Chapter Eleven

 

Divonanto in the lands of the Condrusi

 

Fronto ground his teeth as he hiked up the last few feet of the near-vertical slope, his breath coming in gasps and puffs.

‘Would they… really be… offended if… we didn’t bother?’

Samognatos shook his head. ‘They know we… are coming. They… always know.’

‘But… we know where… to look next… anyway.’

The Condrusi scout flashed him a look that illustrated his feelings on the notion of bypassing the sacred nemeton of Divonanto. Fronto had been in two minds all morning. As far as his direct mission was concerned, he was unlikely to get any better directions to Ambiorix’s current location than the council had given him last night. And whatever the scout said, Fronto had his suspicions as to how helpful the druids were likely to be. He’d as soon stand knee deep in the sea, wearing copper armour and calling Jupiter a spiteful prick as trust a druid, but Samognatos seemed convinced they had to visit, and in these lands, Fronto was to some extent reliant upon the man’s continued help and goodwill.

The pair reached the top of the interminable and evil slope and Fronto reached down, gripping his trembling knees and heaving in breaths, watching the singulares labouring up the mountainside behind them. The ‘easiest’ route to the nemeton without circling round a few miles involved heading to the side of town away from the river, nestled up against the slope, and coming at the cliff outcropping from an oblique angle. Easiest: maybe. Easy: no. The slope was still one of the steepest he had ever climbed, and certainly one of the highest. His legs may never stop shaking, and he knew just how badly his calves and shins were going to hurt tomorrow.

‘I’m not leaving anyone outside… you know.’

Samognatos simply widened that infernal grin. ‘Won’t you want to leave someone to guard the weapons?’

Fronto blinked. ‘If you think for one… moment I’m going in there unarmed…’

‘That is the only option, I’m afraid, sir.’

‘Screw that.’

‘Respectfully, Romans do not approve of bearing arms in their temples. Indeed, the whole of Rome is weapon free I understand?’

‘That’s because Rome isn’t home to a bunch of savage…’ He stopped short, not for fear of insulting Samognatos’ druids, but rather because he was about to claim that Rome was safer and more civilised, but a quick mental run through his past few visits silenced that notion.

‘I give you my word that you will be unharmed.’

Fronto sighed. ‘I’m not impugning you, my friend, but I could give you my word that up is down. Would that make it so?’

‘Come on… Let’s get inside,’ coughed Palmatus, clambering over the edge onto the grass.

‘Samognatos here tells me we have to leave our weapons.’

‘Fair enough.’

Fronto frowned. ‘You approve?’

‘Not really, but we’ve come all this way, and they’re only old grey-beards with sticks. We’re legionaries, with Masgava too.’

‘Grey-beards? You’d not say that if you’d met the bastard with the crown over in Britannia that tried to carve me a new arsehole on the front!’

Samognatos cleared his throat meaningfully and Fronto turned to him, and then followed his gaze to see two men in white robes standing in the open gateway in the wicker fence.

‘Arduenna tells us that Romans are coming and that we are to open our arms to them.’

Fronto narrowed his eyes. ‘Experience tells me that one of those arms will hold a dagger.’

The druid held his arms out to the sides. ‘Please enter. You will come to no harm.’

Again, Fronto maintained his steely stare, but Masgava was suddenly next to him, striding towards the gate. As he approached, he drew his sword and three knives from various places about his body and, removing his cloak, placed them on the ground, on the thick wool for protection from the damp grass.

‘Masgava?’

‘Come on, sir.’

Fronto sighed and stepped forward, unsheathing his blade and dropping it onto Masgava’s cloak with the others. He gestured to the men behind him to do so. ‘Pontius and Quietus? You two stay out here with the weapons.’

‘We were led to believe there were twenty of you?’ the druid enquired, performing a second quick headcount and eyeing the seventeen visitors with interest.

Fronto paused as he approached. ‘Our three Remi riders are bringing the horses and gear the long way round. They’ll wait for us at the main road. You are surprisingly well-informed?’

‘You travel within the Goddess’ lair. She sees all.’

‘Comforting.’

The druid gave a smile that did nothing to ease Fronto’s tension and ushered the Roman party inside. As they passed into the sacred nemeton, Masgava and Palmatus took a surreptitious opportunity to wink at Fronto and indicate the location of their hidden knives.

