“Your men are in danger!”
“Why?” He swung his arm up to bring it down in a ringing slap, but at the apex it would not descend. He looked round in surprise and Salonius’ face split into a wide grin.
“Morning.”
The guard started to open his mouth, but the pommel of Salonius’ sword thunked into the back of his head with some force and his eyes glazed over as he slowly collapsed. Salonius caught him by the arm before he could slump too far and lifted him, slinging him over a shoulder. The young man smiled at Catilina and turned with his burden to see Varro dragging the other man, unconscious, toward the gate.
As the two soldiers dropped their prisoners unceremoniously in the first building they found, Catilina searched the store and reappeared with a roll of twine. As she and Salonius busily set about binding the wrists and ankles of the two men, Varro stuffed bundles of cloth into their mouths and gagged them.
Finally the three stepped back to admire their handiwork and Catilina smiled.
“You do realise we’ve probably only an hour or so before those riders come back. We need to get a good head start.”
Varro nodded.
“Leave that to me” he smiled as he ushered them out of the building and closed the door. “You go out and get the horses ready.”
As his companions left the fort, Varro stopped behind them and closed and barred the heavy gate. Happy with the result, he ascended the staircase to the wall. Looking down the twenty five feet from the wall walk to the dust, he took a deep breath and swung his legs out over the drop. He heard Catilina draw a sharp breath and, smiling, lowered himself until only his fingertips clutched the wall and let himself drop.
“Let’s get going. If we ride hard and through the night, we should be at Saravis Fork by sunset tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
They’d made excellent time. The high saddle of one of the most important passes in the northern mountains opened up to a grand and breathtaking sight. As the three riders and their exhausted mounts crested the high point and looked down, none of them could deny the astonishment they felt. The pass descended slowly and gently, becoming a wide but short valley, bisected at the far end by a spur of land, turning it into the ‘Y’ from which its name stemmed. A small, fast river ran from the left fork and off down the right, cutting through the centre of a large civilian settlement of stone and wood houses that nestled in the valley at the foot of the spur. On all sides the mountains reared up higher than those through which the riders had passed, protecting the valley from the worst of the weather and making it a haven of lush greenery amid the snowy grey.
And yet, given all this wonder and glory, their eyes were drawn inexorably up to the spur of land towering above the village and bounded on two of its three sides by a steep slope and a fast river. And rising like the Imperial Raven Standard itself, testament to the undying power of the Imperial army, rose the stone walls of the fort of Saravis Fork. Salonius whistled through his teeth as he studied the strong walls with the trained eye of an engineer.
“That got overrun by barbarians?”
Varro nodded.
“The Clianii were a big tribe, and I mean big. A cohort’s a great fighting machine, but even ours wouldn’t be able to hold that from an entire tribe of, what, ten thousand? And the Clianii weren’t traditional barbarians. They weren’t like the lot we fought the other day, all hair and teeth and bloodlust. The Clianii had learned from the Empire over more than a century. Hell, some of them had even served in our military. They knew how to build your machines, Salonius; machines that could batter those walls from across the valley.”
Catilina nodded and pointed at the brooding walls of the fort.
“Cristus held that for five days against odds of almost ten to one. That’s why my father likes him. That’s why Cristus is your commander.”
“How?”
Varro and Catilina turned to face Salonius, who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“What?”
“How did he hold it?” The young man waved his arm expansively at the spur and the valley. ”If they had catapults and bolt throwers like ours and the knowledge to use them.”
“What do you mean?” Catilina frowned.
“Well without wanting to annoy you, sir,” Salonius replied. “You’re not an engineer. It looks like a heroic deed, I’m sure. But to an engineer it’s quite simply impossible. If you gave me two catapults, I could have one of those walls in rubble inside a day. How does a cohort stand against ten to one odds for four days with no walls?”
Catilina stared at him and shrugged.
“Cristus told me the first time I met him, back at Vengen when I was about twelve, but it was such a self-centred tale of daring and heroism that I can’t remember a word of it. Probably mostly lies. I expect we’ll find out more when we find Petrus.”
The three set off once more at a walk, Salonius with a perpetual frown and rubbing his brow with one hand, clearly troubled.
The road led down through slowly mounting scrub and greenery and finally apple trees and brambles thick with fruit. As they approached the civilian town, the fort on its great promontory became increasingly oppressive. The settlement was extensive, even for one gathered around such an important fort; almost the size of one of the towns of the southern provinces, complete with shops, a mill, granaries, large tavern, and even a temple to the Imperial pantheon. Farms dotted the two valleys as far as the eye could see. As they slowly descended the road to the town Salonius, his brow still tightly knit, glanced across at his captain.
“What sort of man is Petrus, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Varro raised his eyebrow and the young man continued.
“Well I think we can all agree that there’s no reason to trust prefect Cristus in our current circumstances. And anyone he’s got control over is therefore similarly untrustworthy.”
“What are you getting at, Salonius?” Varro rumbled.
Catilina leaned forward, riding between her two companions and blocking the line of sight between the two brooding men. She turned her face to Varro.
“What he’s skirting around asking you is whether we can trust Petrus. He has a point too, Varro.”
The captain shook his head vehemently.
“Petrus and I are like brothers. Always were. Hell, he was the good and trustworthy one of the pair of us.”
“He was also to Cristus what Corda is to you” Catilina said flatly. “They were closely tied, Varro. I’m not saying we can’t trust him, but don’t be distracted by blind loyalty. You haven’t seen him in a decade. People change.”
Varro continued to shake his head.
“I understand what you’re saying, but you’re wrong. Petrus served with me under your father. He was one of Sergeant Cialo’s men on Isera. He was there when General Caerdin burned the villa and ended the civil war. You don’t come with a better pedigree for trust than that. On Petrus’ count, you’re wrong.”
“I hope so.”
The three fell silent once more as they crossed the bridge over the fast and deep, clear, cold river and entered the town. Salonius, his face still dark with notions of conspiracy, looked left and right as they passed the first outlying buildings. Varro and Catilina watched him with interest, paying no attention to the occasional locals glancing at them from doorways or windows.
“What is it?” Varro finally snapped with a despairing sigh.
Salonius’ frown seemed to deepen, if that were possible.
“There was a week long siege here ten years ago?”
Varro nodded. “Actually more like fourteen years ago, I think. But not just a week. Cristus held the place for five days, but the captain who’d been in charge of the garrison beforehand had held out for over a week himself. The whole siege was at least two weeks long.”