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He is winded, which gives me time to plant myself in front of the woman as if to protect her. She’s nothing to me, but I don’t trust Lucius to stop at killing her. I’ll be next.
    ‘What by Mithras’ cock are you doing?’ He is gasping for air.
    ‘We haven’t questioned him yet. You know we had orders to question any captured natives about Caratacus.’ I let Lucius get to his feet, which is a mistake because he’s coming for me now. The woman is standing too, a looming presence behind me. She takes advantage of my confusion to wrest the longsword from my belt. She is quick as a snake or a warrior. Now I’m caught between the two of them. It happens quickly. Lucius charges me and I am too slow to use my gladius. Instead, on instinct, I put out my foot. It is a cheap trick that should not have worked on an old and canny veteran, but it does. Lucius trips and falls headlong into the fire. It was such a small blaze his bulk should have extinguished it with little damage; instead, from nowhere huge flames leap, wild and out of control. He screams and the fire consumes him. It is too hot for me to try to save him. The heat burns my face and singes my eyebrows. The woman cries out and both of us step back from the inferno – we have no choice. The smell is terrible. Lucius’ cry is like nothing I’ve ever heard. It is swiftly over and then the fire shrinks back almost to nothing and Lucius is a charred and blackened corpse.
    I am trembling and I stammer when I finally manage to speak.
    ‘W-what in Lugh’s name h-h-happened?’
    ‘You killed him.’ The woman’s tone is accusing but her voice quavers too. She seems as shaken as I am.
    ‘Not me. You killed him with your fire.’
    She shakes her head. We are both bearing unsheathed weapons. She holds the longsword like a warrior; I hold my gladius like a fool. I’m not about to kill her; I don’t know if she plans on killing me.
    ‘How did you do it?’
    She shakes her head. ‘I didn’t. You tripped him!’ She sounds scornful and then adds more softly, ‘Perhaps the gods of this place do not like foreigners.’ We both look around. The wood beyond the glow of the killing fire is dark and sinister.
    I unbuckle her sword belt clumsily and hand it back to her. Keltic women are not like Romans. I know that, in spite of the slave brand, she is of the warrior caste. I was wrong before – I could be bested by such a woman. She only hesitates for a moment before taking the belt. She watches me and sheathes her sword as I put away my gladius. The tension between us eases a little.
    ‘Do you often kill your own in your Legio IX?’ She pronounces the foreign words awkwardly, but that does nothing to dull the sharpness of her words. What small control I had of this situation is slipping away. I didn’t kill Lucius. It was an accident, that is all. I imagine explaining that to our Decanus, Marcellus, and then up the chain of command to our Praefectus Castrorum – a grizzled veteran of uncertain temper who served with Lucius in Gaul. I can see my father’s dream of my glorious army career turn to ash along with Lucius’ corpse. It is never going to happen now. I don’t think I dare return to our fort, even assuming I could find my way. Julius thinks I let him down in our earlier encounter with the Kelts and how can I account for Lucius’ death? I speak the tribal tongues – maybe I could disguise myself as a local Kelt and make my way to my mother’s people in Armorica? All this passes through my head in the space between the woman’s pointed question and my response.
    ‘I didn’t kill him and it’s not my Legio IX,’ I say and I know that I’m not going back.
    Smoke is still rising from Lucius’ body.
    ‘I have to bury him,’ I say.
    ‘The ground is frozen solid, you’d be better building a cairn.’ She’s right of course, but I get out my spade anyway and then I hear the wolves howl.

Chapter Three
    Trista’s Story
    Morcant freezes when the