The Divonanto grove consisted of three rings of trees regularly spaced and offset so as to almost create a barrier that one had to pass through at an angle. Consequently, the centre of the grove was not visible until the three rings had been negotiated. As far as Fronto was concerned, it was a terrible waste of what must be an astounding view, but with a shrug he followed the druids through the trees into the centre.

Within, a circular area consisted of well-tended turf and a ring of small jagged standing stones. At the centre was a wide, flat slab of blue-grey rock, four felled trunks surrounding it, forming benches. A veritable banquet lay on the slab, including platters of fruit and meat, bread and cheese, and jugs of what looked to be water.

Two druids sat at the slab opposite and raised their hands in welcome. Fronto approached the feast cautiously and sat on one of the logs, as far away from the druids as he could. As the others took their seats, his eyes strayed across the table, surveying the food. He also saw, with no surprise, a purple stain on the stone beneath.

‘A new use for your stone?’

The druids frowned in incomprehension.

‘I note the stains. Telling ones, those are. Fruit’s not the only thing that gets laid open on this stone, eh?’

The man who had escorted them through the gate and had first spoken to them arched an eyebrow and smiled knowingly.

‘Many sacrifices on this stone. Goats, sheep, bulls, chickens and more.’ He laughed. ‘And fruit.’

‘I’m sure.’

The silence that fell was cold and uncomfortable, and Masgava, in his usual easy manner, broke the spell by reaching out and laying a slice of pink meat on the white bread, stuffing it into his mouth with a happy sigh.

The druids nodded approvingly at him, and then one turned to Fronto. ‘You hunt Ambiorix of the Eburones.’

Fronto nodded. ‘I am a little uncertain how the druids stand on this matter. Traditionally, none of your sect has spoken civilly to a Roman and I am having a great deal of difficulty in believing that you mean us anything less than harm. Tell me why you would aid us.’

There were shared glances between the four robed men, and finally one of the pair who had already been seated at the table leaned forward, pouring himself a cup of crystal clear water and cleared his throat.

‘Do not be mistaken, commander. We are no friend of yours. It simply suits our purpose to supply you with what you need to accomplish your goals at this particular time. When your task is complete, we will have no further business with you.’

The druid next to him nodded. ‘It is a troublesome matter for us and has created divisions in our society. Some would happily cast their blessings upon Ambiorix for what he has done and what he continues to attempt. I have to say that even I toasted his success when he destroyed your legion in the winter.’

Fronto’s eyes darkened dangerously, and the legionaries around stopped reaching for the food, suddenly on their guard. Masgava shrugged and stuffed a plum into his mouth.

‘Let us not fall to argument,’ the first druid said, soothingly. ‘This nemeton is home to seven shepherds of the people. Three disagree with our stand and have left in support of Ambiorix and the enemies of Rome. We four remain as we have no interest in perpetuating the Eburone king’s campaign of resistance.’

‘You still give us no reason. Why this divide?’

‘It is a matter of deciding where the best path lies for our people. Those of us you call ‘druids’ are not an army, but a caste of wise men, each with our own free will. And as wise men, we each believe we hold more wisdom than others. Perhaps true wisdom would be trying to knit all possibilities into one garment.’

‘So some of you think Ambiorix is bad for Gaul? I tend to agree. Alright… for now let us assume that you are hiding nothing and that we can trust you, although the very idea makes me twitch. Have you any helpful information for us?’

The fourth druid, who so far had not spoken, cleared his throat. He was an old man - older than the rest, anyway - and his voice was reedy and quiet. ‘Ambiorix has only a small following of his own, but enjoys the favour of kings and councils. He is welcome anywhere from the sea to the mountains, except in Condrusi lands.’

‘That’s not particularly helpful.’

‘Where he is now is of no use to you. By the time you get there, he will be gone. I offer you the greater solution: where he will be.’

Fronto narrowed his eyes. ‘Now you’re talking. Go on.’

‘Ambiorix has finished treating with all the eastern tribes and gained their favour. The Treveri are already making war on your general, and the Nervii are all-but destroyed, yet he has hopes to build an army from the rest before your forces reach them. He will not look to us, as the Condrusi have consistently refused to deal with him. So only one path remains to him: to return home. He still needs the Eburones, as they are the centre position of his tribal alliance. And the Eburones that still thrive are loyal to his opposite number, King Cativolcus. To complete his army, he must wrest the land from his brother king. Find Cativolcus, and in time Ambiorix will find you.’

