‘Mongrels!’ Vindex yelled, and seemed to be enjoying himself. Ferox wondered about trying to wrestle him back inside the room and decided against it. It would be a hard struggle considering the mood the Brigantian was in, and for the moment the danger was not so very great. Instead he handed him a couple of stones.
Crispinus appeared, pulling himself up through the trapdoor and then drawing breath. ‘That’s a steep climb,’ he said, grinning.
‘Worse for the man coming next,’ Ferox said before he could help himself. The tribune frowned, and the next man up was Cerialis. ‘Old joke in the legions,’ Ferox explained. ‘Back from the days before they wore breeches. A man’s climbing up the ladders in an assault tower and says, “Phew, this is hard work.” The man coming after replies, “Maybe, but it’s better than staring at your arse.”’
Crispinus was about to say something when a sling stone banged loudly against the wall. Vindex had ducked just in time. He sprang up. ‘Bastards!’ he yelled, and hurled both the stones in his hand. ‘Serves you right!’
Crispinus had flinched and did his best to appear relaxed. ‘Everything in hand, centurion?’
‘For the moment, my lord.’
‘Good, good.’ The tribune decided that he must go out onto the veranda, which meant that Cerialis was obliged to follow. The taller man hunched slightly as he came through the door, and stayed like that, no doubt keenly aware that he presented a much bigger target than the short aristocrat. Ferox followed, offering each man a stone.
‘We shouldn’t bunch up, my lords,’ he said.
‘Of course.’ Crispinus did not move. He was tossing the stone from hand to hand, searching for a target. ‘We should have no trouble holding them off until help comes from Luguvallium.’
‘If they don’t smoke us out, my lord,’ Ferox said. He had seen that a couple of the warriors were carrying torches lit from the burning farm. ‘We need to keep them back, but we are running out of missiles.’
‘I see.’ Crispinus tossed the stone he was holding back into the basket. ‘Better not waste this then. Do you think they will keep attacking?’
‘They’ve lost a lot of men,’ Ferox explained. ‘Down!’ he yelled, for a couple of warriors had popped up above the parapet. A sling stone gave a dull clang as it hit the top of Crispinus’ helmet, yanking it sideways so that one of the cheek pieces drove into his skin and drew blood. A javelin sank into the fence around the platform and stuck there.
Vindex had not ducked and flung a stone, hitting one of the warriors on the shoulder before he vanished behind cover. Cerialis told the auxiliary to help Crispinus back inside. The tribune’s eyes were glassy, but Ferox doubted that the blow was serious.
‘Will they try to burn us out?’ Cerialis asked, crouching behind the fence with Ferox.
‘Depends on their pride,’ he said. ‘It might be we’ve stung them and they feel they must kill us in vengeance. Be another hour at least before anyone comes from Luguvallium, so they’ve got time.’
If the prefect was nervous he did not show it. He glanced down at the stone in his hand.
‘Then again, they’ve lost a lot of men.’ He saw the question in the prefect’s eyes. ‘Oh, I know they’ve still got plenty, but seven or eight of them are down, and that’s a lot of people to lose on a raid. We’ve burned their boats, so most will have to find another way home.’ Cerialis looked surprised, and Ferox realised that he had not had a chance to report what he and Vindex had done. ‘So what they really need now is horses to get away. They’ve picked up some from us. Yours and mine, my lord, I’m sorry to say, as well as the ones from the troopers.’ Cerialis’ horse had vanished from the enclosure while they were climbing the tower, so a warrior must have sneaked inside and led it out.
Ferox stood up. Vindex was prowling up and down the platform, stone in hand, waiting for the next warrior to appear, but he did not look at him. The centurion pointed, and the prefect stood up beside him so that he could see properly. Five warriors were riding up past the burning farm, leading another half-dozen horses.
‘I thought that might happen,’ Ferox said. ‘There didn’t seem to be quite as many of them as there should have been.’ He stared past the riders out onto the plains. The neat herd of a few hours ago was scattered, the little shapes of brown cows spread over the fields in ones, twos and small clusters.
‘You will have to explain, centurion.’
‘There was a herd of cattle out there, belonging to Probus, I’m guessing. Cows are not much good to these lads – how would you get one in a boat? – but the herdsmen had horses.’ Now that they were closer Ferox could see the severed heads dangling from the spears of the riders.
‘Poor devils,’ Cerialis whispered, half to himself.
‘Aye. Still, I’ll not pretend I’d rather it were us than them,’ Ferox said. ‘They may have given that bunch a chance to get home and us a chance to live.’
A warrior swung over the top of the parapet and dropped onto the walkway of the rampart. He had a burning torch in each hand, and had waited until the restless Vindex was on the opposite side of the platform. Ferox shouted a warning, snatched the stone from the prefect and ran to the fence, but by the time he reached the spot the warrior had run underneath them and was out of sight. Another man bobbed up, spear ready, so the centurion flung his stone. The man ducked back.
‘Come on out and fight in the open!’ Vindex was even wilder than before, and for an instant Ferox was afraid that he would swing his legs over the fence and try to jump down from the top of the tower. The warrior appeared again, sprinting for the entrance this time. ‘Got you!’ the Brigantian yelled. His first stone went high, the second was flung in a rage and hit the barricade instead. The warrior ran out and vanished.
‘Brave man,’ Cerialis said. Ferox was trying to lean out and look down towards the door of the tower. He could not see smoke, and the smell of burning might be no more than the torches. Suddenly he was dragged back just as a sling stone bounced off the rail where he had been. Cerialis had him around the waist.
‘Apologies, centurion, but it seemed necessary.’
The door did not burn, and once the Novantae realised this they began to leave. Ten loped off towards the boats. The rest waited for a short while and rode off towards the ford. Two rode double, supporting wounded comrades, and two more had captive women slung across the necks of their horses, and Ferox felt flat as he saw them because he knew that for the moment there was nothing he could do. They must have come from the farm or another settlement. With their other trophies, the heads, the horses, and weapons including Crispinus’ fine sword, there might be enough marks of victory for the leader to claim that their losses were worth it.
Ferox watched them as they went down the slope, saw them wading into the ford, but then the rain came, heavier than before, and the cloud was so low that he could not see them anymore. The scent of salt was even stronger, and the circling gulls were joined by carrion birds.
The patrol from Luguvallium arrived half an hour later. There were just fifteen of them, and Ferox wondered what fool had sent so few. Crispinus insisted on taking the horse from one of the troopers and leading the rest in pursuit, berating the decurion in charge who insisted that he had been sent to reconnoitre and not to chase barbarians. The appearance of Cerialis left the man overwhelmed with forceful senior officers, and he gave in. Ferox doubted that they would catch up, and hoped that the two officers would have the sense not to fight unless the Novantae were careless and vulnerable.