Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (52 page)

‘Well?’

‘Ambiorix has been here recently. He passed through yesterday. Better yet, he indicated his intention to the druid there to head south again, for the oppidum of Atuatuca. We’re snapping at his heels, now, sir.’

Fronto felt a deep sense of relief flood through him. Even with Ullio’s aid, they had heard only rumour, and even that to the effect that they were a couple of days behind him. This was the first confirmed sighting, and to hear that they were a day closer than previously was heartening.

‘Well done the pair of you. We’ll move on before first light, but I suggest you both take a little wine to celebrate and recover first.’

Magurix grinned, his enormous muscles bulging as he cast his sword belt off to his pile of gear and went in search of one of the few, rare wine skins they’d brought with them. Fronto turned back to Ullio, who still looked intensely troubled.

‘We’re so close, my friend. Please don’t abandon it now. We’ve almost got him, but without your aid, I fear he will slip through our grasp again.’

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned in surprise. Drusus stood behind him, looking uncomfortable. Fronto frowned. Such familiarity was unusual among his singulares, even including the officers. It was almost like being back in the Tenth.

‘What?’

‘Sir, I need to speak to you. Quietly. Alone.’

Fronto frowned and glanced back at Ullio, seeing the man’s eyes cloud with doubt and guilt. He felt dreadful. There was nothing he would like more than to let the man go, even to go help him. But duty and sense required him to make the man’s life that much more difficult and leave his remaining kin in danger. If he lost Ullio, Samognatos alone might not be able to help them. They needed him.

‘Ullio?’

‘Sir?’ muttered the legionary behind him.

‘Not now, Drusus. I’ll come find you later.’

With a slightly disrespectful huff Drusus frowned, pursed his lips, gave a curt nod and went off in search of his wine ration.

‘What can I do to persuade you to stay, Ullio?’

But looking at the man’s expression, he was fairly sure that only Ullio would decide and that nothing Fronto could say would influence him.

* * * * *

The firelight played across the boughs and boles of the trees around the clearing, and Fronto slapped Masgava on the shoulder, throwing a weary grin at Palmatus.

‘Get some rest. We move on in the morning, whether he’s with us or not.’

Two hours of conversation and consolation had done little to change Ullio’s mind. He had not yet avowed an intention to leave, but his eyes continued to betray his unease at continuing his journey with the Roman
fugitivarii
, while his kin remained in constant danger.

In the end, Fronto had given in, left things in the capable hands of his two officers, and walked off a short way into the shadowed forest as the last, golden glinting rays of the sun played off its canopy and the shades of its ghosts began to move between the trunks.

In a rare moment of openness, he had stood alone beneath the great forest and uttered a small prayer to Arduenna. She may not be a God of Rome, but she was clearly a powerful Goddess, nonetheless, and he was in her lands and at her mercy. Sometimes, for all their guiding power, Nemesis and Fortuna could not cover every angle of every situation.

He had implored the Lady of the Forest - great huntress and mistress of beasts - to aid him. He’d desperately tried not to think of her as the hairy, bulbous, lop-sided thing she seemed to appear as on stone carvings, but as a Belgic Diana with her bow.

Help us to trap and deal with Ambiorix
, he had asked her.
For though he is a son of yours, so are all the rest of the Eburones and the Segni, and the Condrusi, and even the Treveri, and they will all continue to suffer at the hands of Caesar if Ambiorix is not caugh
t. He had felt tiny, attempting to bargain with an alien Goddess, but his need was too great not to try.
Turn Ullio back to us, so that he might help us complete our hunt, in your role as the lady of hunters
.

It was a small thing, but it was all he could do. He had finished by taking the wine flask from his belt pouch and - after a quick swig of the neat stuff just to make sure it was worthy of divine attention - had cast his libation onto the rock that looked as though it might once have been carved, emptying the whole thing in a desperate attempt to draw her attention to a Roman supplicant.

By the time he’d returned to the circle of men it was fully dark and the fire had been lit, food prepared and the men were arranging their sleeping rolls for the night. Celer and Drusus had been sent out north and south, close by, on watch, and the rest of the men had taken them food and drink when it had been prepared. Fronto had settled into conversation about their plans, devolving into general discussion after a while, and every now and then he had glanced across to see Ullio peering into the dancing flames as though his tortured heart might find the answer within them.