Fronto nodded. ‘As much as it irks me that I’ll be aiding druids towards their goals, thank you for this. Needless to say, if we make our way to Cativolcus’ court and find that we have been sold out and that the entire Eburone nation is waiting for us with sharpened blades, I will find a way to come back here and nail you to your sacred trees, even if it is my larva - my vengeful spirit - that has to do it. I trust we have an understanding?’

The druids simply smiled indulgently, as though they fully expected and accepted his threat.

‘I have one further matter to discuss.’

He picked up an apple from the table, inspected it as though expecting it to be rotten, rubbed it on his tunic, bit and chewed for a long moment.

‘Where did the Arverni go?’

His companions turned frowns upon him, and Fronto ignored them, watching the faces of the four druids. Just as he expected, two of them immediately displayed expressions of guilty surprise before plastering innocence across the top. The other two were instantly guarded.

‘There are no Arverni in the north.’

‘Now you and I both know that for the lie it is. How do you expect me to trust your information on Ambiorix when you lie so plainly about your visitors?’

The man who had first accompanied them, and who Fronto had begun to think of as the headman, leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

‘The Arverni are no concern of yours. They are about on the business of our brothers from the south, and not in connection with your hunt for Ambiorix.’

Fronto narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath.

‘Bear in mind that I am an eminently practical man. Even my undead spirit will be able to handle a hammer and nails. Keep uppermost in your mind an image of the four of you hanging from your trees while your precious sacred stone is stood upright and carved into a statue of Nemesis. I do not like to be lied to or crossed.’ With a grunt, he dropped the part-chewed apple back to the platter and rose. ‘I think we’re done here.’

Masgava gave him a quick glance and grabbed a handful of meat and bread before rising with the others. Samognatos looked distinctly uncomfortable. For the first time his odd smile had slid to an almost straight line.

The druids rose together and bowed their heads, the ‘leader’ speaking for them once more. ‘I cannot say I am surprised at your attitude, and if our own circumstances were not so troubled, we would be a great deal happier to watch you from the far side of a battlefield, but the fact remains that we both desire Ambiorix’s swift death, and so we will ask great Arduenna to shelter, protect and guide you within her demesne until your task is complete.’

Fronto nodded his head in a curt acknowledgement.

‘I pray your information leads to a swift resolution, and that we never meet again.’

Turning, he strode from the laden stone, back between the trees and towards the gate in the fence without waiting to be escorted by the druids. His men marched along behind purposefully, Masgava still stuffing meat and bread into his face as though destined to starve. A chill breeze rose and ruffled the trees, sending a shiver up everyone’s spine as they exited the nemeton. Spring was here now, with flowers bursting into colourful life and the trees budding green, but the air still held a morning chill. At least, Fronto chose to believe it was a purely natural, seasonal thing, and nothing to do with the sacred site of the druids.

Outside, the Roman party paused to collect their weapons and pass on the information to the two soldiers waiting by the pile, after which Masgava slung his cloak over his shoulders and shivered into the cold material.

‘Alright, Samognatos.’ Fronto sighed. ‘Lead us down to the main road. The other three should be there now with the horses.’

The small force traipsed down the grassy slope without looking back at the nemeton they had left and when they reached what appeared to be a regularly-used path, Fronto cleared his throat. ‘Palmatus? Are they watching us?’

The former legionary turned his head slightly to look out of the corner of his eye. ‘No sign. They must have gone back inside. They’ll be out of earshot anyway.’

Fronto nodded. ‘What did you pick up there?’

‘That they want Ambiorix dead. That they have some secret business with the Arverni that they won’t share, and they don’t like us any more than we like them.’

Fronto nodded. ‘More than that. They assume that we want Ambiorix dead and that is what joins our goal to theirs. What they don’t know is that I don’t want him dead. I want that bastard alive to answer a few questions. I get the impression that the druids wouldn’t like that one bit, and noted that they expected a ‘swift death’. And they carefully told us that the Arverni were on their business, and not connected with our hunt for Ambiorix. They did not say they weren’t connected with Ambiorix, and that leads me to suspect that they are. The druids are trying to use us to put Ambiorix down - or at least some of them are. And I believe that these are the same druids who are allied with the Arverni and therefore that big warrior back in Bibracte who also had a low opinion of our quarry. We’re being played, but we haven’t much choice at this point but to go along with it. No one is to put a blade through Ambiorix’s neck before I’ve had a chance to talk with him. Got that?’

The men nodded their agreement, a number of them with hard expressions. The party strode on in silence towards the wide defile that rose east from the river and along which the road deep into the forest of Arduenna ran from Divonanto. For more than a quarter of an hour they descended until they saw the main road tracking through the trees ahead.

