Free Wounds of Honour: Empire I by Anthony Riches Page A

where should I go?’
    Rufius exchanged glances with Dubnus, and then continued.
    ‘What I was going to say was that neither Dubnus nor I can be absent from our usual routines for long. I would quickly be missed, and suspicions about my role in all of this will already be high enough, and Dubnus is expected back on duty with his unit on the Wall in a few days. We do, however, have an idea of how we can spirit you away from under your enemies’ noses, and hide you in a place they’d never consider. Your part will be to do everything and anything Dubnus tells you to, from now until he delivers you to your destination. Perhaps you can find a way of repaying him …’ He lowered his voice. ‘… although I’d advise against offering him money.’
    Marcus nodded slowly, his face still white from the shock of reading his father’s message.
    ‘I will do whatever I have to. I have no choice. My name …’
    Rufius grimaced.
    ‘It’s never easy to jettison something as close to your identity as the name your father gave you, especially under such circumstances, but you have no choice. You need a simple name, one to let you fade into the background of this bloody story and be lost to view from Rome. Your forename should remain the same, there’s no sense in risking your being caught out in your deception when there’s no need. As for clan and family …’
    He pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then thrust a hand into his bag.
    ‘For a clan name, I suggest this …’
    Resting on his outstretched palm was a device constructed of four metal spikes heat-welded together, their points bright iron teeth.
    ‘It’s a tribulus. Strew a few thousand of these in front of a cohort and you’ve removed any danger of cavalry or chariot attack. See, no matter how you drop it to the ground, there’s always one nasty little point sticking up to wreck a horse’s hoof, and it’ll make a mess of a blue-nose foot too.’
    Marcus picked up the vicious device.
    ‘It’s bent.’
    Rufius nodded, taking the tribulus and wrapping his fist around it.
    ‘My own modification. See, a small change to the spikes’ angles makes it the perfect close-combat weapon if you lose your sword.’
    A single spike protruded from between his fingers, two more poked out from either side of his fist, while the last stuck straight out from his palm.
    ‘However I choose to punch a man with this I’ll always have a nice length of iron in front of my fist. This one’s yours, I’ve got another one in my bag, and you never know when you might find that little toy your only weapon. So, for your clan name I suggest “Tribulus”. Seems quite appropriate, given the way you keep fighting back no matter which way up fate throws you. As for a family name …’
    The distant crow cawed again, its harsh call cutting through the crisp morning air. Marcus lifted his head, looking out across the bleak landscape laid out below them.
    ‘There’s your answer – “Corvus” – it will serve to remind me how my father was mistreated even after his death. And it’s as good as any other name if I have to abandon the one my ancestors have used with pride since the expulsion of the ancient kings from the city …’
    Rufius put a hand on his shoulder.
    ‘You’re not abandoning anything, just burying it here for a while, along with everything else that can betray you to your pursuers. Work the new name through your mind until you consider yourself as Marcus Tribulus Corvus. If the right gods smile on you, you’ll be safe at the Hill in a matter of days, and once there you’ll have to be comfortable with your new identity.’
    ‘The Hill? Where’s that?’
    Rufius’s face creased in a rueful grin.
    ‘Where’s the Hill? At the end of the world, that’s where. Dubnus, it’s time for you both to leave …’
    The Briton pondered for a moment. To their west rose the Pennine mountains, still snow-capped with retreating winter, a bleak killing field with little