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

cover if the inevitable searching cavalry patrols came upon them. A long climb would take them to the peaks, another day’s march would drop them back on to the lowlands on the far side. There they would find safer ground, another legion’s territory, although he knew that the ripples from the slaughter he’d inflicted on the Roman’s pursuers would still spread wide. Taking the fugitive to the north, on the other hand, would take them off the road, but into the forests, dangerous beyond belief for a pair of men, one in the hated armour of Rome, the other very much an unknown quantity. Even if the cavalry sword in his grip was edged with blackened dried blood.
    ‘I will take him over the mountains to the west.’
    Rufius nodded agreement.
    ‘And I need to be back about my business, away from the pair of you, at least for now.’
    He embraced Marcus briefly, stepping back to appraise the younger man one last time.
    ‘Farewell, then, Marcus Tribulus Corvus, we’ll meet again in the north, Mars willing. My horse is safe in the woods below, so I’ll leave you to it.’
    He nodded to Marcus, clasped hands with Dubnus and started back down the slope. The Briton turned to face Marcus, unwrapping a bundle that Rufius had left behind.
    ‘Clothes and boots, as worn by my people. Rufius bought them for you in Yew Grove. Let’s hope they fit. Also, a blanket, and a nice heavy hooded cape to keep you dry in the rain.’
    Fit they did, although they were a rude surprise to Marcus after the quality of his own clothing, rough material and ill-made boots that chafed his feet before he’d even started walking. They buried his tunic, cloak and boots to prevent their discovery, wrapping his gold cloak pin and the message from his father in their folds, and marked their position with a small pile of rocks. Dubnus strapped the cavalry sword to his right hip.
    ‘Better I throw it to you if it comes to a fight. What would a roughly dressed peasant like you be doing with such a fine weapon? You can have it back when we reach the Hill.’
    He wiped mud across the younger man’s face to complete the transformation, standing back to admire his handiwork.
    ‘You’ll pass. Your hands are too soft, you need to get some dirt under your nails, and your hair is too short, but we’ll cut it even shorter once we’ve got the time, make it look military. You’re a tribesman now, my nephew in fact, and I’m taking you to join my cohort at the Hill … Cocidius forgive me. Anyone talks to us, you keep your mouth closed, your head down and you let me do the talking. Very well, let’s march.’
    He turned to leave, shouldering his pack pole and spears. Marcus tested his new boots by walking a few paces, grimacing at their fierce grip on his feet.
    ‘So how far is it to the Hill?’
    ‘One hundred and fifty miles, seven days’ march for a legionary. We’re going to march at that pace, like legionaries. Your legions use the roads they build to move fast and concentrate dispersed forces to gain superior strength before they attack, it’s their strongest weapon against the rebel tribes because it multiplies their strength. Now we’re going to use their roads to get you away from their patrols.’
    Marcus nodded his acknowledgement of the point.
    ‘I’m impressed with your knowledge.’
    Dubnus snorted, his nostrils flaring as he looked at the bedraggled Roman.
    ‘You look at me and see a barbarian in Roman armour. You view me with Rome’s contempt, or something close to it, because that’s what you’ve been taught. I’m an educated man, and a soldier in a country where soldiers are guaranteed to see action several times over their term of service, even if only in dirty little skirmishes with locals. Let me tell you, you can die in a skirmish just as easily as in a full-scale gang fuck unless you’re trained and ready. I will start to train and ready you as we travel north.’
    Marcus smiled wanly.
    ‘At the speed you promise to travel