The Remi seemed to have located the junction successfully as the party could hear the many horses whickering and snorting nearby. With a sense of relief, they strode out onto the road, and it took only a matter of heartbeats for Fronto to realise that something was wrong. The atmosphere was charged with a nervous energy. The two Remi standing among the horses wore unpleasant expressions, Magurix’s big, muscular, handsome features darkened by a worried frown, and Brannogenos’ dark, bearded face scowling as he fiddled with one of the multitudinous sigils hanging from his person.

Two!

‘What happened?’ Fronto cast his glance back and forth, looking for the third Remi, but only two men were present. He was trying desperately to remember the other man’s name. He was an older man. A grey-bearded warrior. Seemed to be sensible. Gaul- something.

The dark, strange Brannogenos gestured back along the track. ‘Galatos has gone. No sign of him.’

‘He was with us this morning before we left,’ Fronto said, suspiciously.

‘Aye. Magurix went to rope the horses, while I went to settle up with the innkeeper. Galatos stayed in the hayloft, packing away the last of the gear, and when we got back, there was no sign of him or his kit. Vanished. No blood or sign of a scuffle, either.’

Palmatus scratched his chin. ‘You think he was spying on us?’

Fronto shrugged. ‘Could be. If so, whoever he’s passed his information on to only knows that we’re heading for the lands of the Segni, from what the ordo of elders told us. They don’t know that we’re heading for Cativolcus now. In a way, I’m hoping he was a spy. It could be very useful if he’s given inaccurate information to whoever he works for.’ He sighed. ‘There is, of course, another explanation. We know the Arverni have been here. What if they still are and Galatos bumped into them somehow? Unless we find him or his body we’ll not know.’

‘Do we go back to the town and see what we can find?’ Masgava muttered.

‘No. We’re unlikely to discover anything of use and it’ll cost us valuable time. We need to get deep into the forest and look for Cativolcus.’

One of the legionaries was making warding signs against evil and muttering something. Fronto glanced irritably at him. ‘What are you babbling about, Aurelius?’

‘Arduenna’s bats, sir. That’s what got him. The bats.’

Fronto rolled his eyes as Aurelius shuddered, reaching up and rubbing his head. ‘A bat cannot kill a man, Aurelius. Don’t let your fears carry you away with them. Come on. Mount up. We have a long way to go and time gets ever tighter.’

 

* * * * *

 

Fronto reined in the column yet again on the interminable journey deep into the forest. Celer was cantering back along the track towards them. Sensing danger, Masgava and Palmatus joined Fronto with Samognatos at the front, waiting for Celer, who halted inexpertly, his horse dancing and stomping, his breathing heavy.

‘What is it?’

‘Company,’ Celer pointed back down the road, where it curved sharply to the left. ‘I found the side track Samognatos was talking about and was just looking at it when I heard the sound of armoured men in the distance. They were quite a bit further down the main road and moving quite slowly so I went and had a look. There must be two dozen of them, and they’re well armed Gauls. Local ones too, from the colouring.’

‘Well done.’ Fronto looked around and then to Samognatos. ‘We’re out of Condrusi lands now?’

‘Yes. This is Segni territory.’

‘Then we can’t assume they’re friendly, given that Ambiorix has been in their lands and they’re apparently tooled up for war. Equally, I’d rather not have to fight them, given that they probably outnumber us slightly, and we’d suffer a number of casualties. But… it doesn’t look like there’s anywhere here we can get out of sight with so many horses.’

He turned to Celer. ‘Can we all make it into that side track before they get here?’

‘There’s a good chance, sir.’

‘Then we’ll do that. The road’s mostly turf and mud here, so the horses aren’t making much noise. Everyone secure their mail, scabbards and helms. Try not to clank. If Celer heard their armour they could hear ours. We ride fast, get into that side track and then stop and wait, quietly.’

Without waiting for confirmation, Fronto kicked Bucephalus into action and they rode off to the bend in the road, the rest following close behind. Around the bend, the road ran straight for some distance before disappearing over a ridge and into a dip.

‘Where’s this track?’

‘Just there,’ Celer said, riding alongside and pointing ahead. Fronto peered into the gloom and spotted the dark opening into the forest on their left, which would take them away from Segni lands and towards the heart of the forest and the Eburones.

