the entry wound, but it wasn’t the profuse gush of a heart wound. It wasn’t a clean kill.
Silus looked at Atius helplessly. His friend said nothing, and continued to use his oar to steer them into the faster-flowing water in the centre of the river. From the bank, the mounted warriors watched them escape.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Silus. ‘I tried…’
‘It… hurts,’ said Enid. ‘Can’t breathe.’
‘We’ll get to Horrea Classis. Find a medicus. Just be brave…’
‘Tired,’ said Enid. ‘Wish I was… home.’
Her body went rigid, back arched, mouth pulled back in a rictus. Then she went limp, and her last breath left her in a long drawn-out sigh.
The river carried them downstream towards the fortress of Horrea Classis.