Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow

by S. J. A. Turney

  Would they burn the hut? Venitoutos cast yet another prayer up to the great Goddess Arduenna that his farm might escape this latest deprivation. The wind rustled the leaves in noncommittal answer. The Goddess was known to be fickle and easily enraged. Having admitted - if only to himself - to his wish to see an end to it all, would she still shelter him? Arduenna had a dangerous sense of humour and was quick to anger.

  And those two traits were never more in evidence than now, as the tribesmen turned their attention from the hut, leaving it unburned, unbroken and entirely intact, only to focus on the footprints left in the soft, dewy morning grass.

  Venitoutos cursed under his breath. He’d sent the others around across the tree roots and down the scree slope to avoid leaving just such a trail, yet in his haste to join them, he’d forgotten to do so himself and had left a line from the hut to their hideout.

  ‘Come out!’ snarled a voice in harsh, Germanic tones.

  Venitoutos remained silent, though he could hear the faint crying of the children beneath their mother’s hands and her own muttered panic.

  ‘The Sugambri are here now, little man,’ a huge, blond creature with a broken nose bellowed from the slope, slowing as he approached the copse. ‘No need to fear the Romans now!’

  No, Venitoutos thought to himself. Now I need to fear the Sugambri.

  But the sad truth remained that they were trapped. Before them stood the farm clearing full of Germans. Behind them was the narrow stream gulley that was treacherous and would slow them in full sight of the enemy. And the copse was small. It would not take the Sugambri long to root them out. Now, their only hope was negotiation.

  But he’d been thinking about this all morning, ever since he’d seen the Germanic raiders. In bringing the Roman armies so close to the farm that he could smell their wine-soaked breath, Arduenna had given him a gift. She had placed in his hands the one thing that might buy off the Sugambri.

  With a deep breath, he gestured to the family to remain silent and hidden and clambered up out of the undergrowth, staggering into plain sight. On shaking legs, holding his arms out in a gesture of supplication, he walked a few paces and stopped before the Sugambri war leader.

  ‘Greetings great chief.’

  ‘Where are your goods,’ the man replied absently, peering past him at the copse.

  ‘I am a poor farmer with no wealth,’ he replied. ‘I have nothing to adorn such great men. Just a few tools and some rat-eaten grain.’

  ‘You have warm and comfortable women, I’ll wager,’ leered the German, still looking past him.

  ‘And if I could offer you riches and glory and easy victory, what would its value be to you?’

  For the first time, the Sugambri leader’s eyes slid back towards Venitoutos and settled on his face, the big brow creasing into a frown.

  ‘Riddles?’

  ‘No riddles, great chief. We have nothing. We are beneath your attention. But only a day north of here - two at the most - is the camp at the Fortress Valley, where the Eburones slaughtered their legion in the winter.’

  ‘A place of corpses and ghosts,’ spat the German.

  ‘More than that,’ smiled Venitoutos. ‘The Roman general has placed all his army’s wealth and supplies there while he raids this forest. Think of the plunder from ten legions, great chief. Think of the glory in slaughtering the small guard and taking from Caesar everything of value. More than that: think what damage you will do to Rome! You could cripple their army.’

  The Sugambri leader was clearly interested, his lip working away in silent calculation. His eyes widened momentarily as he estimated the goods that would be required to support such an army.

  Venitoutos smiled. He had the man. It was a prize no raiding chief could ever pass up.

  ‘You are sure of this?

  ‘I heard if from the scouts of Caesar’s army, though they knew not that I was listening. Lead the Sugambri to greater glory than pillaging a simple farmstead.’

  Two other war leaders were now making their way across the damp grass, one of them tall and powerful on a horse, his wire-haired chest bared and marked with patterns that protected him from earthly harm and from divine magics.

  ‘Why do you delay, Adelmar?’

  ‘This farmer knows of the Roman baggage train.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Think on it, Gerwulf! All the supplies for ten legions. With only a small guard. And the whole Roman army in this stupid forest looking for their coward king. We could take it all and be across the river back in our own land before Caesar even hears we have been there!’

  The mounted chieftain nodded, with a smile.

  ‘It would be a good raid, I am thinking.’

  His nod was echoed by the third chief. ‘I agree.’

  ‘Then we will abandon this pointless journey, picking over a carcass already stripped by Caesar and we will find this baggage train and take it for our own. Send out riders to draw the other warbands to us.’

  Venitoutos smiled. Arduenna protected her own and this time, even despite his failing courage, she had continued to do so, with no cruel joke.

  He was still smiling as his head bounced down the grass leaving a fine red spray, coming to rest a few feet from the copse, from which issued a chorus of screams.

  Adelmar turned and smiled at Gerwulf, wiping his bloodied sword on a pelt hanging from his belt.

  ‘Kill the men,’ he ordered one of the nearby warriors. ‘But fetch the women. I have needs to sate before we leave.’

  High in the treetops, a woodpecker laughed hard and long above the untouched farm buildings.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Deep in the forest of Arduenna.

  ‘He has to be heading for the Rhenus,’ Fronto said, rubbing his scalp absently as he leaned against a tree trunk and emptied his water canteen over his face.

  ‘The Eburones are not universally accepted by our cousins across the river,’ Ullio replied with a slight shake of his head. Our history of war with many of them goes back to long before we even knew the name of Rome. Ambiorix will find few potential allies there, especially close to the river where all the tribes have given their oath to Caesar. The king would have to be truly desperate to try such a thing.’

