Eagles of Dacia Page 23

  ‘At last, a Roman road.’

  Rufinus stared. If that was a road, Roman or otherwise, then he was a suckling pig wearing a bladder for a hat.

  ‘Narcissus, that will break the carriage,’ he replied, peering in dismay at the winding, climbing line of jagged stones, potholes and gravelled bumps.

  ‘You have such little faith, my praetorian friend.’

  They pressed on, and it took Rufinus a full half hour to become accustomed to the sound of the carriage being systematically shaken to pieces behind him. Acheron paced alongside the road on the green verge and after only a short while Rufinus realised how sensible the animal was and followed suit. Finally, a little after noon, the big centurion smiled and gestured ahead expansively.

  ‘Behold fabled Bucium.’

  Rufinus frowned at the squat, brown shape on the hill ahead. ‘We’re supposed to be going to Porolissum?’

  ‘Porolissum is further on. Two more days. Bucium is on the way, so we will change horses and resupply, and I will report to the acting prefect there.’

  Bucium was as ‘frontier’ a fort as Rufinus had ever seen. It stood on a bluff with steep slopes to two sides and a gentle descent from the others, a good field of vision, its walls of turf and seasoned timber. A small vicus had built up next to it, but it would never be anything more than a settlement of hopefuls and illegal wives. This, Rufinus decided, was not a fort with a future as a colonia or city. At best it was a latrine masquerading as a military installation. He tried to hide his feelings about the place, given Narcissus’ clear sense of pride in his home. As if to deliberately add to his discomfort, it began to rain.

  As they moved through a small hamlet by the stream and up to the fort, the civil settlement proper lying on the far side to the north-east, the people seemed friendly enough. Moreover, the fort’s walls and towers as they crested the rise and approached were immaculate. A certain type of commander ruled here, he realised. A fussy one, but one who kept things right.

  They were admitted with a certain level of formality, despite the best efforts of Narcissus to lower the tone of the exchange, and the centurion took Rufinus and Se nova, with Acheron beside them, his tongue lolling, to see the commander, while Luca saw to the beasts.

  ‘Narcissus?’ Rufinus said, looking around at the sturdy timber buildings in ordered rows.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is a sizeable fort for a small cavalry scout unit. I mean there can’t be more than a few score of your riders, and this fort was built for a thousand men, I reckon.’

  The centurion nodded. ‘Yes. We shared it with a unit of Hispanic cavalry until the troubles, when legatus Niger took them away to join his punitive army. I daresay they’ll be back, but we’ve made sure to take all the good quarters while they’re away.’

  The headquarters was pristine and well-kept. As he’d done in a dozen forts across the empire, Rufinus saluted the guards, crossed the square past the store rooms and the well, into the basilica with its colonnade containing statues of very stoic looking men in armour. Across the basilica and into one of the rooms.

  A man in a senior officer’s uniform was busy making notes and looked up in surprise. He looked faintly fishy to Rufinus. Big, rubbery lips, bulging eyes and a waxy complexion. The young praetorian half expected to see gills open when the man sighed.

  ‘Narcissus,’ he susurrated, ‘it is customary to knock. Even in the civilian world, let alone in the office of a superior.’

  Rufinus was shocked as the centurion laughed and dropped unceremoniously into the seat opposite the man. ‘You’re not my commander, Evagrius. Just the poor bastard the cavalry left behind to look after the place.’

  The officer’s eye began to twitch uncontrollably, and Rufinus was fascinated watching the interplay between them.

  ‘I’ve new orders from Apulum. Taking these folk to the legatus at Porolissum. I’d appreciate chitties for a complete resupply?’

  Evagrius’ eyes shrank to mere white pearls. Rufinus’ own eyes were watering just watching them. This was probably the closest that piscine face could come to a frown.

  ‘Narcissus, you were expected days ago,’ the man said with rigid disapproval.

  The centurion lifted one buttock and let out a huge, reverberating fart, then chuckled. ‘New orders, as I said.’

  ‘Even so you are days overdue. I am not pleased.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘And I am calling your unit to stand to.’

  The centurion sat upright. ‘What?’

  ‘One of the work parties at the frontier has been attacked. I want you to track them, find out who was responsible and bring them in. The legatus will appreciate our efforts.’

