‘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.