Over the next few months, Maximus slowly fell into the gentle rhythm of life at the fort. The primary responsibility of the cavalry was to ensure that communications with the Northern Wall were kept open, and that the tribes stayed put. While there was never much civilian traffic to speak of, they also had to ensure that the roads were safe from bandits, Accordingly the different turmae of the ala went on endless patrols, provided dispatch riders and if necessary, escort duty. And of course, drill, drill, drill.

Maximus regularly accompanied turmae on their patrols, as much to get out of the fort as to get to know the local landscape, which he eventually had to admit had a certain, rough beauty of its own. The occasional day of clear skies, with larks soaring high, the soft buzz of insects among the bog cotton, and the smell of pine resin and bracken in the woods taught him that.

The patrol he liked best went northwards along the road towards Castra Bodotria. It was under a day’s ride to the fort, a small trading post on the shores of the huge Bodotria estuary. There was a small harbour and ships came delivering goods from the south such as pottery, wine and olive oil. They reloaded with furs, cloth, and smoked fish. A small spark of civilisation in an expanse of barbarian darkness.

He remembered the first time he had gone that way. Heading north, the terrain worsened the further they went. After some miles, the road climbed out of the thick forest they had been riding through up onto a windswept moor. Even on a good day, and that day had been a good day, it was a bleak place of heather and bog cotton.

"Don’t want to lose the road here." had commented Marcius whose troop it was.

"Oh, why?" had asked Maximus.

The decurion had given him a pitying look. "Cloud can come down fast up here and before you know it you’re lost in hill fog wandering around in circles until you fall off a cliff or get stuck in a bog."

"There’s cliffs round here to fall off?" he had asked, looking round at the flat, rolling expanse of moorland.

"Just you wait, sir." Marcius had said.

And then he saw what the decurion meant. Ahead lay the small signal station that was their destination. As they got close Maximus saw that it was right on the crest of a steep escarpment. He paused for a moment before dismounting. It had been a clear day and the view was tremendous - he could see right across the Bodotria itself to the Caledonian mountains north of the Wall, the line of the road snaking down the hill and disappearing into the distance. It was too far to see the Wall itself, but he could see where it must lie. The view on its own made the ride worthwhile.

As he got to know the area, and the people who inhabited it, Maximus found it strange. The local tribes were more like the Marcommani that he was familiar with, who lived on the far side of the Rhenus, than the settled people on the Roman side of the river. Well, it had been less than thirty years since the Northern Wall had been built, and even then there had been periodic rebellions. But he thought, there should have been some signs of impending civilisation. These people, even the Votadini, seemed to take a perverse pride in rejecting most things that made life bearable in this climate. They persisted in living in round huts in defensible positions, mostly on the tops of hills. The only settlements that resembled proper towns or villages were those attached to forts. When he visited them he found the people living hard lives in dirt and squalor. It was difficult to understand.

The weather was getting colder now, as autumn approached. The villagers in their duns had harvested their crops of oats and barley, and the sight had made Maximus long for his own fields. They would be picking the grapes now, and the olives. And it would still be warm. He remembered past olive harvests, the fruit warm and fat on the twisted, silvery-barked trees. And later, the first sweet gushes of oil as they were squeezed through the presses.

But not here. Here the fields had been harvested and small, wiry black cattle turned out to graze on them, being fattened for the winter. Hairy pigs were turned into the forest to graze on acorns, everyone preparing for the long fallow to come. More damp, more rain. And soon the horse fair.

The soldiers had harvested the fields round the fort, making sure there was enough food for the men and fodder for the horses. If necessary they could get supplies from the south, but it was always difficult in winter so Maximus learned.

It seemed Marcius had been right about Domitianus’ plans for the Selgovan boy, and Maximus knew he was still at the fort. He didn’t see him much and on the few occasions that he did, the boy looked at him with such fear that he reckoned he had been well warned to stay away. Doing anything would likely only make things worse for the boy.

**************

The thought of the coming horse fair was thrust out of everyone's minds at the beginning of October when early one afternoon, two troopers from Nigrinus’ turma galloped into the fort. They had both lost their helmets and javelins, and one was heavily bleeding from a cut across his forehead. The horses were lathered with sweat and nearly spent. They were part of the detachment that had left that morning patrolling along the road that ran south west, skirting Selgovae territory as far as possible.

Maximus was in his office when they came clattering up in front of the Principia. One of the sentries summoned him outside and taking one look at the wounded man Maximus told the sentry to get help and take the man down to the hospital block.

As they did this, the other trooper slumped off his horse, "It was Morvedd’s boys." he said to Maximus as Domitianus came outside to see what was going on.

"What happened?" demanded the Cohort Commander.

"They hit us at midday, around thirty of them, before we got to the high moor - we didn’t stand a chance." The trooper’s chest was still heaving from lack of breath.