Fronto strained his ear, but couldn’t hear the approaching Belgae over the sounds of his own hooves and those of the men beside and behind him. Pushing the big black animal for an extra turn of speed, he raced down the track and, with a sigh of relief, veered off into the narrow path that led into the deeper woodland.

‘There!’ Samognatos indicated a clearing off to one side of the narrow path and Fronto nodded, nudging Bucephalus into it. Behind him, the rest of his mismatched band arrived and moved off the path into the handy clearing, sliding from their horses and holding the reins to keep the beasts quiet.

Fronto looked around the clearing and noted with some distaste the large rock standing at the farthest edge - the reason for the clearing’s existence. The huge stone, some two feet taller than him, was of rough granite, but the side facing the clearing had been sheared off and chiselled to a frieze of a bare-breasted, squat, malformed woman with a bow, a huge hound to one side, a stag by the other.

‘Isn’t that Artemis?’ Masgava muttered. ‘Diana to you?’

‘I think you’ll find that’s Arduenna. If Diana was really that shape she’d have been cast from Olympus centuries ago for upping the ugly-quotient of the divine. Let’s hope she listened to her druid friends, anyway.’

‘Shhhh!’ hissed Samognatos, who had crawled into the undergrowth near the stone. Fronto glanced across and realised that where the man lurked, the clearing went back almost as far as the main road, affording a view of the approaching Gauls between the bushes. Taking a deep breath, he gestured for everyone to be quiet and crossed the clearing, ducking into the undergrowth and joining the Condrusi scout where he crouched.

The itinerant Belgic warriors were close now, approaching along the main road, their armour clinking, swishing and jingling as they made jokes among themselves and laughed in their guttural voices. Fronto peered through the foliage. Celer had been right: they were northerners. Locals, though of what tribe he could not tell. Not Arverni, though. One thing was certain: they meant business, their torsos covered in heavy mail shirts, helms and shields in evidence and swords at their sides. It was tempting to see them as a border patrol, since they were just leaving Segni territory, but clearly that was not the case. The Gauls did not do such things, did not think in such rigid terms. Moreover, these men were moving with purpose. They were taking a fight somewhere, either into Segni or Condrusi lands.

Behind him a horse neighed loudly. Fronto’s head whipped round to see Luxinio looking panicked and embarrassed, trying to calm his steed, who was dancing around. He froze at the sound of Gallic voices raised in alarm, and slowly turned his head to peer through the greenery once more.

The warriors had halted and were pointing at the trees and talking animatedly.

‘Ah, shit,’ Fronto exclaimed under his breath as he saw one of the warriors drawing his sword. Moving back just far enough to be able to make out the figures through the leaves but provide a less ready target for them, Fronto noted with interest that they were starting to move towards the undergrowth at the side of the road. Not locals, then, if they didn’t know about the side track ahead. Turning, he gestured to Masgava, made a ‘five’ sign with an open hand and pointed to the track. The big Numidian nodded and pointed to five of the men, making his way back onto the path.

‘Arm up!’ Fronto bellowed. ‘On me!’

Ripping his glorious blade from its utilitarian scabbard, he stepped back to a more open position, waiting for the enemy to push through the undergrowth. Beside him, Samognatos had moved into a better position, while eleven men rushed across the clearing, drawing their swords and hefting their unfamiliar Gaulish shields.

Almost comically, the first of the warriors appeared through the undergrowth face-first, his broad, ruddy features framed with greenery like the mane of a strange floral lion. Even as the image sank into Fronto’s consciousness, he was lashing out with his blade, which smashed, point-first, into the man’s cheek, scattering shattered teeth and rasping across bone, tearing through muscle and tendon and sliding into the man’s brain.

The eyes widened, but Fronto had no time to pay any further attention, as the man was rudely elbowed aside by a companion, almost ripping Fronto’s sword from his grasp.

The second man leapt for him, blade glinting in the bushes and Fronto ducked to the side, shieldless and unable to parry until he’d withdrawn his blade from his last victim. It was a near thing, the Gaul’s blade whispering past his shoulder, only to meet the sword of Iuvenalis, who had fallen into position on Fronto’s left, hampered a little by the plant life. A grunt drew Fronto’s attention and his head whipped to his right to see a blade ripping towards him through the undergrowth. For a heart-stopping moment, he realised there was nothing he could do. His sword was not yet free of the falling body and he had thrown his weight to the right, out of the way of the previous strike, straight into the path of this one. Samognatos was at his side, but already busily engaged with another Gaul.

