“It’s going to take forever to get down from here.” Decimus said quietly. Brenna ignored his comment at first and concentrated on guiding her mount with Staro trotting behind, tied off.
“We’re already a lot lower now and just have to keep going north.” She concentrated her eyes, believing she had just seen something ahead, Decimus saw that she was distracted.
“What is it, what do you see?” He asked looking forward in the direction of her gaze.
“I’m not sure. I thought I saw movement up ahead.” She replied slowing her horse to a walk. “Did you see anything?”
He stopped and peered into the darkness, “I can’t see anything are you sure? It’s probably the dark playing tricks on you.” She stopped by his side and got off her horse.
“Up there by those bushes.” She said pointing along the path they were following. Decimus looked forward straining his eyes and turning his head slightly from side to side, ears listening favouring his left.
“I can’t see or hear a fucking thing.” He turned to look at her.
“Stay here with the horses,” She said, “if I’m not back in a short time, turn around and find another way.” She began to walk along the path.
“Wait, wait a moment, let’s see if anything moves first, be sure.” He said but she held a hand out backwards and continued walking slowly. Decimus got down from his horse and muttered, “Stupid bitch, she’ll get us all killed.” He said talking to the horses.
Chapter Twenty One
Decimus watched her walk away from him until the darkness swallowed her form, enveloping her completely and waited, and waited, He heard nothing except the breeze and saw nothing except for the darkness all around him. After a while he decided that she had been gone far longer already than the short time she had suggested or he had imagined. He looked around into the dark, cold night and at the landscape around him, he walked along the track ten paces and then back again to where the horses stood. He patted each of them in turn and spoke to them but there was still no sign of Brenna.
“Fucking cunting fuck cakes.” He said to no-one in particular under his breath, it was frustration as he realised for the first time he was alone, miles from any friendly faces and surrounded by hostile barbarians for miles around. He looked at the horses who just stared back at him and then at the grass at the side of the track.
“Go on then.” He said and let them wander to the side, letting them eat the long green grass. He turned back to where Brenna had disappeared and then turned looking in the direction they had come from, back down the track. They both looked the same, both directions, cold, dark, empty and uninviting.
“Well if you think I’m staying here all on my own you’ve got another thing coming lady.” He said to himself and slowly drew his sword as it quietly whispered out of the sheath. He frowned concentrating and walked slowly along the track in the same direction as Brenna, sword facing forward. For the first time he realised how cold it was despite them now being a lot lower in altitude than they were earlier that day where the danger, real danger was, he thought to himself, danger that he could at least see. He had an ironic grimace on his face as he continued forward grinding his teeth.
“Where in Hades are you Brenna?” He whispered and then he saw movement and stopped dead, standing perfectly still, a shiver went down his spine but not from the cold. Something had crossed his path but it was too far distant for him to see clearly, it looked like a large Briton hunched over clasping his stomach. His senses were stretched to the limit as he tried to pick something up but staring into the darkness he saw nothing. He considered shouting out to Brenna in full voice but knew that if there were Britons nearby, they would be alerted to his position and would descend on him like a pack of wolves. He moved to the side of the track, off the gravel and onto the soft grass verge where he moved more quickly straining his eyes into the dark, every sense heightened.
“Brenna!” He called quietly almost whispering but there was no response, he knew there wouldn’t be because she would have had to have been standing right next to him to hear his voice.
“Fucking thunder cunt!” He whispered to himself, now he was scared. The pattern of the track in front of him changed, curving to the left and downwards. At the arc of the curve there were dark trees, many dark trees. He squinted trying to see what lay beneath them but could only make out the nearest low branches with blackness beyond, he turned again and looked back at the horses, they were still happily munching away on the grass oblivious to what was going on around them. He wished he was a horse he decided, they would be looked after by whoever had them unless they were desperately hungry at least. He considered going back to them and riding off but he couldn’t leave Brenna alone in the middle of this barren place, could he?
Varro scrambled up a steep slope as he thought about Decimus and Brenna and where they were and if they were safe. The night was cold now and a slight breeze blew down the valley but the sky was clear which at least allowed him to see from his elevated position with the stars shining brightly above. With the help of the gods they would be miles away from this place by now and galloping towards help, somewhere in the lowlands, ‘Mithras, make it so’ he thought, praying mentally. From somewhere below he suddenly heard noises from the valley over the crest in front of him, blown on the wind. Staying low he reached nearer to the edge and got down on his stomach, the grass was cold but not yet full with nightly dew, something unpleasant to look forward to later no doubt.
He crawled over the ground and could see Britons moving along the track below, tiny from this distance they were so tightly packed, they looked like a human river as they moved through the gorge like valley carrying torches. He followed their direction with his eyes and saw numerous mountains tops and hills in the distance where fires burned. One of them, the tallest peak was especially bright and he could make out the distinct features of a Roman defensive position around its middle.
“Thank Mithras.” He said, his voice the first he had heard in hours, it sounded strange, isolated, alone. He removed his helmet placing it down and leaving it behind and edged further forward to get a better view. The last thing he wanted was for his helmet to glint and give his position away. He wouldn’t last anytime at all if the Britons saw him and wouldn’t be able to get away once they scaled his lofty perch, which wouldn’t take long. He looked out over the valley and saw that his Legion or what was left of it, the survivors, had dug palisades and built defences. A swathe of land was bare where they had chopped down trees to build their temporary fortification and he could see a great many men moving about on guard, the size of ants from this distance.
It looked as if they had been forced to use every piece of land available to them right up to the peak where more fires burned. There were no tents erected which could only mean that they were either in enemy hands or had been abandoned, left where they were ambushed. If that was the situation, he wondered how much food and water they had remaining. These were questions he couldn’t answer but assumed that if Vespasian were still alive, they would have as many provisions as physically possible as well as weapons. He could make out a line of archers beyond the cleared land and some patrolling the perimeter where he could also see what he presumed was a stock of javelins.
Looking down again at the river of bodies he knew it would be suicide to try and get to the men of the Second from where he was. The other peaks nearby were covered sporadically with their own fires which he assumed were ringed by Britons warming themselves against the night air. Every so often he heard singing carried on the breeze as if in celebration and saw that the Britons on one mountaintop were dancing around a fire, which could only mean that they had already killed many of his comrades.