God for the Killing

CHAPTER ONE

BEAR GOD

When a god has his fist raised and is about to crush you, the time to debate his existence is long past. Septimus always chuckled when he said that. It had initially been intended to help Judith over her early fears of tackling religions. It had grown to eventually become a private jest between the two of them. By then, however, Judith no longer feared or venerated other gods. Not even the God of her birth. Gods, she knew, were just other people pretending to be something they were not, so that they could rule the poor people willing to believe in them. This belief gave the gods their power, and they used it for their own indulgences, while making their supporters feel that they were getting the benefits.

False gods, all of them. And you’re just another one, Garing.

Unconsciously playing with the leather leash that marked her as a slave, Judith watched Garing, the old Lore-Master, stride to the brow of the hill. She felt, rather than saw, the five thousand warriors ranged behind her, their backs to the wall of the dark forest, their eyes also on the old shaman. He stood looking down into the valley, the bear-hide cloak covering his back. Tilting his head and raising his fists to the sky, he roared an inarticulate bellow, his strong lungs giving power to the challenge. It was taken up by the men around them, and the very forest and valley seemed to shake with the potency of the defiance and the rage the men put into the sound. The last rays of the setting sun coated them in red, a bloodied horde roaring their ferocity at the invaders below. They beat their weapons on wooden shields, the sheer weight of numbers making the air throb with the dull thud of iron.

Below them, in the Roman encampment, she could see sentries raise the alarm, and soldiers rush to take up arms and prepare to defend themselves. In short order, they had formed three lines in front of their camp, and were waiting patiently. An officer astride a white horse rode along the front lines, the pace he set deliberately unhurried, to calm the nerves of his soldiers. Over by the river, the ten galleys rowed closer to the bank, and archers prepared their bows. But Judith saw that only a third of the soldiers had been turned out while the rest stayed back in the camp, giving the appearance of studied unconcern. She noted that the officer on the horse was only a centurion; the legatus himself had not bothered to respond. Not for the first time, she wondered at Roman arrogance in the face of people they called barbarians. For all its reputation and military successes, the Roman army consisted of ordinary men. They were superbly trained, but they were still men, and she had seen them die as easily as those they called ‘barbarian’. Nevertheless, she had to admit that on most occasions they had indeed proved that a Roman soldier was worth many more of his enemies.

Not this time, you poor fools. This time, you have been outmatched.

Garing lowered his arms and the roaring died down. Then he turned his back on the Romans and walked away. His show of disdain, however, was merely a game. He went only as far as the first line of wild warriors, grabbed the nearest man’s spear, and returned to the top of the hill. There, in full view of his Roman enemies, he drove the spear into the ground, unhooked the bear-hide cloak and draped it over the still-quivering spear. The heavy hide stirred gently in the wind, swaying like a dancing bear. He smacked one fist into a palm, and two men ran forward with drums that they placed on either side of the cloak. They began a slow, measured beat, the sound echoing off the surrounding hills. A fire was set to light the scene, guards were carefully placed, and the wild army withdrew.

The old shaman continued to watch the Romans as darkness settled around them. The night magnified the sound of the drums. Judith stayed where she was, head bowed in proper obeisance, her slave’s leash hanging from her neck.

After an hour, as the Romans began to disperse, he snapped his fingers, and the drumming stopped. The sudden silence was like a blow in the night. A ripple went through the Romans, and they turned to stare.

The shaman looked at Judith inquiringly. She approached him and whispered, ‘Ursa.’ He nodded in affirmation, then turned back to the Romans.

‘Ursa!’ His deep voice resonated with power as he hurled the word into the night. ‘Ursa!’

Even though he hated their language, he had asked for their word for his Bear God. He wanted to let them know the Bear Clans weren’t scared of Rome. He wanted them to know exactly who it was that would destroy them. The word echoed off the hills, and he let it hang in the air, in the darkness. Then he snapped his fingers again, and the drumming resumed.

Down below, the Romans stood uncertainly, not knowing if there would be an attack.

Garing chortled to himself and turned away, leading Judith down from the hill and into the relative quiet of the Bear camp. Here, the drums were only a muffled sound; the followers of the Bear would sleep better than the Romans. They walked past hundreds of men who placed fists in front of him that he casually touched. Judith followed closely behind, knowing his presence would protect her from the ugly groping and suggestions to which they would otherwise have subjected her. It was partly for this protection that she had thrown herself at his feet when she had first been dragged into the camp all those months ago. Although the slave’s leash was only symbolic, it made her his property. It was as good as a shield was to a warrior. Without its protection, she would have been used up and killed long ago.

