Dry-mouthed, with a thumping heart, Tullus stole after Degmar. Two hundred paces later, he began to dream that they might make it. After another twenty steps, though, a muffled curse from the rear gave the lie to that hope. Tullus halted Degmar, and the lead soldier, and paced down the line, asking, ‘Anything wrong?’
Every soldier said he was all right until he reached Fenestela. ‘What is it?’ demanded Tullus.
‘The woman’s gone.’
Tullus’ head jerked around to the final legionary – he hadn’t noticed she was absent. ‘Where is she?’
‘Her brat let go of the pup, and it ran off. The woman told her to forget the damn thing, but she went after it. The mother took off too,’ Fenestela muttered. ‘To Hades with both of them.’
Peering back at the enemy camp, Tullus could see nothing. He clenched his jaw. To go after the woman would put all of his men at risk. Bad as he felt, he couldn’t do it. ‘To the wall,’ he ordered.
The last eighty paces felt to Tullus like the final steps of a condemned man walking down the tunnel and into the arena. Yet there was no outcry from atop the rampart, and they were able to cross the defensive ditch over a section that the warriors had filled with turves. It didn’t take Degmar long to find the door. Throwing up a prayer, Tullus rapped on it with his fist.
There was no response, so he struck it with the hilt of his sword. The hollow thumping noise was loud, loud enough to carry. Tullus’ nerves were stretched as tight as wire as he waited but, to his huge relief, a sentry within responded before any of the enemy. Tullus met his suspicious challenge with a reply – in Latin. Quickly, Tullus said who he was, and to prove that he had to be Roman, gave Caedicius’ nickname, ‘Twenty-miler’, after his habit of doling out long punishment marches to soldiers. The dutiful sentry insisted on getting his officer, but the door was opened soon after, and in Tullus’ soldiers went.
Tullus hung back, unable to put the woman and child from his mind. Without being asked, Degmar stayed by his side.
Fenestela’s teeth flashed in the gloom as he reached the entrance. ‘We did it,’ he whispered.
‘Aye. Stay by the door.’
Fenestela sensed Tullus’ purpose at once. ‘Leave her!’
‘I can’t. Imagine what they’ll do to her when she’s found.’
‘That’s not your problem.’
Ignoring Fenestela, Tullus stalked back into the darkness with Degmar.
‘We’ll be lucky to find her,’ muttered Degmar.
‘Go back if you wish,’ retorted Tullus, wondering why he was risking his life yet again.
But Degmar stayed where he was, and together they sneaked back towards the enemy positions. They reached it without incident, madly enough, yet trying to decide where to search was futile. The woman could have been anywhere in the disorganised and ramshackle camp, and her child somewhere else altogether. Tullus wasn’t prepared to return without trying, however. Conscious that each passing moment increased the risk of discovery, he crept up and down several rows of tents – without success. Degmar roved around some distance away, returning now and then to report that he’d found no sign of her either.
Tullus had given up hope when, of all things, he heard a dog whine.
He pricked his ears. A dozen heartbeats later, there was a stifled cry – that of a woman – and then a slap as someone struck her. A man cursed, and Tullus thought, it has to be them. He’d gone perhaps a dozen steps towards the sound when Degmar appeared, knife already in hand. ‘You heard that?’ he whispered.
‘Aye.’ Tullus drew his sword.
The scene they came upon was pathetic. A three-sided lean-to, with a dying fire before it. The girl, crouched down, the pup in her arms. Her mother, on her back, with a warrior’s bare arse thrusting up and down between her open legs. Two other warriors watching with smirks on their faces.
The standing men were the greater danger, Tullus reasoned. A quick command to Degmar and they fell on the pair like vengeful ghosts. The two died before they could utter more than short, surprised cries. What Tullus hadn’t taken into consideration was that the warrior raping the woman might be holding a blade to her neck. The instant he realised his companions were under attack, he ran the iron across her throat. He died not three heartbeats later, Tullus’ sword slicing deep into his back, but it was too late. Tullus could only hope that the woman heard him say, ‘Your daughter is safe.’ He watched the light fade from her eyes with Degmar hissing in his ear that they had to go.
‘Come with me.’ Grabbing the sobbing girl’s arm, Tullus ran for the fort.
Once again the darkness and the late hour combined to help them reach the walls without harm. Fenestela was waiting as ordered, and the door opened before Tullus had time to knock again. ‘The woman?’ he asked as they barged in.
Tullus gave a savage shake of his head.
You saved the girl, he thought. That’s better than nothing.
The knowledge did little to ease his bitterness.
Late that evening, Tullus was once more a guest of Caedicius in Aliso’s rundown praetorium. He had seen his men to their quarters, and delegated Fenestela to look after the traumatised girl. A warm bath had followed, and then he’d donned the clean clothes he’d been given. Now he was in civilised surroundings, being served tasty food and drink. The luxuries, although welcome, did little for his mood. The woman was dead, despite his best efforts, and the thousands of warriors whom they had sneaked past to enter the fort were still outside.
Tullus’ disquiet wasn’t helped by the presence, alongside Caedicius’ two cohort commanders, of Tubero. Wounded, dazed-looking and with a black eye, but Tubero nonetheless. He hadn’t as much as acknowledged Tullus’ existence thus far, other than to grunt when Caedicius had announced him. That suited Tullus to the ground. It was bad enough seeing the prick alive when so many better men were not, without having to talk to him. If what Tullus had heard was true, Tubero had survived because he’d fallen in with a seasoned optio of the Seventeenth, who had somehow managed to drag him and seven ordinary soldiers to Aliso. Rather than seem grateful for his luck, Tubero kept mentioning the fine helmet he’d lost. At length, Caedicius told him to shut up.
The talk was all of what they should do, and when the next enemy attack would be. Bone-weary, grieving, worried, Tullus took no part in it. Caedicius was watching him, however, and saw his long face. Ordering a servant to top up Tullus’ wine, he said, ‘Aliso hasn’t fallen yet, centurion, nor is it likely to anytime soon. We’ve thrown back the savages three times now, with heavy losses on each occasion. Our ballistae reaped them like wheat, and will continue to do so. Apart from filling in the ditches with cut turves, the stupid bastards have no idea how to take a fortress, and that won’t change.’
‘Aye, sir.’ Tullus pulled a smile. Caedicius was soon drawn back into conversation by Tubero, and Tullus was content to fall silent again. He threw back a mouthful of wine. It was tasty, reminding him of the night he’d got drunk with the two men a few months back. Yet his pleasure soured as he fell to brooding about the brutal events of the previous few days.
Other stragglers from the battle were still coming in – the tribesmen’s cordon around the camp was incomplete in many places, allowing men to approach the walls under the cover of darkness, as they had – but the total stood at fewer than two hundred legionaries, and a couple of score civilians. Two hundred left out of fourteen and a half thousand, Tullus brooded. His legion hadn’t been the only one to suffer the dishonour of losing its eagle. All three standards had been taken by the enemy.