"So, how did you get away, Gemellus?" asked Maximus.

Gemellus turned towards him and sighed. "Albinus said it was important you were warned. Three of us managed to break away, they got Murcio. I thought they were gonna get us too. Gods, it was close."

"But you made it! You got through!" Maximus clapped the other man on the shoulder. He gave a strained smile in return.

"What about the others, sir?"

"Don't worry, Gemellus. We’ll get them back." Maximus turned to Domitianus who had stood, frowning through this exchange. "Who’s Morvedd? I haven't come across him before."

"He's one of the Selgovae. A hot head from a dun in the hills to the south west of here." responded the prefect.

"Has he done anything like this before?"

Domitianus snorted. "It's not the sort of thing they do twice."

Maximus believed him. Then he said, "If there were twenty or thirty of them, surely that’s more than the spears from a single dun? I didn't think they were that big."

Domitianus pursed his lips in thought for a moment then said grudgingly, "Yeah, you're right. Probably brought some friends in from elsewhere to join in the fun."

"You know the tribes better than I do." Said Maximus. "Would they kill them or try and capture them?"

"Depends how serious this is." responded the prefect. "If this is the start of something bigger, likely they’d just kill them. If they’re only playing, they’d want to capture them, then kill them later… a long time later."

Maximus made a face and sighed, coming to a decision. "I'll take three turmae and go see what's happening."

"You'll go yourself? Is that wise?" Domitianus looked surprised.

Maximus was starting to get annoyed. "Well don’t you think we need to find out if this is the start of something bigger?" he demanded.

Domitianus grunted contemptuously. "Of course we need to know, send out some scouts to see what’s going on that’s what the cavalry’s for."

"Well, I'm not going to sit here on my arse while a dozen of my men are being tortured to death by a bunch of barbarian thugs." Maximus spat on the cobbles. " And if we don’t come back, I guess you’ll know we’ve got a full scale rebellion on our hands."

"Suit yourself, Prefect." Domitianus responded and walked away.

*********

Albinus’ detachment had been hit by the raiders three or four miles before the road climbed up to the high moor. On a road purposefully built with as few places suitable for ambushing travellers as possible, this was about the best place. The horses were gone of course, but three bodies lay butchered on the road, already attracting scavengers. Crows fluttered away as they rode up, cawing in annoyance. Ten more unaccounted for including Albinus.

The bodies had been stripped of their armour and equipment, but their killers had continued hacking at them long after the men were dead. Dry blood was spattered on the cobbles of the road around them, larger puddles were still viscous and sticky, buzzing with flies. The uncontrolled frenzy of the attack was disconcerting.

"Why would they do this? What's the point?" Maximus asked Marcius.

"Killing Romans?" he shrugged. "Or maybe one too many youngster’s gone missing in the hills and they’ve worked out who’s really to blame." Then he pointed down the hill towards the river valley where a clear trail lay. "Took ‘em that way."

Maximus signalled one of the scouts over. "Masculus, take Cinnamus and Probus and check they all went that way. We don't want to get surprised ourselves."

As they rode down towards the river, Marcius said "There’s several settlements on the other side up into the hills, but Morvedd’s dun is further west."

"Surely they wouldn’t take Roman prisoners to a local dun?"

"Well it would depend how badly the locals want their fields salted, wouldn’t it, sir?" responded the decurion dryly.

They easily found the place where the raiders had crossed the river. It seemed to Maximus that they hadn’t been trying to hide evidence of their passage at all. Almost as if they didn’t care. But surely they must know they would be pursued.

"Corvinus would probably’ve taken his time, once he realised it wasn’t serious." explained Marcius.

"Are you sure?" exclaimed Maximus in disbelief. "He wouldn't go after them?"

"Oh eventually, but he wouldn’t put himself out. Not like you, sir."

The scout rode back to the head of the column. "Sir, it looks as if they’re heading straight for Morvedd’s dun."

"How far is it?"

The scout shrugged, "About five or six miles, sir, but that’s pretty meaningless on this terrain. It’ll take us about another hour to get there."

"I need to know if they stayed there, or if they went on somewhere else." Maximus told the man. He nodded, and rode off again.

Later, as they were getting near to the dun, he came back. "There’s no sign that a large party left. If they did leave, it was in ones or twos."

"Unlikely, wouldn’t you say?" Maximus asked Marcius. The decurion grunted in agreement. Maximus signalled to the troop to stop. "Who's the chieftain here? Not Morvedd I take it?" he asked then.

"Oh no, he’s much too young. It’s Duatha, I think." Said Marcius.

"Time we paid him a visit then, don’t you think?"

"You mean attack them?"

"No, you and me, pay the chieftain a visit." Maximus was amused to see the decurion’s jaw visibly drop.

