Адриан Голдсуорти: The Fort

‘Well, I missed it, just my luck,’ the centurion explained. ‘Got accepted by the army and posted to Minervia in the last weeks, but did not get here until it was all over.’

‘Any trouble since?’ Ferox asked, half listening. The ditches were in pretty good order, with only a little rubbish and spoil at the bottom. A day’s graft would clear that out. He was trying not to stare at the horsemen, who were now a quarter of a mile away, still coming on slowly. The riderless horses were not a good sign.

‘No, not really. As I say, this is a quiet spot. The local Dacians are the Saldense, but they mainly live lower down. Hardly anyone winters up here. Come the spring and summer we will see the herdsmen arrive, travellers on the road, and even a few hunting parties of Sarmatians. The game is good around here.’

Sabinus nodded at the lone auxiliary who stood as picket beyond the ditches. That was regulation outside every base, set down a century ago by the divine Augustus, although far older than that. The rules said that there should be a dozen or more on duty outside the main gates of a fort this size, but it was rarely enforced, especially when things were quiet.

‘One man can see as well as twenty,’ Sabinus said, as if reading his thoughts.

‘True enough.’ Ferox could not help wishing that they had stuck to the rules. Still, perhaps it was better that way. He had to give them their chance. ‘So the camp was built during the fighting?’ he asked, continuing to stroll down towards the main road and the bridge, and forcing Sabinus to follow. There were rows of stakes and pits in front of the ditches, all suggesting that there had once been a real prospect of attack.

‘Yes,’ Sabinus said. ‘In the second campaign of our Lord Trajan, he sent a column this way, and another bigger one to the east, heading for the pass of the Red Tower. They had to storm a couple of strongholds as well as drive in bands of enemy. This place was built to store the supplies they might need and then care for all the casualties. Those Dacian castles are a bitch to take, as I’m sure you know. Hence our big hospital and all those granaries.’

Ferox nodded. The buildings had been one of the most striking peculiarities of the base, especially because they were half empty. He stopped for a moment. They were half way to the bridge, and he noticed that the riders had reined in and were waiting on the far side. Well, that seemed to settle it.

‘Vindex, perhaps you would see what is keeping Ivonercus and get his news. I can’t see anyone following them, but you never know.’

‘Lazy bugger,’ the bandit snorted, leaving Sabinus unsure whether he meant the rider or his commander, but since Ferox did not make a fuss he was not about to interfere.

‘Your bath house is finished?’ Ferox asked as the lanky Vindex trudged away through the four-inch deep snow. The long building was over to the right, close to the river but some way from the bridge and the centurion turned to face it.

Sabinus gave a wry smile. ‘Almost. Everything is taking much longer to dry in this cold. They say in another week they’ll be able to light the fires for the first time. Not that it will do us much good, but your lads ought to enjoy it.’

‘Don’t move, centurion!’ Sabinus gasped as he felt the point of a sword pressing into his side where his cloak had fallen back. He was wearing mail, but the tip was already inside a ring and a strong thrust would punch through. ‘Say nothing and you will live.’ It was the Briton Mobacus or whatever the barbarian was called. The other man had his sword pressed against Ferox.

‘Take out your sword and drop it. Slowly mind,’ the other decurion said.

‘You too, sir. Nice and easy,’ Molacus added. ‘No fuss, no sudden moves.’

‘Better do as they say,’ Ferox said.

Sabinus wondered if this was some strange joke. It seemed too bizarre to be anything else. The one called Vindex was still plodding down to the bridge and did not appear to have noticed.

Sabinus’ gladius grated on the metal mouth of his scabbard as he drew it, holding the pommel with just his finger and thumb. Ferox’s sword, one of the longer, old fashioned types, dropped to the ground first, so he felt no shame in letting his own blade go.

‘And the pugio . Gently now.’

‘I don’t carry one,’ Sabinus said. ‘Now just what—’ He stopped as the sword was pressed harder. Glancing nervously to the side, he saw Ferox slide an army issue dagger from his right hip and drop it.

‘Do what we say and it will all be fine,’ Molacus said.

‘This is absurd,’ Sabinus snapped until the point was pushed in just a little more. His side started to ache from the pressure.

‘Sir?’ The soldier on picket duty called, no doubt wondering what was happening.

‘Taranis!’ Molacus had noticed that Vindex had stopped and had glanced back at them.

‘No need to harm the centurion,’ Ferox said, his words steady. ‘You’ve got to go over the rampart now anyway and one more witness won’t matter. Your oath was for vengeance, not murder.’

‘As long as he does what he’s told,’ Molacus said and then added something more in a language Sabinus did not understand. He gulped, but the point of the sword drew back a fraction. Sabinus wanted to ask again what all this was about, but his throat felt so dry that he doubted the words would come.

‘We must do it now!’ the one behind Ferox said. Vindex was walking back towards them. Behind him, the riders kicked their horses to move, but they were still a hundred yards away from the warrior.

Ferox sighed. ‘At least let me face you,’ he said. ‘We let your king die as a warrior.’ He stepped away from the decurion, who let him go. Ferox turned very deliberately, and his voice was resigned. ‘And I’ll make it easy.’ He unfastened the knot holding together the cheek pieces of his helmet. ‘Sabinus, you will obey my orders. When all is done let these men go.’

‘My lord?’

‘And tell your men to do the same.’ Ferox lifted his helmet off his head, taking the woolly hat he wore inside with it. He held the iron helmet in both hands, twisting it round. ‘Only just bought this,’ he said ruefully and grinned at the decurion facing him. ‘Waste of money, eh?’

Sabinus felt the sword pulled away from him and let out a long breath. No one protested when he edged away, and he saw that Molacus was watching Ferox, his sword held in a low guard.

‘Can I help, my lord?’ The sentry called, closer to them now. Vindex had started running, and was clumsily drawing his sword as he tried not to slip. Behind him the riders were closing, one ahead of the others.

‘I’d rather not kneel,’ Ferox told them. ‘And I’d be obliged if you do a neat job. Just like I’ve trained you.’

The one facing him licked his lips as he pulled his arm back, sword out straight, ready to lunge at Ferox’s face.

‘My lord? Shall I give the alarm?’ The auxiliary on picket duty had stopped, his voice more than ever uncertain. Sabinus saw the leading horseman was just a few paces behind Vindex, his horse in a clumsy canter. The fugitive swerved away from the track and it was a moment before the rider dragged his horse round to follow.

Molacus looked at Sabinus. ‘Tell your man to stay at his post.’

Vindex had turned, pulling his cloak off and waving it with his left arm in the hope of frightening the horse. He had a long cavalry sword in his right hand and they could hear him taunting his attacker. The animal flinched, pulling away, and the rider fought the beast, forcing him on at a walk. It gave time for the other two to close.

‘Give the alarm!’ Sabinus shouted, amazed that the words came out and were so loud.