The horses’ hooves padded softly over the bed of needles lying over the track. The only other sounds were the faint rustle of the breeze blowing through the tops of the trees close to the ridge, and the cawing of crows wheeling like flecks of soot high above the rocky crest of the mountain. Soon the track widened and passed out of the trees, and Pandarus saw the crest of the ridge no more than a quarter of a mile away. He felt relieved to be back in the open and decided that they would quickly survey the valley on the far side before turning back to the safety of the fort. As they approached the crest, he slowed his mount and halted the patrol. Then he swung his leg over the saddle horn and dropped to the ground. He gently patted his horse’s flank to steady the animal.
‘Dismount,’ he ordered, then held his reins out to Diomedes. ‘Keep nice and quiet while I’m gone, eh? Same goes for the rest of you.’
Diomedes bowed his head in mock respect. ‘Whatever the optio commands.’
‘That’s right, Trooper. Don’t you forget it.’
Pandarus thought about taking his shield and spear, but dismissed the idea. It was his role to observe, not to get involved in a fight. He patted the sword at his side, out of a sense of superstitious habit, and strode up the short stretch of track to the crest. The wind picked up sharply as it gusted over the ridge, which was bare of anything but rocks and tussocks of grass, and Pandarus shivered as he hunched his neck down into the folds of his cloak. He had grown up in the mountains of Thrace and was well used to the bitter weather that winter brought to such a landscape. Only the most hardy beasts ventured abroad, while the people huddled in their smoky huts and sat out the worst of the snow, ice and wind. It would be no different here in Britannia. Pandarus and the rest of the garrison would spend most of the winter in their barracks, when not on sentry or other duties. He offered a quick prayer to the gods on behalf of the rest of the cohort that Quintatus would crush the Deceanglians and the Druids swiftly and be back behind the ramparts of Viroconium before the first snow fell.
He was breathing more deeply as he reached the crest, and the steam from his breath was torn away in faint shreds as he gazed down into the valley adjacent to the one the patrol had been assigned to explore. The heavily forested hillside dropped away sharply before levelling out far below. At once his eyes were drawn to a large expanse of cleared and cultivated land. In the middle of it lay a modest ditch and palisade enclosing several large huts and small livestock pens. Thin trails of smoke issued from the huts, but there was little sign of movement: just a solitary woman splitting logs. All the same, Pandarus hurried a short distance down the slope so that he would not stand out against the skyline should anyone down in the valley happen to look in his direction. He found a cluster of bare rocks and settled there to shelter from the wind as he continued his observation. At length he spotted a small group of figures, children as far as he could make out, laden with more fuel for the village’s fires. But there was no sign of any men.
He raised his hands and blew some hot breath into them before rubbing them together vigorously. There was little to report here. The village posed no threat and might yield a few slaves if Centurion Macro could be persuaded to authorise a raid. As the acting commanding officer of the garrison, Macro stood to gain the lion’s share of the value of any captives, and Pandarus would come out of it with a handsome sum to add to his savings. Enough maybe to set aside a decent amount for the funeral club, so that he would have a tombstone worthy of him rather than the usual plain affair, cheaply inscribed, that was all most common soldiers could afford to mark their lives.
The optio watched long enough to conclude that the native village was defended by women and children only, and presented an easy target. He was about to emerge from the rocks and return to his men when he caught sight of movement at the edge of the forest further down the valley. A solitary rider emerged into the open, cloaked and armoured, with feed nets strung behind his saddle. A shield hung across his back and he carried a spear in his right hand. There was no doubting that this was one of their warrior caste. Within moments, another rider emerged from the trees, then more, forming a column that extended out of the forest like the head of a vast snake. At first Pandarus thought it might be a hunting party, returning to the village, but they kept coming, hundreds of them. This was no small band of warriors, he realised with a growing chill tingling at the back of his neck.
The last of the horsemen cleared the forest, and now came the head of a column of infantry, wrapped in furs and carrying an assortment of shields, spears, swords and axes. Some appeared to be wearing armour, helmets and greaves looted from Roman patrols they had ambushed and cut down. Pandarus watched as the enemy column extended along the floor of the valley. There was no mistaking that he was looking at a powerful force marching north towards the line of advance taken by Legate Quintatus. He grasped the significance of the enemy’s direction at once, and knew he must return to the fort to make his report without further delay.
He was about to rise to his feet when he heard the snort of a horse close at hand, and froze. At once he reached for the handle of his sword, and drew a sharp breath as he peered cautiously around the boulder that was sheltering him from the wind. A horseman was approaching. A bearded warrior wrapped in furs. His mount was one of the small, stocky breeds favoured by the mountain tribes, and it whinnied as the rider urged it along the slope. Pandarus shifted back into cover, furious with himself for having waited too long before returning to the patrol. He should have anticipated that the enemy would be deploying scouts too, especially if they were concerned to close up on the Roman army unawares.
He considered whether it would be best to try and let the man pass by and then slip back to the others, then realised that if the enemy scout chose to ride along the crest, he would be sure to spot the waiting auxiliaries and raise the alarm. With their superior knowledge of the terrain and horses better suited to negotiating it, the enemy stood a good chance of running the patrol down. He had no choice. The scout had to be dealt with. And it would be better to take him alive, if possible, to gain intelligence of the enemy’s precise intentions.
Pandarus released his grip on the handle of the sword and reached into his side bag for the iron knuckle guard he had bought back in Londinium to give him the edge in the drunken scrimmages that had frequently broken out between off-duty men of rival units. He slipped his fingers into the grip and clenched his fist. The rider was passing the rocks, the soft thump of hooves filling Pandarus’s ears. He caught the tang of horse sweat and the more acrid odour of the enemy warrior. The muzzle, head and flank of the animal loomed close by, and he braced his feet, ready to spring forward. His boots ground against the scree, and the horse shimmied as the rider glanced to the side, his jaw dropping in surprise.
Pandarus exploded from behind the boulder and hurled himself at the rider, grabbing him by the arm and wrenching him sideways from his saddle. The warrior just had time to let out a thin cry before the optio smashed his knuckle guard against the side of his head. The blow glanced off at an angle, ripping through the man’s scalp. Then they tumbled together on to the slope as the horse bucked and lurched away. Pandarus strained to keep his grip on the warrior’s sword arm, slamming his other hand down to steady himself so that he could get purchase with his boots. The tribesman swiftly recovered from his surprise and now lashed out wildly with his spare hand and his feet, kicking at Pandarus’s body. Blood flowed freely from the tear in his scalp, and flicked into the optio’s face as they fought.