"Just ride in for a chat, huh?"

Maximus smiled. "If I have the measure of these people at all, the one thing they appreciate above all else is the bold gesture, no?"

"They do at that, sir." Responded Marcius, then he asked, "But why not just attack?"

"Because I want our men back alive, and I want Morvedd and his crew, not a whole lot of old women and children."

Before they left, however, Maximus turned to Fabius the decurion of the second turma and said, "If we're not back in an hour, attack the village."

From a distance, it looked just like any other dun, the stubbled fields on the fertile ground down by the small river and the group of circular huts up on the hill, a high bank topped with fire hardened stakes surrounding them. Maximus and Marcius followed a rough track from the river towards the main gateway. It was closed. A tow coloured head appeared over the top and shouted something.

"What did he say?" Maximus asked, his grasp of the local language not particularly fluent after only a few months.

"Wants to know what we want." responded the decurion.

"Can't he work that out for himself? No don't say that, tell him we've come to talk with Duatha. About some er, stolen property."

Marcius raised his eyebrows but passed on the message. It was met with some hilarity. The gate swung open, creaking on its hinges. "We've to leave our weapons here." the decurion told Maximus. "I guess we're in."

The two Romans were led by a group of sneering tribesmen along a short muddy track towards the largest hut. Inside it was dark and smoky, the hole in the roof providing the only ventilation and the source of light. A man Maximus took to be Duatha was sitting by the hearth fire, in the centre of the hut. His blonde hair was receding, and mostly grey, he looked intrigued. A large hunting dog rested its head on his knees. Despite the barbaric accommodation, he was not a poor man, Maximus could see. He had a large circular silver pin fastening his plaid at the shoulder. It was inlaid with red enamel in a complicated pattern, and he wore silver rings on his fingers. No, definitely not poor. He motioned to the two Romans to sit. He didn’t offer them anything. A bad sign thought Maximus, it meant they weren’t guests.

"This is Prefect Maximus." Marcius said to Duatha in his own language. "He now leads the horsemen at the fort."

Duatha nodded. "Prefect Corvinus has perhaps died?" Marcius translated him as saying.

"No, he left to lead horsemen at another fort."

"So. You wished to speak to me regarding some er, lost property?"

"Stolen," Maximus corrected then added, "I believe some of your young men appropriated it this morning."

"Very careless to have left anything where the young men of this dun could, er appropriate it. the chieftain commented dryly.

"Not just this dun, I am thinking."

Duatha acknowledged that this was probably true.

"We take the theft of property very seriously." Maximus added.

"Or at least you do, Prefect. I am not sure Corvinus would have cared." Duatha nodded in thought. "And now, you want your property back."

"And the men who took it."

Duatha laughed. "You walk in here, just the two of you and expect me to hand over my young men. Don’t push your luck, Prefect.."

"Worth a try." commented Maximus to Marcius.

"My desire to see your young men punished will depend on how badly damaged my property is." said Maximus flatly to Duatha.

The Selgovan chieftain made a face.

Maximus stood up. "Are they dead?" he demanded, dropping the polite fiction of property.

Duatha shrugged. "Not yet." he admitted.

"I want my men, and I want the men who took them, all of them."

"Ah." Duatha still seemed amused. "And what if I decide that I would rather keep your men?" he asked.

"The hundred of my men who are outside the dun will burn it to the ground, salt the fields and enslave the survivors if you don’t hand them over." Maximus responded flatly.

"Hmmm, you present a strong argument." Duatha said still amused. Then he continued. "It seems to me that Morvedd should have known there was a new leader of horsemen at the fort." He turned and signalled to someone standing in the shadows and said something. A boy ran out into the daylight.

"He's told him to go get Morvedd." whispered Marcius.

A few minutes later the boy returned, followed by a man of about thirty, although with tribesmen it was hard to tell - hard living meant fast ageing, so he could have been younger. Like most of the tribesmen he had straggly blonde hair tied back out of the way in a thin pony tail. He grinned in that offensive way they had, full of bluster and swaggering, wearing a red cloak that looked suspiciously like Roman cavalry issue. Maximus raised an eyebrow.

"Morvedd," said Duatha. "This is the new leader of horsemen at the fort. He wants his men back. I hope for your sake that they are still alive."

Morvedd sneered. "They live." he said.

"Be happy with that, leader of horsemen." said Duatha, and Maximus grimaced, realising that unless he wanted to provoke a war, he would have to be happy with that.

"You are going to let them go?" demanded Morvedd furiously.

Duatha inclined his head. Morvedd glared at the two Romans and stalked out of the hut.

The ten men were still alive, just. Four of them had been wounded in the skirmish, otherwise their wounds had nothing to do with battle. Maximus was disgusted. "I'm not squeamish, but doing this for fun?"

