Catilina allowed her attention to wander away from the sound of the axe biting into the young wood, noticing for the first time the frightened eyes of the villagers where they peered out from windows and doors.
And, of course, the growing cloud of dust not far from the village. If she strained she was sure she could hear hooves.
“Hurry up” she said, though quietly and to herself.
By the time Petrus and Varro came running back across the grass with a large coil of rope, Salonius had stopped cutting and was leaning all his weight on the tree with an experimental push. Nodding in satisfaction, he smashed the top of the axe head against the bole a couple of times until the blade began to slide back down the shaft. Dismantling it, he wandered over to his horse and neatly returned it to its place. He tutted in irritation before selecting another instrument; a small hand-pick.
“What’s up?” Catilina asked.
“I hate putting it away without cleaning and oiling. That’s no way to treat a good tool.”
He carefully and neatly rolled up the leather container and fastened it under the lady’s faintly amused gaze, while Petrus tied the second rope to his own steed and mounted.
“So, engineer… how best do we do this?” the scarred veteran enquired.
Salonius led his horse over to Catilina, casting a professional eye over the tree and the ropes as he walked.
“Take her across with you,” he asked Catilina. She nodded and took the young man’s reins, leading the horse ahead and over the bridge.
Salonius turned back to Petrus.
“Catilina and I need to get out ahead. Then you both need to walk forward onto the bridge until the ropes are taught; they’re obviously different lengths. Once they’re tight, start stepping forward very slowly and in unison. Try not to jerk too much. Very slow but very steady. Constant pressure’s what we want. I’ve given you a good start low on the trunk, so once you reach breaking point, the whole thing will come down very, very quickly.”
Petrus and Varro shared a look.
“The ropes are long enough” Salonius went on, “that you’ll be well out of the way on the other side of the bridge by then, but you need to stop the moment the tree comes down, or you might drag it into the river or even across the bridge. Got all that?”
“Slowly forward, stop when it goes bang. Think I can just about master that” grumbled Petrus.
Salonius gave him what he hoped was an infuriatingly condescending smile and walked ahead of them onto the bridge. He stopped at the centre, shaded his eyes and carefully judged the length of the ropes, the size and angle of the tree trunk and the location of the cut he’d made. Hoping beyond hope that his calculations were correct, he leaned down low and selected one of the largest stones mortared into the bridge parapet around half way up.
Giving the mortar around the stone an experimental prod, he was pleased to see that a mere poke with a finger brought a flood of crumbled mortar like sand in an hourglass. Quickly and efficiently, he dealt a dozen blows with his pick, removing the mortar around the stone. Satisfied, he leaned out over the parapet and, quickly locating the outer face of the stone, he repeated the process there.
Hanging the pick on his belt, he gave the great stone a heave and grinned as it smoothly slid out of the bridge wall and disappeared into the rushing water with a deep and resounding splash.
Running across the bridge he saw Catilina more than twenty yards from the bank, staying well back. He jogged across to her and, retrieving his reins, vaulted onto the horse. Catilina gave him a friendly smile and then turned to watch the cousins slowly manoeuvring onto the bridge, the ropes raising from the floor behind them and slowly tightening.
Salonius sat fidgeting, tapping his fingers nervously on the pommel of his saddle. He began to worry that the ropes would be too old and weak, or his cut in the tree not deep enough. Perhaps the tree was tougher than he’d anticipated, or the horses too tired. Perhaps…
‘CRACK’.
The break came so suddenly and crashed to the ground so noisily that all four horses started. As Salonius and Catilina steadied their startled mounts, the young man watched in mild panic as Petrus and Varro tried to stop their horses bolting, still attached to the tree that lay, still shaking and vibrating on the grass eight feet from the far side of the bridge.”
“Shit!” Varro wheeled his horse, bucking and thrashing.
Petrus was having more luck, his horse now merely snorting and the eyes rolling as it craned its neck to see the rustling tree it was still attached to.
“For Gods’ sake get him under control!” yelled the young engineer.
“Salonius, look!”
Catilina pointed at the tree and Salonius narrowed his eyes, trying to discern what it was she was indicating, when his eyes refocused and he realised she hadn’t meant the tree. She was pointing between the branches at the shapes of riders cresting the hill on the far side of the village.
“Oh, shit!”
He kicked his horse and rode over to the two cousins. Varro had finally stopped his horse bucking and was stroking its mane soothingly as the eyes continued to roll.
“Company!” he yelled, pointing past the tree.
“Alright, the next part needs to be done quickly but just right! Varro? About fifteen feet forward and cut the rope! Petrus, you need to keep going until you feel it pull so tight you can’t move any more.”
He wheeled his horse and quickly stepped to where he estimated they would need to stop and then pointed at the ground next to him.
Varro and Petrus slowly and soothingly goaded their frightened horses into walking forwards. The few steps seemed to take forever, accompanied by the creak of rope and the scraping and rustling of the tree as it dragged and rolled from the open space into the bridge’s aperture and a third of the way across.
Varro reined in his horse and quickly severed the rope. He nodded at Petrus and Salonius and then rode on ahead to join Catilina.
Petrus walked his horse on slowly.
“More…” Salonius encouraged, unnecessarily.
“Further…”
He looked up and, as he saw the look on the older man’s face, lowered his own head and voice, though continued to encourage under his breath.
He turned to watch the slow progress of the felled tree across the bridge. With one rope cut, the tree was slowly turning. Trying desperately to ignore the sound of dozens of drumming hooves that were now disturbingly close, he watched with a satisfaction that only an engineer would understand, as the severed beech trunk slid neatly into the hole left by the missing stone in the bridge wall.
“Pull it ‘til it’s too tight to move.”
Petrus glared at him again, but said nothing as he urged his horse forward amid the tremendous straining noises of rope and wood. Finally, with a crunch and a shower of mortar, the tree wedged in the bridge. The figures of horsemen were visible at the far end of the village square beyond the wavering, willowy treetop branches. Salonius grinned at them and then turned the grin on Petrus, who reached around and cut the rope, his horse sidestepping freely, grateful to have the anchor removed.
Petrus sighed and returned the smile.
“Let’s just get out of here”
Salonius nodded and, turning his horse, they trotted off to join Varro and Catilina, leaving the soldiers on the far side of the river milling uncertainly and shouting conflicting orders at one another.
“Well done!” Varro commended him as they reined in. “That should give us a few hours’ grace.”
“Go!” shouted Petrus.
Varro turned in surprise and recognised the telltale hiss just in time to duck. The arrow whizzed through the space where his chest had been a moment before. Petrus had already kicked his horse into action and raced ahead. Salonius and Catilina joined Varro as they rode swiftly to escape the range of the enemy archers.