Chapter 4 #3
The sloping hills around us flattened into arable land, wide golden fields of wheat and barley.
Belis insisted that we walk next to the hedgerows, in order not to stand out against the horizon.
I complained a little, just to show I couldn’t be ordered around, but I didn’t mind it much.
It was a relief to get out of the wind and walk in the cool shade.
There were the beginnings of the autumn berry crop and we feasted on blackberries, raspberries and blackcurrants as we walked.
The juices stained my fingers and I could tell from looking at Belis that half of my face must be as well.
The sweetness seemed doubled after a week of watery stew and even the thorns that tore long scratches on my arms couldn’t douse my good mood.
We stopped early that day, in a stand of trees between four fields. Belis weighed the urge to cover more ground against the risk of us not finding somewhere with cover to camp. Eventually I decided for us, sitting down and beginning to unlace my boots.
“It’ll be at least a few more miles ’til we find somewhere else to stay for the night,” I reasoned, sliding off my socks with a sigh of pleasure. “And I’m beat for the day.”
“You could move with a little more urgency,” Belis snapped, rubbing her chin as she thought.
“I could. I could have run there and back a dozen times a night. I can’t now. And whose fault is that?”
She snarled at me and took off into the wood.
I shrugged off my pack and sat back against a tree, stretching out the muscles in my legs.
I doubted Belis would go far; she’d collect some dead wood for the fire and maybe try to trap something.
I hoped she caught a wood pigeon; I couldn’t face rabbit again.
I let my eyes flutter shut and tried to relax and enjoy the solitude.
I could imagine things as they were before.
Something snapped behind the tree. The wind carried the faint but characteristic clink of plate armour towards me. I froze, unsure whether to risk running. I would have little chance of escaping. I felt absurdly vulnerable, alone.
A hand came down over my mouth. I jumped, but it was only Belis, crouching beside me and holding a finger to her lips.
I nodded and she removed her hand. She dipped her head towards the east, where the sounds had come from, then mimed something walking towards us.
I nodded again and she pointed up the trunk of the tree: she wanted us to climb it.
As quietly as possible I slid my boots on and grabbed my socks, stuffing them into my tunic.
Belis made a lattice with her fingers and boosted me up to the first branch.
I swung myself up then leaned back down to pull her up behind me.
The effort almost knocked me back down again, but we managed it in the end.
The elm was old enough that the branches were thick and easy to climb and we clambered higher until the curtain of leaves hid us from view.
I looked over at where Belis had stretched out on her branch. She held a finger to her lips again then pointed down and pretended to hold a hand to her ear.
Below us the metallic clank of armour was growing louder, along with the stomping of hobnailed sandals. A male voice filtered up through the branches.
“Come on, sir, let’s take a breather.” The voice was deep, rounding out the harsh Latin consonants of the words.
“We saw them walking this way, they can’t be far ahead of us,” a second man snapped back.
“They’ll be stopping for the night in a few hours, we’ll have a better chance at catching them then,” the first man cajoled. “The men are knackered, centurion, they’ve been marching for two days straight. Give them a few minutes to take a drink.”
“A moment, then,” the second man, the centurion, agreed reluctantly. “But boots stay on and no wine.”
There was a general grumbling and the sound of soldiers collapsing to the floor.
I looked over at Belis and stretched out both hands, indicating about ten Romans.
She shook her head and flashed one hand three times.
Fifteen. Far more than anyone could handle in a fight.
I leaned my head down, trying to catch the conversation.
There was a fair amount of grousing from the soldiers: sore feet, bad rations, unattractive local women.
I managed to glean that the troop had followed us from the Iceni battlefield but seemed to have had trouble keeping up with us over the Chalk.
There was much complaining about haunted British uplands and general agreement that any people who lived up there were barbarians.
“Boots stay on!” The centurion’s voice cut like a whip through the hubbub.
“Sir, I just need to bind a blister,” a soldier whined.
“I said boots stay on, soldier. Any more backtalk and you’ll be lashed for insubordination and I’ll have you digging latrine trenches when we get back.”
There was silence for a while and then the general chatter started again.