"I believe it has something to do with showing how much of a man you are." Marcius told him. "You know, how long it takes before you start screaming, that sort of thing."

"That's worse." Maximus shook his head in disbelief, but he was relieved to have resolved the situation without losing any more men.

As they rode back to the fort Marcius said, "I wouldn’t be surprised if we have more trouble with Morvedd though."

"Why?" Maximus asked and then remembered other barbarians he had dealt with. "Oh I get it, I made him lose face didn’t I?"

"Yeah. They really don’t like that."

"Well he’ll just have to learn to live with it."

***********

The horse fair was rapidly approaching now. The first sign was the arrival of the Equisio's agent from Eboracum, where he was based.

It was late in the day when he arrived. He rode into the fort, him and his assistants, with an escort of auxiliaries from the fort at Bremenium, a thin man with a sour expression on his face that appeared to be habitual. Maximus came out of the Principia when he heard the party of horses clopping over the cobbles towards the building. Domitianus was already waiting.

They stopped and the man he presumed was the horse agent heaved himself out of the saddle with a loud grunt. "Gods, I need a bath!" he groaned.

The troopers in his escort looked at each other, flickering glances of amusement, as if this was something he had been saying for miles.

"Well, Arrius Domitianus," he continued, "here we are again. And who’s this, a new Cavalry Prefect?"

Domitianus grunted. "Fabius Arrianus." he said then introduced Maximus which he did in his usual grudging fashion.

Later, back in Domitianus’ office in the Principia, after he came back from the bath house, slightly pink around the edges and his damp hair flopping over his ears, he complained about the drains. "You need to do something, Domitianus." he said. "I swear every time I come here the stink in the latrines is worse."

"Don't moan at me if you don’t like it." snapped the prefect. "Moan at Amandus - he's the engineer."

Maximus was walking along the corridor outside, on his way to speak to the clerks when he heard the agent say, "You were saying, about this new prefect." He would have been less than human if he hadn’t stopped to listen.

Domitianus snorted. "Another one of these upstarts from Hispania, Tarraconensis I think, but who cares? You’ll likely have trouble with the Selgovae because of him."

"Why? What’d he do?"

"One of his patrols got careless and let themselves get ambushed by Morvedd’s boys. He went after them and rescued them, got Duath to give them up."

"How'd he manage that?" Arrianus sounded amazed.

"Only walked in with one other officer and persuaded him to give him his men back, don’t ask me how."

Arrianus sighed audibly. "Oh shit, a hero. I hate heroes. I can see why I might have trouble with the Selgovae this year then."

Domitianus gave a scornful laugh "And of course his men all love him for it."

"You surprise me."

"Yeah. I was wrong about him. I thought he was just another political type doing his stint, but nah, a proper little Horatius he is." there was silence for a moment then Domitianus added, "Oh and look, be careful what you say in front of him."

"What, do you mean he doesn’t know?" demanded Arrianus in a surprised voice. "I thought that was the first thing you did with a new one."

As Arrianus was saying this, the Selgovan boy approached. He was slowly carrying a flagon of wine, taking care not to spill any. He stared at the prefect eyes wide. It was obvious he was listening to the conversation. Maximus stared back at him indicating he was to say nothing. The boy swallowed nervously but nodded and went into the room. As he did so, Domitianus demanded in a loud voice, "What took you so long, you little bastard?"

The boy muttered something inaudible and Arrianus chuckled. "Oh leave the boy alone, he’s brought the wine, so let him pour it." Domitianus grunted, and there was silence for a moment except for the trickling sound of wine being poured.

Then Domitianus carried on the conversation, muttering something of which the words "… not this time" was the only thing Maximus could hear.

"I don't care, if he starts getting suspicious…."

"Look, he won't be a problem. Don’t worry if anything happens I’ll take care of it." Domitianus snapped. There was a screech of wood on the tiled floor as he pushed his chair back and stood up. His hobnailed boots clacked on the floor as he paced angrily around the room. "There's far too much at stake here to let heroes like him get in the way."

Maximus could almost hear the agent’s lips pursing in disapproval as he added sourly, "Particularly if he’s going around stirring up the tribes."

Outside the room Maximus listened in amazement. He was stirring up the tribes!

Arrianus sighed audibly again and added. "Well, at the very least you’ll need to keep him away from Brynmor’s people then, we can’t have him causing problems there."

"I'm not that stupid." retorted the prefect. He sat down again. Then the conversation turned to other matters and Maximus left.

Later, lying in bed, he thought about what he had overheard. It was odd, oh not the less than flattering description of himself, Hades, he could live with that. No the oblique reference to something else going on with the tribes. Something that made it important they were not stirred up and which particularly involved Brynmor. Maximus didn’t think he'd seen the Votadini tribesman for over a month. He didn’t think Domitianus had much to worry about. Tribesmen who were as close with the fort as Brynmor was were hardly going to start ambushing patrols were they? But then who knew how barbarians thought?

