‘Decurion!’ Caesar thrust his hand towards the first officer to arrive on the scene. ‘Take your squadron and go after them. On foot if necessary.’
‘Yes, sir!’ The decurion snapped a salute and bellowed to his men to follow him as he galloped across to the line of trees f stretching along the edge of the valley. Briefly, Caesar turned to look at the villa before dismounting and handing his reins to one of the bodyguards. Festus and Marcus followed suit and joined him inside the wall.
The fire had taken hold of the main building and already tongues of flame were stabbing up into the air between the roof tiles. A large section of the roof gave way and crashed into the blaze with an explosion of sparks that swirled high into the air. One of the adjoining buildings was already alight as the fire spread.
Caesar raised an arm to shield his face from the heat. ‘Look for survivors! I’ll check this side of the villa. Festus, take Marcus and search the other side!’
Festus pulled Marcus towards the side of the building, where the double doors of a long shed stood open. While Festus strode ahead, Marcus struggled to keep up. As they reached the end of the shed, a wiry man with grey hair lurched into view. A club swung from one arm, and a small chest was tucked under the other. With astonishing speed, he raised his club and slashed at Festus’s head. The glancing blow threw Festus into the snow at his feet with a deep groan. At once the man raised the club again, ready to strike at his head.
‘No!’ Marcus yelled, hurling himself forward. He snatched at the man’s bony wrist and both of them tumbled back across the threshold of the shed, sprawling to the earthen floor inside. The impact winded the man but Marcus had rolled to his feet and was ready to strike before the man could rise. Marcus kicked him in the side and smashed a fist on to the back of his head. Raising a hand to protect himself, the man released his club and Marcus snatched it up, then delivered a quick, savage blow across his shoulders. With an explosive grunt the man slumped to the ground, moaning. Marcus stood over him, both hands tightly grasping the club. When he was sure the fight had gone out of the man, he crouched beside Festus and shook his shoulder.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m seeing double and my head feels like a house landed on it,’ Festus growled. ‘Next stupid question?’
Marcus grinned, then turned his attention back to the other man. Sinewy and tough, the rebel looked in his fifties at least. Marcus regarded him warily. ‘Stay down, if you know what’s good for you.’
The rebel lay where he had fallen, winded and gasping for breath. Slowly, Festus struggled to his feet and leaned forward, hands resting on his knees as he recovered. Marcus turned at a soft crunch of feet in the snow to see Caesar’s grim smile of satisfaction as he walked towards the rebel.
‘You got one of ‘em. Well done!’ Caesar stood over the man and stared down at him. ‘Looks like he’s on his last legs. If this is the best that Brixus can offer, then we have nothing to worry about. The battle, when it comes, is as good as won.’
Marcus took in the rebel’s ragged cloak and boots that were falling to pieces. His skin was mottled and covered in grime, his breathing laboured as he lay on his back. If Festus hadn’t been caught by surprise, he would have cut the man down in an instant. Why would Brixus even think of sending a man in such poor condition on a raid? It didn’t make sense.
‘What if this isn’t the best, sir?’ he asked. ‘The others who were here ran off quickly enough.’
Caesar waved a hand dismissively. ‘No matter. We have this one to question. Festus, take him behind the shed and question him. I want to know where Brixus is hiding and how many men he has under arms.’
Festus straightened up and paced over to the rebel. He wrenched the frail man to his feet. Then, drawing his dagger, he dragged him round the corner of the shed and out of sight. By the time the rest of Caesar’s officers arrived the first cries of terror and pain cut through the air, only slightly muffled by the roar of flames that consumed the main building some fifty paces away. Tribune Quintus nodded towards the villa wall beyond the burning building.
‘One of the decurions found some bodies over there, sir. Looks like the owner of the villa and his family, and their overseers. Their throats have been cut.’
Marcus saw the shaken expression on the tribune’s face as Caesar turned to him.
‘That’s too bad.’
Quintus nodded and hesitated a moment before he spoke again. ‘Should I give orders for a funeral or burial, sir?’
‘There’s no time for that. Once Festus gets the information I need we’ll be moving out.’
‘What if the rebel won’t speak, sir?’ asked Marcus. ‘What if he doesn’t know anything useful?’
‘He’ll know something. And trust me, he will speak. Festus has never let me down in that regard.’
Before Marcus could respond there was a long, piercing shriek from behind the shed, and then another, followed by a terrified gabbling and pleading before a fresh scream sent a shiver down Marcus’s spine.
While the torturing continued, Caesar sent some men to search the buildings for food and wine. When they returned, together with some stools, he and his officers sat down and tucked into the makeshift meal. While Caesar attempted to lighten the mood by talking about the approaching campaign in Gaul, Marcus stood a short distance away and looked on with a growing sense of disgust. He could not block out the pies of the rebel. In the end, he paced away, standing close to the burning building where the roar of flames almost covered up the sounds of torment.
At length the rebel fell silent and a moment later Festus emerged, wiping the blood from his dagger with a strip of cloth cut from the rebel’s cloak. As he saw him, Marcus turned away from the fire to rejoin Caesar and his officers.
‘Well?’ Caesar demanded. ‘What did you get out of the wretch?’
‘He didn’t know, or wouldn’t say, where Brixus has his camp, sir. He was part of a separate band that Brixus had ordered to raid this villa.’
‘Damn! Is that all?’
‘No, sir.’ Festus sheathed his dagger. ‘There’s more. After this raid, Polonius and the others will join Brixus in a gathering of his bands. They are massing to attack the town of Sedunum, at the end of the next valley. Brixus and two thousand of his men will attack at dawn tomorrow.’
Caesar’s lips parted in a cold smile. ‘How far is it to the town?’
One of his tribunes coughed. ‘No more than ten miles, sir.’
Caesar turned to the officer. ‘And how do you know this?’
‘I have an uncle there, sir. I’ve visited Sedunum several times.’
‘Excellent. How does the land he around the town?’
The tribune collected his thoughts. ‘It is at the end of the valley, with mountains on three sides, and a river crosses in front of the town. If Brixus plans to attack at dawn, he will probably be concealed in the trees on this side of the river, facing the town.’
‘Then we have them!’ Caesar punched a fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘As long as we act at once. We can’t take them with the cavalry alone. I need the infantry. They will have to march through the night if we are to corner Brixus against the river.’ He turned to Quintus. ‘Ride back to the column. Leave one cohort to guard the baggage train. The rest are to drop their packs and march on Sedunum. I’ll be waiting a few miles short of the town. Once the infantry have come, we’ll attack Brixus and his rabble in their camp. It will all be over before the day even begins.’
‘You mean to attack under cover of darkness, sir?’ asked Quintus.