When we reached the foot of the mountain, I called another halt. “This is a hard climb and I don’t want to be out of strength when we get where we’re going,” I said. “If there’s anyone up there, we could have a fight on our hands when we arrive.”
Hermes and I sat down, gasping. Ionus just squatted, one hand resting idly on the hilt of his short, leaf-shaped sword. With his paint and his bushy hair sticking out in all directions, he looked like some forest goblin come calling.
The night chill struck our cooling, sweaty bodies and I donned my cloak. Hermes did the same. “Why do people live in a place like this?” he asked. He couldn’t understand why anyone would live anyplace except Italy, and Rome in particular. I was not far behind him in this.
“I’m sure it must be better in summer.”
I surveyed the moonlit plain and pointed to the southeast, where a series of silvery crests reared against the starry sky. They were the high Alps.
“One of those mountains over there is said to be the highest in the world.”
“I thought Olympus was the highest,” Hermes said.
“Olympus is just the highest mountain in Greece. If the Greeks had lived here, they would have thought their gods lived up on that one. Ionus, what do your people call that mountain?”
He shrugged. “I am not from here. My people dwell in the lowlands. If it is the tallest, maybe it is where Taranis lives. He makes the thunder.”
“Must be their name for Jupiter,” Hermes said, muffling himself in his cloak.
“That could be,” I said, but I doubted it. The Gallic gods seemed to me quite different from our familiar Italian and Olympian deities. “Does Taranis bear the thunderbolt? Is he accompanied by eagles?”
“The thunderbolt, yes. No eagles,” was the reply. “His is the wheel with which the sacred fire is kindled. We always start the fire of Beltain with a wheel.”
I remembered the little wheels that I had seen adorning so many of the helmets worn by Gauls. It seemed like an awkward instrument for starting a fire though.
“He’s not Jupiter, then,” Hermes said with the certainty of a pontifex. “Vesta’s in charge of starting fires.”
“Where would the gods be without us mortals to apportion their duties?” I said, standing. “Come on, enough of this philosophical chitchat. We have work to do. Hermes, from now on we move slower and stay closer together. If you need to say something, touch my shoulder and then whisper. We are going into the woods and enemies can lurk very close without our seeing them. There is no hurry, dawn is still an hour away. It is utterly important that we move quietly. Ionus, lead off.”
So we began our climb. As before, the trees were oppressively close and accumulated dew dripped on us. Ionus swept ahead of us, his footsteps as silent as a ghost’s. He did not ascend in a straight line. Instead, he zigzagged from one side to another, sniffing for ambushes like a hound searching out game scent. I felt that my own ascent was commendably quiet, although I had nothing like the Gaul’s level of skill. Behind me, Hermes seemed to be making an unconscionable racket. I was probably overcritical, but my nerves were taut with suspense, and every rustle he made was to me as the sounding of trumpets.
We carried no torches this time, and we lacked the unjustified confidence that comes with having a number of companions. A slow step at a time we climbed, our eyes, our ears, even our noses quivering in search of impending doom. Even at this pace, it was not long before we reached the clearing. This time, without torches or the glowing embers of the bonfire, I could see almost nothing.
Ionus squatted at the edge of the trees, peering grimly inward. I looked long enough to determine that I would see nothing of use for some time, then we backed a little way downhill. I gestured for the others to sit and we hunkered down to wait. With the hood of my cloak drawn over my head, the sounds of the night were muffled except for the patter of dewdrops striking the wool. Hermes looked miserable, his adventure turned into a boring tedium, waiting in the cold and dark.
Gradually, I grew aware that I could see tiny details of my surroundings that had been invisible. Then I heard a single bird call melodiously. Dawn had arrived. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, visibility expanded until I could see trees a hundred feet away and the sky overhead was a leaden gray. My two companions had dozed off and I nudged them awake. Hermes yawned and stretched, then he started to say something. I clamped a hand over his mouth and shook my head vehemently.
I leaned close to Ionus and whispered: “Scout the clearing for us.” He bobbed his head and set off in his crouching lope, making a sweep of the treeline surrounding the grove. A few minutes later he returned.
“All clear.”
I got up. “Come along, Hermes. We can talk now, but don’t raise your voice and don’t let your guard down. Ionus will provide security while we see what we can see.”
We went into the clearing. The bonfire was now just a heap of cold ashes. I looked up and saw that, as I had expected, the bodies had been taken down, along with the ropes from which they had dangled. It was no surprise, but still I felt a rush of relief when I saw that they were gone. It would have been too ghastly to have them there, silently watching. At the very least, it would have been an unbearable distraction.
“What are we looking for?” Hermes asked.
“Anything that looks like it didn’t grow here naturally,” I told him, having no idea myself what I expected to find. We began combing over the turf in the growing light of morning. The surface was springy, covered with moss and overlaid with rotting oak leaves. The ground was much trampled, which came as no surprise. In the last day or two it must have seen an inordinate amount of traffic for so small and remote a spot.
“Found something!” Hermes said eagerly.
“Keep your voice down,” I told him. “What have you got?” He held out a small, curved object of brownish color. It appeared to be the tip of an antler, pierced in its center for a thong, either a part of a necklace or a toggle of some sort.
Ionus looked it over. “German,” he said. “For fastening one of their fur tunics here.” He clapped a palm over his shoulder.
“Lovernius was on the right track, then,” I said, inordinately pleased. “Let’s see what else we can find.”
A minute later Ionus, prodding at the ashes of the fire, called us over. Protruding from the cinders was a charred bit of wood that still bore a recognizable carving: three faces turned in three directions.
“That’s adding sacrilege to murder,” I said, “burning the Druids’ staffs in the bonfire.” For it had to be the staff of Badraig or possibly one belonging to one of the others.
Further search turned up more than I would have expected, but nothing terribly helpful. There were some wisps of dyed wool, probably from the garments of the Gauls who came and took down the bodies. There were some bits of fur that might have come from the clothes of the Germans. Hermes even found a couple of tiny arrowheads beautifully fashioned from flint, but these might have lain there for centuries.
Ionus turned out to be something of a disappointment. It seems that among the Gauls, hunting is pretty much restricted to the upper aristocracy, so common warriors like Ionus did not develop great facility with things like tracks and other signs. Their skills were those of cattle raiding and warfare. Hermes and I, sons of the City that we were, displayed even less acumen.
At midday, we halted our desultory search and dug into our provisions. I had brought along some bread and dried figs. Hermes had prudently dropped a hunk of cheese into the front of his tunic before leaving the camp and Ionus had some salted fish in his pouch, along with a few early onions bought from one of the peasants who hawked their produce in the fora of the camps.