**************

Over the next few days tribesmen began to arrive with their horses. The fort was neutral territory and they were honour bound not to start fighting each other. The horses were corralled on the flat ground down by the river once Arrianus had checked them off against the various chieftains’ names. Or at least his clerk did, the agent himself spent most of his time flamboyantly examining the animals and declaring them sound.

Maximus went down to watch, but was not impressed by the standard of the animals he saw. Most of them were in the right age range, four or five year olds, but many of them were the wrong size and would only be fit for baggage animals while others were clearly vicious or had some physical defect. As he watched, Maximus started to think. Could these really be the best horses they had? The Votadini and the Selgovae were not stupid when it came to horses. If it hadn’t been clear that Arrianus was not stupid when it came to horses either, he would have thought they were fobbing off their rejects and breakdowns onto the agent.

That evening, Domitianus and the agent were once more getting drunk in his office. Maximus was trying to get on with some paperwork but they were making too much noise. They kept the boy running backwards and forwards between the Principia and Domitianus’ quarters fetching wine. Maximus waited until Domitianus flung an empty amphora at the boy and yelled at him to get out and not come back. He heard the sound as the wine jar smashed on the tiles. He stood up and as the boy walked along the corridor on his way back towards the prefect’s house, stepped out of his office and grabbing him by the arm pulled him inside saying simply, "We are going to talk."

The boy's eyes widened in fear and he shook his head. "No, he’ll kill me."

"Only if he knows, and I don’t think he’s going anywhere for a while, do you?"

The boy eventually shook his head. "No." but he still shivered.

Maximus closed the door and pushed the boy down onto a stool. The bones of his shoulder felt sharp through the thin material of his tunic. "Hungry?" he asked.

The boy nodded, and Maximus passed him some bread left over from the meal he had eaten earlier at his desk. The boy wolfed it down. Not hungry then, starving.

"So," he asked when the boy had finished, "what's going on?"

The boy looked at him warily, "I don't know what you mean."

Maximus sighed. "Let’s not play games. I know you’re scared, but I need to know what’s going on. Domitianus and Arrianus seemed quite concerned that I shouldn’t go around ‘upsetting the tribes’. Now why would that be?"

The boy shrugged. "I think they like to be friends with everyone, things work better that way."

"All right." Maximus thought for a moment. "They mentioned something about Brynmor’s people. Why is that important?"

At the mention of Brynmor a flicker of terror flashed across the boy’s face, but he pulled himself together and said, "They talked about going hunting with Brynmor after they are finished here. I think it is something they do every year. I don’t think they ever come back with anything which is strange because Brynmor always….." his voice trailed off but Maximus could hear the unspoken words, ‘catches everything he goes after.’

"You’re suggesting they don’t actually go hunting? What do they do?"

"I don’t know. I don’t understand everything they say." his eyes flicked sideways up at Maximus and the prefect thought the boy probably understood more than he was prepared to admit, his Latin was better than Brynmor’s even after only a few months, but he let it pass for the moment.

"Do you know if anyone else goes with them?"

"No, just Domitianus and the agent."

Maximus thought for a moment then asked, "Hmm, this business with Brynmor, is it something to do with horses?"

"I don’t know, it might be. Like I said, I don’t understand everything they say." again that sideways flick of the eyes. Oh, the boy knew all right, thought Maximus.

Then the boy asked, "Did you really walk into Duath’s dun with only Marcius to get your men?"

Maximus nodded, amused. "Of course. I am responsible for them. Why, do you know Duath?"

"He is not kin," the boy said carefully, "but I have heard of him. It was brave to do what you did for your men."

Maximus snorted. "Go on, get out of here, and make sure no-one sees you."

The boy fled.

****************

Arrianus finally finished checking off the last of the horses on his tallies. Unusually, Domitianus had come down to the corral to watch. Maximus was there too, looking scornfully at the animals, but all he said was, "So do I get my training ground back tomorrow when you go?"

"Oh I’m not going for a few days yet." the agent responded airily. "Didn’t Domitianus say? We’re going hunting. Something we always do after the fair."

"I didn’t think you enjoyed hunting, Prefect?" Maximus said in a dry voice.

"Depends what’s being hunted." Domitianus replied blandly. "But a bit too tame for your taste I should think."

The Cohort Commander and Arrianus exchanged glances.

Maximus pretended not to notice. Whatever was going on, he was damn sure he was going to find out what it was. He wondered if it was possible that everyone in the fort knew what was going on, but then thought that couldn’t be. You don’t keep a secret with that many people knowing about it, especially not if they were soldiers.

