Free Arthur Invictus by Paul Bannister Page B

and there was a muffled shout that was cut off.
    Two women were backed up against the wattle of the wall, a dark-visaged man was held from behind by Aureus, who had a hand clamped over the man’s mouth, and his gladius blade held across the peasant’s throat. The two soldiers were urgently questioning the women. I could not hear what they said, but one of the soldiers nodded and came to me. “There’s another house a few hundred paces away, just an old woman lives there, but that’s all there is for an hour’s walk.” I sent four men to find the other house and bring the old woman back, and looked around.
    The house was small, the thatch dripping snowmelt onto the muddy, packed dirt floor but the cooking hearth in the middle of the room gave off heat, smoke and some poor light. One end of the room was planked, with a short ladder down into a straw-filled pit where three sheep were penned. I gave the orders. The ponies were to be hobbled outside. Their shaggy coats were protection enough against a Gallic winter storm.
    Ten of our 22 men could billet themselves in the old woman’s hut, the rest would sleep here. The peasants were to be tethered here and guarded. If the old woman’s hut had a fire, the troop billeted there could butcher and cook one of the sheep, and bring half of it back for their comrades. We had food supplies in our saddlebags, but I didn’t know how long we would have to make those last, so the sheep was a windfall.
    With a thought about the Romans, I ordered sentries posted at both houses and at dawn, which I estimated was about six hours away, the remote unit should send a messenger here to me for fresh orders. A cook’s detail was told off, everyone else except the sentries was to rest until the meat was ready. I rolled myself tighter into my officer’s red cloak, found a relatively dry corner and slept.
    First light arrived on a whitescape that blinded the eyes although the sky was grey, lowering and ominous. The chill was so brutal that even the winter-hardy Hunnic ponies had gathered together, huddled in the lee of the hut away from the biting east wind. Inside the hut, the thatch glinted with small icicles, the fire unable to keep up with the snow it melted. The old woman snored loudly, her two neighbour peasant women dozed, arms around each other while the dark man glared, indignant at the loss of his sheep. One of my men spoke a version of Senonian and he spoke with the peasant. “He’s called Robnic, lord,” he reported, “He says he should be paid much gold for the animal, it was a prized beast.”
    I glanced at the man, bald, squat and stinking, and shook my head. “Give him this,” passing over a couple of pieces of silver. The man bit them to test they were not soft lead, and counterfeit, then squirrelled them away in his rags.
    I knew he’d be hurrying to tell the authorities when we moved on, for more reward. He’d be lucky, I thought, to keep the silver because an astute officer would question him about a bribe from us. I went outside to relieve myself. Bitter, bitter chill. I opted to rest the men for another day in hopes the weather improved. It was a fatal error.
    After another day and night in the animal-stinking huts, we were all ready to face the cold and snow, so we left at wolf light, leading our ponies through the deeper drifts and avoiding the stands of woodland where the snow had piled even deeper. From time to time we spotted the curl of smoke where some cottager crouched indoors, and we struggled on through the bitter wind, eyes smarting from the cold and the occasional ice showers that whipped our faces red raw. I judged we were five or six miles inland, moving parallel to the shore and at our slow rate of progress it could be five more days before we reached a favourable place to seek ships, somewhere west of Bononia.
    The decurion Aureus’s young eyes saw them first across the smoothed white landscape. A glint of metal, a tall dot of scarlet, more glints.