Ignoring the urge to speak to him again, Fronto rose and left the two officers, stepping lightly across the clearing.

Aurelius sat wrapped in his mottled brown cloak, fondling his Minerva and carving something into a small lead disc with the tip of his pugio.

‘What’s that?’ Fronto asked quietly, crouching beside him.

‘Curse tablet, sir. Brannogenos used to carry several. Gave one to me after Divonanto.’

‘If it came from that backstabbing bastard, it probably
is
cursed. I’d throw it away if I were you.’

‘Planning to, sir. Soon as I find a nice sacred spring somewhere to drop it in.’

Fronto frowned. ‘Who are you cursing? Ambiorix? Or Brannogenos?’

‘No, sir. That devious bat-loving bitch Arduenna.’

Fronto reached out sharply and grabbed the lead disc from the legionary, who looked up in surprise, almost scarring a line across the commander’s fingers with his dagger. ‘Sir?’

‘Aurelius, we’re in her forest. At her mercy. It is very possible only she can help us find Ambiorix. Some say none of the other Gods can hear a prayer in here, such is her power. And you want to
curse
her? Are you
mad
?’

‘She’s wicked, sir. The wicked should be cursed.’

‘And you should be locked away in a small room where you can’t hurt yourself. I’m confiscating this.’ He peered at the disc, seeing the half-formed name of the Goddess, and resolved to slash and batter the tablet until the name had gone as soon as he had a few moments free.

‘Grip your Minerva and concentrate on her.’

‘Sir.’ The legionary looked less than convinced… and less than impressed.

‘Now, Drusus said earlier that he needed a quiet word with me. Where is he?’

‘About a hundred paces out, sir, behind a big tree and next to a square rock.’

Fronto peered into the impenetrable darkness beneath the trees and shuddered. There was the distinct possibility that even with those instructions, he would be hopelessly lost within fifty paces, and shouting could attract attention of the unwanted sort.

‘You care to take me there?’

Aurelius peered into the forest with heightened nerves and nodded reluctantly. ‘Alright, sir.’

‘Come on.’

Pausing only to draw one of the flaming branches from the fire, Aurelius took one of the lengths of shredded blanket they kept for torches and wrapped it round the tip to enhance its flammability. Once it was convincingly bright and durable, he nodded to Fronto and ducked into the darkness beyond the clearing’s edge, stepping carefully among the sticks and undergrowth.

Fronto appreciated Aurelius’ speed and surprising silence as the legionary moved through the forest with barely a crack, creak or shuffle, while Fronto came along behind with his traditional level of stealth, sounding more like a bull dancing on grain husks and nut shells.

Deeper into the forest they moved, the light from the campfire soon lost to them, their only source of illumination the branch in the legionary’s hands. Fronto smiled. Had he been on his own, he’d have been a long way off-course by now.

After a short walk, Aurelius pointed to a pile of large rocks close to a tree. Even in this almost non-light Fronto could see how the ground fell away beyond. An excellent viewpoint.

He nodded and the pair moved on.

Rounding the larger of the rocks, they could see Drusus sitting wrapped in his cloak peering out across the slope, shield propped next to him and pilum jammed into the ground nearby. Fronto moved closer, his footsteps crunching on the forest floor. Strange? The lookout didn’t turn at the noise.

Fronto felt that old familiar cold ball of fear forming in the pit of his stomach. He waved Aurelius closer and the pair hurried over, Fronto clearing his throat.

‘Drusus?’

No answer, not that he’d expected one. Drusus’ eyes were open and he sat comfortable, huddled against the cold. Fronto approached, feeling the fear emanating from the legionary at his shoulder. Close, now, he reached out towards Drusus and snapped his fingers. The man’s eyes remained open, glassy.

‘Oh shit. She’s killed Drusus.
The bitch has killed Drusus
!’

‘Get a hold of yourself!’ snapped Fronto angrily, reaching out and pulling aside the seated watchman’s cloak, expecting to see a sword hilt standing proud of the man’s chest.

What he hadn’t expected was bats.