  Fronto frowned at Ullio’s use of such a title for Ambiorix, but said nothing. For all the hunter might hate Ambiorix and all he stood for, he still recognised him as the now-undisputed king of the Eburones and accorded him the appropriate honours, if not the allegiance.

  ‘The wily bastard must be getting desperate. Bear in mind the rumours rushing through the forest. Three Roman armies! Nine legions scouring the lands of the Eburones for him, crushing him from three sides, along with every other nation who fancies a try at your tribe’s pickings. The whole forest is alive with his enemies. There are more enemies hunting the Eburones in their lands than there are of their own people! And unless he dares try slip between those armies and tribes, the only way open to him is the river. And let’s face it, we’ve been turned east for three days. We can’t be a long way from the river now.’

  Ullio nodded. What Ambiorix hoped to do was still the big question, and what he would do when he finally reached the river was beyond any of them. In addition to nine legions, Caesar’s offer had brought every tribe in on the hunt. Even the shattered Nervii had sent what few warriors they could gather in a band to hunt the fugitive king, as had the crushed Menapii, both more intent on securing Caesar’s favour and forgiveness than the potential loot. But the Condrusi and the Treveri were also coming through the forest from the south. Even the Segni, having declared their usurper king and his pet druid enemies of the tribe, were on the hunt. There were even faint rumours that the Germanic peoples had crossed the torrent to help, not that any sign of them had shown up this far into the woods yet.

  ‘You’re still troubled, Ullio.’

  It was a statement rather than a question, and a stupid one, though neither acknowledged it as such. Of course he was troubled. His tribe
was being systematically exterminated and here he was trying to stop it, but in doing so, finding himself teamed up with the very people doing the exterminating. How it sat with his conscience, Fronto could only wonder. One thing was certain: when this was all over, he would find some way to make things right with Ullio. After all, if Basilus had not interrupted Ullio and his lord, Ambiorix would have been interrogated and dead for days now and all would be well.

  His blood thumped and his vision darkened at the memory of the stupid, blind, block-headed idiocy of that cavalry lunatic. The last time he’d seen the man he’d been following Galronus dejectedly as the Remi officer led the cavalry back towards the Rhenus with an aim to meeting up once more with Caesar’s army. He’d heard nothing about his friend since, but he felt with some certainty that Galronus would be fine. Basilus, hopefully, less so.

  He, on the other hand, was starting to despair of ever finding the fugitive, and the Belgae were burning and dying by the thousand because the little rat continued to evade capture.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ullio. Every time we hear of another strike, it’s a punch to my gut, so I can only guess how bad it must be for you. As soon as we find Ambiorix, I will personally deliver the man’s head to Caesar and make sure this all ends and that the general knows some of the Eburones have been instrumental in his capture.’

  The hunter, his face set into a permanent scowl, whittled at the end of a stick with a small knife and paused for a moment, looking up at Fronto.

  ‘I am at war with myself.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘My mind tells me that Ambiorix must be caught, and soon, if we are to end the slaughter. My mind tells me that the only men that can do it are yours, not those of your general. My mind also tells me that you cannot do it without my help. A dozen times these past days you would have fallen foul of the Goddess without my aid. Samognatos is a good man, but we are far from his lands now, and he does not know this forest as well as I.’

  ‘I agree entirely, Ullio. I’ve said as much.’

  ‘But my heart tells me that I am being too longsighted. I am concentrating on the events that could change my world, but while I do so, my family and my kin are in daily danger. Without my bow and my arm and my hunter’s senses, my sister-son and his family - who are all I have left - could be crucified by one of your armies or tortured and burned by the Treveri or the Germans. My heart tells me that I should be with them, to look after them.’

  Around them, the meagre remains of the singulares nodded their sympathy, unable to even pretend not to hear in such close circumstances. Ten men, in addition to Fronto and Ullio, and of course Drusus and Magurix, who scouted ahead, towards the settlement that lay half a mile away by the river while the rest waited impatiently.

  And of course, Valgus.

  The legionary who had vanished during the night they had been attacked by animal-headed bandits had yet to put in a re-appearance. Masgava persisted in the belief that the man lived and was somewhere about, but then somewhere out there was also Brannogenos, plotting their downfall. Perhaps the traitor Remi had already done away with Valgus.

  Whatever the case, they had gone on working on the basis of his permanent absence.

  ‘I do sympathise with your plight,’ Fronto sighed. ‘If it were my family, I doubt I would have had the strength of spirit and presence of mind to do as you have done and put your entire people first. For all that my people call yours ‘barbarians’, the putting of the good of state above the good of oneself is the most Roman of values and defines what we like to think of as a ‘good man’. You, Ullio, are a good man. And when things are done with, I will turn Gaul over to make sure your family are safe. But for now I can do nothing but plead with you to stay with us until we have completed our task.’

  Ullio sighed and began to whittle again.

  ‘I will think on it. In time, Arduenna will give me her advice.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Fronto saw Aurelius glance around nervously at the name and reach up to clutch the Minerva figurine that sat on a thong around his neck. That man was getting more superstitious by the day. Something would have to be done soon, before he put the whole party in danger.

  ‘Sir?’

  He turned to see the two scouts strolling back into the clearing wearily. Magurix unbuckled his sword belt and carried it by his side, while Drusus knuckled his eyes, a nervous energy about him.

  ‘Any news?’

  ‘Best yet, sir,’ Magurix smiled. ‘This settlement has not yet been touched by the armies of the general, and they were remarkably talkative to one of their own - or the closest I could manage.’

  ‘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 o
f 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 caught. 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.’