The Red Cat halted and dropped to one knee. Ferox had felt the same thing at almost the same moment, that instinct that they were not alone. He gestured for the other two to stay, and went forward, squatting beside the northerner. Nothing was said and they both peered into the gloom, listening for any harsh note as the wind hissed through the grass and stunted bushes. They were on a low bluff, above a stony beach, the whitecaps of the incoming tide very bright in the darkness.
Something moved ahead of them, a shape briefly silhouetted against the sky, before it went down behind a fold in the ground. Ferox stared after it and then thought he heard a moaning that was not from the gale. He drew his sword, worried that it might betray them with a glint but not wanting to be unprepared. The Red Cat did the same. He pointed for the northerner to go around to the left, while he looped to the right, onto the edge of the beach. The other two would have to catch up, and he hoped that they would be careful. The wind howled, plucking at his cloak even though it was soaking wet and heavy. It slackened and once again he heard moaning. There was a grunt and the moaning stopped. A man laughed.
The beach opened out behind the low rise. Ferox touched the hide frame of a small rowing boat as he walked past it, stepping as lightly as he could to avoid making noise as he crossed the shale. There was a little rocky headland, and he kept close to it, using its shadow. Then a yellow light that seemed brilliant sprang to life on the beach. It was a lantern, suddenly unveiled, and he saw a cluster of dark figures around it, looking down at something on the small patch of sand at the edge of the pebbles. There was more laughter, and one of the figures got down on his knees in front of the others, and he glimpsed someone lying down. The sound of ripping was loud until it was lost in more laughter.
Ferox started to run, no longer caring as his boots crunched on the stone. All of the last days, the worry, the horror, the sight of Sulpicia Lepidina screaming and covered in blood, and seeing good men cut down at his side erupted in an all-consuming rage. One of the men turned and saw him, shouting a warning, but by then Ferox was close enough to stamp forward and lunge, and the superbly balanced gladius took the pirate in the throat. Twisting it free as a second man came at him, Ferox cut first, a furious blow that chopped through the warrior’s right arm, so that his hand was still clutching his sword as it fell onto the beach.
There were three of them left, one still on the ground, bottom bare where he had lowered his trousers, another holding the lantern up, sword still in his scabbard, and a third who took one look at Ferox and ran. He went to follow, but saw a shape coming out of the night and the fugitive ran onto a glinting blade that ripped into his stomach.
The pirate dropped the lantern. ‘We were going to share,’ he said. ‘Honest. Just having fun before we took her back.’ Ferox guessed that he thought they were Harii, and then remembered their black clothes. Yet it was surprising that he seemed to accept the slaughter of his comrades so readily, but perhaps failing to share plunder or captives was one of the band’s greatest crimes. Ferox kicked the kneeling man hard in the back, pitching him over. A woman lay in the sand, shaking her head as if in a daze, her tunic torn open to reveal pale skin. She was not tall and had a delicate figure.
‘Drop the sword,’ Ferox commanded the other man. Brigita came over to them, wiping her sword on her cloak. She said nothing, walking past the woman on the ground. The man who had been about to rape the girl was struggling with his trousers, pulling at them as he lay on his side. The queen looked at him for a moment, and then darted her sword forward, aiming carefully so that the point speared into the man’s crotch. He squealed, an awful, high-pitched cry of agony, more like an animal than anything human.
‘Fight,’ she said to the last pirate.
He licked his lips. ‘Who are you?’ He started to draw his sword, for he had made no move to drop it. Brigita bounded forward and slashed across his face before jumping back. It was not a deep wound, and the man licked his lips again and spat blood. His finished drawing his sword, but before he had it ready she came in again, the sword carving a gouge across his right arm. He dropped his gladius, clutching at the wound with his left hand.
‘Pick it up,’ she told him.
Ferox took a step and swung, the gladius almost singing through the air as it sank into the pirate’s neck. He fell, hands now clasping his throat as the blood sprayed from it. ‘We haven’t got time to play games,’ Ferox said harshly. Brigita stared at him, her face filled with the same sort of rage he had felt a few moments ago, and then she nodded. She went over to the screaming man, waited for the right moment, and killed him with a neat thrust.
The woman was stirring, pushing up, so that the remnants of her tunic fell away and she was bare. Although on its side, the lantern gave enough light for Ferox to see the little scar between her small breasts. A young man lay dead a few yards away, several bad wounds to his chest and stomach. Ferox guessed that he was the one they had heard moaning until it was cut short.
Brigita went to the woman and held out her hand. She spoke words he did not understand, but they seemed to reassure her and she grasped hold and let herself be pulled up. The queen unclipped the brooch on her cloak and handed it over. Ferox guessed that the woman was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen.
Bran appeared, wide-eyed again, but it was hard to tell whether this was from the sight of another naked woman or the carnage around them. The released captive put the cloak around her shoulders, then searched in the grass until she found a long sword, blunt tipped, of the sort many tribesmen used for cutting. A little further on she found a belt and scabbard and she fastened these on.
‘Time to go,’ Ferox said, although there was no sign of the Red Cat. He would have to rely on the thief finding them. ‘She can come with us if she wants, or go and find her own folk.’ Although the boat on the beach was small, Ferox guessed that it had brought at least three or four others to the island.
‘No need,’ the woman said.
Warriors came out of the night, the light from the lantern glinting on the keen points of their spears. There were a lot more than three or four. Ferox counted ten and thought that others were behind them. All were men, but it was clear that the woman they had saved knew them and trusted them.
‘You come with us,’ she said. ‘Give me your swords.’ There were two warriors behind him, and another in front. Any resistance would be brief and would probably doom Bran as well. He held out his sword, pommel first. Brigita brought her blade up when one of the men went to take it. The woman gently pushed him aside and came up to her. After a moment, the queen nodded and let her take the weapon. Ferox’s arms were pulled behind his back and tied there. The same was done to Bran, but not the queen.
‘Come on,’ the woman said, and led them up the beach. Soon they were climbing a gentle headland dotted with bushes and heather. It was higher than the fields around, and Ferox could see right across the island. There was a distant red light, which grew suddenly bright and strong.
‘That’s a ship,’ Bran said in a tone of wonder. ‘Their ship.’
Ferox had great faith in the boy’s eyesight and hoped that he was right. The warriors kept going, and crossed two more rises before they came down into a cove with another beach. Several boats were drawn up on the pebbles, and dozens of warriors were squatting on the rocks at the edge of the beach.
A woman’s voice greeted them, but it was hard to see the speaker in the gloom cast by the low cliffs. Then a tall, spare figure stepped out of the shadows.