Адриан Голдсуорти - The Fort

‘You are going. The tribune says so, and much more importantly so do I.’

Ferox sighed. ‘You have just given me a lot of good reasons to stay here with you.’

The queen freed herself from his grasp and stood up. ‘Well you will not have any more of those reasons until you have saved us all.’ She bent down to pick up her scattered clothes and Ferox bit his lip rather than risk a comment.

‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Go – but come back.’

‘I do not trust Piso either.’

‘Jealous, eh? Think I want you out the way for that reason?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So I am too old, too plain.’ The old Claudia was back now. He still found it hard to cope with so many very different women all inside the same person. She laughed and took pity. ‘I reckon he would try if he thought that he had a chance. Be the last thing he ever tried, and I suspect he knows that now.’

They finished dressing in silence and when they were done she again reached up and this time pecked him on the cheek.

‘I did not think that it would be like this.’

The urge to say something flippant about a man trying his best died as he saw the emotion in her eyes.

‘The fighting just goes on and on, and so many fall.’ Sometimes the smoothness with which she killed made it easy to forget that she had seen little of war.

‘It can be just hard work and butchery,’ he said. ‘And luck matters more than skill.’

‘How have you stood it all these years?’ she asked. ‘I do not believe that I would ever again seek this out, save only to defend my own family and folk.’

Ferox was not sure what to say because he did not know what the answer was. Much of his life had been spent in fighting and killing and seeing friends die. It was not that he was used to it, but it was easier and he no longer really knew any other life. Somehow he kept surviving and then the next fight would come and he was still there at the end of that.

‘Better to feel the sorrow than not be alive to feel it,’ he said eventually, knowing it meant little. ‘I just seem to keep on living.’

‘That is because the souls in the Otherworld are in no hurry to have your gloomy face join them,’ she said. ‘Can’t say I blame them, either. So you keep living, husband.’ The seriousness had gone. ‘Your children need a father.’

‘And a mother.’

‘Oh, I’ll be all right. After all, you’re the one going off in the company of men sworn to kill you!’

PISO WAS LUCKY that he was hit by a falx swung one-handed rather than brought down with full force. The blow dented the top of his borrowed helmet and knocked the tribune out cold and the Dacian bounded over his body, calling for the others to follow.

This was the second attack of the day at the line of barrels and filled sacks between the praetorium and principia and there was little space to fight. Bran was limping, and was knocked off his feet when the warrior swung his shield. He rolled as he landed, and slashed his gladius at the Dacian’s ankle and felt the edge bite. The man screamed, dropping his shield and cutting down, but Bran rolled again out of the way, and Vindex chopped into the Dacian’s neck.

‘Up you get, lad. Between the two of us we’ve still got a pair of good legs.’

Another Dacian came at them, then hesitated as the two men spread as far apart as was possible in the alleyway. Vindex could see that the Brigantian and the legionary at the barricade were holding back the rest. He feinted to the right, drawing the man’s gaze, but the warrior was quick and parried his real attack. Then Bran slashed behind the Dacian’s right knee and he fell. Vindex stabbed down to finish the job. He was panting, his chest sore from a blow in the first attack that had not penetrated his mail, but had probably broken a rib or two.

The Dacians gave up for the moment, and judging from the quiet they had withdrawn everywhere else as well. An arrow zipped between Vindex and Bran and they did a lurching run to the shelter of the barricade. A slave and an auxiliary dragged the unconscious tribune away.

‘Bastards,’ Vindex said to no one in particular.

‘You should not have let him go,’ Bran said once again.

‘Will you let up? They didn’t ask me, did they, and wouldn’t have listened even if they had.’

‘Then we should have gone.’

‘Hopped our way there, I suppose.’

Bran lowered his voice. ‘I do not trust the tribune who sent him. He’s a useless shit.’ They were both peering over the top of the barricade, but could see no sign of any more warriors or of the archers.

Vindex guffawed. ‘I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I? Well copy me, son, and you could end up a thousand miles from home on one leg and struggling to breathe! Oh bugger me, you already are.

‘Come on, you know him well enough to know he didn’t go because of that clown.’ Vindex had switched to the language of the tribes in the unlikely event that the legionary might take offence. ‘Herself told him to go. He’ll always do what she tells him. … Me too, for that matter. The queen said go, so he went. But he wouldn’t have gone unless we were here to keep an eye on her.’

‘You keep your eyes to yourself, Carvetian!’ Enica had come up so softly in her felt boots that they had not heard her. ‘I know what you’re like.’

‘You in charge now, my queen?’ Vindex asked. ‘With the tribune away with the fairies and Petrullus in the hospital.’

Enica kneeled beside them to shelter behind the barricade. ‘I have always been in charge, you should know that by now. I just let those daft men believe that they are important.’ She turned to the legionary. ‘How goes it, Lucius?’

‘Hanging on, lady. I’ll make the bastard res publica pay me my bounty yet. Sorry, lady, forgetting myself.’

‘When is your time up?’

‘November, would you believe it?’

‘Well drink one for me when the day comes.’

‘I will, lady, I will.’

‘Time for me to go,’ the queen said. ‘Now be good children, and don’t talk to strangers!’ She ran bent almost double, and either heard the swish of the arrow or guessed for she swung to the side to let it pass.

Vindex watched her go, his admiration obvious. ‘That one’s special and no doubt.’

Claudia Enica heard the compliment and let herself smile. She was going around the whole position, checking that all was well and doing her best to encourage. Ferox had once told her that an officer was often too busy to worry about the big things, because there was always so much to do and so many little things to worry about. Still, as she squatted behind barricades or climbed up to the rafters and peered cautiously through the holes they had made in the roofs, she could not help wondering whether her husband lived and where he was. A lookout spent the daylight hours on top of the tower, because the ladders leading up were exposed to archers on the ramparts and it was too risky to climb except at night. For all they could see there might be no more than four or five hundred Dacians left at the fort, but for the second day there was no sign of anyone else, whether the enemy’s main army or any Roman relief force.

The buildings were vulnerable, because there were few windows and it was also hard to fight through small holes like that. Stone or not, the Dacians had tried to pile up timber and start fires against several walls. So far, it had not worked, mainly because they had ripped rafters and tiles away so that men could perch and follow Achilles’ example by lobbing the tiles down at anyone who came close. The dwarf was doing well and might survive, assuming any of them did. Half the food would be gone by the end of this third day, and there was a steady trickle of losses each time the Dacians attacked. If they attacked on all sides at the same time, they would surely swamp the remnants of the garrison. The only reason she could think of why they had not done this was that they did not want to lose men when it was just a matter of days.