The Spear of Crom by Tim Hodkinson

Author:Tim Hodkinson [Hodkinson, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781801105378
Publisher: Head of Zeus

27

The sun was sinking from a gloriously crimson sky as evening arrived. Insects flitted randomly above the undergrowth and the bark of a fox echoed through the trees that surrounded the little meadow. The black, fast-moving specks that were bats darted to and fro among the trees and around the eaves of a small, square building that sat squarely in the middle of the open ground.

Marcus the priest, Agricola and the troopers from the cavalry turma who had accompanied them on their ride, sat on the ground beside a cooking fire that spat and cracked with the damp wood that had been used to light it. Its smoke drifted up and around them, blowing this way and that in the light breeze, making eyes smart and throats cough. Three leather tents stood nearby and the horses were corralled beside them, happy to be munching the fresh green grass. The saliva-inducing aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, along with the smell of the garlic and bacon that hissed in the heavy-bottomed frying pan over the fire.

They had ridden east, away from the legion camp and towards the kingdom of the Dobunni, travelling all day until they reached the border between it and the territory of the Silures. As evening approached they had dismounted and set up camp beside the little shrine in the meadow that marked the boundary between the territories of the two tribes.

After the battle of the night before, then the long day of exertion in the saddle, the rest was very welcome and even though they passed around wineskins, it was highly unlikely that a night of carousing around the campfire lay ahead. Exhausted, red-rimmed eyes stared from pale faces at the fire, each man longing for his sleeping mat as soon as he had eaten, and fervently hoping he would not draw the short straw of first guard watch.

The small temple in the middle of the meadow was an octagonal structure made of wood, about forty paces across with a wooden portico around the entrance. The building was surrounded by a small, horseshoe-shaped ditch that ended on either side of the doorway. The faint sound of chanting could be heard from inside and a vague mist of herbal-scented smoke wafted out into the dusk. Now and again faces could be seen peering out of the doorway, keeping a nervous eye on the foreign soldiers camped nearby.

Fergus emerged from the trees on the other side of the meadow, his arms laden with firewood. He ambled across to join the rest of the squad.

‘I thought you might be saying your prayers,’ Agricola said, nodding towards the temple as Fergus dropped the wood and sat down beside the fire.

Fergus grunted and spat into the fire. His mouth curled into a sardonic sneer.

‘No,’ he said.

‘It seems a strange place to build a temple,’ the tribune said. ‘Surely this is no-man’s land between two kingdoms.’

‘It’s what the tribes do in Britannia,’ Fergus said. ‘Its purpose is officially to mark the border without either tribe building a fort or wall.

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