‘Roaring River Fort burnt to the ground, although I dare say they scoured the place for weapons first. Red River won’t be any different.’
Dubnus nodded grimly at Morban’s words as they marched, remembering the scene as the cohorts had marched past the shattered remnants of the Roaring River Fort the previous day. In peacetime the fort had been home to a sizeable detachment of auxiliaries, usually rotated out of the Wall units for six months at a time. Positioned north of the Wall, it also attracted more than its share of hangers-on — prostitutes, thieves, merchants and pedlars, all keen to part the soldiers, separated from their usual environment and loved ones, from their money in any way possible.
The warband had evidently come down the North Road fast enough that the evacuating troops had found little time to worry about the occupants of the fort’s ramshackle settlements, who had themselves either taken swift flight or paid a severe price for their collaboration. Fifty or sixty men had been nailed to the remaining standing timbers at Roaring River, another twenty farther south at Fort Habitus, all of them smeared with tar and then set ablaze. Only the blackened husks of their bodies had remained, along with an overpowering stench of burnt flesh. Of the women there’d been no sign, although their fate wasn’t hard to imagine. There wasn’t a man in the cohort that hadn’t imagined the same fate for his own fort and shuddered. Already the mood among the troops had changed, from one of concern as to what they might come up against in the field to a hunger to get some revenge, spill barbarian guts and take heads.
The same thought was obviously on Equitius’s mind, for he ran forward with Frontinius and a twenty-man bodyguard from the 5th and caught up with the 9th at the milestone three miles before they reached the Red River fort.
‘It’s off the road here, I think, and time for you scouts to start earning your corn. If this Calgus is half the commander he’s cracked up to be they’ll have Red River under watch, and I’d rather stay incognito for the time being.’
He looked to either side, then pointed off to their left, at rising ground stretching up to a distant line of trees.
‘We’ll wait here on the road until you report that the path ahead to that forest is clear.’
The 9th went in the direction indicated, off the road to the left, and started up a narrow farmer’s track that led to a rude hut, the abandoned farmer’s dwelling, then on up to the treeline. The woods, three hundred yards distant across the abandoned field, were an uncertain refuge, however. Morban took a good hard look and spat derisively into the dust.
‘Cocidius above, the entire warband could be in that lot and we’d never know it.’
Marcus turned back to grin at the standard-bearer.
‘That’s what the prefect meant when he said it was time to earn our corn. Want to take the standard back to the main body?’
‘And risk getting jumped on my own on the way back? No, thank you very much, sir, I’ll risk it here with a few dozen swords between my soft flesh and the enemy.’
‘Very well. Chosen, we’ll have a party of scouts up that path as soon as you like, the rest of the century to observe from here until we know what’s behind the trees. Nice and steady, no need for shouting or rushing about.’
Dubnus nodded, walking through the troops and picking his scouts by hand, briefing them in measured tones rather than the usual parade-ground roar. The five men chosen shook out into an extended line across the field, then started climbing the slope at a measured pace, slow enough that they had time to strip ears of corn from the standing crop. They nibbled at the immature kernels as they moved through the thigh-deep green carpet.
‘Look at those lucky bastards, just strolling in the country and chewing some poor bloody farmer’s wheat.’
Morban spun to glare at the speaker, the soldier Scarface, shaking the bagged standard at the man, then whispered at him sotto voce.
‘Shut your mouth, you stupid sod. Firstly, it’s them risking a spear in the guts, not you, so a few nibbles of corn isn’t exactly a great reward. Secondly, if your bellowing brings a fucking great warband down out of those trees before the rest of the cohort gets here to die with us, I am personally going to stick this standard right up your arse before they cut my head off. Statue end first!’
Scarface hung his head, red faced. Tongue lashings from Morban, while not exactly rare, were usually less vehement.
The scouts progressed up the slope, vanishing into the trees together as if at some preordained signal. After a moment a man reappeared at the wood’s edge, waving them to come forward with some urgency. The century went up the track at the double, Marcus leading the way in his eagerness to see what had animated the man. Antenoch drew his sword and stayed close to his centurion, his eyes moving across the trees with hard suspicion as they ran up the slope. Morban, hurrying along behind them, muttered an insult at the clerk’s back.
‘What’s the matter, Antenoch, hasn’t he paid you yet this month?’
Inside the wood, in the shade and quiet, Marcus found two of the scouts conferring over something, while the other three were dimly visible fifty or sixty yards distant, moving deeper into the trees. There were flies swarming in the still air, their scratchy buzz sawing at his nerves as they criss-crossed the scene. The man who had waved them up the track, now recognisable as Cyclops, gestured to the ground with some excitement.
‘They were here all right, sir, a day ago, perhaps two.’
Marcus looked. In a small pit, dug a foot or so into the earth, a pile of human excrement and small animal bones formed an untidy still life, a small cloud of buzzing flies still feasting on their find. He turned to find Dubnus at his shoulder. The chosen man looked down into the pit, then squatted down and poked at one of the stools with a twig.
‘These men got lazy, didn’t bury their leavings properly. Cyclops, look for other pits, probably filled in. See how many you can find. Two Knives, you need to brief the prefect. This is a day old from the feel of it, no more, or the flies would have lost interest by now. These were probably the men that torched Red River, set an ambush here in case there were Roman forces in the area to come to the rescue. These woods would easily conceal a whole warband, and hide their fires…’
‘Sir!’
The call came from the scouts deeper into the woods. Marcus shot a glance at them.
‘Dubnus, you brief the prefect, I’ll see what’s got their attention.’
He went on into the woods, the century spreading out to either side, spears and shields held ready. The scouts beckoned him on, pointing to the ground. Now that he took the time to look he saw that the damp earth was pressed flat for a hundred yards in all directions, the marks of many boots. Most of the prints, the most recent, were pointed in the same direction. West.
11
The cavalrymen’s horses fretted at their reins, impatient to be away from the plodding infantry column and free to run. The prefect had a dozen horsemen, his escort from the 6th’s camp, to use as swift messengers in the absence of the Petriana’s courier riders. Four were to be loosed now, tasked to ride north-east and find the oncoming legion, to warn them that a second warband was in the field. The headquarters clerks finished coding the message with the day’s cipher and a centurion whisked the tablets out to the waiting horsemen.