“Try getting screwed and left for dead by them,” the scarred man said flatly. “I think you’ll change your tune.”
“Huh!”
Salonius knew he was being unfair to his new companion. Petrus had every right and every reason in the world to mistrust and hate. The man had lived in hell for a decade because of these traitors. He had been a senior sergeant in the army and was cousin to Varro; a man with a position of power and responsibility. And yet there was something about him that Salonius couldn’t quite put his finger on but didn’t like; something that made him uneasy. Oh, Petrus wasn’t a part of Cristus’ conspiracy, for certain; nothing like that. But he was too quick to act with violence, perhaps? A risk? A loose blade that could damage anyone around him? He became aware that Petrus was watching him with that one piercing eye and turned to meet that gaze.
“I know you’ve been betrayed and hurt by your own. I understand that you must feel hollow and vengeful and I can see why you’d turn to your cousin for help. But I also know that people who are driven by revenge and blood can be dangerous to be around. Varro will tell you a bit about that when we stop, I’m sure, but just remember that when you throw a stone, you cause ripples. And if the ripples are big enough they sink ships.”
Petrus continued to stare at him, but the look about his eye had changed; softened somehow. Salonius gave him a sad and weary smile.
“Be careful you don’t sink your friends.”
Petrus’ one eye bored into him for a moment longer and then he turned away.
“Varro was right to choose you, lad. I knew you were strong when I saw you, but you’re sharp too.”
He scanned the valley as he had done every few minutes since they’d begun their ride and then turned back to Salonius.
“Are your eyes as sharp as your mind?”
“What?” The young man started.
“Behind us. A couple of miles, perhaps?”
Salonius craned his neck and peered into the distance.
“Shit!”
“How many d’you see?” the older man asked, his voice low.
“A dozen at least.”
Petrus frowned and turned again.
“You are sharp! I’d only seen one group. So: two groups of six riders. One on each side of the valley. And that likely means there’ll be more coming behind them on the road. These are just outriders to hem us in.”
Salonius nodded.
“I know what they’re doing. They’ll try and outpace us in the next hour or two.”
He pointed to the river rushing and gurgling along to their right.
“That river crosses to the other side of the valley a few miles ahead in a little village. There’s a bridge in the square and that’s the only safe place to cross unless you ride up the slope. If they can get there ahead of us, they can stop us at the bridge. We won’t have time to turn back and get up the slope and that other bunch that you’re talking about will come up on us from behind. I thought we were staying way ahead of them, but they’re playing us into a trap.”
Petrus grumbled and snapped his head round to glance back once again.
“That could work both ways, though.”
“What do you mean?” Salonius frowned.
“If a dozen of them try to stop us at the bridge, they’d best be good. They may have us pinned down, but we’ll have them all in one place too.”
“Are you mad?” Salonius glared at him. “I’ve just got through telling you not to put people in danger!”
Petrus growled and fixed him once again with that unnerving cyclopean stare.
“They’re already in danger, boy, and you know that. But Varro and I are good at what we do, and I have a feeling that you are, too. And at a bridge they lose their advantage in numbers. I’m guessing they’ll not be able to get more than four on the bridge at a time. And if they’re just following orders, they’ve more to lose than us, so we gain the advantage, you see?”
Salonius glared at him for some time and finally, with a sigh, he nodded.
“You’re right, of course. Unless we swing out and go up the sides of the valley ourselves.”
Petrus shook his head.
“No point. We’d only stay a little ahead of them and they’d still be chasing us. We need to deal with this bunch before any more get here.”
He placed his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. Salonius stared at him.
“They’ll hear you!”
“No they won’t,” the scarred man replied, wiping his fingers on his tunic. “They’re riding horses a couple of miles away, and it wasn’t that loud.”
Across the valley, Varro and Catilina had turned their horses and were making for the road at the centre. With a nod to Salonius, Petrus did the same. The four riders converged a few hundred yards further on, just as the floor of the valley crested and took a sudden dip. Laid out before them perhaps five miles away was the village with the narrow stone bridge. An involuntary shudder went through Salonius as he remembered the events that took place there a few days ago.
“Pursuit?” Varro’s voice was flat; a statement, not a question. Petrus nodded.
“We reckon about a dozen for now. The lad thinks they’re going to cut us off at the village and that more will be coming down from behind.”
Salonius bridled at the slight condescension implied by the phrase ‘the lad’ but kept his tongue. This was not the time for argument.
Varro shaded his eyes and peered back up the valley.
“He’s right. There’s more than those dozen outriders. Half the damn cohort’s coming!”
They followed his pointed finger and squinted into the sun. The two small groups of riders were pushing their mounts hard and were close behind. Given the quality of their cavalry steeds against the four stolen horses, they would easily pass them over the next two miles. But the sight that chilled Salonius’ blood was the rising cloud of dust further up the valley; the sort of dust cloud that could only be kicked up by a sizeable cavalry unit travelling at speed.
Varro grunted.
“We’re going to have to deal with this lot at the bridge pretty quickly.”
Petrus glanced at Salonius and raised an eyebrow provocatively. The younger man ignored him and frowned.
“That cavalry won’t take long to catch us. If we survive that, we’re going to have to find a way to block the bridge and slow them down.”
“I’ll block it with bodies!” rumbled Petrus. Varro smiled.
“Salonius’ll figure it out. You just concentrate on the fight ahead.”
The four of them kicked their horses and raced off toward the village. As they travelled, throwing up clouds of dust, Varro and his companions kept an eye on their pursuers. The outriders, realising they’d been seen, had given up any hope of subterfuge and were racing along the sides of the valley. Quickly it became apparent that their horses were of far superior quality to the civilian steeds the four fugitives had taken from Saravis Fork. In little over a mile, the ambushers were already level with their prey. They would have ample time to position themselves at the bridge.
As they rode, Varro drew his heavy Imperial blade from the sheath by his saddle. A moment later Petrus and Salonius followed suit. As Catilina moved to draw a sword from her pack, however, Varro shook his head.
“Not you!”
Catilina, her hair streaming behind her dramatically, flashed an angry look at him and drew the sword defiantly.
“Your father will kill me anyway if I get you harmed. Put it away!”
“No!” She gritted her teeth. “I need to be able to defend myself anyway, you cretin!”
Varro blinked in surprise and then let out a short laugh.
“Then stay as out of the way as you can, my love!”
Salonius smiled to himself. It was the first time he’d heard Varro refer to the relationship that was clearly blossoming once more between them. He’d have to pray to the Gods that Scortius could find some sort of cure for this incurable poison.