The next day, Arrianus and Domitianus were up early and left just after sunrise. Maximus watched them leave then turned and walked down to the stables. It was time to go on patrol again. A small patrol.

A short time later Maximus, Marcius and the scout Cinnamus rode out of the fort along the great northern road in the same general direction as the Prefect and the horse agent. Maximus said to Cinnamus, "Right, I want to know where they go, but I don’t want them to see us."

The two had quickly left the road, instead they had followed the river. When it forked, they continued with the larger fork following it north. "Can't be going to Brynmor’s dun." commented Marcius, "That's east of here."

"Any ideas?" Maximus asked Cinnamus.

The scout shrugged. "This river forks too in a few miles. It’s rough country, fewer people, just the forest, then the hills." And he added, "Not the sort of place to get lost in. Before the moors begin there used to be a small garrison, but that was abandoned years ago."

When the river forked again, Cinnamus indicated they should ford it. "They've taken the eastern fork." he said. "I know where they’re going." he pointed up the river, or large stream as it now was, "There's what they call a trysting stone about eight miles further on. The Votadini use it as a place of truce, something to do with initiation I've heard. It’s not the sort of thing they talk about to us."

"Why would they be going there?"

"I don’t think they are," said Marcius. "Look," he pointed. Ahead of them the land flattened out into a meadow, marshy now with the autumn wet. Two horses were tethered to one of the trees that lined the river bank. Domitianus and Arrianus were warming their hands against a small fire.

Maximus motioned to the other two to dismount. "Stay here, with the horses, I need to get closer." He crept forwards then added, turning to look back at the two troopers. "And stay out of sight."

He was creeping along the river bank, trying to stay down while at the same time not to break his ankles on the rocks and boulders that lined it, when he heard a shout. He looked up and saw several tribesmen coming from the far end of the meadow, leading three horses. It looked like Brynmor, but Maximus was much more interested in the horses. They were magnificent, perfect cavalry mounts, nothing like the horses the tribes had brought to the fort.

"Ho there!" he heard Brynmor shout again.

The two Romans by the fire looked round, then stood up when they saw Brynmor. Domitianus folded his arms and waited but Arrianus ran forwards looking ecstatic.

Brynmor looked very pleased with himself. "You see," he said to the prefect "I never fail you."

Domitianus glanced sardonically at the horse agent, "No, you don't." he said. "How many did you get? Are they all like these ones?"

The Votadini tribesman nodded. "We get around forty this time, these the best, you want to look?"

The Prefect shook his head. "Nah, I’ll rely on him." he nodded over at the horse agent. "He’s not acting, I can tell. He thinks they're good."

Brynmor laughed. "So, we talk money?"

The Cohort Commander shook his head in feigned astonishment. "Why did I think you were going to say that? We talked money before. We agreed a price. You know how much you can pay your friends for the stock. If you paid them too much that's your problem."

"So maybe I take horses elsewhere?"

"Just try it, Brynmor and see what happens. Maybe I set the new leader of the horsemen after you, huh?"

From his hiding place Maximus stifled a laugh. That was good.

"Oh, look at me, I worried."

"I can tell." responded Domitianus. "Look, you idiot, this only works as long as no one gets greedy, right?"

Brynmor just laughed and shrugged. "I bring them to Lugh’s Basin as usual?" he asked.

"Arrianus!" shouted the Prefect. "If you’ve quite finished."

The horse agent reluctantly turned round, dragging his eyes away from the horse he was looking at.

"We need to make arrangements."

"Oh, sure, what’ya call it, Loo’s Basin?"

Brynmor nodded in exasperation. "I already say that. When?"

Arrianus pursed his lips in thought for a few moments. "Lemme see. Ten days should do it. Get your rejects on their way south, get back here."

Brynmor nodded and turned to go. Quickly Maximus retreated along the riverbank. The two Romans were unlikely to hang around once their business was concluded, and he didn’t want the others to be seen.

"Come on!" he hissed at them once back in the shelter of the forest. "They’ll be coming soon."

Maximus didn’t want to discuss what he had overheard with the other two. He needed to think about who he could trust. Riding along, back to the fort, thinking about Domitianus and Arrianus he felt physically sick. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that fraud never happened or that even senior officers might sometimes get involved in it, but to deliberately prevent the army getting the best possible mounts was unbelievable, particularly on a frontier as dangerous as this. He started to get angry when he thought of the relentless struggle he had to keep the ala adequately mounted.

Then it occurred to him that perhaps it didn’t stop with Domitianus. Perhaps others were involved. He sighed, whatever happened, he knew that if he was going to accuse someone of Domitianus’ rank and went to the Legate, he’d damn well better be able to prove what he was saying. And of course, there wouldn’t be anything written down, Domitianus wasn’t that stupid. The horses were the only real proof and Brynmor and whatever it was the boy knew. But then, Brynmor would hardly be seen as reliable, and the boy’s evidence would only be worth anything if it was tortured out of him.

