‘Soon be ashore now, sir,’ the helmsman told them, and pointed at the jetty.
Hadrian turned around because he wanted to take a last long look at the great bridge. He doubted that there would ever be anything else like it built in his lifetime, and part of him hoped that it never would. Like all works of genius, Apollodorus’ creation was dangerous as well as miraculous.
‘Big, isn’t it?’ Piso said.
‘You do not see it, do you?’ Hadrian said. ‘None of them do.’
Piso stared at the line of great arches. How could he not see it – the thing was vast! His commander was a strange fellow, but after the telling off, there was no harm in trying to win favour. ‘I see a wonder of engineering.’
Hadrian glanced back, saw the frowning forehead again, so turned his eyes to the bridge. ‘Have you noticed that it points both ways?’
‘Shouldn’t it?’ Piso’s confusion was obvious.
‘I mean that it can be crossed from either side.’
‘It’s a bridge.’ There was a hint of contempt in the voice.
‘Of course it is, silly me,’ Hadrian said. ‘Well, now that is sorted out, I rather think I ought to go forward and have a word with our charming guests. You stay and supervise the landing.’
Piso shook his head as the legatus of his legion and cousin of the emperor made his way carefully along the narrow strip of deck between the rowers.
XI
THE HORSEMAN WAS silhouetted on the top of the hill, watching them. He had his arms folded, a common gesture among his kin, and the horse, its mane and tail braided with colourful ribbons, simply stood there, now and again leaning down to crop the grass. The man wore loose trousers, a long sleeved, long hemmed tunic and boots, all of them a deep grey, and had an orange-brown cloak.
Ferox had halted the column. ‘Where there’s one, there’s always more,’ he said. They had caught up with the scouts he sent ahead, pleased that they had obeyed his orders and waited after bumping into anything strange. Not that this was all that unexpected, for the spring was properly here now and this was a good place for grazing and hunting. Seeing the warrior brought back a lot of memories.
‘He’s a Sarmatian,’ Sabinus said.
‘A Red Alan,’ corrected the decurion in charge of the twenty auxiliary horsemen who had joined the fifty Carvetii and Brigantes on this ride.
Ferox gave a slight nod. He was one of the Roxolani, of the Stag clan, unless he was mistaken, although in truth it was hard to be sure when warriors often moved their tents from one band to the next. Unless the sun had stopped rising and setting, they were a tough bunch, good friends and really bad enemies, and you never quite knew which way they would go.
Vindex was less impressed. ‘Ugly beast he’s got.’ The Roxolani, like most Sarmatians, liked small horses, thick legged, rather snub nosed, but strong and able to run for hours.
‘Bet your horse says the same about you,’ the decurion suggested.
‘Cheeky bugger.’
Sabinus ignored them. ‘He doesn’t look out for trouble.’
‘They’re all thieves,’ the decurion said.
‘Aren’t we all,’ Vindex muttered. ‘Although the Romans do it in style and steal the world.’
‘Nonsense, we spread peace and enlightenment,’ Sabinus snapped, then scanned the horizon. ‘Cannot see any others, sir. Shall we press on?’
‘Yes, take the column on for another two hours and then camp – and keep a close watch, especially on the horses. We should meet the legatus and his men tomorrow. I will re-join you as soon as I can, but until then you are in charge. If I am not back by the time you meet the legatus, then offer him my sincere apologies and say that I will return within three days if I am able, if not… Ah, told you there would be more.’ A second rider appeared beside the first one, with a third hovering behind.
‘If not, sir?’ Sabinus asked.
‘What? Oh, if I’m not back in three days then I’m dead. They don’t torture anyone longer than that.’
‘Sir?’ Sabinus said, but Ferox was already walking his horse away. ‘Are you sure about this, sir?’
Ferox glanced back at Vindex. ‘Coming?’
‘Oh bugger,’ the scout said, and followed. Sabinus watched them go, saw the three Sarmatians turn and canter out of sight, but Ferox and Vindex did not check and followed them over the brow of the hill.
‘Better go, sir,’ the decurion said after a while.
‘Yes, I suppose we should.’ Sabinus had seventy men under his command and had rarely felt so alone.
Ferox and Vindex rode for a few miles. The valley was wide, the fields open, rolling up and down with little hills, and they gave the horses their heads, letting them run. There were farms dotted around, wheat and barley growing well and they avoided the cultivated patches. Now and then they saw the three Roxolani. From one of the higher hills they could see the road and the little figures of Sabinus and his men trotting along, before they dipped down again. Up ahead was a longer, higher ridge and one of the horsemen had stopped on the crest.
‘That’s where they’ll be,’ he called to Vindex and pointed. ‘They like to surprise you.’
‘How big a surprise?’
‘Well, some of them hate me.’
‘I like ’em already.’
Their horses surged as they reached the ridge, racing up the slope, hoofs pounding on the turf. The lone rider waited until they were almost there before spinning his mount and galloping away.
‘Keep going!’ Ferox shouted as he saw Vindex begin to rein in. They reached the top, wide and empty and suddenly it was filling with riders, spilling up over the crest ahead, cantering around them. There were about twenty, and all had bows or javelins in hand.
‘Now we stop,’ Ferox said as the Roxolani formed a circle around them. ‘And don’t worry.’
‘Really.’
‘No point, it wouldn’t do any good.’
The riders had weapons, but the javelins were held upright and none had placed an arrow on their bows. Many were of strange design, held not in the middle as usual, but two-thirds of the way down so that the lower arc was much smaller than the one above their hand. They were horseman’s weapons, awkward until a man trained himself to use one, but then far more powerful at short range than an ordinary bow.
Ferox placed his right hand, palm flat, against his left shoulder, and kicked his horse while holding the reins tight, so that its hind legs stayed where they were and the front made the beast turn a full circle.
The riders watched, saying nothing. To Vindex’s surprise, one was a young woman, her face decorated with tattoos, but dressed like a man and carrying a bow.
There was a man beside her, his beard dyed bright red, but showing grey hairs where drink had washed the colouring away. He lowered his bow back into the case fastened to the rear of his saddle, made the same gesture as Ferox and walked his horse forward. He came close, saying nothing, face impassive. Ferox took off his centurion’s helmet with its tall crest – a replacement for the one he had broken on his first day at the fort.
The rider stared at him. No one said anything, and even Vindex had the sense not to crack any jokes, although he did wink at the young woman. She ignored him, and all of the warriors had the same impassive stare. For a long while they sat on their horses.
‘It is you,’ the bearded man said at last, using strongly accented Greek.
‘Yes,’ Ferox replied.
‘Flavios Kakos.’
‘Yes.’