Garing deliberately picked a path that would take him past the tents of the War-lord and the chieftains. The swirl of greetings that followed him alerted the lords, and they came out to watch him.

‘Garing!’ The deep voice of Siegemund, the War-lord, brought everyone to a stop. He stood at the entrance to his tent, a silhouette of massive arms and broad chest against the light that spilled from the opening and out into the darkness.

Judith stopped as the two men confronted each other. Siegemund was the leader of the tribes, a warrior and a sharp tactician. It was his plan to lure the Romans here, into a trap that they suspected but did not really comprehend. Siegemund was justifiably keen to maintain control of the armies. It would be a logical progression for him to become king. Many of the leaders of the other tribes were openly calling for a kaiser, and when they did, they always looked to Siegemund.

Garing was the only obstacle. While Siegemund held the people’s loyalty and love, Garing held their faith — and their deepest fear, which was a far more potent weapon. The shaman faced the War-lord with crossed arms.

‘What does your god tell us, Lore-Master?’ Siegemund demanded. ‘Will we have his help against the Romans?’

Garing pointed at the night sky. ‘The Bear is shining on us, Siegemund. He will help us tomorrow.’

Siegemund tilted his head up and Judith followed his gaze. The sky above them was bright with millions of lights. She mentally drew the lines that made up the Bear, and saw the stars shining brightly. Others in the camp did the same, and murmurs flitted around them.

‘Yes, the Bear smiles on us. The Lore-Master sees truly.’

‘Mmm,’ Siegemund agreed. ‘Truly, the Bear shines on us.’ He locked eyes with Garing. ‘He also shines on the Roman invaders.’

Silence slammed into the gathering, and all attention was on Garing. His face was set in the rigid lines that Judith recognised as suppressed anger. ‘The Bear shines on them,’ he conceded. ‘But only with malice. We will have our victory. Tomorrow, this filthy Roman army will be smashed into the floor of the forest. By tomorrow night, wolves will be feeding on their corpses — and you, War-lord, you will eat many hearts.’

The army cheered, and the shaman turned on his heel and strode away. Judith lingered just long enough to see the flash of anger on Siegemund’s face, then she followed Garing.

Inside his tent, he sat down on a rough stool and closed his eyes, humming a deep incantation to himself. Judith unpacked his old Bear hide and draped it around his shoulders. It was tattered with age, and much of the fur had been worn off, but, with his good cloak hanging on the hill and scaring the Romans, this was better than freezing. He made no acknowledgement of her gesture, but hugged the fur closer.

She prepared a fire and pushed a wooden bowl with dried apples and cheese into his hands. He ate slowly, continuing the quiet chant. When she passed him some bread and slices of venison, he again accepted without pausing in his prayer. She took the chance to eat some food herself, then unrolled his bed and settled into a dark part of the tent. Soon enough, he would demand her attention. He did most nights and always before a battle.

Some hours later, he stopped his chant and rose slowly to his feet, stretching muscles and rubbing his neck. He looked down at Judith, and motioned her over. She stood up.

‘Attend to me,’ he ordered. ‘I must have a peaceful night.’ This was a standard order from him, and she had to respond in exactly the practised way.

She slipped the bear hide off his shoulders, ran soothing hands along his back and gently pushed him down onto the bedding. The rate of his breathing increased as she knelt beside him and rubbed a hand through the coarse matting of his chest.

‘You will have peace,’ she promised, as she always did. Then, she leaned forward and placed her lips next to his right ear. ‘A special peace.’ This was not part of the normal routine, and his eyes sprang open in apprehension. ‘Pax Romana,’ she whispered, the only other Roman words he knew. The peace of Rome.

He tried to sit up, but that only drove the dagger deeper into his chest.

‘Hail,’ Judith whispered into the ear of the young Roman sentry. He whirled around, ready to bring his spear down, but she was far too close. One small push had him falling onto his back. She had spent the last half an hour sneaking up on him, and was determined to make the most of her advantage.

‘Cavete!’ he sounded the alarm, scrabbling backwards. In the early dawn light, she could see he was shaking with fear.

She kept pace with him, making sure he had no chance to reach for his weapons. She stepped on the spear, and he let go of it.

‘Stay calm,’ she said quietly. Around her, she could hear the sounds of running feet getting closer and closer. ‘I’m not your enemy.’ She leaned over and pulled his gladius out of its sheath, then she stepped to one side as another sentry ran up. This one was experienced, and he levelled his spear at her while the young sentry clambered to his feet.

Judith stood still, letting the gladius hang at her side; no threat, but ready to defend herself. ‘I am a friend,’ she assured him. ‘I have good news. Take me to Legatus Quintus.’