“Bloody Croser,” came the voice of the complaining soldier. “There’s a blister on my toe the size of a sestertius. You can bet he’s got fancy shoes that don’t rub.”
“It’s your own fault for talking back,” cut in another man.
“Never give a centurion any lip, they take it worse than anyone. Higher-ups ignore it and the Decani will just box your ear. Centurions have the authority to make your life hell and the spite to do it. Especially when we’re out here with just two contuberniums’ worth of men, you can’t blend in like you would in a century. ”
I glanced over at Belis. I wondered if she understood the meaning of the ranks; it made no sense to me. I shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable on the branch.
“I still don’t understand why we’re out here in the sticks anyway,” grumbled the man with the blister.
“We’re chasing that Icey bitch,” said his friend.
“Iceni!” corrected the deep-voiced man who’d called for a halt. “Don’t you know anything?”
“What does it matter, Terrasidius? They’re all uncultured brutes, barely good for slaving. Let her scurry off to some cave somewhere to rot. What do I care?”
“Tell that to the pile of ashes we used to call Londinium,” said Terrasidius. “Tell that to the boys of the Ninth, rotting outside Camulodunum. Better yet, try telling that to Centurion Croser.”
“What’s he got to do with it?”
Terrasidius lowered his tone, and I had to strain my ears to hear him. “He brought his family over last year. Mother, wife, three kids. Thought the province was settled enough that they’d be safe in Londinium.”
“No!” whispered the blistered soldier. “Did they…”
“All of them died during the sack. His whole line wiped out overnight. The sound he made when he found out.” Terrasidius gave a low whistle. “Never heard a man make that sound before. At least, not one who wasn’t being cut up by the torturers’ regiment.”
“Is that why he volunteered to hunt the wench down?”
“The governor thought he’d be sufficiently motivated,” Terrasidius said, “then he sent the rest of us along to stop Croser killing her on sight. Got to do these things properly. Rebel leaders go back to Rome, to be properly humiliated and cowed. Can’t have them running around the provinces stirring up more trouble.
The Firebrand’s rebellion almost succeeded.
If it had, the repercussions back home would have been immense.
You’d have had tribes rising up in Gaul, Iberia, Dacia.
There’d be trouble along the Rhine again and the Parthians would be grabbing at our eastern borders.
The empire’s a mighty thing but it’s fragile in its way. ”
He launched into a complicated explanation of the tribes along the Rhine, clearly an expert on the topic.
I tuned his voice out, attempting to stretch my leg which was beginning to cramp.
I very much did not want to fall from the tree.
Belis waved at me, trying to get me to stay still.
I noticed the conversation below us had paused and wondered if I had accidentally made some noise. I froze, trying not to breathe.
“So after Teutoburg Wald,” continued Terrasidius’s voice, “we stayed west of the river.”
“But why—” A loud whistle ended the conversation.
“On your feet, soldiers,” the centurion barked. More clattering rose up to us as the Romans stood and formed ranks, fresh waves of complaints floating through the branches.
“Ready to move out, sir?” Terrasidius asked. The centurion must have nodded because the soldiers began to march. Within a moment the woods were quiet again, the clattering of armour fading into the distance.
I waved at Belis and she sat up on her branch.
She mouthed something at me and I realised she was counting under her breath.
I guessed she was planning to count to a hundred before letting us climb back to the ground.
A little dramatic but I understood her nervousness.
I was not eager to introduce myself to a troop of Roman legionaries in this form.
Belis made me wait to the count of two hundred before she jumped down from the tree.
I half climbed, half slid down, fully falling from the last branch.
I hit the ground on my back, driving all the air out of my body.
I groaned and closed my eyes. There was a new set of bruises I could expect tomorrow.
“Get up,” said Belis, her voice vibrating with nerves. I stayed where I was, still catching my breath from the fall.
“Why? They set off to the north. They won’t stop for hours yet. That centurion seems even more of a tyrant than you.”
“We won’t be stopping either. Come on. We need to put some distance between us. We’re going west.” She leaned down and hooked a hand under my arm, hauling me up.
“You’re being ridiculous.” I tried to shake her off me. “We’ve walked far enough for one day. Sit and rest.”
Belis grabbed me by the shoulders, looking straight into my face.