Адриан Голдсуорти - Brigantia

The huts were in poor repair, gaping holes in their roofs and walls, but there were tracks by the doors of each one and some of them were fresh, no more than a few hours old. He could not say more in this light and decided not to mention it. None of this felt right. Ferox bent down to go through the door into one. It was dim and all he saw was broken pots and rotting pieces of wood.

‘Be dark soon,’ he said. ‘We will need light. Did you bring the torches?’ The Brigantes had remembered this and when the prince snapped his fingers they set about using a flint to light some kindling.

The second hut had even less inside it. Set in the stone were a number of thick rings, the iron heavily rusted. They might have been meant to tether animals rather than people, but Ferox doubted it. The third hut stank and was full of old sacks, bones and dung. There was a dead fox, belly burst open and covered in maggots, and no doubt the source of the worst smell. Arviragus ducked his head in after Ferox and then pulled back, face screwed up in distaste.

‘Nothing here,’ he said.

‘I need a light,’ Ferox said. ‘And a spear. Come on.’ He kicked at some of the rubbish to clear it. There was no reason for all this to be here unless it was hiding something. Arviragus took a torch from one of his men and came back inside.

‘You,’ Crispinus commanded the other guard. ‘Your spear, man.’

Ferox used the shaft to drag aside some of the filth and debris. There seemed to be bare earth underneath. Then he tapped the butt of the spear down. It did not have a spike and the wood hit the floor and threw up dust.

‘Hollow?’ The tribune crouched down to see better. ‘Hercules’ balls. It is hollow!’

Turning the spear around, Ferox used the head to dig into the earth and scrape it away. It was loose, not packed hard, which made him think that it had not lain very long. He scraped again, and this time it was so easy to push the muck out of the way that he wondered whether it had only been there a few hours. ‘Post a sentry.’

‘Yes, I see,’ Crispinus said. ‘If someone has covered this over they may be around outside somewhere.’

The prince thought, nodded, and gave the order. Four more of his guards had joined them.

‘Have they seen anything?’ Ferox asked.

The Brigantes claimed to have seen nothing untoward, so he kept on clearing the earth and debris aside until the wooden trapdoor was uncovered. It was about two feet square, of thick pieces with almost no gap between them, and with a large iron ring.

‘Stand back,’ he ordered, and used the spearhead to hook under the ring. It needed very little force to lift, confirming his suspicion that they were not the first to come here. As it opened, all he could see below was darkness. ‘Let’s have some light.’ Crispinus came up, holding a torch, and Ferox could see that there was a drop of some four feet to a mud floor of what looked like a long tunnel. There were prints of several people. ‘Someone’s been here within the last day, perhaps even within a few hours, my lords,’ he said, just in case they all continued to ignore the obvious signs.

‘Acco?’ Crispinus suggested. Neither he nor the prince seemed surprised. ‘Has he beaten us to it?’ The tribune frowned. ‘Then why hide this tunnel?’

‘We’ve come this far, my lord, so we may as well find out. I need my sword and a torch,’ Ferox said. ‘This spear will be no use down there. And my boots.’

The footwear was readily provided.

‘We’ll pass the rest down to you, centurion.’ Crispinus grinned. ‘For a moment I was worried you would suggest the shortest of us should go first.’

Ferox sat on the edge and them jumped. Crouching, he stared into the darkness and reckoned that the tunnel was heading underneath the mound. Stories told of ancient tombs filled with gold and gems, but protected by monsters and terrible spells. At least he would not be the first to visit. He reached up and the tribune gave him a torch. ‘Just the blade, my lord,’ he said, when Arviragus appeared, holding out his belt and scabbarded sword from one of the guards. The tunnel might get smaller, and it was better to carry the gladius in his hand than wear it.

The prince of the Brigantes slid the blade out. He felt it, hefting the sword, and flexing his wrist. His eyes glinted in the torchlight.

‘Beautiful,’ he said, and Ferox sensed a reluctance to hand it down, but if there was, then the prince swiftly got over it. The centurion’s fingers closed around the familiar bone handgrip. He did not trust any of the others, and was sure this was a trap of some sort. He had not expected to be given a weapon, least of all his own sword. Somehow the gesture made him even more suspicious. ‘Wait here until I take a look.’ Hoping they would obey, he ducked his head, thrust the torch ahead of him and walked on.

The floor was soft mud, the passage little more than a foot and a half wide, and so many booted and bare feet had passed along it that it was hard to make out individual tracks. The walls were flecked with stone and slate, and in places carved out of more solid rock. There was a harsh smell faint behind the damp, musty odour.

There was a soft thud as someone jumped down behind him.

‘You should wait, lady,’ he said without looking around.

‘What?’ Claudia Enica tried to make her voice as deep and manly as possible, and Ferox was glad he had guessed correctly. No one else followed her.

‘Come on then.’

The passage went straight for ten paces, then turned left, making a long curve, before turning back to the right. It was higher now, just high enough for him to stand almost upright and only now and then brush his hair against the roof. Just around the first bend a skull grinned at him from a niche carved into the wall. He waited, hoping for a nervous gasp when the lady came around the corner. In the event, it was barely more than a soft hiss of surprise, but he smiled to himself anyway. After the next turn there was another skull. This time he heard no hint of surprise. The smell was getting stronger. He coughed, for it stuck in the throat, like smoke, yet it tasted bitter. Ferox was not sure whether he saw dust or smoke or both in the air. Water dripped from the roof.

It grew narrower, and at times he had to turn sideways and edge along. His torch was in front of him and when he glanced back Enica was a faint shape. Still, he suspected Vindex would have made some comment about it being too narrow for her.

‘Do you want me to go first?’ she said as he paused for just a moment.

‘Wait.’ The floor in front of him was smooth, unbroken by any footprint. With difficulty he swapped his torch and sword. Leaning over, he prodded the earth with the long tip of the gladius. He sidestepped forward and then did it again. The third time the point drove through the thin straw and mud covering a small pit. In the centre was a stake, perhaps no more than six or seven inches, but sharpened to a point and no doubt smeared with filth. The army called a trap like this a lillia , after the vague resemblance to the lily flower. For the Silures they were gnat’s bites. They did not kill, at least not quickly, but a man with a hurt foot was slower and made others cautious.

‘Watch where you tread,’ he whispered.

Ferox found three more lilies, the last where the narrow passage made another sharp turn, but then grew wider before another abrupt corner. He still had the torch behind him and the sword in front. Even with his body masking a lot of the light he could see that there were footprints on the earth; a clear trail, one person walking towards them. Enica stepped over the last of the little stakes and was only just behind him. He glanced back. Her skin seemed very pale in the torchlight and her face was eager.