Free Rome's Executioner by Robert Fabbri Page B

scout; watered-down blood dripped off his face and covered his tunic, the broken stub of an arrow shaft jutted out of his right shoulder; he stared back at Vespasian with a terror bordering on madness in his eyes.
    ‘Where did this happen?’ Vespasian asked urgently.
    The man rolled his maddened eyes and pushed his head forward making a hideous gurgling sound, a parody of speech. A welter of blood spewed from his mouth; his tongue had been cut out.

CHAPTER IIII
    T HE RAIN HAD not let up for two days and nights and had now turned into a thick, slushy sleet. The column had started to ascend the winding road that led up to the Succi Pass over a thousand feet above them. The men’s morale was not good; apart from being soaked and chilled to the bone the spectre of unseen killers lurking close by unsettled them as much as had the mutilation of their comrade. The scout had been able to tell them very little as he could not write; however, he could nod and was able to confirm, before he died from blood loss, that there had been only two attackers, they had both been mounted and that they had indeed been wearing trousers. Vespasian had recalled the other scouts, deciding that it was pointless risking any more men to locate an enemy that could so easily kill twice their number from a distance. He had thought about sending out his Thracians but their lives were more valuable to him than those of the Illyrian auxiliaries – whom he wished were horse-archers to match these ethereal hunters, even though to his way of thinking that method of fighting seemed dishonourable. He reasoned, however, that if the Getae were still tracking the column they would no doubt show themselves sooner or later and then safety would lie in speed of reaction and in numbers; but it was nonetheless a humiliation that just two men could strike such fear into a column of over forty.
    As they climbed higher the sleet thickened into snow and the column was forced to slow to a walk to protect their horses from laming themselves on unseen rocks beneath the rapidly thickening white carpet. Vespasian brushed away the snow that had settled uncomfortably in his lap and turned to Magnus, who rode, head bowed, next to him and asked: ‘How have you been getting on with our four legionaries?’
    ‘They’re a good bunch of lads. It turns out that Lucius – the one who drew the long straw and is fucking lucky to be here and knows it’s down to you that he is – well, he used to be a stable lad for the Greens back in Rome before he signed up. He still has a lot of contacts with them and has promised me some introductions when he gets back to Rome, could be very useful for tips and suchlike before the race days, then I can get advance bets down at better odds than you get at the track.’
    Vespasian smiled despite the pain it caused his cracked and chapped lips. ‘He sounds like a useful friend to have,’ he replied with more than a hint of sarcasm, ‘if you’re intent on wasting your money gambling.’
    ‘Yeah, well, you wouldn’t understand, would you? I don’t think that I’ve ever seen the inside of your purse. Anyway, suffice it to say that he knows that he owes you, as do Varinus and the two other lads, Arruns and Mettius. None of them bear any love for Caelus, so if it comes to a confrontation they’ll be with you.’
    ‘That’s good to know, although our friend seems to be keeping himself to himself.’
    Magnus looked back to Caelus, who was shrouded in his cloak and hunched over his horse. ‘Perhaps the weather has taken the fight out of the centurion.’
    ‘I doubt it, but for the moment it’s certainly taken the centurion out of the fight.’
    By the time they had reached the entrance to the pass the snow was falling thick and fast. Their misery was compounded by a howling northwesterly gale that was funnelled down its length creating blizzard conditions. Vespasian paused the column and leant across to Tinos beside him. ‘What do you think,