Ironroot (40 page)

Rummaging in the packs once again, she withdrew several blankets and her bedroll and spread them on the ground to create a thick, comfortable mattress. Smiling, she laid upon it as she pulled the largest blanket over the top and rolled the corner back invitingly.

“We all know what’s happening here, Varro. I’m damned if I’m going to let what might very well be my last chance slip away from me while we sit, cowering, among the trees waiting for the end one way or another. I don’t know whether Phaianis will protect you in the morning, but I’m positive you’ll last the night. Don’t ask me why. Now come here.”

Meekly and nervously, the captain crossed the clearing on hands and knees and slowly laid himself down on the thick bed of blankets.

As he gathered his pack and slowly made his way back along the track toward the small hollow he’d seen earlier, Salonius smiled. It was nice. It was right in a way that, for some reason, he couldn’t quite identify. But through it all, he couldn’t help but notice deep within himself the edges of jealousy roiling around in his gut. Setting his jaw firm, he focussed on the task at hand. Tomorrow morning, one way or another, Varro was going to kill Cristus or vice versa.

Reaching the hollow, he dropped his kit, slumped beside it and pulled a thin blanket over himself.

His task was to make sure Varro was capable of doing this; to keep him as strong as possible and to give him as much of an edge as possible when he needed it. Sadly, while he had a number of ideas of how he could help, a lot of this still depended on Cristus. Salonius found himself wondering what the prefect was actually like and wishing he knew him better.

Tonight would pass slowly. His mind raced with ideas. How could he help his friend? How could he solve this? Catilina was right: he could only solve problems when they involved building or destroying things. Had to got with his strengths. For Varro; and for Catilina.

From back along the track he heard a light-hearted girlish giggle.

Tonight would pass slowly.

Varro fastened his belt around his tunic and looked down at Catilina, lying under the thick blanket and smiling up at him. The faintest rays of the dawn were piercing the deep blue of the darkness and the first birds of the dawn chorus were warning up for their arias. He squared his shoulders and sighed.

Strangely, he felt good; stronger than he had for a long time. Whatever the long-term effects of mixing and overdosing the drugs that Scortius had given him, in the short term, it made him feel like a warrior again. He flexed his bicep and smiled; a smile that faltered as his gaze passed across his tunic and took in the unpleasant blood stains from last night. He would last as long as he needed to. He would last the morning, and that was all he needed.

With a last glance at the young woman lying in the clearing, he sighed contentedly and strode off purposefully along the track.

Perhaps half way along it was a small hollow where Salonius had spent the night. But the hollow wasn’t there; or rather it was, but had changed. Now there was a sizeable clearing. Piles of wood and sticks were banked up against the clearing’s edge. Tools lay on a low rock, and Salonius sat cross-legged, busily working away at something with his back to the path.

Varro cleared his throat and the young engineer jumped.

“Hell, sir! You gave me a start.”

“Deep in concentration, then?” replied the captain as he crouched down next to the young man. Salonius was holding what appeared to be some sort of foot-thick belt and was slowly running it through his fingers, pressing it rhythmically with his thumbs.

“What the hell is that?”

“This,” Salonius replied with a smile, holding the item aloft, “is what’s going to give you the edge against Cristus. It’s not cheating. You’re at a disadvantage, since he’s fully healthy and you’ve a badly bruised and wounded abdomen. Take your tunic off.”

Varro blinked but, knowing better than to argue, did as he was told. Once he was standing, half naked, in the clearing, with the first light of dawn casting an eerie glow around him, Salonius stepped forward with the item.

“Kneel down and raise your hands above your head.”

Varro did so, and Salonius stepped above him and lowered the corset-shape over his arms and gently eased it over his head and chest, down to the wounded abdomen. Varro examined the item as Salonius began to tighten it, pulling cords that were ingeniously worked into the construction.

“Explain?”

Salonius carefully tied off the three cords as he spoke.

“It’s essentially a corset. The inner is formed of three thicknesses of my blanket. I used sap resin to attach vertical lengths of willow that I cut into strips. More resin set them into place. Another thickness of blanket attached with sap and the outer is made of stripped of boiled and hardened leather I tacked on. They’re from my water skin, pack and so on. But since they’re individual strips tacked on, they’re nice and flexible. My thought is that it’s give you support and protection around your abdomen. Without it, even if he punched you in the side, that’d be the end, I think. I’ve just got to attach the shoulder pieces to keep it in position.”

“Oh, I am grateful Salonius. You have no idea how grateful. I think I regret the fact that I’ll not live to see the day you command a cohort.”

Salonius blinked.

“Sir?”

“Oh come on.” Varro laughed. “When this is all over and I’m gone, you and Catilina will be the two who brought down a traitor and save the northern army. And you know the marshal personally and saved his daughter! Great things await you, my friend, and I think the army’s going to change when you get your hands on it. More flexible; more adaptable. The army’s always been led by brave men, but brave, intelligent and resourceful is rare. I think I’m going to miss you, Salonius.”