Fronto braced himself for the blow and then blinked in surprise.

The sword had stopped. He stared at the tip, only a hand-span from his eye and then looked back along the blade. The Gaul gripping it seemed equally surprised, and their eyes both dropped to the sword, where the hilt had snagged on a bramble. Frantically, the warrior waggled the hilt, trying to free it for a second strike or push it on through the greenery. Spurred into desperate action, Fronto tore his blade from the face of the fallen man and leaned back to afford himself room. Unable to bring his blade round in time, the Gaul having forced his own sword free, Fronto settled for smashing the glittering orichalcum pommel into the man’s face.

The warrior fell back among the greenery, blood spattering the leaves, and Fronto was annoyed to realise, as he moved back and righted his blade, that a small dent had been left in the smooth pommel by the Gaul’s hard head.

Bastard!

Now, more Gauls were pushing through the undergrowth, and the rest of the men were with them, lunging and stabbing into the green, shields to the fore. It was by far the best position to fight from, the enemy hampered by the tangles, while the Roman party fought mostly in the open, dealing with them as they appeared and preventing them from coming in force.

Again, Fronto had to bring his sword round and knock aside a strike from the bushes. Turning his parry into a swing, he brought the blade down through the wrist of the attacker, lopping off the hand, which fell to the earth still clutching its sword. The gladius was designed for thrusting, but a sensible soldier always kept the edges razor-sharp to allow for every eventuality.

A sudden cry from beyond the bushes announced that Masgava and his men had fallen upon the rear of the Gauls. What had been a mad push into the greenery to get to Fronto and his men suddenly became a desperate, panicked fight for survival. The men coming through thinned out as they turned and tried to deal with the new threat and Fronto, grinning, launched himself forward, crawling across the Gauls’ bodies as he pushed on towards the enemy survivors.

A quick mental count led him to the conclusion that there couldn’t be more than half a dozen of them left.

‘Masgava! Prisoners!’

Pushing himself from the bushes out onto the main road once more, Fronto took in the scene as he righted himself and brought up his sword.

Eight enemy warriors remained, two busy to either side of him, trying to halt the advance of the Romans who were now pushing through the greenery after Fronto. The other six were engaged with Masgava and his men. A legionary - Pontius, he believed - was lying on the ground with a spear protruding from his chest, wavering in the air as he shuddered, and Magurix the Gaul was still fighting, but clutched his chest with his shield hand, where a jagged rent had been torn through his mail shirt and blood had begun to stain the broken links.

The Belgae clearly had no intention of halting the fight, and despite Masgava’s best efforts to bellow an order for surrender over the din, they continued to fight like men possessed, even to the last.

With a sigh, almost casually, Fronto stepped up behind the man struggling with Masgava and brought the pommel of his sword down on the man’s head with a ‘crack’ driving the wits from him as he sank to the ground unconscious.

Giving the man a quick kick, partly to be certain of his condition, but partly through sheer irritation, Fronto turned and drove the point of his gladius between the shoulder blades of the man fighting Magurix. Now, others were at his side again, and the last of the Gauls were being hewn down like saplings.

‘Get this pissflap tied to a tree. I want to know who they are.’

The last enemy collapsing, clutching his torn gut, his men began the grisly task of going among the fallen and driving their blades into necks to be sure of the kill, then piling the bodies to the side of the road. Masgava and Iuvenalis dragged the unconscious Gaul back to the clearing and tied him up. Other soldiers appeared, dragging the form of Myron the archer from the bushes, a huge crimson bloom on his mail where the death blow had been dealt. Pontius and Numisius also seemed to be down, though the latter was still grumbling about being badly manhandled. Pontius, however, was clearly moments from the boatman’s journey.

‘Any more wounded?’

A few men shouted out, but a quick count suggested that the archer and the legionary were the only two complete losses. A few scratches and scrapes and bruises, along with Magurix, who was swearing and trying to tie his bloodied mail shirt together with leather thongs, and Numisius who seemed to have lost the use of his left arm, broken when his shield had given to a blow.

Two gone and two injured. More casualties, but not at all too bad a showing against a larger force. And all the enemy dead, barring one prisoner.

‘Luxinio, try and keep your damned horse quiet in future!’

The Hispanic slinger’s face was thunderous as he turned to Fronto. ‘Not my fault, sir,’ he snapped in his thick accent. ‘Some pisser kicked my horse and set him off. There’s bloodied stud-marks in his leg from a boot!’

Fronto frowned. ‘Did you see who it was?’