As he pulled the cloak away there was a chorus of sharp squeaks, and three flapping black shapes emerged from the shadows around Drusus’ seated form, fluttering up into the night air, sweeping a mere foot above their heads.

Aurelius let out a blood-curdling shriek that almost deafened Fronto and turned, pounding off into the woods, shouting curses at the forest’s matron Goddess and screaming for the others. Fronto shook his head and rubbed his temples. The legionary had at least, in his panic, dropped the torch, which burned on the forest floor, sparks smouldering dangerously among the fallen leaves and sticks. Sweeping the burning branch up, he stamped on the glowing embers until they went dark, and then leaned over Drusus with the torch, examining him.

He paused, putting his hand in front of the legionary’s mouth and then feeling his neck. He was quite definitely dead. But there was no spray of blood anywhere and no obvious wounds. His brow furrowed, Fronto leaned the man forward and searched his back, lifting his tunic to his armpits to examine his torso. Nothing. His legs were unharmed, and Fronto was hardly going to peer into the man’s underwear. Whatever had killed him it had been subtle. Perhaps he’d had a heart attack?

After all,
he’d
nearly had one when Aurelius shrieked next to his ear, and the superstitious lunatic was heading that way himself. It wasn’t unknown for a man to die of natural causes, after all. Even a healthy, robust one like Drusus.

And yet he was failing to fool himself. He knew Drusus had been killed somehow.

Brannogenos was still out there somewhere. And so was Valgus. And, of course, Ambiorix and all his followers, and probably a bunch of Arverni. Hell, it could be
anyone
! Or no one.

But with Aurelius shouting about Arduenna and running to his mates, Fronto was fairly sure that shortly the entire unit would be blaming the huntress Goddess for this.

With a sigh, he lowered the body back, spoke a few words over him and withdrew a coin from his purse, pushing it under the tongue and closing the mouth again. Turning, he made a rough estimate of where the camp site would be, based on the commotion he could hear in the distance. Now he needed to get back before Aurelius did too much damage to the unit’s morale.

Holding the burning branch aloft and slightly to one side so as not to ruin his night vision too much, Fronto began to pick his way back through the woodland as fast as he dared.

His heart almost exploded from his chest as he rounded a tree and the dancing orange glow of his torch was suddenly reflected back to him in two wide, black, glassy orbs. He skittered to a halt and stared as the huge, grey boar peered at him intensely. The damn thing was enormous!

Fronto tried to remember any tale he’d been told about boars and how you dealt with them, but his lifetime’s experience with the creatures was entirely limited to what sauce you added to them, and what wine went best. He
did
know that they were extremely dangerous, especially when startled, and bloody hard to stop without a ballista and a nice wall to hide behind. Alone against one, in the dark, in the forest, lost and - he cursed as his hand touched his hip - unarmed, he was likely in some serious kind of trouble.

The beast huffed and a cloud of steam boiled from its snout. Fronto felt a chill run through him at the sight and the sound.

‘Erm… shoo!’

The boar remained motionless, huffing again.

Fronto, panic beginning to blind him to sense, waved his arms at it in a dismissing motion.

‘Shoo! Go on. Piss off!’

Again, the boar remained.

At a pinch, he could wield the torch both offensively and defensively, but he had the sneaking suspicion that such activity would simply annoy the creature and that would likely be a worse situation than having it stare haughtily at him.

‘Go on. Go… go find a sow. Go on.’ Panic bubbled ever higher. ‘Erm… Honey Glaze!’ he bellowed. ‘Liquamen and apricot sauce!’ Idiotic, of course, but recipes were all that flocked to his mind.

‘Oh just fuck off!’ he snapped, and hurled the lead curse tablet at it. The disc bounced off the creature’s shoulder and still it didn’t move.

‘What, then?’

Slowly, with a strangely human grunt, the boar turned and, flashing him one last, oddly-disappointed glance, ambled off into the darkness.

Fronto exhaled with an explosion of air as the thing disappeared among the trees.

Somehow he couldn’t help but feel that he owed his continued ability to draw breath more to a native Goddess than to his divine Fortuna and Nemesis, for all their power and personal connections.

‘Wait ‘til I tell Ullio about this!’