Back at the fort, Marcius followed him up to the Principia. "That was some horse Brynmor had with him." he commented. "Is that what this is all about? They’ve been keeping the best ones back and selling them on?"

"And how does that make you feel?" asked Maximus without acknowledging if it was true.

"Decimation’s too good for ‘em."

Maximus laughed without humour. "I have to agree with you there." then he added, "Don’t discuss this with anyone else."

Marcius nodded.

They were walking round to the building’s entrance when Domitianus and Arrianus came riding back through the eastern gate. They looked pleased with themselves. Marcius spat on the ground when he saw them. "Oh forget them for the moment, we need to sort out that training schedule now that we’ll have the training ground back." said Maximus.

Several hours later feeling bug eyed from looking at lists Maximus got up and headed down to his quarters to get something to eat. He ran smack into Domitianus. "Any luck with the hunting?" he managed to ask with a semblance of politeness.

Domitianus looked at him, eyes narrowing. "What’s got you so riled up, Prefect?" he asked.

"Just problems with the horses." Maximus snapped, hoping that it was close enough to the truth that it wasn’t obvious he was lying.

Domitianus laughed contemptuously and shook his head. "Every prefect I’ve ever met complains about the horses."

"With good reason." Maximus couldn’t help saying.

As he walked away, Domitianus stared after him thoughtfully. He waited until the other prefect had gone down to the cavalry’s section of the fort and then walked over to the sentry on guard outside the Principia and asked, "He been here all day?"

"Nah, responded the legionary. Came in round about the time you and the horse agent got back, er sir."

********************

It didn’t take Domitianus long to discover that Maximus had been out of the fort most of the day, and had in fact left shortly after he had that morning, and in the same general direction. He was not thinking pleasant thoughts as he walked back towards his quarters. The small courtyarded house would have been pleasant in Gaul, but here, all too often rain dripped off the red pantiles, and water puddled between the cobbles of the courtyard. One of the cooks had been trying to grow basil in a pot but it had turned black and shrivelled up at the first frost. The remnants of a single pink rose hung on a plant that struggled to climb from its pot up the side of the timber framed building, its leaves spotted with mildew. The courtyard was always depressing in the winter.

The horse agent was in the mess room tucking into a dish of stuffed eggs. "You said to carry on." he said.

Domitianus merely grunted, then said "I think we had a little watcher with us today." he said.

"Who?" responded Arrianus indistinctly, mouth still full. "These are good." He commented about the eggs.

"Our resident hero, that’s who." responded Domitianus, no need to explain who he meant.

"You think?"

"No I’m just making it up! I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it! Gods! Am I the only one with any brains around here? I’m pretty certain he followed us today, and he likely wouldn’t have done that if someone hadn’t been talking."

Arrianus jumped. "You’re accusing me of talking? I may not have any brains but I’m not stupid."

"No I’m not accusing you of anything." Domitianus was exasperated. "All I’m saying is that something must have alerted him. And just remember, I go down, you go down."

The horse agent started to look alarmed. "So what are you going to do?"

Domitianus snorted. "I like that, what am I going to do. Depends how much he’s found out. But Hades, heroes always die young, if you know what I mean?"

Arrianus laughed in sudden comprehension. Standing at his post by the wall, holding a wine jug, the Selgovan boy listened in horror.

The Cohort Commander eventually dismissed him. The boy was in a quandary. He knew that if Domitianus found out he had warned Maximus…..he shivered. But the horse man seemed to be a good man, and he was Domitianus’ enemy. He dithered for a while longer then made up his mind.

Maximus was on the point of going to bed when there was a soft scratching at the door. He pulled out his dagger and quickly opened it, almost thrusting the blade into the terrified face of the Selgovan boy. He grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him into the room. "What do you want?" he demanded.

The boy swallowed hard, obviously already regretting whatever it had been that had prompted him to come here. "It’s Domitianus," he said hesitantly. "I think he’s going to kill you."

"How do you know?"

"He was talking with Arrianus this evening." there was a slight flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I understand more than he thinks." his eyes became serious again, " he thinks you found out about the horses."

Maximus was about to rubbish the boy’s suggestion – it was ridiculous, but then he remembered that earlier conversation he had overheard, and the prefect’s assertion that he would ‘take care of it’. "What did he say?"

"Uh, he knows you followed him today, but that it depended how much you knew."

Maximus grunted but there was more.

"Then he said something like, everyone knows heroes die young. Oh and if he went down Arrianus would go down too. That’s all. I thought you should know."

