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.