Calgus spat into the leaves.

‘For all the bad taste in my mouth, I will entertain your scheme.’

‘Good. Now give me that flashy brooch that’s holding your cloak closed. Don’t worry, you’ll see it again in another place…’

Calgus unpinned the brooch, an intricately worked gold replica of a shield, decorated with a swirling pattern, a polished piece of amber in place of the shield’s metal boss, dropping it on to the outstretched palm. The hooded man turned away, calling back a parting comment over his shoulder while his companion backed away beside him, sheathing his sword and taking the bow from its place on his shoulder. He nocked an arrow and lifted the bow in readiness to shoot, deterring any thought of pursuit.

‘You will see me again, Calgus, but not before you have your people in the field with death in their hearts.’

The two men merged with the forest’s shaded depths and were lost to the king’s eyes. He stood staring after them for a long moment before turning back to his fallen companions.

‘Death in their hearts, Roman? That won’t be hard to arrange.’

1

Februarius, AD 182

One of the front rank spotted them first, a good three dozen men silhouetted against the afternoon’s bright skyline where the road rose to surmount a ridge that crossed their path in its long descent from the Pennines’ eastern shoulder. He shouted a warning in a voice made hoarse by urgency. The small detachment’s commander, a veteran watch officer with a face seamed by experience, stopped in mid-stride and followed the man’s pointing arm, taking a moment to measure the depth of their predicament.