“Captain…”

Varro shook his head.

“Strangely, the large doses of everything that I took last night seem to have given me the strength and energy of a race horse. I think I’m going to take the same again in the next hour. Damn him, if Cristus shows up here this morning, I’m going to carve bits off him until he begs for mercy.”

The young man’s jaw set hard.

“Good. Now stay still while I attach the shoulders.”

Five minutes later the two men entered the main clearing to find Catilina up and dressed, the blankets folded into low seats and a pot heating over a low fire.

Varro pick up a stick from the floor and, give the difficulty of the manoeuvre, swung the stick at his wounded side as hard as he could manage. Catilina leapt towards him in shock but stopped as the stick bounced of his tunic with a deep ‘clonk’.

“What in the heavens?”

Varro grinned.

“Our engineer friend put his genius to the task at hand again. Hell, at this rate, I could even fight my way through Cristus’ guards to get to him.”

She laughed.

“I rather hope it doesn’t come to that. Now sit down and rest. Time to get the pair of you fed and watered before you start any trouble.”

“Time to finish this” Varro announced, testing his sword, sliding it an inch or so in and out of the sheath to ease the draw. “Let’s go see what we can see.”

Salonius reached down for the debris by the captain’s pack. The empty wrappers spoke volumes. Cristus had better show up now; Varro had taken every last pinch of the medication he’d been given. The chances of him coming unstuck by noon due to severe overdosing were worryingly high. Gritting his teeth and forcing a casual smile onto his face, he turned and, as he did so, watching Varro’s retreating back as the man walked over to the track, he caught sight of Catilina’s face as she also gazed after him. There was something about the look on her face. He smiled knowingly.

Pondering on his suspicions, he collected his pack, tipped the pan of water onto the already dead remnants of the fire and followed the others onto the track.

Given the bright daylight, the three were able to position their selves only a few yards from the edge of the woodland and could see the activity outside. A dozen or so men stood to attention in full armour within view, the cordon continuing on out of sight, presumably surrounding the grove. Varro squinted at them and then turned to his companions, lowering his voice.

“They’ve been on guard all night. Look at them; they’re all shattered.”

Salonius nodded.

“Good. And they had no sleep the day before. They’ll be slow. Don’t know what use that’ll be when Cristus turns up with fresh men, but it’s worth knowing anyway.”

Catilina pointed off to the left.

“Looks like were about to find out, boys. Look!”

Away to the side, at the crest of the hill, men were arriving on horseback, bearing the standards of the Fourth Army and marching in Imperial green. Perhaps two dozen men; some senior officers; others members of the prefect’s guard. All well equipped and well rested bar one. That one must be Crino, riding alongside his master in deep conversation. Anger flared up inside Salonius as he watched the prefect riding calmly under the Imperial banner as though he were the greatest and most noble soldier of the Empire and not a cowardly, enslaving traitor. He only realised he had half drawn his sword when Varro’s hand enclosed his and slowly pushed the hilt back down.

“I don’t know how long I’ve got. This might be my only chance. You stay here with Catilina when I go out. You’ll be safe here for now. You two are the clever ones. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Salonius’ face fell.

“Now let’s see what we can do” said Varro stepping to the front and leaving the cover of the woods to stand under the eaves.

It took a minute for the weary guards to spot the figure of the captain, standing in the shadows beneath the trees, then suddenly all was commotion. Varro’s eyes flicked to the side, to one guard who had unshouldered a bow and was reaching in his quiver for an arrow. Half a dozen men in senior officers’ uniforms came striding forward, Cristus and Crino among them. The guard captain gestured to the man with the bow.

“That won’t be necessary, soldier.”

The small party stopped around twenty yards from the tree line and the prefect, resplendent in his dress uniform and polished breastplate, stepped out to the front.

“Not really.” Cristus smiled and removed his plumed helm. “Any good commander will agree. Fighting should always be a last resort; an end game when diplomacy fails. No general wants to fight unless he has to. It’s wasteful and stupid.”

He smiled and relaxed his shoulders.

“So… some sort of promotion for you and your man? I don’t know what we can do for the lady Catilina, but I’m sure she can be persuaded to see sense. You’re dredging up ancient history. I may have made a mistake or two in judgement when I was young, but why rock the boat now? What possible benefit can you reap?”

Varro stopped. The argument was persuasive, he had to admit. He thought for a moment of the trials that were to come; of the sizeable portion of the officers and men of the Fourth who would be brought to justice and many of them executed. It was a waste. It was all history. And then for another moment, he thought on his own history. Petrus; a cousin he had loved, murdered in the night. Corda, tricked and cajoled into treachery himself. The men who had died these last two weeks on both sides of the game, just because of this man’s greed. And finally he thought of his future. The future he didn’t have.