  ‘Piss off, Evagrius.’

  The prefect, for that was what he appeared to be, rose angrily to his feet, wagging a fishy finger.

  ‘I outrank you, Narcissus, and I am the de facto commander of Bucium. Believe me, if the First Hispanorum were here I would entrust the duty to them rather than you dirty, disorganised slackers, but life is what we make it and all I have to work with are your men. You will take all your riders out before dusk and ride for the frontier, where you will find me the men responsible. You may not like me, and gods know I don’t like you, but you serve here, and I command, and unless you want to find yourself whipped for insubordination, you will do AS YOU ARE FUCKING TOLD!’

  The officer stood, white faced and panting, and Rufinus had witnessed enough anger in his time to see the ire boiling up in the scout centurion. This was doing no one any good. He opened his mouth to say something. He wasn’t sure what yet, but he had to calm the situation. To his surprise, it was Senova’s voice that cut through the tension.

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself, Narcissus.’

  They all turned to look at her. All three of them had more or less forgotten she was there, she had been so unusually quiet.

  ‘Miss?’

  ‘You said it was two days to Porolissum? Gnaeus and I travelled a month together with no escort, all the way from Rome to Dacia. I would be a poor daughter of Brigantia if I could not manage two more days inside good Roman territory. And Gnaeus might look like a wet rag with a bad haircut, but I assure you he is a good, strong warrior.’

  The prefect looked faintly embarrassed as he turned to Senova. ‘There is another matter, miss, I’m afraid. There are reports of a carriage gone missing from Apulum the same time you departed. You will have to leave it here, for I have orders to send it back to the capital if and when it shows up.’

  Senova shrugged. ‘I can ride a horse.’

  Rufinus stared at her, exasperated. Where was this easy-going malleability when he’d needed it half a month ago while contemplating a long journey in the mountains?

  ‘Sir,’ Narcissus said, wrapping his tongue with distaste around the word, ‘this land is still not fully secured. You cannot intend to send a Roman matron into the countryside without an appropriate escort?’

  Senova was there again, instantly. ‘Gnaeus has money. We will hire men in the village. And a guide. Do not fear for us.’

  The big centurion cast an apologetic look at Rufinus, who smiled reassuringly, trying not to think of the seriously dwindling pile of coins in his purse. He had taken three months’ wages in advance from the praetorian coffers before he set off from Rome, but they were now largely gone, and no governor or provincial legate was likely to want to pay him without direct orders from Rome. Hopefully Niger would be sympathetic and help. ‘We’ll be fine Narcissus,’ he said, pushing the worry from his mind. ‘Say goodbye to the men for us and catch the Iazyges bastards who did for the work party. I will commend you to Pescennius Niger when I see him. You’ve been a good friend and a great help.’

  Narcissus bowed his head and held out a hand. As Rufinus shook it, the centurion said, ‘Go to Maska’s stable. He will know good men. Men you can trust. Use my name.’

  Rufinus smiled, and then more so as Narcissus bowed so low to Senova he almost overbalanced.
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  ‘It was a delight to know you, lady Senova.’

  ‘And you, you big, hairy bear. Look after yourself and your men.’

  Rufinus saluted and left, all-but dragging her from the building.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked as they emerged into the open courtyard.

  ‘I don’t like that. The prefect knew about the carriage and that we were travelling with Narcissus. Word of our movements has reached Bucium before us. The faster we get this evidence to Niger, the better.’

  Rufinus found Maska’s easily enough. The man spoke what Rufinus could only describe as ‘rudimentary Latin’, but he seemed to be friendly and genuine, especially when Narcissus recommendation came up, and his prices were so reasonable that the young praetorian offered as much over the odds as he dare spare to secure extra loyalty. By late afternoon, they had four horses between the three of them – Rufinus, Senova and Luca, who mysteriously seemed to be far less important to the legion than a carriage – and plenty of supplies. They had also acquired four local guards with unpronounceable names, only a dozen teeth between them and less command of Latin than your average pomegranate. Still, again, they seemed genuine, and all were well armed if not well armoured.