‘No sir. Too busy keeping the poor sod from bolting.’

Fronto’s glare passed around the clearing, falling on every man as it passed. It had to have been accidental. Who would kick a horse in that situation… unless someone here wanted them to be caught? The very idea set his teeth on edge. He would have to be very observant in the coming days and keep his guard up at all times. Palmatus and Masgava would need to be told. Other than them, only Biorix and Damionis made it to his ‘trustworthy’ list. He would have to make sure that one of them was on watch at all times. Irritating, given that all four had specific duties that could not be replaced: command, engineering and medical, and they should be excused things like watch duty.

Damnit!

A commotion drew his attention and he turned angrily to see Damionis yelling up at Magurix, his neck craned, the latter a good foot and a half taller and still trying to tie up his mail.

‘What is the problem?’ the commander snapped angrily.

‘This man will not let me look at his wound,’ the capsarius grumbled, fishing in his leather satchel.

‘I have had worse wounds shaving,’ Magurix snapped as he tied a thong off.

‘You’re bleeding profusely, man. Get somewhere soft and quiet, get that mail off and let the capsarius tend your wound.’ He pointed at the medic. ‘Anyone more urgent?’

‘No,’ Damionis shook his head. ‘Lots of minor abrasions, two men beyond my help, and a broken arm that needs splinting, but who’s not bleeding and in no immediate danger.’

‘Right. Get Magurix seen to, then deal with the arm.’

‘That was my plan, sir.’

Fronto turned his attention to the enemy warrior tied to the tree, slumped unconscious.

‘Wake him up.’

Striding across the clearing and uncorking his canteen, Palmatus threw a splash of water into the Gaul’s face and, when he failed to respond, stepped forward and gave him several slaps in the face. Gradually, the native came to, groaning.

‘What tribe are you?’

The Gaul stared at Fronto, groggily, and then spat blood and saliva at him.

‘Oh good. Someone to take my bad mood out on! Tend the wounded, bury the dead and set pickets. We camp here tonight.’

 

* * * * *

 

The flames danced and crackled in the small fire as Palmatus took a swig from his wineskin, watered three parts water to one wine, and then passed it to Fronto.

‘The Segni? So we can now assume that they are part of Ambiorix’s ‘great uprising’?’

‘Safe to say. But they’re a small tribe, and we’re almost out of their lands now, so I’m not going to lend too much thought to this. I put it down to an unfortunate chance meeting. Samognatos is still insistent that the Segni are loyal, and if he’s right, they might be split the way the druids seem to be. However it pans out, we’re moving away into Eburone territory anyway. Hopefully without further incident.’

‘Hopefully. We’ve lost three now. Three out of twenty. First Galatos back in Divonanto and now Pontius and Myron. Both from my bloody contubernium too, they are. As is Numisius with his broken arm.’

Masgava’s brilliant white teeth glittered in a smile in the dark. ‘I lost Galatos. And Magurix has a flesh wound.’

‘Which he barely notices,’ Palmatus snorted. ‘That lunk is almost entirely muscle. Probably most of his head is too.’

Fronto smacked his hand on one of the flat stones upon which they’d prepared their dinner. ‘Can you two save this kind of pointless one-upmanship for another time? We’re three men down and two wounded and we’re not even officially in enemy territory yet. And you might argue about how many are down in each of your contubernia, but I’m missing all of them!’

The two officers fell into an awkward silence.

‘You’re convinced we have a traitor with us?’ Palmatus asked in little more than a whisper.

‘Someone set Luxinio’s horse off on purpose.’

‘Could it not have been an accident?’

Masgava shook his head. ‘I saw the stud-marks. They were about two feet up. No one kicks that high accidentally. I think he might have been trying to break its leg. Nearly succeeded, too.’

‘I’d hoped the traitor was Galatos,’ Fronto sighed. ‘Then we’d have lost him and he’d have passed on misinformation. No such luck. So I think we have to assume that Galatos either fell foul of the Arverni in the town, or one of his companions did away with him. That means either Brannogenos or Magurix would have to be the one we seek.’

‘We could just get rid of them both?’ Masgava muttered.

‘I’m not about to dispatch two Remi on the off-chance one of them is not what he seems. Galronus might be a little pissed at me. Besides, when we find him, I want to have a few choice words with this traitor.’

‘So we keep an eye on the two Remi from now on,’ Masgava muttered. ‘Never leave them alone?’

