Marcus harrumphed, but he was clearly mollified by this. ‘Very well. In the circumstances I can see that you’re not totally to blame. The rebels set a trap and you fell into it. We always knew they were a ruthless group — it appears they are a cunning one as well.’
‘And, with respect, Excellence,’ I put in nervously, ‘we also know that they are still at large, and in the area. It would be prudent not to linger here, perhaps? It makes us an easy target for attack. I think we should be safer on the move, especially now that we have at least some of our mounted outriders again.’
Marcus nodded. ‘You may be right, old friend,’ he conceded, with an alacrity which indicated how alarmed he was. ‘See to it, optio.’
‘At once, Excellence,’ and he bustled off, happily bristling with responsibility. He was soon back again, however. ‘With your permission, Excellence?’
‘Well?’
‘One of our riders has been hurt, and though it is possible for him to ride, he will delay our progress. However, he is fit enough to march, and he can be supported if necessary. Permission to give his mount to Regulus?’
Marcus looked momentarily vexed, then nodded briefly. ‘Very well.’
‘Then we are ready to proceed.’
We took our places at the centre of the group, with the wounded horseman in the rank behind, where Regulus had been. There was the usual parting ritual — ‘Are you prepared for battle or for death?’ ‘We are!’ — and we were on our way.
It was comforting to have the outriders again, and we marched in silence, as before. In fact we moved so quickly that for me, at least, conversation would have been impossible. My heart pumped and my old legs ached with keeping up, and even Marcus, who exercises regularly at the baths, was beginning to look flushed and out of breath. The foot soldiers, however, marched as though we were on a gentle stroll.
We were still on the alert for ambushes, of course, but if there were still rebels in the woods they did not trouble us. It occurred to me that we were far too strong a force, and that they would not confront us while we outnumbered them. That was a comfort and I moved more easily, and was even able to enjoy the sombre beauty of the place — autumnal leaves that rustled underfoot and patches of feeble sunlight dappling the massive trees.
My private soliloquy was interrupted by a commotion in the ranks behind. The wounded horseman had reeled and fallen to the ground. There was a moment’s pause while he was hoisted to his feet and supported by the men on either side, and then the column moved briskly on again. There was no perceptible change in pace at all, though when I glanced behind me I saw that his feet were dragging on the ground and he was being borne along by his companions. They did not even falter in their stride. It was an amazing display of strength and discipline.
There was still no sign of bandits anywhere. We passed another traveller on the road, a fat man with a donkey cart piled high with skins, who moved into the ditch to let us pass. The presence of this simple, unarmed trader put our fears to shame, and I for one felt rather foolish marching by, protected by a fierce contingent, leaving the man to coax his animal back onto the road, and rearrange the dislodged cargo on his cart.
A moment later, though, I had forgotten him. We turned the corner and found ourselves back on a familiar stretch of road, near where we had left the transport, and one of the front outriders was galloping back towards us, visibly distressed.
‘Optio, sir, and your mightiness!’ It was Regulus, wheeling his borrowed mount beside us and reporting breathlessly. ‘There has been a sort of accident ahead. The horses. .’ His voice tailed off. ‘Round the corner, sirs. Perhaps you had best come and see for yourselves.’ He cantered off.
The phalanx surged forward, almost breaking ranks. There was the clearing and the path, and there was the carriage and the carts, but they were not exactly where we’d left them and it was clear at once that something was amiss. For one thing there were signs that there had been a struggle here. Baskets and belongings from the luggage cart were spread about and lying in the road, and the grass around had been trampled and was dark and stained. A body was stretched out on the verge, a red-headed youth in plaid, but there was no other living thing in sight except ourselves. No slaves, no guards, and — appallingly — no horses, even on the carts. The very harness straps and chains had been removed and the vehicles leaned drunken and useless on their shafts.
‘There were men here on guard! Where have they gone?’ The optio abandoned all restraint and ran forward, clasping his helmet as he went. After a minute Marcus followed him, and I trailed after them, staring at the scene in disbelief.
This time there were no questions about who might have been responsible. None of us had any doubt at all. The men who had stolen the horses from the farm had clearly stolen ours. It was also evident that Marcus had been right, and that a cunning mind was working here. Turning our own outriders back on us with false rumours of attack had achieved a double purpose. Not only had it caused them to attempt to ride us down, but it had also prevented them from returning here and helping to protect the transport. I looked up and down the track, but there was no sign of any other guards, alive or dead, only the motionless Silurian on the ground.
I knelt beside the dying youth and saw, now that I came close to him, that he had taken a spear-point through his ribs. It had broken at the hilt and he was moaning piteously. I raised his head.
‘What happened here?’ I whispered, signalling to Regulus to bring a water-skin from the luggage cart. Pouring a few drops of liquid on his tongue was all that I could do. To move the blade would kill him instantly.
For answer the young Silurian turned his head and looked me in the face. His eyes were glazing over. Then, summoning the last remnants of his strength, he spat at me. ‘That, for all enemies of Karak. .’ he began, in a voice that cracked and broke, but the effort was too much for him and he slumped back, dead.
I looked at Regulus, who had witnessed all of this, with a questioning lift of my brows. He had come running over straight away, not stopping to search the luggage cart but unfastening his own small water-bottle from his belt. He shook his head. ‘Karak? Must be some sort of tribal name. It doesn’t mean anything to me.’ He knelt down beside me as he spoke and himself held the water to the Silurian’s lips, but we both knew that it was far too late. He sighed and rocked back on his heels. ‘Now that’s a pity. If he’d lived, even for an hour, we might have got something out of him. As it is, he is no use to us at all.’ He got back to his feet.
I pulled the young man’s cloak round to cover his face and wordlessly, as if with one accord, we lifted the body between us to the ditch where we had found Promptillius earlier. We buried him in the self-same hole, as sketchily as Regulus’s party had buried the dead slave the morning before — roughly covered by a mound of leaves. Even then, Marcus was not altogether pleased when we got back to the larger party by the carts.
‘Wasting time and ceremony on our enemies,’ he grumbled, ‘when our horses have been taken and only the gods know what has happened to our men. Serve him right if he was left unburied and forced to walk the earth. There were two slaves with the luggage wagon here — to say nothing of a dozen guards. And how are we to get to Isca now?’
I looked forlornly at the carriage we had travelled in. It did look a sorry sight, bereft of horses and pushed off the road to rest lopsidedly against a fallen tree. Pushed there not long ago, it seemed — it was still rocking slightly on its wheels. I stared at it a moment, before the implication struck me. Rocking?
Regulus was still standing at my side, and it was obvious that the same thought had occurred to him. ‘Come on!’ I shouted and we set off at a run. He is a younger, fitter man than I am, and he got there first. He pulled aside the leather curtain and flung back the door. A bundled figure fell out at his feet — naked, gagged and trussed up hand and foot, but even before I saw the slave-brand on his back, I knew that it was one of Marcus’s slaves.