More sentries arrived to surround her, the tips of sharp spears brushing her robe. A centurion walked up, casually stepping between two of the legionnaires, and studied her carefully. She noted that, for all his apparent ease, he stayed beyond her reach.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

She reached into her robe and drew out a wooden tube. From it, she extracted a roll of vellum and handed it to him. ‘My name is Iudita and, as you can see, I am to be accorded the rank of tribune.’ She casually tossed the gladius at the feet of the young sentry. He went red with embarrassment as the others sniggered.

The centurion, however, glared with disgust at the young soldier. He scanned the document, then looked back at Judith. ‘This bears the signature of Sejanus.’

Judith sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, and he was executed for treason just before I left Rome. As you can see, it also has a personal signature from Caesar Tiberius himself.’

The centurion’s eyes widened, and his back grew straighter. He handed the vellum back to her. ‘Lower your weapons,’ he commanded his soldiers. ‘Return to your posts.’ He turned to the side and indicated the path to the fortified camp. ‘Tribune.’

She stepped forward, then paused. ‘Go over there.’ She indicated a bush.

The centurion walked behind it, gave a grunt of surprise, then returned carrying a sack. ‘What is this?’

‘Your Legatus Quintus doesn’t know it, but you’ve been drawn into a trap. You’ve just spent four months chasing what you think is a rabble of five thousand barbarians.’

The centurion was clearly suspicious, but made no comment.

Judith smiled. ‘A cautious centurion. Good. Still, you were enticed to this very spot. And out there —’ she pointed to the hill with the drummers and the bear hide ‘— are the five thousand barbarians you think you chased.’ Then she pointed the other way. ‘Over there, coming up behind you, are another five thousand.’

He glanced in the direction she had pointed, then back at her. ‘We have an entire legion. Our five thousand will easily match their ten.’

‘True. But, what about the other ten thousand coming to push you into the Rhine?’

He studied her uncertainly. ‘Twenty thousand? Twenty thousand? Are you sure? They haven’t had an army that big since Germanicus …’

‘Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. All the tribes sent warriors to Siegemund.’

He looked worried. ‘I … I’d better warn the legatus.’

Judith smiled. ‘Don’t worry, you will win today. In fact, I don’t think there’ll even be a battle.’ She pointed at the sack. ‘Untie it.’

Carefully, the soldier loosened the knot and upended the bag. Garing’s head rolled out. The centurion recoiled at the sight then recovered himself. He looked a question at her.

‘He was their direct link to their god. They’re good fighters and some of the best warriors you’ll meet, but their lives are ruled by their religion. Take away their faith, and you take away their world. Put that up on a stake and make sure they see it.’ She remembered the old man as he had been: dour and ascetic, his life had been austere until she had cajoled him into taking her as his slave. She had been his only luxury, and it had turned out to be fatal.

Just another dead god.

She turned away with a shrug. ‘Now, take me to the legatus and prepare a galley. My work here is done, and I want to return to Rome.’

CHAPTER TWO

TRIBUNE OF ROME

The view from the balcony was tranquil and idyllic, and Judith leaned on the bench until her back rested on the wall. The fields of grains and vines spilled down the sides of the valley and merged into forests on the hills opposite. Beyond those hills, half a day’s ride away, was Rome. The city represented a stark contrast to the peace she felt now, and she chose to ignore it while she could. She imagined she could see a dark stain in the sky above it, a concentration of filth and desperation. It attracted and repelled her, but it was her lifeline. She closed her eyes, savouring the memory of the scene. It was so peaceful to be here, close to Rome and yet detached from it.

Not for long. With any luck, not for long.

She heard the rustle of papyrus being rolled up, and opened her eyes. Although confident of her status, she dared not be impolite to her host and sponsor. Septimus retained the rank and title of proconsul, and she needed his protection and support. Now, the proconsul dropped the report on his table and picked up his chalice. A snap of his fingers had a slave carry one over to Judith, while another poured some golden wine for both of them. The cool wine was sweet, not her preferred taste, but a luxury nonetheless.

‘The report from Germania is most satisfactory,’ Septimus said, strolling casually to the wall and looking out over the valley. ‘After the rout at the Rhine, the barbarians scattered back to their tribes, but this warlord of theirs, this —’ He paused and read from the scroll on the table.

‘Siegemund,’ Judith offered.

‘Yes, Siegemund. He took to the forests and resumed his campaign. Legatus Quintus was worried we’d have another five years of attrition from him, so he decimated a few villages.’

Judith closed her eyes and took another sip of the wine, before she had the composure to give him a smile. ‘And?’

He smiled back, the usual, calculating smile that bore no relation to his real feelings. ‘And the barbarians sent