I moved to the left as silently as I could, keeping low. My mind went back to my training as a marine. I wished I had my old M16. But all I had was my sword and my wits.
The light was fading, which was to my advantage. I heard movement amongst the trees, seeing his back as he crouched low behind a fallen tree. He was perhaps twenty metres from me. Not a good distance to get an accurate shot with a modern weapon, let alone a home-made one. I was almost behind him now, so I waited and watched.
He had not had the benefit of military training, a fact that was very apparent as he popped his head up above the cover to see where I could be. He was not using his weapon sensibly, as he was looking all over the place and keeping the gun static, pointing at the tree.
Anyone trained in firearms would always point the weapon where they were looking. It gave me the opportunity to examine the weapon. Even in poor light and from this distance I saw my original assessment was right. It was probably a flint-lock, with one shot from one barrel. Given the damp conditions, I wondered whether it was reliable.
I looked around, and saw several large fir cones. I picked four and hefted them. They were not killing material, but would hurt and do what I wanted them to do.
I lobbed one over his head, to land audibly in the undergrowth to his front.
He stood, pointing the weapon, holding it with both hands. He waited for me to appear, so the gun lowered slightly as I failed to materialise. The second fir cone landed closer, but to his right slightly. He stepped away from his tree and pointed the weapon at where the noise had come from.
The third landed almost where the first one had, so he shifted again, still pointing the gun that way. The fourth hit him on the back of the head, having been hurled with all my strength. I started running as soon as the cone left my hand.
The cone hit him, causing him to pitch forward, fire the gun and fall on his face. The noise was very loud and several birds squawked their objections and left the trees. I was on his back and wrenching the now useless gun from his hand, before he knew what happened.
He was strong and desperate. He swung a punch at me, which hit my helmet. This made him swear, in English, I noted.
“Argh, damn it!”
He tried to throw me off, twisting so as to face me properly.
Only then did he realise I was not male.
This affected his pride, so he fought me hard. We rolled to the side, and he tried using his feet, knees and elbows to cause me injury. I was too close for him to use his fists.
He rolled clear and scrambled to his feet. One hand went to his belt, so I grinned and drew my sword that made the knife he produced seem paltry by comparison.
“Those who are about to die, salute the Caesar of Rome!” I said in fluent Latin.
He frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as he realised I was female. The light was poor so he could not see my features, but I felt he might believe my timbre of voice could be similar to that of Jane. He responded in the same language.
“Who are you?”
“Centurion commanding the Women’s Cavalry; and you?”
“None of your damn business!” he said, slashing forward with his knife.
This man had not trained in using knives either. After a few feints and bluffs, I used the side of my sword on his head and rendered him unconscious.
I retrieved the knife, went to my horse and took some rope back and trussed him up as tightly as I could without killing him. I gagged him with some of his own cloak that I ripped up. I searched him thoroughly, finding a bracelet device similar to that I took from Soames - the man in Abingdon. It was firmly attached to his wrist. It took some getting off, and I fear I may have damaged it in the process. He had nothing else of interest on him.
This man would kill himself without hesitation. He probably believed himself facing locals so had not done so yet. Likewise, he had not used the device for a similar reason.
His own horse stood a few feet away, so I slung him over the horse and tied him into place. I retrieved his gun, and after a moment’s hesitation, smashed it against a rock, rendering it useless. The world was not ready for firearms, yet.
Then, I went to search for my companions.
I found the first body quite quickly. It was of one of the men and two arrows were still in his warm body.
The second was not far from the first; again having been shot. Then I heard the sound of metal on metal. The scene was such that I had to smile.
Before me, in a clearing, the surviving man was fighting Rowena, a large girl who had been an original recruit back in Britain. She was the best swordswoman in the unit; perhaps even better than I. the other girls were standing encouraging her as she faced the desperate man. He was armed with a sword, but clearly had no real idea as to how to use it. He was bleeding from several superficial cuts that Rowena had inflicted on him. She was playing with him.
He was of Arabic appearance, so perhaps this was the man they’d referred to at the fortified camp.
I rode down to the clearing, with the now struggling Armes on the horse I led.
Rowena nodded at me to signify she had seen me.
“Don’t kill this one, and don’t let him kill himself!” I said.
Rowena grunted and finished it swiftly, rendering him unconscious in a similar manner to which I had done to Armes.
On searching him, I found another device, so we removed it.
“Go find the bodies and see if they had devices such as these,” I instructed. “Also search them thoroughly and bring me everything they have on them. Strip the bodies and make sure they have nothing left, even jewellery.”
A few moments later, the girls were back.
“The bodies are gone.”
They produced the arrows that had killed them.
I swore, but once the enemy investigated, there would be no evidence of Time Patrol interference; except for their untimely ambush.
“Tie that one up, gag him and sling him over his horse like the other one. We ride!”
Rowena regarded the bracelet.
“What is it; a magic charm?”
“Magic? In a way and not for good. Come on, we need to see how everyone else is doing.”
I was surprised how far the pursuit had taken us. When we returned we found elements of the Legion mopping up. Scores of captives - archers, were under guard and being led away, roped together. Many more lay dead, in lines as the soldiers had gone up and brought them all down.
Gaius was supervising his men who were taking the longbows and remaining arrows and piling them onto the enemy wagons that had brought them here. He grinned when he saw me, wheeling his horse and riding to meet us.
“It worked; they had no defence to us. You were right!”
He then saw the two captives. Armes was fully conscious now, and still struggling against his ropes.
“Who are they?”
“I think they were the men in charge. They will kill themselves if given a chance.”
“Like their king. You were right; Tiberius Maximus brought Decebalus’ head to Trajan, as you predicted.”
I grunted, aware that Armes could possibly hear our conversation.
“He was not their king, as they owe allegiance to another.”
“Who?”
“That, my love, is something we shall have to try to ascertain. Do you have anyone skilled in extracting information without actually killing the person?”
Gaius grinned again.
“One or two, why?”
“I’m serious, these men wanted to die, and will kill themselves if given half a chance. We need to act swiftly.”
The legionary Fabius was big, and I mean big. He was unusual at six foot seven, and lean and well-muscled.
Gaius gave him instructions, and together with three other men, I watched them go to work with some trepidation. Cruelty, torture and mindless violence are not things that come easily to me, so it was unpleasant to have to suggest it. My fellow agent from Britain was murdered by these people, and without thought or mercy. I knew from experience that they would not hesitate to torture me to extract information, and knew this was the only way. I could not reason with them. I could not negotiate with them, and I had no access to drugs that could harmlessly facilitate the truth.