‘On, on,’ Naulobates shouted.
They were almost at the water’s edge. The bank of reeds was seething with wildlife. Splashes could be heard, as those that could swim hurled themselves into the broad river. Ducks flighted overhead. The horsemen slowed, pushing ahead more circumspectly, shooting all the time.
Ballista had closed up on Naulobates. Maximus was on his left. For a moment, the three were isolated. From behind, an arrow hissed between Ballista and Maximus. Without taking their eyes from the swaying curtain of reeds ahead, both yelled warnings.
Something very big was ploughing through the reeds ahead. Feathery tops jerked and vanished. Naulobates was crooning some prayer; willing the beast to him.
A full-grown stag, a noble spread of antlers above, burst from the cover. It turned to run. Naulobates surged upon it, drawing his sword. The stag swung back, antlers lowered to charge. Naulobates’ horse side-stepped. Not quite far enough. There was a spray of blood. As his mount passed, Naulobates cut back and down. The long straight sword went deep into the back of the stag’s neck. It collapsed like a sack. Naulobates had half decapitated the animal.
‘Your Manichaean would be glad he did not see that,’ Maximus said.
The feast was held down on the riverbank. The favoured men around Naulobates occupied a low knoll. Ballista and his familia rubbed down their mounts, keeping them from drinking until they had cooled down. The Heruli built fires and collected and butchered the game. When Naulobates had washed, salved and bound his own right leg, he saw to his horse, then skinned and broke up his stag. Like a good hunter and a gracious monarch, he dedicated a share to Artemis and the gods and handed the choicer cuts to those around him, keeping just the liver for himself.
They roasted the meat over the open fires. It tasted good; crisp and flavoured with woodsmoke, the juices running. They had salt, but Naulobates’ temper flared when he discovered there was no vinegar. The uncomfortable moment passed, and he began to drink. Ballista was glad he was not the Herul who had forgotten the vinegar. Naulobates did not strike him as the sort of man who forgot things himself. Ballista settled to drink with the First-Brother and his companions. Along the banks of the Rha, they all settled to drink copiously.
Full, half drunk, they sprawled in the shade to take their rest. Ballista lay on his back, patterns of light playing over his closed eyelids.
‘Fire!’ The shout meant nothing to Ballista. ‘Fire!’ His eyes were bleared. He forced himself up on one elbow. Sleep is the brother of death; for some reason the Greek idea floated among the fumes clouding his thoughts.
A Herul rode up to Naulobates, who was getting to his feet. ‘Brush fire, to the north.’
‘How long?’
‘With this wind, no time at all.’
‘Huhn.’ Naulobates tugged at his sparse beard. ‘The men who let their campfire get out of control will suffer.’
‘No, First-Brother, the fire started out in the Steppe, well beyond the sentries.’
Naulobates gave him a sharp look. ‘Ride on through the camp, tell everyone to gather their things and ride due west into the Steppe, fast as they can.’
The Herul clattered off.
Pandemonium ensued at Naulobates’ words. But it was a sluggish pandemonium. Everywhere, men staggered to their feet. Half asleep, part drunk, part hung over, they stumbled around. The horses were some way off to the west, hobbled to graze beyond the belt of trees. The less crapulous wandered off to round them up.
Ballista got up, buckled on his sword belt. His head ached, and his throat was dry. There was an unease in his stomach. A dozen or so riders were coming up from the direction of the river, urging their mounts through the reeds. As Ballista bent to get his gorytus, the Herul next to him straightened up with a flask and meal bag in his hands. The Herul sank to his knees. There was a look of incomprehension on his face. He toppled forward. The bright fletchings of an arrow stuck out from between his shoulderblades. Another arrow thumped into the leaf mould by Ballista’s boot.
‘Maximus!’ Gorytus in hand, Ballista ran towards the nearest large tree. Maximus was with him. Together, they dived behind the wide trunk of the oak.
‘Fuck,’ Maximus panted.
Ballista looked out. The riders were bearing down, shooting as they came. He ducked back. Dropping the bowcase, he unsheathed his sword.
The thunder of hooves got louder. Ballista and Maximus looked at each other. They pointed to each side of the tree, and nodded. The hoofbeats were almost on top of them. One-two-three. They leapt out either side, swords arcing.
The nomad pony shied, its rider released. The arrow whistled high. The last few inches of Ballista’s sword caught the animal’s front leg near the knee. The impact tried to drag the hilt from his grip. Hanging on, the momentum of the falling pony dragged Ballista to the ground. Scrabbling among the fallen leaves, he saw the nomad jump clear. The pony went down in a tangle of limbs.
‘Run!’ A hand on Ballista’s shoulder was hauling him to his feet. ‘Run!’ Maximus shouted again.
The nomad was on his feet, pulling his sword free. Maximus, almost casually, dropped him with two blows. Ballista noticed the nomad’s clothes were sodden.
They ran pell-mell down the slope. The Manichaean was standing stock-still, mouth open. Ballista took his arm, spun him round, yelled at him to run. They did not wait to see if the missionary did as he was told.
Something plucked at Ballista’s sleeve and sped on ahead. He swerved as he ran.
At the foot of the knoll was a mass of briars. They fought their way into them. Ballista felt them catch at his tunic and trousers, felt sharp flares of pain as they tore his flesh.
‘Over here.’ Maximus dived into the space where two elms grew close together. Ballista threw himself in after.
‘Fuck,’ Maximus said.
Gasping for breath, Ballista looked back. The horsemen were outnumbered, but more Heruli were falling. One of the riders was circling his mount. ‘Naulobates and Ballista,’ he shouted above the cacophony.
Ballista saw Naulobates. The Herul had a blade in each hand. He was ringed by three riders. He had no chance.
From nowhere, Uligagus threw himself on one of the horsemen, dragging him to the ground. Naulobates feinted towards the opening, then doubled back at the opposite rider. An arrow hit him in the leg. He kept going. The pony reared. Careless of the flailing hooves, Naulobates ducked under its belly, swords darting. He emerged the other side, as the animal collapsed. Its rider jumped clear. Naulobates killed him. The third mounted man shot. Naulobates went backwards. A pack of Heruli threw themselves on the last rider. Pony and man were hauled to the ground and disappeared beneath the hacking blades.
It was over as it started, with no warning.
Ballista and Maximus fought their way painfully out of the thorn bushes. They trudged up to the ring of men around Naulobates.
The First-Brother of the Heruli was sitting up. There was an arrow in his left shoulder, the broken shaft of another in his left leg. He was very pale behind his tattoos, bleeding heavily. His men were cutting away his clothes.
Naulobates opened his eyes, looked at Ballista. ‘Three honourable wounds in one day.’ He smiled. ‘You should be honoured, Angle. These Alani were prepared to die to kill two men — me and you.’
‘We should get the horses,’ Ballista said, ‘before we all burn to death.’
XXV
Calgacus knew that the details of the fight were lost beyond human comprehension. They always were. Only fools thought different. But now it was seven days later, the kalends of July. He had talked to several of the survivors, and the general plan of the Alani ambush of the hunting party was easy to reconstruct. Some had set a line of fires in the dry grasses to the north, knowing the wind would bring it down to where the Heruli rested. In the confusion, a small band had swum their mounts across the Rha. No sentries had been posted on the riverbank. The Alani had got among their enemy with complete surprise. Only the foolhardy courage of the Heruli, and luck — or divine providence, as Naulobates would have it — had prevented them killing the two men whose lives they had come to take.