Brasus positioned each man with great care. All were in trees, for this was an important skill to practise.
‘As you have seen, the first shot can be the deadliest, which makes it vital to wait for the right opportunity.’
Four men could only see so much, so he placed one in the woods on the opposite side of the valley to the tower, and the others spaced out a mile or so further on. Brasus found a tree not far from the place where the youngsters had attacked the Brigantes. He did not hurry to climb, for he doubted that any Romans would appear until well after noon. Yet his senses told him that they would come today and that they would come here and he would learn.
The tree was not at the edge of the woodland, but about twenty paces in. Brasus climbed when the time felt right, and found a sturdy branch with others on which he could fasten the loops of rope to use as rests for his feet. He could just glimpse the ground beyond the treeline and the dead horse, its belly already bloated as it decayed.
Romans appeared an hour or so later. He heard the sound of horses and equipment, for the wind was blowing towards him, and at the same time caught the stale smell of leather and sweat.
Brasus waited. He heard voices without catching more than the odd word and at last glimpsed a rider by the dead horse. Another man appeared, walking in a crouch and staring at the grass. He was big, bare headed at the moment showing a mop of black hair, and when his cloak parted there was the gleam of mail and the pommel of a sword. Another horseman rode in front of him, talking to the man, and by the time he moved the first man was out of sight. There were shouted orders and the sound of jingling harness, growing fainter, which meant that some were riding away.
The floor of the forest was a mass of needles, most faded brown and dry and they muffled the sound of the horse’s feet until they were very close. They came closer. Brasus glimpsed the black-haired man riding a grey horse towards him. The Roman came closer and closer, passing out of view. The only way for Brasus to see down would have been to shift his feet from the ropes and move, but that was bound to make noise. If he stayed absolutely still then he would be very hard to see, even if the man thought to look up – hard, but not impossible. He doubted the Roman would come up after him, but there must still be soldiers close by and they could wait for him to come down or perhaps reach him with javelins or arrows.
‘Trying to get killed, are we?’ Another Roman was approaching from the opposite side. He spoke good Latin with an accent much like Ivonercus, so was probably another Briton. ‘Wandering off on your own.’
‘Maybe I’m luring you away. Reckon the price on your head must be even higher now.’ That was the first man, now almost below him. His voice was deep, with a different, almost musical intonation. ‘You know what Silures are like.’
Outlandish though it was, the name had stuck in Brasus’ mind. This must be Flavius Ferox, the man hated and feared by Ivonercus.
‘Bastards the lot of them,’ the other man said. ‘Can’t trust ’em for a moment.’
They said no more for a long while. Brasus heard the soft footfalls of their horses as they moved around close beneath him. He tried not to imagine faces searching upwards, of enemies grinning because they had seen the man hanging from the branches. One of the horses whinnied, then shook its head and blew noisily.
‘So what do you reckon happened?’ the second man asked. Brasus wondered if this was Vindex and his instincts told him that it was. No chance had brought him here today. Fate was at work and the will of the Lord of the Heavens. He had known that this was the place and that he needed to be here, and the same instincts told him that he would not die today.
‘Someone shot arrows at them.’
There was a pause. ‘That it?’ Vindex said. ‘Might just have worked that one out on my own.’
‘Given time,’ Ferox conceded. He waited and then sighed. ‘The arrow came from the sort of bows the king issues to his warriors. Bit like our army ones and almost as good. The men were on foot – three, maybe four of them. Don’t think they planned it, or if they did they didn’t plan it well. Probably just saw a chance and took it. Wanted to prove their courage, I guess. They killed all the horses apart from one, so if they wanted those, then they made a mess of it.’
‘So what does it mean? You still reckon war is coming?’
‘Never doubted it for a moment. Why send us here otherwise?’
‘The lass is trying to please the Romans by giving them men.’
‘The lass?’ Ferox sighed again. ‘She’s your queen. Haven’t you Carvetii always been the queen’s folk. Still, given what you used to call her, guess it’s an improvement.’
‘Calling her the queen only makes me sad. You really buggered up there.’ Vindex sniffed in contempt. ‘More than usual, I mean. She’s my queen all right, and a wise one, but… So you reckon the Romans want soldiers from her to help fight a new war. Haven’t they got enough soldiers without this mob?’
‘Maybe they want to keep the good soldiers alive?’
‘Cheerful sod as usual. So we’re humped again.’
‘As usual,’ Ferox said.
‘Aye, as usual,’ Vindex agreed. ‘But everyone’s been telling us since we got here that the war is over.’
‘That’s the old war,’ Ferox told him. ‘We get the new one that hasn’t started yet. Your people never fought the Romans.’
‘Not while anyone was watching.’ Vindex chuckled. ‘No, not really. Too smart for that. We made friends. Had enough enemies already without finding a new one. And they’ve treated us right enough since. Left us alone most of the time, which is the main thing.’
‘The Dacians are special,’ Ferox said. ‘Remember that farm we passed last month? The one where the people were sobbing and wailing?’