  They made good time out of Bucium and by the time night fell they had reached a place some eight miles away called Largiana, where the guide in his thick accent had explained they could overnight. Largiana turned out to be another fort, though this one had been wrecked and damaged recently, presumably by Sarmatian invaders during the troubles. Men had died here in brutal action, judging by the state of the place, though the bodies had been disposed of and things were slowly being put to rights.

  They found soldiers staying in the fort. Two tent parties of legionaries from the Fifth Macedonica – Niger’s legion – were at Largiana with orders to make the place liveable and defensible. After a brief moment of uncertainty and suspicion, they were given access to the legionaries’ camp fire, and things became much easier.

  ‘So you’re engineers?’ Senova asked with a smile as she unpacked the food they had purchased and began to slap the pork onto the skillet from the luggage, while one of their escort hung the cradle over the fire. As the pan lowered over the flames and the meat began to sizzle, the legionaries laughed. ‘Hardly. Cato over there’s an engineer. The rest of us are here to lift and carry.’

  The man chuckled, a friendly sound, but there was something in his eyes that set Rufinus on edge, and he found his hand straying to the pommel of the gladius lying on the ground next to him. He noted two of the escort they had hired at Bucium starting to hover at the edge of the firelight, expectantly, weapons sheathed but fingers twitching.

  ‘You say you’re bound for Porolissum? For the legatus?’ one of the men asked.

  ‘I’ll get more firewood,’ muttered another, rising and moving out into the night.

  Rufinus, eyes tracking the disappearing legionary, nodded. ‘Assigned to Porolissum by Governor Albinus.’ Perhaps the dropping of names might divert any unpleasantness.

  ‘And the woman?’ another asked, leering slightly. Senova’s face rose across the flames, and Rufinus was relieved to realise he could see in her expression that she had caught wind of the way things were going, but there was always that worry with Senova that she might do something unexpected and untoward.

  ‘Senova is a friend of General Pompeianus in Rome, and my travelling companion.’

  She threw him a look that suggested he might regret not claiming her openly as his.

  ‘Companion,’ nodded one of the soldiers with a smile. ‘Been a long time since I had a companion. Cold and lonely out here, it is, eh?’ he murmured, his gaze, hungry and wicked, playing across the other men. Rufinus could feel the situation slipping out of his control. Would direct confrontation help prevent it, or might it simply advance the problem?

  ‘I’m his woman,’ Senova said starkly, throwing a meaningful glance at Rufinus, who was busy weighing up odds. Fourteen legionaries. They looked tired and cold, but they were well armed and a man fighting for something always found unexpected reserves of strength. There were nine of the travelling party: four guards, one guide, Rufinus, Senova, a slave boy and Acheron. The big dog was standing near the fire, salivating at the smell of the frying pork. Rufinus gave a barely audible whistle, and Acheron turned to look at him. Rufinus flicked his eyes at the biggest legionary, a brute of a man who had not yet said anything, but was sitting and taking everything in, eyes alert.

  One of the guards had marked the man who’d gone for firewood, so that was good. Acheron on the big man. The dog had returned to watching the pork, but periodically his head turned to the brute, so Rufinus was confident Acheron knew what was needed. Beyond that he would use his initiative as always. The guide may only be a local villager, but he carried a small hunting bow and there was a large curved knife at his belt. The other three guards had now picked up on the atmosphere, watching the legionaries carefully. He realised that before they’d reached Alburnus he had leant Luca his pugio for defence and had completely forgotten to take it back. Thank the gods for his memory lapse, for the lad had the blade tucked naked in the side of his belt. Only Senova was unarmed, though she was far from the most pacific and defenceless of the group.

  The legionaries were of a mind. He could see that. None of them would hold back. He had to make sure his own people were prepared, especially since they were outnumbered and outmuscled.

  ‘Listen,’ he said clearly, ‘let’s avoid any nastiness or trouble. We’re expected at Porolissum, getting there is important, and there are enough of us that a fight will be ugly and costly. We’re not worth it just to warm your bed. Hug a blanket and keep your skin for another night.’

  The man who’d done most of the talking, a weaselly fellow with grey hair and a black moustache, narrowed his eyes, his fingers drumming on his knees.

  ‘I don’t know who you think you are, fella,’ he replied in an edgy voice, ‘but your men are local shit-diggers and farmers. We’re the glorious Fifth.’

