“If the moon comes out from behind the clouds we’re going to be a lot more visible,” he noted. Varro shrugged.
“If the moon comes out we just have to drop to the grass and wait for another cloud.”
The two walked on for a while in silence until Varro judged that they’d gone as far as they needed to, and then as quickly and lightly as they could, they slipped across the road and ran across to the relative cover of the undergrowth on the valley side. Once among the low scrub, they stopped for another rest, leaning forward with their hands on their hips, breathing deeply.
Varro looked across at Salonius and shrugged. The young man nodded and the two began to move toward the byre, now a vague, looming darker shape amid the greater darkness. They moved slowly and carefully. There was little chance the occupants would be watching anywhere but the village, so speed was of far less importance than silence. Picking their way between the scratchy, rustling plants as quietly as possible, they edged closer and closer to the barn, the rough planks from which it was constructed gradually becoming visible in the gloom.
Salonius regarded his superior, three steps ahead, with a worried look. It was clear that all this sudden exercise and movement had stirred up trouble with the captain’s wound. Perhaps it had even opened up once again and he could be bleeding to death as they moved. Salonius wouldn’t be able to tell until they reached a patch of light. The state of Varro added to his collection of concerns as he moved. What if the cows had been locked up somewhere else and the barn was empty. Where would they look then? What if their pursuers had already gone ahead and were at the Imperial way station? What if, and this one had been nagging at him all afternoon: what if these men turned out to be innocent? Or even allies?
He realised his pace had slowed and he was gaining distance on the captain out ahead.
“Damn it” he muttered under his breath and picked up the pace a little. It was no good surrendering to doubt now.
By the time he’d caught up with Varro, the two were mere yards from the shed. At least one of his fears was allayed as they ducked across the open space, the mud fortunately dry due to the recent lack of rain. As they crouched by the wall of the barn, Salonius could hear the murmur of hushed conversation within. He strained to hear more, but the detail was still indistinct. There were clearly two men talking in very low tones.
Varro shuffled silently along the wall to where low flickers of yellow light shone out through a hole in the boards. He peered through and then beckoned Salonius to join him.
Inside the barn were two men. One, lying on a rough bed of straw, was wrapped tightly in a blanket with a saddle blanket rolled up beneath his head. The other sat at the barn’s window, gazing out toward the village in the distance. He was dressed in rough tunic and breeches. Not a military uniform tunic, but that of a civilian, yet on the belt fastened round his waist was a solid Imperial military sword. A quick glance back confirmed that a second sword lay next to the reclining man, within arm’s reach. Salonius craned his neck to look further back into the byre and noted with distaste the source of the smell wafting gently through the window. Half a dozen cows lay in various positions to the rear where they’d been led and, without a moment’s thought, had their throats cut. Salonius felt unaccountably queasy.
Varro nudged him and pointed to the watcher and then tapped himself quietly on the chest. With two fingers making a walking motion, he mimed moving around the shed to the window and then lightly patted his sword. Salonius nodded his understanding and pointed at the door of the barn. The large door was held shut with only a length of twine, designed, as it was, to be shut from the outside. He mimed cutting the twine with his blade and then pointed at the reclining figure. Varro nodded agreement and held out his hand. Salonius grasped it and shook once before slowly and quietly drawing his sword. Varro did the same and, with a single nod, began to creep slowly and quietly around the wall.
Salonius sloped off in the opposite direction, to the door. There were cracks around the door and he’d have to be careful not to be observed. He took up the best hidden position where he could see the tied twine through a crack which would be wide enough to thrust his sword through. His heart racing, he sought another crack and, finding the best, quietly waited, watching the man at the window. Irritatingly, now he was somewhere he could hear, they’d stopped talking. With bated breath he waited.
His first sign that Varro had made a move startled him. There was an unpleasant ‘crunch’ and a faint squawk from the man at the window. Even as Salonius thrust his sword between the planks and severed the twine with ease, he watched with fascinated horror as the man at the window slumped slowly backwards and fell to the floor, a gaping hole where his eyes had been and a multicoloured slick of unpleasantness pouring from the wound. He twitched for a moment, gurgling, as Salonius pulled the door open. Varro had appeared at the window now, a grim look of determination on his face and his sword running with the man’s blood.
The man lying wrapped in a blanket had grasped his sword and was coming to his feet quickly, his eyes flickering between the messy corpse on the floor and the vision of bloodlust at the window. So intent on Varro was he that he never noticed the door swing open behind him and never saw the stocky young soldier leap across behind him, his sword raised high.
With a grim smiled, Salonius brought down the bronze pommel of his sword hard on the very top of the man’s head, knocking him unconscious instantly. The man slumped to the floor.
Varro glared at him.
“You think we’ve time to take prisoners?”
Salonius shrugged defensively.
“I’d rather know who they are before I kill them, sir.”
Growling, Varro rounded the wall of the shed and stormed in through the door. As he leaned down and wiped his sword on the dead man’s tunic, he glared up at his companion.
“You think they’re innocent men?” he barked. “They’re in civilian clothes with no insignia or sign of rank. Yet they’re armed like soldiers and following us. You want more?”
Salonius stood silently.
Varro kicked the fallen body.
“This one I don’t know but I think he might have been one of the provosts from Crow Hill.”
He pointed at the unconscious man.
“That bastard, on the other hand, I know. I know the face. He’s one of the prefect’s guard.”
Salonius shrank back from the force of the captain’s anger. Varro walked over and pressed his finger into Salonius’ chest.
“You brained him; you carry him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sheathing his sword, the young man bent down and lifted the unconscious soldier easily, slinging him across his shoulder. As he settled his burden more comfortably, Varro collected the saddle bags from the pile in the room and shouldered them. With a single angry glance at Salonius, he strode purposefully out of the shed and toward the road that led to the bridge.
The young man hurried after him, giving a worried glance back at the interior.
“Sir?” he called as he jogged to catch up.
“What?” barked Varro furiously.
“What about the mess. Shouldn’t we hide the body? And find their horses, sir?”
Varro stopped dead and Salonius almost fell over him. He turned and pointed back at the barn.
“Firstly, if you’d been more aware of your surroundings and less worried about the ethical consequences of what you were doing, you’d have seen that the farmer was lying gutted in the back of the barn behind the cows. No one’s going to find that till tomorrow morning; afternoon probably. We’ll be long gone by then.”