Page 6 of Ensnaring the Dove

A hail of dark arrows flew across the valley, peppering the column.

Heartbeats later, a familiar cry echoed toward the tree line. “Testudo!”

Aedan had seen the Romans form the shield wall a number of times over the years. Nonetheless, it never failed to impress.

The fine hair on the back of his arms prickled as he watched the soldiers move as one. They interlocked their shields overhead and along the sides, dropping down on one knee to create a tortoise-like, protective covering.

Aedan’s gaze narrowed. The testudo was strong, but not invincible. It was slow, unwieldy, and prevented the soldiers from fighting in hand-to-hand combat. However, his arrows would do no more good now—it was time to move closer.

Slinging his bow over his shoulder, Aedan drew his sword.

“Charge!” The order tore from his throat as he erupted from the trees and raced toward the shield wall. The thunder of footfalls behind him let him know that his companions were right there.

In the past, when he’d led his father’s warriors into battle, they’d fought with chariots—sleek carts drawn by fast ponies. However, this band of Brigante outlaws, men who rebelled against the rule of the Caesars, relied on secrecy and stealth. Only a fool faced the might of Rome in open warfare. Better to attack them in a valley like this, where they could use the cover of the woods to pick off their adversaries.

Reaching the testudo, Aedan hacked at the ankles of the soldier nearest. A howl of pain followed, mingling with the feral yells of the outlaws as they swarmed around the tortoise.

Maccus was among them, slashing his sword, his blood-spattered face alive with wild joy. The outlaw leader lived for these moments. Hate burned in him like a smoldering lump of peat, bursting into flames when he got to spill Roman blood.Years earlier, his wife had been brutally beaten and raped by a group of Roman soldiers; she’d later died from her injuries. Maccus’s need for reckoning had never been sated since.

Instead, he’d made it his life’s mission to bring down the Caesars.

The battle turned in the outlaws’ favor fast, and a group of warriors broke off from the band who were attacking the testudo, to deal with the drivers of the line of plaustrums—supply carts.

Leaving Maccus and the most savage of his men to deliver death to the last of the legionaries, Aedan jogged down the line, his gaze traveling over the first of the heavy, covered, two-wheeled wagons, drawn by pairs of oxen. The beasts bellowed, distressed by the chaos reigning around them.

There were other ways, besides dealing out death, to hit the Caesars where it hurt. Unlike Maccus, spilling Roman blood didn’t excite Aedan half as much as gathering the riches they were bringing north.

The first of the plaustrums Aedan opened up was laden with sacks of grain, and clay amphoras of honey and olive oil. A grim smile split his face as he surveyed the packed interior. This food would sustain many Britons over the coming winter. It had been a wet summer and a poor harvest, and with the numbers of soldiers growing on the Wall, the Romans had taken most of the grain and vegetables that would prevent the locals from starving over the bitter months.

Now, it was the legionaries manning the Wall who’d have empty bellies.

They won’t like that much.

Aedan moved on to the next wagon, discovering it laden with weaponry. This too would come in useful. However, when he continued down the line—stepping over the corpse of a burlydriver, and pulling back the covering on the third plaustrum—his breathing caught.

Heavy sacks of coin filled the shadowy space. Digging his hand into the nearest one, Aedan gazed down at the gold aureus, silver denarius, and brass sestertius coins that glinted upon his palm.

Another smile curved his lips. He’d hoped to find coin here, but this was a gift indeed.

The Warrior be praised, he’d just discovered a pay wagon. The Caesars were careful not to draw too much attention to these carts; the pay wagon looked exactly like those hauling food supplies.

Of course, the soldiers defending the Wall received a salary. When he’d lived in Caledonia, he remembered pay wagons arriving at Ardoch three times a year. The carts would be wheeled right into the principia, at the heart of the fort, and the sacks deposited inside a strongroom. The soldiers would then eagerly queue up outside the pay office to pick up their wages. Out on the frontier, you’d have thought the men had little use for coin—yet many of them gambled it away or spent it on drink and women in the vicus outside the walls of the fort.

Aedan’s belly tightened as he deposited the handful of coins back in the sack.

Just one of these bags would set him up for life. He’d be able to walk away from Maccus and his mob and strike out on his own somewhere. He could build himself a cottage, purchase livestock and seeds, and live as a farmer.

But, instead, the outlaw leader would take possession of these riches and dole them out where he pleased.

Aedan would be lucky if he received a handful of sestertii from the stingy bastard.

Muttering a curse under his breath, he dropped the leather flap that covered the back of the wagon and strode to the nextone. This one was full of amphoras of wine. The yeasty odor of fermented fruit filled the interior of the cart.

It looked like they’d all be getting rolling drunk when this was over.

Shouting from farther down the convoy drew Aedan’s attention then. Leaving off his exploration of the plaustrums, Aedan walked toward it, sword at the ready.

A tussle was taking place up ahead.