Metal gleamed as the formation reshaped itself and started off.
The Gaul kept his horse alongside Gratillonius’s. “Can’t you go faster?” he pleaded.
The centurion shook his head. “Three or four miles at a dead run in full armor wouldn’t leave the boys fit for much. We’ll do what we can. I promise nothing. We may find everybody in your convoy lyingthroat-cut, and your merchandise gone with your animals. In that case, I can’t pursue. We’re on urgent business of the state. I can only ask the garrison commander in Juliomagus to try for vengeance.”
He felt no great excitement. If he could save yonder folk and kill marauders, that was fine. It depended on how long the guards could hold out. The steady, relentless tramp at his back had carried Rome’s eagles across the world.
“Tell me what to expect,” he said. “First, what strength did you have?”
The merchant swung his hands and sometimes keened over the loss he might suffer, but piece by piece, the tale came forth. He was one Florus, a dealer in fabrics. With money what it was these days, he most commonly traded rather than bought and sold, which meant he handled a variety, not just cloths but leathers, furs, raw materials. “This trip my best acquisition was a consignment of those wonderful weavings they do in Ys, that have scarcely been seen for many years, oh, priceless…” The train consisted of four mule-drawn wagons; their drivers; the reverend bishop with two priests and four deacons; Florus himself; and six guards, toughs who hired out for this kind of duty despite the law frowning on it. Two were Gauls, three were Frankish laeti, and one was a brown-skinned person who said nothing about himself but might well be a deserter from the army. “We take what we can get, right, Centurion? We make do.” The guards had sword or ax, plus a few spears. Their armor amounted to boiled leather jackets, cheap kettle helmets, shields of barbarian type. Then, to be sure, the muledrivers possessed knives, cudgels, whips. And three of the deacons were young and sturdy, equipped with stout walking staffs. “They should be able to fend off the evildoers a while, don’t you think? But hurry, hurry!”
“How did you get away?” Gratillonius inquired.
“Oh, I was mounted, by the mercy of God, and when they swarmed out it was clear what they intended, and by God’s grace they didn’t close a line across the road to the north before I’d gone past. They almost did. You can see where a spear hurt me. Do you have a surgeon with you? Or at least poultices? This kind of injury inflames so readily. It hurts me abominably.”
“We’re not stopping for anything just yet, friend. Why did you flee? One more
man
defending might make all the difference.”
“But I had to get help. God saw to it that I could get help.” Florus’s voice sank to a mutter. “That means the goods will be safe, doesn’t it, O Lord? You’d not let Your faithful servant be ruined, almighty God Who delivers us from evil.”
Gratillonius snorted and sent his horse a little ahead.
Slowly the tumult became visible from afar. Noise drifted thin. Gratillonius signalled for double time. He was tempted to speed in advance for a better look. It was getting hard to see any distance as the sun declined and dusk began to seep out of the earth. He resistedthe impulse. He had no right to take unnecessary risks. Solitary heroics were for barbarians and fools.
Yonder they grew aware of his approaching force. He saw the struggle die down, like a wave that smashed itself on a reef outside Ys, recoiled in foam, and dwindled away. The next wave was coming….
He reined in and jumped to the ground. The men saw his intention and needed but a minute to tether the horses. “You, keep out of the way!” he told Florus. He unslung his shield from the harness, slipped the retaining strap over his neck, gripped the handle, drew blade and took his place as leader. The squadron advanced.
Nearing, he