Maximus nodded. "Thanks, " He said. "That was brave of you to come and warn me." then he smiled "Perhaps you could tell me if I have the full picture now, huh?"

The boy looked at him warily. "What do you know?"

"Let’s see, every year the tribes send the poorest horses they have as tribute. At the same time they sell the best ones to Brynmor who sells them to Domitianus and Arrianus, who sell them on south. Have I missed anything?"

The boy shrugged. "Not really, Brynmor had been buying our horses and selling them to you for years as far back as I can remember. Then one year we heard you had a new chief in the south and he wanted us to give him our horses instead of the cattle and cloth we gave before. You are right. We give your chief the poorest horses and the best ones we still sell to Brynmor. He is a rich man because of it. We laughed at your chief for accepting such poor gifts."

"It’s no laughing matter." Maximus said and sighed. Then he asked "What’s your name?"

The boy grimaced, "He," the pronoun was spat out, "calls me Lysander."

"But that’s not your real name?"

The boy shook his head. "Of course not."

"So what is it?"

The boy looked at him for a long moment then said "Gilfaethwy."

Maximus took a deep breath, "Gil…., oh I’m sorry I can’t pronounce that." he tried hard, but had to smile as the boy winced at his mangled rendering.

"That’s all right. It doesn’t matter."

"Yes it does, names are important." Maximus contradicted him. Then he said, "Look you’d better go. Be careful not to get caught."

The boy nodded and disappeared into the night.

It was cold next morning, and Maximus' breath smoked in front of him as he walked towards the Principia. Like all of them, he was wearing two tunics under his armour now over thick woollen breeches, but he was still freezing. At least it was unlikely to get as cold as it did in Germania in the winter. The men said it usually carried right on raining.

It seemed that Arrianus and his men were finally leaving, taking the tribute horses south. Maximus watched them go. After the boy’s warning he wondered if he was going to survive long enough to get to Lugh’s Basin wherever that was. Domitianus waved the horse agent off himself then commented to Maximus, "Looks like you get your training ground back, Prefect." Maximus snorted.

**********

Later that day the Prefect rode out to Brynmor’s dun. The big Votadini tribesman was surprised to see him again so soon. They stood in his hut, speaking in low voices. Domitianus screwed up his face in annoyance and kicked the logs on the fire. Sparks flared upwards into the rafters of the hut. "We should’ve been more careful." he said to the other man.

Brynmor smiled lazily. "So he find out what you do, what we do. Pay him not to care, then you have him."

The Prefect shook his head. "Won't work. He’s young, full of stupid ideals like honesty and integrity." he laughed contemptuously and spat into the fire. It hissed, reflecting his irritation.

The Votadini tribesman seemed nonplussed for a moment. "Not like last leader of horsemen then." he shrugged. " So kill him."

"The thought had crossed my mind." Domitianus said dryly then added, "But it has to look like an accident."

Brynmor looked offended although in the dim light it was hard to tell. "Huh, I not say you stab him in back in front of all soldiers in fort." he paused then suggested, "He like to hunt, no?"

Domitianus smiled. "Now that has possibilities, go on."

"So, he hunting, fall off horse, horse fall on him, he dead, oh dear."

The Prefect laughed "You know, that probably isn't as stupid as it sounds." then he added, "And, of course if the fall doesn’t kill him, you help him along I suppose."

Brynmor laughed back.

When Domitianus had ridden back to the fort and was preparing to go down to the bath house one of his slaves made a comment about the Selgovan boy. "What did you say?" he demanded, suddenly focussed.

The man, taken aback and immediately fearful at the sudden interest in a throwaway comment stammered "N..Nothing, sir, just that I didn’t think you had wanted him talking to the cavalry prefect."

"And what makes you think that he was?"

"I saw the boy coming from his quarters late last night."

Domitianus stared at the man in silence for a moment then viciously punched him in the face. He collapsed on the floor, nose broken, spouting blood. "And you never saw fit to tell me then?" he kicked the man in the kidneys, drowning out the man’s protests that he had thought the boy was running an errand. "and you didn’t think I might find it interesting ?" he kicked the man again. "Get out!"

Well, he’d found out who’d been talking. Looked like he needed a change of plan. First he needed to deal with the little shit. He was going to enjoy that.

Hob nailed boots kicked the Selgovan boy awake and he was hauled out of the cubby hole he slept in into the corridor. Two of the cohort centurions dragged him along to one of the store rooms and flung him on the floor. Domitianus was waiting. The boy looked up at him fear clutching his guts. He really hoped that this time they would kill him.

*************

Domitianus gave a grunt of disgust as he washed the blood off his grazed knuckles. He would have to come up with something else now that the little bastard had warned Maximus. Something a bit more creative perhaps. He dried his hands on a cloth, and smiled as something occurred to him.

Early next day a dispatch rider headed south.