‘Aye, especially a fugitive with such aristocratic blood.’
‘And so says the only member of royalty actually present, eh, Prince Martos?’
The one-eyed man shook his head briskly at Dubnus’s jibe.
‘I forfeited my tribal rank when I turned away from the Dinpaladyr and marched south with you, just as you did when you turned away from your people to become part of the civilised world. Besides, my tribe has no need of my presence, not with a Roman garrison posted to watch the Fortress of Spears until such time as my nephew is ready to rule without their assistance. I’m better employed helping you keep this one — ’ he tipped his head at Marcus — ‘out of the public eye.’ Clenching one big fist and watching with a grin as the heavy muscle of his arm rippled in response, he shot the equally muscular Roman a lopsided smile. ‘As if anyone’s going to spare him a second glance when a one-eyed warrior built like one of your legion bathhouses is anywhere nearby.’
The third barbarian, taller than the other two by a full head, and with a heavy iron-beaked war hammer resting across one slab-like shoulder, gave a snigger of amusement so quiet that it might have passed unnoticed. The prince turned his head to focus his one good eye on the bigger man, a fierce scowl creasing his face as he snapped out a question in the language their two tribes shared.
‘What’s your problem, Lugos?’
Martos had yet to fully accept the giant as a member of the cohort’s unofficial scout century, formed by the remnant of his Votadini warriors after their defeat by the Romans the previous year. Their capture had been a consequence of betrayal by the hulking tribesman’s king, the leader of the Selgovae tribe, and Martos’s view of the big man remained unmistakably jaundiced, but Lugos was clever enough to bide his time with the Votadini leader.
‘There is no problem, Prince Martos. I simply listen, and in doing so I learn.’
Martos gave him a hard stare, but the giant’s innocent look dampened his temper before it had the chance to boil over. Waiting until the prince had given up his fierce scrutiny, Lugos shot Marcus a swift wink. The Roman raised an eyebrow in return and turned back to face the direction of their march, catching a conspiratorial glance from Dubnus as his friend resumed his attempts to goad Julius.
‘How far to the city now, Julius, do you think?’
The older man gave him a sideways look of disbelief.
‘Five minutes less than the last time you asked, I’d say. Why, do you need to empty your bladder, or is that spear wound playing you up again? You should have gone before we…’ He stopped, and put a hand on the hilt of his sword, pointing at the ground dimly visible to the right of the road’s path. ‘Do you see that?’
Out in the mist, at the point where distance made the movement nearly impossible to discern, something had risen from the mud surrounding them. As they watched, another figure rose from the ground close to the first, a human figure daubed liberally with mud. Dubnus shook his head, staring hard at the apparitions, then pointed into the fog on the other side of the road.
‘More of them!’
While the Romans stood and stared, a dozen and more of the unidentifiable figures rose to their feet around them, seeming to climb, wraithlike, straight out of the ground into the mist’s murk. Lugos broke the spell, stepping forward with his hammer gripped in two white-knuckled hands, barking out a single eager, angry word.
‘ Bandits! ’
The Romans looked at each other and drew their swords, Marcus pulling a long cavalry sword from the scabbard on his right hip to join the shorter gladius already held in his right hand. The gladius’s gold and silver eagle-head pommel gleamed dimly in the fog’s pale light. Dubnus pulled a throwing axe from his belt, tossing the weapon into the air and catching it by the handle’s base, ready to let it fly. They watched in silence as the figures moved closer, gradually taking on solid shapes as they closed their circle around the bemused group. Looking about him, Marcus saw that they were indeed men; their garments were worn and filthy, but each of them carried a sword or spear whose blades appeared well cared for.
‘Close enough, unless you want to find out what the point of my sword feels like as I slide it between your ribs!’
Their gradual advance stopped at Julius’s challenge, a single man stepping forward from their encircling line. What Marcus had taken for features set in stony resolution resolved themselves into the dull iron lines of a cavalry helmet, and when the man spoke his voice was distorted by the close-fitting face mask.
‘We are three times your strength. Lay down your arms and surrender your coin, and nobody gets hurt. Try to fight us and we’ll slaughter you like cattle.’
Julius stepped forward, sliding his gladius back into its scabbard and reaching into a pouch on his belt.
‘You’re right; there is a better way of settling this.’
Marcus and Dubnus exchanged knowing glances, and behind them Lugos growled softly, barely restraining himself from wading into the bandits single-handed. The centurion raised his hands, a flash of silver glinting in the swirling mist, and the masked bandit relaxed slightly, holding up an open hand to keep back his fellow robbers.
Julius’s face hardened into a predatory smile as he moved closer. ‘No, really, there’s no need for any of us to get hurt. You, on the other hand, should run. Now.’ He lifted a hand to his face, putting a shining whistle to his lips while the bandit leader scowled and raised his sword to fight. ‘No? I warned you…’
After blowing a single piercing note he dropped the whistle and ripped his dagger from its sheath, stepping in to attack the masked bandit with the weapon held low. His assailant swung his sword in a clumsy diagonal cut, aiming for the junction of the Roman’s head and neck, but Julius spun to his right and ducked under the blow, pushing his weight off his right foot and springing onto the bandit, bearing him to the ground and breaking his grip on the sword’s hilt. He rammed the dagger’s foot-long blade up into the bandit’s exposed left armpit and then, as the other man screamed with the agony of his wound, snapped his head down to deliver a crunching butt with his helmet’s brow guard, smashing a deep dent into the cavalry helmet’s iron face mask. Pushing himself off the bandit’s inert body he jumped back to his feet and swept his gladius from its scabbard again, turning to the nearest of the bandits with a broad smile.
Unable to contain himself any longer Lugos had already stepped off the road to confront two of the robbers, raising the hammer as if to bring it down on the nearest man’s head, but then changing the attack at the last minute and sweeping the weapon’s heavy iron beak into their legs. One of the pair dropped to the ground in crippled agony, forcing the other to jump back sharply. Pushed off balance by the sudden move the robber tripped and fell headlong backwards, his arms splayed out to either side. The huge barbarian hoisted the hammer over his head, swinging its vicious hooked blade down in a whistling arc to bury it deep in the fallen man’s chest with a sickening crunch of splintering bones. As Martos and Arminius advanced to either side of him, the German swiftly finishing off the bandit felled by his first swing, the giant Briton put a foot on the dying man’s stomach and tore the hammer’s blade loose in a scatter of rib fragments, his eyes searching the mist for his next victim.
Marcus and Dubnus moved quickly to join Julius as he advanced into the throng of bandits, Dubnus hurling his axe in a spinning arc that ended with a wet, crunching thump of iron into flesh and bone before dodging a spear thrust from another man. He gripped the weapon’s extended shaft to drag his assailant off balance, then, drawing his gladius, he thrust the blade deep into the spearman’s thigh. Wrenching the weapon loose in a spray of blood he tore the spear from his victim’s faltering grip, spun it a half turn over his head to present the blade and then stamped forward, slinging the spear to transfix another of the bandits edging towards them. Marcus took on a pair of swordsmen, feinting towards the first to back him up before spinning to attack the other head on. He steered the robber’s sword aside with the gladius, then hacked the longer spatha in his other hand deep into the defenceless bandit’s side. His opponent convulsed in agony as the cold iron sliced into his body, slumping to the ground as the Roman swung back to face the other man, the bloody spatha pointing at the robber’s chest as he backed slowly away. The bandits were looking at each other in silent amazement now, not yet willing to run from their intended prey but afraid to take the fight to them, given that so many of their own number were either dead or wounded.