A horn blew a ragged note from down in the valley, then the bronze trumpet showed how it was done. Rufus was nowhere in sight.
‘The boys are coming,’ Vindex said to the man who had fallen and was now covered with a reeking skin of manure and other filth. ‘You giving up or do you want me to kill you now?’ When there was no response he went down the bank, almost slipping.
The warrior knelt in submission. ‘Spare me.’
On the other side the man with the broken nose made no effort to pick up his dropped sword. Ferox’s side throbbed with pain and he wanted to know where the deserter had gone. He hefted the spear. The warrior stared at him blankly, neither defiant nor showing any sign of giving in. Ferox flung the spear, his chest screaming in agony with the motion. The iron spearhead had never been very sharp, and had blunted further in the fight, but the weight and sheer force of the throw punched through ribs into the man’s heart. Ferox had turned away before the warrior fell. The centurion grasped his sword, placed a boot on the corpse’s face and wrenched the blade free.
There was a shout of triumph from inside the farm as Eburus, wearing a battered old helmet, brandished his shield and spear in the air. The boy stood beside him, armed with a reaping hook. Then a scream came from one of the animal pens. Ferox ran into the yard, for it was the terrified cry of a woman.
Rufus rode through the open gate of the pen, mounted on the white-faced pony and driving the beast on with the flat of his sword, the other hand guiding the reins and holding down the struggling slave draped in front of his saddle.
‘Coward!’ Eburus yelled at his fleeing guest, while the boy sprinted at the rider, hook raised. Rufus turned the animal on a denarius, and the beast almost bounded at the young lad, who swung his blade wildly and missed. The deserter cut down once, the well-honed blade striking at an angle into the boy’s neck so that the blood jetted high as he fell.
Ferox tried to get on Rufus’ left as the horse reared, hoofs flailing. The woman shrieked and tried to wriggle free.
‘Bitch!’ Rufus hissed and punched down with his left fist. Eburus was on the other side, and the deserter managed to block a thrust from his spear. He kicked hard against the horse’s sides. Ferox’s sword was too low and he dropped it, instead grabbing with both hands for the woman’s arms. The horse surged forward, stumbled, recovered and cantered for the causeway. As it stumbled, Ferox felt the woman’s weight shift and she was falling onto him, and then there was red-hot pain in his thigh. His leg gave way, his hands slipped, he grabbed, felt something tear, then he hit the ground and the weight of the woman smashed into him.
Rufus galloped across the causeway. The kneeling warrior sprang at Vindex, knocking him against the bank. They wrestled, slipping in the filth of the ditch, and the scout pounded the man’s head with the twin-pronged bronze pommel of his sword.
‘Mongrel!’ Eburus screamed. The woman rolled off Ferox, panting, her eyes wild with fear. He tried to push up, his leg screaming in protest. His trousers were slick with blood from the wound made by Eburus’ spear. ‘Why did you get in the way?’ the old man yelled angrily.
Vindex had beaten the warrior to the ground. He kneeled, and drove the sword into the man with such force that it stuck in the earth. Trying to stand, he slipped twice before he managed to get up. One hand wiped dung from his face and he spat several times.
‘Are you still sure this was a good idea?’ he said.
I
FEROX CRAWLED THROUGH long grass. He could hear a woman singing a lilting song that was as old as the hills and told of a hero meeting a princess. ‘I see a sweet country, I’ll rest my weapon there.’
The grass was thick, almost like heather, so that he had to push down each blade, beating it into submission. He kept going, panting with the effort. The trees at the top of the slope seemed further away than ever. He wanted to get up and run, but knew that then they would see him and he would die. The grass had prickles and his fingers hurt as he pushed his way through.
The singing was getting fainter. He grabbed frantically at the grass and thistles in his way, flinging himself forward. The trees were there at last and he jumped up and ran into them. Branches like snakes writhed all around him, grasping his legs and arms. He could no longer hear the woman.
Ferox fought the trees, pushing on and on, and suddenly he burst through into the moonlight and saw the pool.
A scream rent the night air. She was standing by the far side of the water, hair bound up on top of her head with a ribbon, her slippers and robe on the ground. Her skin was white like ivory, her hair the purest gold and her shape the dazzling perfection of the divine.
Was this Artemis of the hunt, so that he would suffer the fate of Actaeon and be torn to pieces by her hounds? Part of him said that such a glimpse was worth the awful price. Another part recalled how much he disliked dogs.
‘Oh!’ The cry was one of annoyance without a trace of fear. The goddess leaned forward. One hand over her chest and the other between her legs, the posture covering little and somehow making her seem more naked, more desirable. This was not Artemis, or Diana or Luna of the Moon.
‘Oh!’ It was almost a gasp. She went down on one knee, both arms over her breasts, her bottom thrust out. This was Venus and not the untouchable Huntress. This Goddess offered love, even sometimes to mortals, her virginity renewed after each affair human or divine. He knew her face and dreamed of it so often.
She smiled and Ferox rushed forward into the water. It was black and thick like honey. After one step it was up to his waist. At the second it was around his neck. The goddess changed. She was clothed now in a long dress of many dazzling colours and seemed younger. As the black water reached his mouth she transformed into the Mother, spear in one hand and sheaf of wheat in the other. Then she changed again and was the hag, one eye pale and sightless, hair wild and skin showing the wrinkles of the centuries. Her laugh was a cackle of contempt.
The pool pulled him down into the blackness of the Otherworld.
Ferox felt someone shaking him and he woke with a start, blinking at the morning sunlight streaming through the window and gulping for breath. His body felt slick with sweat.
‘Good, you are back with us.’
Vindex leaned over him. It was not much of an improvement over the hag, especially when he grinned.
‘You are still alive then?’ The scout was not the one speaking. This was a polished voice, whose simplest statement was beautifully pitched and composed from years of training.
Ferox sighed deeply. Vindex had moved away so that now all he saw was the beamed ceiling. Dimly he remembered arriving at Vindolanda, drenched and cold after three days of riding through near constant downpours.
‘The medicus said that it should not do too much harm if we roused you,’ the voice went on. ‘That is if it did not kill you.’