Wolf Blood Read Free

and on impulse fasten the sword belt around my own waist. The blade sits more comfortably against my hip than the short Roman gladius I carry.
    ‘What do you think you’re doing with that, you little bastard Brit? I’ll have the spoils,’ Lucius says, his harsh soldier’s Latin an offence against the gods of this place.
    ‘Of course,’ I say hastily, ‘I’m just wearing it while I tie him up.’
    Lucius snorts but leaves me to it, busying himself with sorting through his pack.
    ‘Before you tie me, let me help light your fire.’ She speaks in little more than a whisper. It’s cold and the wood is wet. ‘There is a trick I know that will save you time.’ Did she see me fail before? ‘It will only take a moment.’ I believe her. Besides, I have the sword and, while I’m not the best of fighters, I couldn’t be bested by a woman. I place myself between her and Lucius’ line of sight. I have my gladius out and I will stab her if she makes a threatening move. She squats by the fire, as all tribespeople do. As I do. She waves away my offer of my tinderbox and does something with her hands that I can’t see. The light is fading fast. She didn’t lie – in moments the fire catches and the damp wood begins to burn. It is quite a trick.
    When she stands up, she holds out her hands for me to tie them. Now I know she is a woman it is impossible to see her as anything else. The face the firelight shows is young and gaunt but not unattractive. Her wrists are bony.
    I let her sit by the fire and her shawl slips from her head to reveal raggedly cut hair the colour of Keltic gold.
    ‘I am Morcant,’ I say, ‘and my comrade is Lucius.’
    ‘He is not your master?’
    ‘No. We are both soldiers of Legio IX.’
    She doesn’t look as though she believes me, though she nods politely. My mother always said that it is not wise to give away your name, but I’m Roman now and have no truck with such views. The woman shares my mother’s opinion: she does not give her name.
    I unpack the rest of my kit, finding my cook pot and food. It’s just travelling rations – bread, cheese and beans to cook up, but she can’t hide the hunger in her eyes as she watches me.
    I give her some bread and she nibbles it, as if to make it last.
    ‘When did you last eat?’
    She shrugs. ‘I’ve been walking since before dawn – I ate some broth yesterday.’ Lucius turns and sees me give the woman a piece of cheese. She needs it more than I do.
    ‘Mithras’ balls – what are you doing wasting rations on Brit shit?’ He tries to grab the bread from the woman’s hand and then when his hand touches hers he snatches his back as if stung.
    ‘What the . . .’
    ‘Tell him not to be afraid. I’m a seeress, that is all, and our touch can bring on a sharing.’ I don’t know what she means. The druid of my mother’s people never mentioned such a thing, but then he was old and ignorant as muck. Lucius is looking murderous. Before I can translate her words she speaks again.
    ‘Tell him I can see his wife with a dark-haired baby at her breast. She is sick, dying I think, but the baby is strong as is the little boy who stands by her bed. The boy will live.’
    I don’t want to translate this but I do. I don’t sheathe my gladius though, just in case Lucius tries to kill her. I am a soldier of Rome now and of course I will do my duty, but I won’t let Lucius kill an unarmed woman at any hearth of mine.
    Lucius turns silent when I translate her words. He stares at the fire as if lost. I think it might be all right and then he roars, ‘No! You lying piece of Keltic scum.’ His sword is out and he is about to gut her with it. His response is not unexpected, but mine is. I drop my shoulder and tackle him, which is stupid. Luckily, he is so surprised he doesn’t slice me as he ought to do. He lands hard on the snow with me on top of him. He is a veteran though, and he doesn’t let go of his gladius. I get to my feet in a flurry of snow.