Reign of Iron by Angus Watson Page B

the king and queen of the Usipetes and Tencteri, who were late. The Romans chatted patiently. They weren’t unduly worried, since barbarians were always late. The valley here was perhaps two hundred paces across and thickly wooded. Ragnall had heard Titus Labienus, Caesar’s deputy, warn of possible ambush, but the engineers had cut down the nearest fifty yards of trees on their side of the river and the praetorians had swept the woodland beyond that and claimed all was clear. Ragnall looked across at the trees on the other side of the river, where they hadn’t swept. Nothing stirred, but those eastern woods brooded with menace. Perhaps it was a hangover from the stories about monsters in the German forests from the liars in Vesontio, but he was certain he could feel evil eyes staring at him from the darkness.
    They said in Rome that no Roman had ever crossed the Rhenus. It wasn’t true: Rome’s traders and explorers had been everywhere, but it was a convenient mistruth that both excited Ragnall and filled him with fear for what was on the other side. He’d also heard in Rome that no Roman had ever been to Britain, and that Britain was populated by mustachioed cannibals who painted themselves blue, shaved their bodies and drank nothing but milk. The Romans’ notions of the rest of the world were usually wilder than the reality.
    The Germans came into sight and Caesar kicked his horse a few paces ahead, beyond Titus Labienus and the praetorians. They were meeting the leaders of an unknown tribe who could easily be assassins, but Caesar rode forward, head high. Although much of Caesar’s reputation for bravery came from exaggerated reports, he was genuinely courageous. Ragnall was proud, and worried. He gripped the pommel of his sword.
    Various other legates, including Felix, were behind Labienus and next to Ragnall, with two dozen of Caesar’s black-leather and iron-armoured praetorian guards fanning out on their mounts to either side.
    The German queen and king approached, followed by a disorderly guard of perhaps a dozen. It looked, thought Ragnall with some relief, like Caesar was safe. It would have been hard to find a less likely looking pair of assassins. The king was a skinny man with shaggy black hair wrenched into what looked like three balls of hairy wool. The queen, by far the more impressive-looking of the two, was riding an aurochs – one of the giant oxen common in the German forests.
    “Greetings, noble Caesar!” said the queen. “I am Queen Brostona of the Tengoterry and this is Senlack of the Ootipeats!” She swept a majestic hand to indicate her hirsute companion. Her voice was loud and haughtily enthusiastic. German accent aside, it reminded Ragnall of his mother.
    Caesar gestured to the praetorians. They charged the Usipete and Tencteri guard. It was over in moments. The German soldiers were all unseated and dying, not a praetorian was harmed. The Romans closed in on the regal pair.
    King Senlack flicked his reins. His horse gave a high-pitched snort, whipped round and sprang as if stung by a wasp. The king ducked one praetorian’s sword swipe, parried two more with his curved blade and then he was off down the road, horse galloping as if it was fleeing from the Underworld, the king’s big hair bouncing in rhythm with its stride. A knot of Romans set off in pursuit, but the Usipete’s horse was faster and he was away.
    Brostona watched from her seat on the aurochs until Senlack had disappeared over a rise, then turned back to Caesar, still smiling as confidently as a queen whose entire guard hadn’t just been slaughtered. “Don’t worry, Caesar, he won’t come back with the army. They do only what I tell them. Now perhaps we can talk terms? If you look in that man’s satchel,” she pointed to a man on the ground who was scrabbling weakly at his slashed, blood-pulsing throat, “you’ll find a map that shows my plans.”
    Caesar turned to his deputy. “Labienus, this woman amuses me.