to remove the arrow by breaking it in two, I’m bound to set it haemorrhaging again. We haven’t got time to hang around trying to stem the flow of blood. We killed at least three warriors—’
‘Four,’ interrupted Quintus.
Calatinus grinned. ‘But only the gods know how many others might be out there.’
There were loud murmurs of agreement.
Quintus scowled, but he knew his friend was right. ‘Very well.’
‘You can ride behind me,’ said Quintus. ‘We’ll be back in the camp before you know it.’
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Quintus followed Calatinus through the trees. It was only then that he began to wonder how his father would react. Surely he’d be pleased? They had slain most of the Gauls and put to flight the rest – without any apparent losses. That had to be a good thing. Deep in his belly, however, Quintus wasn’t so sure.
Get back to the camp first, he told himself savagely. You can worry about it then.
By unhappy chance, Fabricius happened to be near the camp’s southern gate when the exhausted party got back. Snow was falling thickly, coating the ramparts, the ground and the soldiers’ cloaks and helmets, but that didn’t stop him from focusing on the nine riders as they passed through the entrance. His face twisted in disbelief as he recognised first Calatinus, and then Quintus. ‘Stop right there!’ he bellowed.
Their relief at reaching the camp dissipated a little, but they reined in. Quintus, numb with cold and half-conscious, mumbled a curse.
‘Curb your tongue, you insolent brat!’ roared Fabricius, approaching. He came in from their right, so he did not see the arrow in his son’s arm.
Quintus coloured. He made to speak again, but the combination of his father’s glare and his weakness held him silent.
Fabricius pinned Calatinus with his eyes. ‘What is the meaning of this? Where have you been?’
‘We, er, went hunting, sir.’
‘Hunting?’ Fabricius’ voice rose in disbelief. ‘In this weather? When you had a patrol to go on?’
‘The conditions weren’t too bad when we left, sir’ – here Calatinus looked to his companions for support – ‘and I think we’re still in time for the patrol.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Fabricius’ gaze moved along the line of horses, searching for bodies slung over their backs. Seeing nothing, his lips thinned. ‘Did you manage to bring down anything then?’
‘No game, sir, no.’ Calatinus couldn’t stop himself from grinning. ‘But we did kill four Gauls.’
‘Eh? What happened?’
Quintus’ mouth opened, but his father silenced him with a look.
Calatinus quickly told the story of the clash by the stream. As he mentioned Quintus being struck by an arrow, Fabricius rushed to his son’s side. ‘Where were you hit?’
‘I’m f-f-fine.’ Vaguely aware that he was slurring his words, Quintus tried to lift his left arm, but was unable to.
‘Hades below! You must go to the hospital at once.’ Fabricius took the horse’s reins. ‘Was anyone else injured?’
‘Our tenth companion didn’t appear at the appointed meeting place, sir,’ admitted Calatinus. ‘We waited for a little while, but the weather was worsening, so we carved the word “camp” on a tree trunk before we left, and hoped he would see that.’
‘One man lost, and another injured, for what – four measly Gauls?’ cried Fabricius. ‘Whose idea was this hare-brained expedition?’
‘It was mine, sir,’ replied Calatinus.
Quintus tried to protest, but his tongue wouldn’t move.
‘You’re a damn fool! We will speak later of this,’ snapped Fabricius. ‘Get back to your tents. You’ve got just enough time to fill your bellies and warm up before we ride out on patrol. I will leave my son in the care of the surgeon, and join you shortly.’
Quintus heard Calatinus mutter his good wishes. He was too tired to do more than nod.
‘Get off then,’ barked his father.
All at once, the world came rushing in on
‘Four,’ interrupted Quintus.
Calatinus grinned. ‘But only the gods know how many others might be out there.’
There were loud murmurs of agreement.
Quintus scowled, but he knew his friend was right. ‘Very well.’
‘You can ride behind me,’ said Quintus. ‘We’ll be back in the camp before you know it.’
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Quintus followed Calatinus through the trees. It was only then that he began to wonder how his father would react. Surely he’d be pleased? They had slain most of the Gauls and put to flight the rest – without any apparent losses. That had to be a good thing. Deep in his belly, however, Quintus wasn’t so sure.
Get back to the camp first, he told himself savagely. You can worry about it then.
By unhappy chance, Fabricius happened to be near the camp’s southern gate when the exhausted party got back. Snow was falling thickly, coating the ramparts, the ground and the soldiers’ cloaks and helmets, but that didn’t stop him from focusing on the nine riders as they passed through the entrance. His face twisted in disbelief as he recognised first Calatinus, and then Quintus. ‘Stop right there!’ he bellowed.
Their relief at reaching the camp dissipated a little, but they reined in. Quintus, numb with cold and half-conscious, mumbled a curse.
‘Curb your tongue, you insolent brat!’ roared Fabricius, approaching. He came in from their right, so he did not see the arrow in his son’s arm.
Quintus coloured. He made to speak again, but the combination of his father’s glare and his weakness held him silent.
Fabricius pinned Calatinus with his eyes. ‘What is the meaning of this? Where have you been?’
‘We, er, went hunting, sir.’
‘Hunting?’ Fabricius’ voice rose in disbelief. ‘In this weather? When you had a patrol to go on?’
‘The conditions weren’t too bad when we left, sir’ – here Calatinus looked to his companions for support – ‘and I think we’re still in time for the patrol.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Fabricius’ gaze moved along the line of horses, searching for bodies slung over their backs. Seeing nothing, his lips thinned. ‘Did you manage to bring down anything then?’
‘No game, sir, no.’ Calatinus couldn’t stop himself from grinning. ‘But we did kill four Gauls.’
‘Eh? What happened?’
Quintus’ mouth opened, but his father silenced him with a look.
Calatinus quickly told the story of the clash by the stream. As he mentioned Quintus being struck by an arrow, Fabricius rushed to his son’s side. ‘Where were you hit?’
‘I’m f-f-fine.’ Vaguely aware that he was slurring his words, Quintus tried to lift his left arm, but was unable to.
‘Hades below! You must go to the hospital at once.’ Fabricius took the horse’s reins. ‘Was anyone else injured?’
‘Our tenth companion didn’t appear at the appointed meeting place, sir,’ admitted Calatinus. ‘We waited for a little while, but the weather was worsening, so we carved the word “camp” on a tree trunk before we left, and hoped he would see that.’
‘One man lost, and another injured, for what – four measly Gauls?’ cried Fabricius. ‘Whose idea was this hare-brained expedition?’
‘It was mine, sir,’ replied Calatinus.
Quintus tried to protest, but his tongue wouldn’t move.
‘You’re a damn fool! We will speak later of this,’ snapped Fabricius. ‘Get back to your tents. You’ve got just enough time to fill your bellies and warm up before we ride out on patrol. I will leave my son in the care of the surgeon, and join you shortly.’
Quintus heard Calatinus mutter his good wishes. He was too tired to do more than nod.
‘Get off then,’ barked his father.
All at once, the world came rushing in on
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