As they thundered past the barn, Salonius glanced across, remembering the assault they’d made when they first entered the valley. As he realised what they’d managed to get through, he smiled to himself. His eyes wandered across to Catilina, hunched over the horse’s neck, riding like the wind.
His smile slowly turned sour as he saw the shaft of the arrow protruding from her back and the red stain running down her cloak. She slipped sideways slightly and her arm dropped and swung freely.
“Oh Gods, no!”
Desperately, he pulled his horse alongside her and grasped her reins, slowing both beasts to a walk and then a complete halt. The quiet thud of arrows some way back indicated that they must now be out of range and safe. He turned his full attention to the lady beside him.
Reaching up, he placed his fingers on her neck below her ear and the jaw line. He almost collapsed in relief. She had a pulse. A little erratic as far as he could tell, but strong enough. The most his medical knowledge could tell him was that she was alive. With a sigh, he craned to look at her back. The arrow was deeply embedded, and had punched through her shoulder blade. Racking his brains, he pictured the charts he’d seen in Salonius’ room. Thank Gods he took an interest in things like this. The blow would be too high to have gone near her heart, but might have got her lung.
Heaving her across as gently as he could with his huge, muscular arms, he settled her in front of him, turned slightly so that the arrow couldn’t be jogged by anything. He suddenly became aware of Petrus and Varro hovering over him, a looked of horror pasted across the latter’s face.
“Don’t panic sir. She’s wounded, but not badly.”
‘I hope’ he added silently to himself.
Varro opened and closed his mouth a couple of times but no sound emerged.
“We have to go, Varro,” said Petrus, tugging at his sleeve. “It’s no good buying extra time and then wasting it feeling miserable. The lad’s solid and clever and he’s got her.”
Varro continued to stare.
“She’s still with us!” insisted Petrus as he grasped the reins of the now riderless horse. “Now go!”
He grabbed a handful of Varro’s shoulder material and hauled him around so that he was face to face with the stricken captain.
“Just go!” he yelled into Varro’s face, flecks of spittle dancing on the captain’s cheek.
Startled out of his shock, Varro turned and rode off, picking up speed. Petrus turned and locked Salonius with a commanding glare from that one frightening eye.
“Take good care of her and make sure she’s alive when we get to Vengen. Varro likes you, so he’ll just mope, but I don’t know you well enough yet not to break your nose.”
Salonius glared back at him. So many retorts flittered around the edge of his consciousness, but his head was filled to bursting point with thoughts of Catilina, some of which he wasn’t prepared to admit even to himself. Swallowing hard, he nodded and settled the delicate wounded lady in front of him and set his horse off to a trot so they could catch up with Varro, who had reached the crest of the next undulation in the valley floor.
As he and Petrus rode up to meet Varro, the great, wide scene of the lower valley opened up before them, gently sloping down in the morning sunshine and opening out to become the northern plains. Somewhere in the distant haze, among vineyards and private estates, would be Vengen, fortress of the Northern marshal, home of Sabian, and safety.
But between it and them almost a thousand men filled the valley floor from side to side, green tunics bright in the sun and laminated armour flashing brilliant white, all marching with imperial precision.
“Oh, shit!”
Varro nodded, turning toward them, his face hollow and empty.
“The ram and lightening.” He waved at the army. “Cristus brought the Fourth after us!”
Chapter Ten
Varro and Petrus shared a quick glance and a determined look fell across their faces.
“Salonius?” Varro shouted. “Get Catilina away from here. I don’t care how or where. Just get her away and to a doctor somewhere.”
Salonius nodded and wheeled his horse, holding the unconscious Catilina as delicately as he could. How he would escape an army carrying a wounded lady was beyond him, but he would have to try.
“Stand down, Varro,” barked Petrus waving his hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there are officers at the front in black!”
“Black?” Varro blinked, pausing in the process of drawing his sword.
“Yes, black” he replied. “Sabian’s guard.”
Salonius squinted into the bright sun.
“He’s right, Varro. There’s at least a squad of the marshal’s men there.” He sighed with relief.
“And that’s sergeant Corda!” he laughed, as he pointed at the mounted figure surrounded by black uniforms amid a sea of green.
With a click, Varro slid his blade back into the sheath at his side and rolled his shoulders with a smile.
“I’m almost tempted to let those bastards from Saravis Fork catch up with us now. I’d love to see their faces as the came over this hill!” He sighed and glanced behind him at the limp woman leaning against Salonius’ chest. “Still, there’s more important things to worry about!”
The riders had obviously come to the attention of the cohort’s scouts, as orders were shouted and the tramping feet fell silent in unison. After a minute or so, Corda, accompanied by the black-clad guards, rode out from the front of the army and up the slope towards them. As the small group of soldiers approached the knot of riders on the hill crest, Varro frowned. Though well-hidden by that bushy, black beard, Varro could plainly see the effect that Corda’s new command was having on him. His eyes appeared hollowed and dark, speaking volumes on his sleep pattern these last few days. He was pale and drawn and clearly overworked, and yet the smile on his face was genuine and warm.
“Varro, by all the Gods.”
“Well by the less reputable ones, anyway” replied the captain with a tight smile.
Corda turned to Catilina and the grin fell from his face.
“My lady?”
Salonius saluted with his free hand, the other wrapped around Catilina’s waist and clutching the horse’s reins.
“I think she’ll be alright, sergeant. She’s out from the pain but the arrow seems to have missed anything important and the wound is well sealed. Do you have a doctor with you?”
Corda frowned.
“I’ve got field medics.” He swallowed nervously. “Her father’s beside himself with worry.”
Petrus cleared his throat, and the acting commander quickly turned to the last rider. “I didn’t honestly believe it was really you, Petrus. We must talk as soon as we have time.”
Reaching out, the scarred man grasped Corda’s hand and shook it. Their eyes met for a long, delayed, moment and Corda looked away to Varro.
“What?” Petrus frowned.
Corda growled at his former captain.
“You haven’t told him?”
“Never been a right time yet, Corda. We’ve been a little busy.” He growled. “And this is not the time! Half the garrison of Saravis Fork are only about an hour behind us and Catilina needs to get to a medic as soon as possible.
Corda nodded and they began to wheel their horses.
“So what happened?” Varro enquired of the acting captain as the black-clad guardsmen assembled in a protective group around them.
“Your messenger arrived at the fort a couple of days ago, demanding to see Sabian and asking for money. It so happens that the gate guards at the time were drawn from our cohort, so they sent for me. I took him to see the marshal and since then it’s all moved damn fast. Sabian and his men have returned to Vengen but he sent us to find you. We’re to bring all of you to Vengen, so he can speak to Petrus himself.”
Varro nodded again.