The fifth warrior was the youngest and stayed back with the captives.
‘Speak, Roman.’ Segovax had a rasping voice.
‘You know who I am?’ Ferox said.
‘Should I care?’
‘I am Flavius Ferox, centurio regionarius, and I have come to trade with you on behalf of our great lord and princeps Trajan, the ruler of the world.’ Ferox was slightly surprised to find himself invoking the emperor, but decided that it could do no harm.
Segovax did not appear impressed. ‘Again, should I care about you or your pox-ridden emperor? He does not rule here, and you are alone.’
‘I would trade for your captives.’ Out of the corner of his eye Ferox saw the raven circling, much lower down than before.
‘No trade. Give us the path, Roman.’
‘Help me!’ The shout came from the young captive, who kicked his horse so that it ran away from the others towards the ford. ‘Save me, I am a Roman and demand your protection!’ he screamed. The young warrior followed him, and swung the shaft of his spear, slamming it against the captive’s head and knocking him to the ground. The man fell heavily, but started to push himself up with his tied hands. Another blow, this time from the blunt butt of the spear, struck his head and he slumped back down.
Segovax had not even turned and neither he nor Ferox showed that they had noticed the escape attempt.
‘I want your captives,’ Ferox said. ‘I offer much in return.’
For the first time, the Red Cat spoke. ‘You have nothing we want.’ He was the only one not carrying a spear, and Ferox saw the hilt of a long knife on his right hip.
‘Nothing we cannot take if we want,’ his brother added.
‘What about your lives?’
Segovax spat, unimpressed. ‘You are a long way from your Rome. Is one of the girls kin to you? We’ll trade either of them for one of your horses.’ His brother gave him a sidelong glance. The Red Cat was not used to buying any animal.
‘I want them all.’
The Red Cat laughed.
Ferox flicked the sling so that it hung down, dropped one of the acorn-shaped bullets onto the leather patch, and brought it high, whirling.
‘Bastard!’ Segovax shouted and the four warriors urged their mounts forward. Ferox loosed, aiming for Segovax, but his horse was nervous of the rushing water and pulled away, its head up so that the heavy lead missile smashed into its teeth. The animal reared, screaming and slipping on the muddy slope. Segovax was thrown forward and he screamed as the pony rolled over onto him and bones broke.
One of the warriors swerved away from the falling man and horse, but the other one and the Red Cat splashed into the ford. Ferox slipped the second bullet into the sling, raised it, swung and released the lead acorn with such force that it drove into the shaven forehead of man next to the famous thief, flinging his head back. The man dropped into the stream, water splashing high.
The Red Cat was nearly across, but then his horse reared, foot bloody from a caltrop, and Ferox wished he had picked up some suitable stones because he would have been able to get off at least one more shot. Instead he dropped the sling and grabbed the bone handgrip of his sword. It slid smoothly from the scabbard, the long, old-fashioned blade so perfectly balanced that it was a delight to feel it in his hand. The Red Cat was down, thrown from his horse as it bucked in agony, the man beside him was dead or dying, and the other warrior leaped from his horse to wade through the ford, sensing that there was some unseen danger. Ferox drew his pugio dagger in his left hand and went down the little bank to the edge of the ford.
‘Come on, you mongrels,’ he yelled.
The Red Cat was up, a long knife in one hand, and he paused to wrap his cloak around his left arm because he had lost his shield. The other warrior went to the right, wanting to take the Roman from two sides. He had his spear up, and Ferox trusted him not to throw it because he saw that he had only a little dagger at his belt, and like most of the warriors of the far north did not possess a sword.
The Red Cat swung his cloak, feinting, and then cut with the knife, just as the other man stamped forward, lunging. Ferox slipped in the mud, slashing with the gladius and feeling it bite on the thief’s right arm. He tried to push the spear thrust aside with his left hand, but as he stumbled there was no force in the move and the spear head hit him on the side. He felt the heavy blow, knew that some of the mail rings had broken and that the tip had driven through the padded coat underneath.
Ferox staggered back, trying to regain balance, and hissing because his side hurt. The Red Cat swirled his cloak, flinging it at the Roman, but the wool was wet and heavy and it fell short. He switched his knife into his left hand because his right arm was bleeding. The warrior followed up, stamping forward to thrust again with the heavy spear, but then yelped. There was blood flowing in the water by his foot and Ferox guessed that he had found another of the caltrops. The man looked down, puzzled and angry, lifting his foot, the iron spike still stuck fast in his boot.
The warrior’s guard had dropped and Ferox lunged with the gladius, going over the top of the man’s little shield and driving into his throat. The Red Cat came at him, so as he twisted the blade to free it he punched with the fist holding his dagger, knocking the dying man into the thief.
A horseman was up on the far bank, driving his horse down into the stream, spear held high and yelling in high-pitched rage. It was the youth they had left with the prisoners, and he only saw Segovax under his still writhing horse at the last moment, but managed to urge his mount into a jump and sail over, landing with a great splash in the water. The animal stumbled, and the lad nearly lost his balance, but recovered and kept going.
‘Run!’ the Red Cat screamed at the boy.
Ferox tried to shuffle through the stony ford, wary of caltrops, and slashed at the thief, making him jump back.
‘Run, boy!’ the Red Cat shouted again, but the youth ignored him, riding straight at Ferox, who stepped aside and jabbed at the horse’s head with his dagger. It reared and the young warrior fell into the stony water, his spear flying from his grip. Yet there was fight in the youth still, and he pushed up, trying to grab the Roman’s legs.
The centurion slid back, keeping his balance, and prepared to jab down with his sword.
‘No!’ the Red Cat called and threw his knife down into the burn. ‘We give in.’ He stepped towards them, left hand clutching his wounded arm, and kicked the boy who was still struggling towards the Roman. ‘It’s over, child.’ He looked up at Ferox. ‘We give in, Roman. Spare his life.’
Ferox nodded, and up above the bird of Morrigan cried again.
The two warriors were dead, their blood washing away down the stream towards the loch. Segovax was unconscious, right leg and arm both broken and maybe other injuries as well. Ferox let the youth help the Red Cat by binding his wound and then tied them both at the wrist using the ropes from the captives. The male captive was still unconscious, but the girls sat in silence by the fire, eating hungrily.
‘Did they hurt you?’ he asked the red-haired girl as gently as he could. She shook her head, so that when he went to do his best for Segovax he did the job gently and with all the skill he could muster. He dragged the man up onto the bank, cut up one of the spear shafts to make splints, tying them tight. The man was awake, but silent, his eyes cold and full of hate.