Julius stared at the spark of light that glowed on the distant hilltop, crowning the brooding black mass that lurked above the river’s valley, grimly wondering what opposition the raiding party might encounter if they managed to make their way over the fortress’s battlements. Turning back to look down the slope he waved a hand at the cooking fires that had been lit in the hill’s shadow, safely concealed from the eyes that would be searching for any sign of their presence from the barbarian fortress’s position high above the Dirty River’s wide valley.
‘You want us to light cooking fires again tomorrow morning then?’
‘Yes. And this time I want a little more smoke, just enough to make sure that the barbarians have a good enough idea where we are to bring them at the gallop. We’ll let the fires burn until we’re ready to march, then follow standard routine and put them out. Let’s not risk our ruse becoming too apparent. And now I suggest we go and see if Titus and his men managed to finish off that job we left them working on before it got properly dark. We’ll need Silus’s horsemen to put on a convincing show tomorrow, if we’re to duck under the punch that Calgus will throw at us as soon as he thinks he knows where we are.’
Summoned to the king’s presence, Calgus found Brem waiting for him in the great hall among a half-dozen of the tribe’s clan leaders, the disfigured master of the hunt Scar standing away to one side with the woman Morrig, the leader of his pack of huntresses, one pace behind him. Even the grizzled family leaders were shooting occasional glances at the Vixen, and the Selgovae could discern the same mixture of curiosity and caution in their stares that were his own uncontrollable reaction to the huntress every time he encountered her. A boy barely out of his teens was kneeling before the king, and the Selgovae recognised him as one of those who had been recruited at his suggestion to cross the river’s wide swamp and insinuate themselves into the Roman forts astride their wall. On seeing Calgus shuffle into the hall Brem nodded impatiently, waving him towards the throne.
‘Here he is! Now that my esteemed adviser is here perhaps we can hear the news that our spies among the Romans have brought across the river!’
Calgus took his place at the king’s side, as painfully aware as ever that he was the only unarmed man in a gathering of warriors whose bodies bristled with sharp iron. Trusted members of Brem’s inner circle, every man present wore at least two weapons on his belt, and several of them habitually carried up to another half-dozen knives about their person, whereas he had decided never to ask for the permission to carry as much as an eating knife in the certain knowledge that such permission would never be granted.
‘News, King Brem? Are the Romans finally preparing for their great retreat back to the south?’
Brem turned and grinned at him without very much humour.
‘Far from it, Calgus. Despite your repeated reassurances that they will turn tail and slink away they continue to hide behind their wall like frightened children. I have restrained my natural urge to send my warriors against them for too long, it seems to me, and now we have news of new arrivals at the fortress they call Lazy Hill. You may recognise these men by their tribal name, and I certainly do. They call themselves Tungrians.’ Calgus started at the name, and Brem grinned at him with fresh amusement. ‘Yes. The same men who defeated my nephew and then tore the beating heart out of my tribe. And the same men who took away your ability to walk at any better pace than that of a withered ancient. Now they have marched north again, fouling my land with the touch of their boots.’
Calgus nodded slowly.
‘Who brought this news?’
Brem pointed to the boy kneeling before him.
‘The lad here has braved the swamp after dark to bring us these tidings …’
The king was still speaking, but Calgus was suddenly unaware of his words, locking his gaze with that of the child.
‘How many men marched north, boy?’
The answer was prompt.
‘All of them, my lord King. I counted their standards as I was taught, and I saw the same nine centuries leave through the fort’s north gate as I saw arrive three days before.’
Calgus thought for a moment, then turned back to Brem who was regarding him with an expression halfway between irritation and anger at being disregarded.
‘Three days? It is not what it seems Brem. Their foray onto your land is nothing but a distraction, a ruse to draw away your strength and leave this fortress bare. They seek to rescue the eagle!’
Brem shook his head with an expression of disbelief.
‘Eagle?’ He held Calgus’s eye before speaking again, his voice louder this time. ‘Eagle?’ He stood and shouted up at the tower’s roof high above him. ‘I expect you to advise me, to share whatever wisdom you have left in you, and yet all I seem to hear from you is eagle, eagle, eagle! Enough! I know that you captured a Roman standard! I know how dearly they hold this statue of a bird! You do not need to wave the memory of your victory over the Romans at me with every opportunity!’
Calgus shuffled forward, his arms spread wide to implore the king to listen.
‘But my lord King, why else would they wait three days until the darkest night of the month? While these Tungrians act the part of the worm on the hook, a few of them will be moving silently across the Dirty River’s swamp and preparing to infiltrate this stronghold, hoping to-’
Brem waved an impatient hand.
‘No more, Calgus! I have already decided. We march at first light, every warrior that has answered the call to arms by that time and the remainder with orders to follow our trail. We will track these Tungrians down and then, with Cocidius’s blessing we will have their heads! Your eagle will have seven hundred pairs of Roman eyes to watch it, an entire cohort, and its shrine will become a place of dread, lined from floor to ceiling with the heads of the invaders and dedicated in my name to our god, and he will grace us with great favour as a reward for such honour being devoted to his name. And you, adviser, you will advise no more. Now is the time for you to fight! Since you can walk no faster than a child at the best of times you will be mounted on one of my horses, and you will ride with me into whatever battle awaits us. When the time comes I will put a sword in your hand, and you will fight our enemy alongside me, earning the respect of the people who suffer your presence with revenge for my brother seething in their hearts.’
Calgus bowed as deeply as he could.
‘Of course, King Brem. Your command is my duty. Might I enquire as to the defence that will remain about this place?’
Brem nodded sagely.
‘I am hardly as stupid as you imply, Calgus. Fifty men will be left to guard The Fang under the command of my son, more than enough to safeguard it against any raiding party, and my master of the hunt and his Vixens will be set to patrol the swamp as a precaution against any attempt to approach from the river. I have yet to meet the Roman who could cross that fetid desert of mud without betraying himself to their hunting skills, eh Scar?’
Once through the mile castle’s gate Marcus’s raiding party went forward slowly into the darkness, allowing their eyes to adapt to the absence of any light stronger than that cast by the countless pinprick stars wheeling majestically above them. Making their way stealthily down the long slope of the hill atop which Lazy Hill’s silhouette rose over the wall’s long straight line without any sound louder than the rustle of the long grass that covered the plain, they gathered around Marcus as he whispered the command to halt. Lugos uncoiled a rope that he had carried looped around his body, handing it to the Roman who in turn passed one end to the waiting legionary.