‘Leave it,’ Magnus shouted, slowing down to come closer to him in order to hide the dagger from the eyes of passing travellers who were looking with suspicion at the four horsemen tearing up the Via Aurelia. ‘If you pull it out now you’ll lose too much blood. We’ll do it properly later.’
Vespasian nodded weakly and hoped later would come soon.
They passed the second milestone from Rome as the sun started to turn gold and sink towards the horizon. There was no sign of any pursuit but Magnus still urged them on. The further they got from the city the more the traffic thinned out. By the time darkness fell they were on their own.
‘Right, lads, let’s get off of the road and find a place to camp,’ Magnus said. ‘We’ve got to see to that leg of yours, sir.’
He slowed his horse, pulled it to the right and began climbing a gentle slope. Vespasian followed with the others; his head was light with loss of blood and his leg throbbed incessantly. He had made it out of Rome, but in this state he didn’t know how much further he would be able to go.
PART III
CHAPTER XVI
Vespasian tumbled from his horse into Magnus’ arms and felt himself being laid gently down against a tree.
‘You rest here, sir. The lads are getting wood for a fire; once it’s burning we’ll be able to remove that dagger and patch you up.’ He eased Vespasian’s wounded leg straight and immediately the pain lessened as the ground took up the weight of the dagger.
‘Where are we?’ Vespasian asked weakly.
‘By a stream in a valley about a mile east of the road; there doesn’t seem to be anyone else about so we’ll risk the fire.’ Magnus placed a blanket behind Vespasian’s head and then raised a water skin to his mouth. Vespasian drank greedily; the blood loss had made him terribly thirsty. He felt the cool water flowing down inside him and his spirits lifted.
‘That was so stupid of me on the bridge, covering my face like that; I just didn’t think.’
Sextus and Marius returned with armfuls of wood and set to making a fire.
‘It weren’t the most stupid thing you did, sir, if you don’t mind me saying,’ Magnus said, handing him a hunk of bread and some salted pork. ‘Telling the centurion that you were going to Genua, now that was stupid.’
‘But he would have drowned in the river under the weight of his armour, surely?’
‘He may well have done, likewise his mate, but the one he sent back to get the tribune most certainly didn’t, and he heard everything you said and the accent in which you said it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, oh, indeed; now they’re going to be looking for us all the way up the Via Aurelia and keeping an eye out in Genua for a military tribune with a recent wound in his right leg who talks like a Sabine farmer.’
‘We had better outrun them, then.’
‘And that is particularly stupid… sir. Firstly you need to recuperate and secondly they’re probably passing the point that we left the road as we speak.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘Well, it would have taken half an hour to get a message to the Praetorian camp on the other side of the city; then another half an hour to get a cavalry detachment back to the Via Aurelia, which puts them an hour behind us. We left the road an hour ago. There you go, easy.’
‘I see. Well, then, the best thing for us to do is to carry on as I planned: head to my grandmother’s estate at Cosa, one day’s hard ride from here. We can hole up there for a while whilst my leg heals and the fuss dies down. After that we’ll have to just wait and see.’
‘Well, it sounds like a plan of sorts, sir, and it’s the only one we’ve got, so Cosa it is. But first we’ve got to deal with Macro’s dagger.’
‘Macro?’
‘Yes. That was Macro you took a swipe at, then you stole his dagger and I’m sure that he’ll be wanting it back.’
‘I didn’t steal it.’
‘Well, you’ve got it and he hasn’t, and it’s probably best to keep it that way. One thing’s for certain, though, he definitely got a good look at me. I won’t be safe in Rome for a while so I’d best come along with you, sir, if that’s all right?’
‘Well, I suppose so, but how? Will you join the legion?’
‘Will I fuck. No, I’ll come along as your freedman, young gentlemen often take a personal slave or freedman with them on campaign; it won’t look out of place.’
Vespasian was too tired to argue – not that he really wanted to; it would be a comfort having Magnus with him.
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then. Now make yourself comfortable, sir, this is going to hurt.’
Vespasian rested his head back on the blanket and looked up at the almost full moon. Its gentle light spilt through the leafless branches of the trees that lined the riverbank, giving them a silver outline that was filled in from below by the orange flicker of the fire that Marius and Sextus had built up.
Magnus drew his sword and thrust it into the heart of the flames, then he went back to Vespasian and knelt down to examine his right leg in the firelight. The dagger had pierced his calf by about three inches but it was the bronze greave, through which it had passed, that held it tightly in place. Magnus pulled on the handle gently to test the strength of the grip that the bronze had on the iron blade. It seemed to be stuck fast.
‘Owww!’ Vespasian yelled.
‘Sorry, sir, just seeing what needs to be done; one thing I can tell you is that you were very lucky. If you hadn’t been wearing greaves the dagger would have gone straight through your leg and gutted your horse. You would have been arrested and your walking days would have been over; not that you would have had much need for walking with what Sejanus would have had in mind for you.’
Vespasian grimaced. ‘So we’re looking on the bright side, then?’
‘We most certainly are, sir.’ Magnus looked round at Sextus and Marius. ‘Now, lads, this will be a three-man job. Sextus, you hold the greave. Once I’ve pulled the dagger out, yank it off.’
‘Hold it then yank it off – right you are, Magnus,’ Sextus repeated, anxious not to get anything wrong.
‘Marius, as soon as that greave is off, take the sword out of the fire and press the flat tip to the wound until I say stop.’
‘Got you, Magnus,’ Marius said, pleased that he had a onehanded task.
‘All right, sir, we’ll do this very quickly.’ He handed Vespasian an inch-thick stick. ‘Bite on this.’
Vespasian did as he was told and braced himself.
‘It’s best you don’t look, sir. Ready?’ Magnus asked.
Vespasian closed his eyes and nodded.
‘All right, lads,’ Magnus said, putting one foot on Vespasian’s ankle and grasping the dagger’s hilt with both hands. ‘After three. One, two, three.’
Vespasian heard the rasp of metal scraping metal and felt a jolt in his leg, then a blinding flash of pain hit him; it eased slightly as the greave was yanked off, and then it escalated into red-hot agony. The smell of burning flesh hit his nostrils as he passed out.
‘Wake up, sir, we need to be off.’
Vespasian felt himself being pulled out of a dreamless sleep. He opened his eyes; it was still dark. Magnus was kneeling over him shaking his shoulder.
‘How’re you feeling?’
‘Better thank you, Magnus, but my leg is stiff as a board.’ He put his hand gingerly on his wounded calf and felt a rough bandage protecting it. ‘How is it?’ he asked.
‘Not too bad; the burning stopped the bleeding and closed it. We’ve been taking it in turns to piss on it. My grandmother always did that if she couldn’t find any vinegar.’
Vespasian’s face wrinkled. ‘I’m sure that with the amount that you all drink the effect would have been the same as vinegar.’
‘More than likely, sir. We should have some breakfast now and be ready to leave at first light.’