‘Got to be the most sensible course of action,’ Fronto agreed. ‘Think it’s time I got some shut-eye. We’ve a long ride in the morning. Which one of you is on next watch?’

Masgava stretched. ‘That would be me. I’ll go and relieve Damionis now. The poor bastard spent every moment tending the injuries and then went straight on watch. He’ll be exhausted.’

‘Send him back to the fire for a warm up.’

Masgava nodded and rose, disappearing off into the night.

‘Have you given any thought to what we’re going to do when we find the other king?’ Palmatus asked quietly, pulling his blanket round him and settling to the ground uncomfortably.

‘Depends on whether he’s feeling cooperative. If so, we’ll camp down with him and his men and wait for Ambiorix to show up. Cativolcus is well known to hate the man, so we might be in luck. If not, then we’ll take the bugger hostage and wait anyway. The details we can hammer out as we go.’

‘I think we’ll have to get the plan set well in advance if we…’

Palmatus fell silent at the sound of Masgava’s voice raised in alarm. A heartbeat later both he and Fronto were up, their blankets dropping to the ground, drawing their swords and sharing a look before they ran off in the direction of the shout.

Around the clearing, the men of the singulares were coming rudely awake, blinking and lurching from their beds, some alert enough already to be scrambling for their swords. Past the rising men Fronto and Palmatus ran, towards the figure of Masgava, standing at the watch position where the main road and the small track could both be easily observed from the same point.

‘What is it?’ Fronto yelled as he closed on the man, but then added ‘Shit!’ as he saw the shape of Damionis the capsarius splayed out on the ground, soaked in glistening dark liquid.

‘Damn it!’ Palmatus snapped. ‘We should already have been watching them!’

Fronto’s eyes widened as Palmatus turned and raced back into the clearing, the other two officers at his heels. Despite the unity of the singulares, its constituent members were still new enough that they tended to separate off into their national or professional cliques at night. Arcadios had camped down with Myron and Luxinio, Biorix and Iuvenalis tended to talk late into the night in the way engineers seemed to need to, and the Remi habitually camped together.

Fronto’s heart sank as he came to a halt with the others at the edge of the clearing, looking down at the two sleeping blanket/cloak piles. Brannogenos, with his charms and sigils, his dark hair and darker eyes, had gone, and all his kit with him. Magurix lay wrapped in his cloak, snoring like a boar with a sinus condition.

‘Shit, shit, shit!’ snapped Fronto.

Masgava stared down at the sleeping Gaul as the rest of the group began to assemble near them, barring the few who had spread out to search the edges of the clearing. ‘How can he still be asleep through this racket?’

Palmatus shrugged in defeat. ‘Damionis had given him some concoction of poppy juice for his chest. He’d probably sleep through another stabbing, the lucky bastard.’

‘Well I guess that answers one question for us,’ Fronto snapped. ‘Unlucky old Galatos must have been onto him back in Divonanto, so Brannogenos did away with him before following. I guess he realised now that after wounding the horse he’d be watched, so he did a runner. I wonder what the piece of shit has in store for us. He knows where we’re going, too, so there’s a damn good chance Cativolcus will know we’re coming.’

‘We still have an advantage,’ Samognatos announced, strolling up behind them. ‘The horses were all corralled and roped close together near me and they’re all still accounted for. Wherever Brannogenos has gone, he’s on foot. We can beat him there.’

‘I hope so,’ Fronto grumbled, picturing the dark, sour-looking Remi with his various sigils. Was one of them a symbol of Arduenna? He should have looked when he had the chance. Now the man would be out and about preparing to cause them endless trouble.

‘Everyone get back to sleep. Masgava, get on watch, but now I want three men on watch every time we stop. Always in sight of one another, too. It’s time we got this situation under control.’

Turning, Fronto spotted Aurelius climbing back into his blankets, his eyes nervously scanning the branches above that blotted out the stars and moon even in the clearing, courtesy of trees that had been left growing here and there to add to the leafy canopy. He remembered hearing the story of the legionary and the bat that had been entangled in his hair as he went for a late-night piss. Drusus had roared with laughter as he told the tale under the sullen gaze of Aurelius.

Fronto had dutifully chuckled along, but his mind had furnished him with a question. How had the bat got entangled in the first place? He’d encountered endless clouds of the vermin in the caves below the villa in Puteoli and the one thing he knew about them was they never, ever, collided with you.

Arduenna.

‘You’d better have listened to those druids, you ugly, untrustworthy bitch.’