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 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.’
‘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?