‘I won’t distress you with the details. You can guess the main of it. These are all that remains of the settlement at the head of the white river. It seems one of the Roman forces passed through here almost a week ago, though they don’t know who led it. After burying the dead and gathering up what they could find, they are moving west and south, towards the Treveri, hoping to find sanctuary and land to begin again.’
Fronto tried to give them a sympathetic smile. ‘For what it’s worth, you can give them my apologies that a feud between two men has expanded so much that it’s even engulfed their village. I would recommend that you direct them to Atuatuca. The people there seemed to be willing to try and rebuild, and now that that area has already seen devastation, they will be unlikely to see Romans there again in the foreseeable future.’
Ullio nodded and translated his words to the old man. A look of mixed hope and gratitude swept through the refugees at the news that they might still find a home among the Eburones.
Palmatus and Masgava stepped forward to Fronto’s side as the native hunter went back to deep conversation with his countrymen.
‘This situation is getting out of control,’ the big Numidian muttered at him. ‘Pretty soon this land won’t be worth Rome having. It’ll just be a wasteland of ash and misery. Like Carthage,’ he added darkly.
Palmatus sighed. ‘It’s down to us to stop it, my friend. Caesar’s not going to halt any time soon.’
‘When I find Ambiorix, as soon as I’ve wrung a few answers out of the prick, I’m going to skin the bugger alive for bringing this on.’
‘You might want to consider Caesar’s part in it,’ nudged Masgava, and Fronto’s eyes hardened.
‘He’s a mile from innocent, but let’s not start talking about skinning the general, eh? He has big ears that hear many things.’
‘Ambiorix?’ muttered a voice.
Fronto frowned. The smith with the big hammer, standing not far from the three of them had narrowed his eyes to slits and was peering intently at Fronto.
‘Did you say Ambiorix?’ the Roman asked.
The smith immediately started babbling off in his own tongue and turned to the old man, involving him in a conversation. Fronto looked back and forth between them.
‘Ullio?’
The hunter was already asking questions, deep in conversation with the two refugees. He turned with bright eyes and a weary smile.
‘You’re in luck, Fronto. We’re closer than we thought.’
Fronto found himself walking over to them urgently, Masgava and Palmatus at his shoulders. The refugees automatically moved back at their approach, but the old man remained, nodding and chattering with Ullio.
‘Less than an hour from here,’ Ullio said, ‘down a side track in a narrow valley.’
‘Gods, we’re close. We could nail the bastard to a post before the sun goes down if we hurry. We have to catch him.’
‘Well your luck holds,’ Ullio smiled. ‘The reason these people are all so on edge is that a Condrusi warband are ravaging the area on behalf of Caesar. These poor refugees barely got away from them this morning, but their presence has forced Ambiorix and his men to go to ground in a ruined farmstead and wait until they’ve moved on. These people passed that same farmstead just now and were hurried on by Ambiorix’s warriors.’
Fronto grinned. ‘You’ve got the directions?’
Ullio nodded. ‘Very close. Fronto?’
‘Yes?’
‘I cannot go further with you.’
Fronto’s smile slipped a little. ‘What?’
‘You must have known that I was never going to help you torture and kill my king, no matter how much I dislike him? I cannot help you at the end. I have brought you this far, but what Rome must do to my king, she must do without my help.’
A sad smile crept across Fronto’s face. He’d never given thought to what would happen when they caught up with Ambiorix, but in retrospect it would be harsh and unrealistic to expect Ullio to take part in Ambiorix’s end. He reached out a hand. Ullio looked at it for a long moment, and then responded, clasping forearms in the universal gesture of comradeship.
‘Where will you go? Back to Espaduno?’
‘Soon. First I will travel to Atuatuca with these people. Perhaps we can all aid one another. The Eburones will need a great deal of strength and unity to come back from the brink of the pit into which your general has driven us.’
He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Whatever happens in the coming months, I hope you escape it unharmed. Decent Romans are hard to come by.’
Fronto laughed quietly. ‘Can’t say I disagree with that. But it is equally good to have travelled with a decent Eburone. When we are done, I will make sacrifices to Arduenna for your continued wellbeing.’
Ullio smiled and turned, pointing off down the trail.
‘Follow the main track until you find a split oak, which the locals call the Horns of Cernunnos. It’s quite striking, so you’ll find it hard to miss. It stands at a crossing of paths in the forest. Take the right side, down a steep slope into the narrow valley. After a very short walk you should be able to see the farmstead in the bottom. Approaching will be difficult, the old man says, but there is a stream bed which is dry in the summer, and might afford you a reasonable approach.’
Fronto stood for a moment, committing the directions to memory, and clapped his palm on Ullio’s shoulder. ‘I think we can take it from here. Good luck with your people, Ullio. I hope your family are well. Perhaps, when things have returned to normal, we will bump into one another again.’
‘Don’t take it the wrong way, Fronto, but I hope we don’t. Arduenna shelter you until your task is complete.’
The Roman stood on the path and watched the refugees file away towards the south-west, Ullio walking with them. None of them spoke to the singulares as they passed, and precious few even spared them a glance. He continued to watch silently until they rounded a corner and were gone from sight, and then cleared his throat and turned to his men.
‘This is it, lads. Less than a mile away, our quarry hides in a derelict farm. He hides from the Condrusi, apparently. Let’s give him something else to worry about. Everyone ready?’
A chorus of affirmatives greeted him, though unenthusiastically. Despite now being moments away from their goal, the reality that they had lost so many comrades and still faced dangerous odds weighed heavily, given that they had already failed to prevent so much destruction in their extended mission. No one would feel good about it.
Except Fronto. Because he was sure that Ambiorix would be a repository of vital information on the druids and their planned uprisings. And he was going to squeeze every last morsel from the fugitive king before he wrung his neck.
He breathed deeply, his sense of purpose renewed.
‘Right. Let’s end this.’
* * * * *
The farmstead had been destroyed by Caesar’s men in the preceding days, which provided both a hazard and a benefit to the small group of singulares as they moved into the valley. Of the four structures that had formed the farm, only one retained its roof, and even that was damaged in places, and was charred — hardly rainproof. That narrowed down the choice of location and defensive positions, which was a bonus. Caesar’s ravaging, however, had destroyed the small field of crops and had burned back the undergrowth and trees, giving the building a good defensive line of sight, which was bad for Fronto.
The ten men crouched among the trees halfway down the dry stream bed — a nature-provided path of gravel and smooth stones that gave easy access through the forest and down the slope.
‘See there?’ Palmatus pointed, and the rest followed his finger.
‘I see them. Three of them, in that ruined building.’
‘It was a granary,’ Samognatos said quietly. ‘If you look carefully you can see the shadows of the stilts upon which it stands.’
Fronto snapped a glance at Masgava, who smiled and nodded, turning to the others. ‘Iuvenalis, Celer and Magurix: reckon you could get to the granary without being seen?’