you think Felix was involved?”
“I don’t know. I’ve told you all that I do. You already know much more than most of the centurions and all of the legionaries. Felix’s legion is being kept well away from them to stop word of it getting back to Rome. A group of devils created by dark barbarian magic would not play well in the Senate. They will, however, be very pleased with the victories it will secure. Now please will you do what I asked?”
“Tell me one more thing.”
“What?”
“What is the point? What is Caesar trying to achieve?”
“Conquest, simple enough.”
“No, that’s not it. There must be more.”
The centurion looked over his shoulder again.
“All right. But if I tell you, when you bend over, I want to you to say over and over how much you’d like me to … to make love to you.”
“OK.”
“Caesar’s goal is Britain. There is something there that he wants. That is all I know, I swear. Now, please do what I said.”
Chamanca turned round, her mind racing. What could Caesar possibly want in Britain, other than conquest? Was it something Felix wanted? Out of nowhere, the beginnings of an idea as to what – or, more accurately, who – it might be came springing to mind.
Chapter 20
The Germans moved fifteen miles to more open ground. There was one trial on the way, in which Ragnall and other criminals were made to crawl along a stretch of stream converted by flagstones into an underwater tunnel. Ragnall had swum and dived a great deal on the Island of Angels, and he’d maintained some capacity for holding his breath. It was a long way from enjoyable, especially the part when he’d clawed past two newly dead who hadn’t made it to the end, but finally he surfaced and heard Flotta’s “Alive!”
Despite it all, he found that he was warming to King Hari. The man was psychopathic, sure, and had attempted to kill Ragnall three times, but he was perpetually cheerful and, apart from the murdering, a kind old soul.
He had had a short length of chain soldered on to Ragnall’s ankles to hobble him, and there were always a couple of soldiers nearby who appeared to be guarding him, but other than that King Hari treated Ragnall as if he were part of his inner circle, which included Atlas, Carden and Flotta the Left as well as a dozen fur-panted men and women. Shuffling along with other captives, he didn’t see the leaders often during the day, but every evening he’d eat with them next to their fire.
Nobody other than King Hari ever spoke to him, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t imagine that Atlas and Carden had anything friendly to say, anyway. He caught Flotta looking at him every now and then. Vanity said she might find him attractive, but the voice of reason – which always sounded a lot like Drustan – told him that she was gloating to herself about knocking him out with one blow.
One big problem with the evening gatherings was that there was no booze. The Germans, apparently, had seen how alcohol had weakened the Gauls and sworn off it. In his two years in Rome Ragnall had developed a healthy suspicion of people who didn’t drink, plus, with the constant threat of another trial and a nasty death hanging over him, by Bel he could have done with some alcohol himself.
The German infantry, as Atlas had advised, dug in to block Caesar’s supply lines, while the five thousand-strong cavalry remained nomadic, somewhere beyond the Roman position.
Every day, Caesar marched his army to the German wall, the legionaries taunted his soldiers, and King Hari held them back. Every day, reports came of the German cavalry slaying Roman foragers and winning skirmishes against the smaller and ever-dwindling Roman cavalry.
“The joys of small horse victories are beginning to pale. Should I ignore the Brits and use my army to smash these insolent Romans?” King Hari asked on the fifth evening as they ate around the campfire. It took Ragnall a moment to realise that the king was addressing him.
“No, I think everyone is right,” said Ragnall. “You may have the numerical advantage, and some fine warriors, but the Roman army is the culmination of centuries of military analysis, theory and training. They move more like a flock of birds than a group of men.”
“How do they manage this? Do they have larks under those helmets? Ha ha!”
“Each legion, each little army in other words, is split