  ‘Rape and murder is hardly glorious,’ Rufinus said in leaden tones. ‘We’ll finish our meal and move on. Find somewhere else to camp.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Bet you’ve got loads of stuff with you, too. Good stuff. Man who can afford to hire guards and guides and horses?’

  Damn it. There was clearly going to be no getting away from this. Rufinus glanced around again. The guard who’d been at the edge of the circle, watching the wood-gatherer, had vanished after him into the darkness. The others were drawing blades, and even the guide had slipped an arrow from his quiver and put it to the bow, ready to draw. Acheron was looking at him expectantly, and Luca had his hand on the pugio.

  ‘Let’s not do anything we regret,’ Rufinus tried once more.

  ‘Go right,’ barked Senova suddenly, and Rufinus turned a frown on her just as she flicked up the skillet, sending sizzling meat, searing fat and a whole collection of glowing orange embers into the gathered crowd of leering legionaries. Rufinus’ shock was nothing compared to her victims, half a dozen men shrieking and clawing at eyes and faces, arms and legs, where sizzling burning matter ate into their flesh.

  Oh well done,’ Rufinus grinned. In a heartbeat, Senova had evened the odds. ‘Acheron, kill!’

  As Rufinus rose, sword leaping to hand, the black shape of furious violence incarnate hurtled across in front of him and hit the big legionary like an angry bull. The big man went back over the rock on which he was sitting with a cry of shock and agony as razor teeth snapped and tore at him, his sword forgotten as he tried desperately to heave the ball of brutality off himself, barehanded.

  An arrow thrummed across the golden glow of what was left of the fire and struck another legionary full in the chest, sending him flying back into the darkness, gurgling. The guards joined the fight with the remaining legionaries, and Rufinus found himself a moment later facing the talkative rodent-like one with the moustache.

  ‘Seems like your night just went
to shit,’ Rufinus smiled.

  ‘Fuck you.’

  The man lunged. Rufinus let the sword whisper past him as he twisted and brought the pommel of his gladius round into the back of the man’s neck. Only the legionary’s momentum saved his life, for the weapon could easily have broken his neck, had he not been moving and robbed the blow of some force.

  The man was a veteran, though, and no fool. Having underestimated his foe and taken a thump for his trouble, he turned and began to advance again, sword whirling and slicing, fast and deadly. Rufinus watched his eyes rather than the sword. The man was confident, thinking he had Rufinus on the defensive. Let him keep thinking that. The young praetorian risked a quick glance behind him to be sure of any obstacles, but he was in a relatively clear space. He began to give ground, thrusting out his own gladius periodically to turn the advancing blade, making it appear that he had nothing to give and was fighting to survive. The man came on, leering, his sword play becoming more intricate, yet less dangerous as he showed off subconsciously. Rufinus clanged the blade away again twice, and noted when the man was briefly vulnerable during his repetitive flurry of blows.

  He struck suddenly. Coming to a firm halt, no longer stepping backward, his sword came up, clattering heavily against the legionary’s blade and sending it out wide. His left hook that had been building ready for three heartbeats struck the legionary full in the centre of the face and there was more than one crack of bone amid the pulverising of flesh and the spray of blood.

  He was not good with his left, or at least not as good as his right, but with adequate planning and build-up for momentum…

  The sword fell from the man’s hand as he staggered back, blind and in shock, face ruined, nose little more than a smudge across his cheek. As he tottered, blearily, making gagging noises and pouring blood, Rufinus took a step forward and brought his right hand up, sword held horizontally, using only the fist wrapped around the hilt. The uppercut shattered the man’s jaw and sent him flying backward to land with a thud on the cold earth.

  He looked around. It was almost over. Two of his guards lay among the fallen, and two legionaries were still struggling to defend themselves. One was pinned in place with a pugio, a snarling, howling slave boy still twisting it in the foot while a guard fenced with the shrieking soldier. There were other men who had survived, though. Some of those hit by the embers and the fat had fled into the night. Even as Rufinus tried to work out the numbers, Acheron, having finished savaging the big man, suddenly hit one of the two still standing in the back, sending him to the ground. The great jaws closed on the man’s neck with a crunch and Rufinus shivered.