“We go in front; you behind. You no speak. Walk like you live here.”
Priscus nodded. He had no intention of standing out. Taking a deep breath, he fell in with Mutiatus behind the Remi, and the four men strode out into the moonlit streets of Aduatuca. The roads here seemed quiet; not deserted, for they could hear the sounds of life and movement here and there, and lights flickered in buildings. But then, they were still on the edge of the settlement yet.
The tension in the primus pilus grew with every step as the small group made their way down the gentle slope toward the centre. This was a sizeable oppidum; perhaps as large as Noviodunum, and remarkably civilised to Priscus’ mind, with guttering in the gravelled streets to carry away the rainwater. As they descended, the buildings became more densely packed and, after a few minutes, there were signs that they were approaching the centre.
Rather than scattered houses with well-tended gardens, they were now passing buildings that directly fronted onto the street, and occasionally a shop or two. And then: the inevitable. Two Aduatuci, a young man and his girl, strolled up the street toward them. Priscus felt himself tense and his teeth clenched as he tried with all his being to walk in as relaxed a fashion as possible. Next to him, he noted a stiffness to Mutiatus. They must be so plainly Roman. Priscus had been a soldier since he’d been old enough to shave. He even slept at attention. How could then possibly pass as…
He realised, with a start that almost made him laugh out loud, that he’d been so worried about ruining their ruse that he hadn’t noticed the couple pass them and go on their way. Suddenly, he found himself relaxing. Good thing really, he thought to himself, as he saw another pair of people appear from the main square ahead and walk toward them.
Galronus elbowed him gently.
“You see that?”
Priscus frowned and squinted. The Remi officer could only be referring to the two men ahead. They looked like ordinary Belgic warriors, just carrying…
He blinked.
“What in the name of Mars and Bellona are they doing?”
He squinted again. The men were each carrying piles of weapons bound together with cord. As he watched, the warriors turned into a side street.
“That cannot be normal” Priscus demanded of his guides. Galronus shook his head.
“We follow. Find out.”
Priscus nodded, and the four men picked up the pace. Moments later, they reached that side street and peered carefully down it. The two warriors, now not far ahead, had separated and were entering two buildings facing each other across the road.
“What the hell is going on?” Priscus asked in a whisper.
“Not know” replied Galronus. “But we find out. Us take left. You take right.”
Priscus nodded and he and Mutiatus veered off toward the right hand side of the road. Ahead, the door to the building stood open. With a quiet rasp, Priscus drew the unfamiliar Celtic blade and crept along the outside wall, Mutiatus following suit behind him. A few steps further and the primus pilus peered cautiously around the door frame. The building was a single room; a house by all appearances. And, inside, the warrior they had followed was fumbling at the far side of the room with a chest. Priscus frowned as he watched the man drop a bundle of weapons into the chest, close it up, and conceal it with a blanket, giving it the appearance of a seat.
“What is he doing, sir?” asked Mutiatus at his shoulder. “Why are they hiding weapons?”
Priscus clenched his teeth.
“Let’s ask him, eh?”
Mutiatus nodded, and the two men crept as quietly as they could into the doorway. It was a novel experience for the primus pilus to be entering into a fight without several pounds of armour about his person, and he flexed his muscles, enjoying the freedom of movement. Mutiatus, with the physique of an acrobat, moved like a cat.
The two men crossed the threshold close together and then separated, each moving to the side like the horns of a bull. The warrior finished adjusting the blanket and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Looking up, he noticed a human shadow cast in the flickering lamp light and turned toward Priscus, opening his mouth to shout a warning, just as Mutiatus dived on him, his hand going over the warrior’s mouth as he slammed him to the floor, driving the breath from his chest. Priscus grinned.
“Now let’s go see Galronus and question this sack of crap.”
As he turned, his companion bashed the Aduatuci warrior’s head on the floor, knocking him unconscious, and heaved the limp form onto his muscular shoulders. Moments later, having checked the street was clear, the two men with their burden crossed the road and entered the building opposite. The Remi auxiliaries had the other Aduatuci warrior on the floor and were busy binding and gagging him.
“Galronus? Care to interrogate them?”
The man nodded.
“We interrogate, but not here. We go back. Safety. Take both.”
Priscus nodded and turned to Mutiatus.
“We’ll have to use the smallest backstreets we can to get back to the cliff, if we’re taking these two with us.”
Mutiatus nodded, the unconscious warrior still draped across his shoulder.
As Priscus helped the two Remi sling the other captive over Elitovius’ shoulder, Mutiatus lifted the eyelid of his own burden.
“Flat out. He’ll be gone for an hour or more, sir.”
“Good. Then we can get them to the cliff and threaten to throw them off.”
Mutiatus grinned at him.
“Let’s see,” Priscus said quietly, “exactly what sort of arms they’re hiding here.”
“We’ll check the street, sir” the legionary said.
As Mutiatus and Elitovius moved toward the door with their unconscious and bound prisoners, Galronus and Priscus crouched over the hidden cache of arms behind the chair in the corner of the room. The bundle contained mostly swords and axes, with a number of slings and a bag of shot tied in along with them.
“Whatever they’re planning, it’s got to be in the oppidum.” Priscus frowned. “No bows, so it’s got to be close range, and no spears, so not in open ground. I really don’t like the look of this. Let’s…”
His head suddenly snapped round at a commotion. Their two companions, along with the prisoners, had stepped out into the street where clearly someone had seen them. A shout went up in the Belgic tongue and the call went from voice to voice. Priscus stared through the door at the other two and Mutiatus made an urgent motion at him to run.
The primus pilus snarled and turned to Galronus.
“They’ve been seen. We’ve got to get away and warn the army.”
Galronus nodded. The sound of running feet was getting close outside and, as he watched, Elitovius and Mutiatus dropped their burdens and drew their swords. The legionary turned his head and nodded; the least conspicuous salute he could manage, and then, roaring, he ran off down the street with the Remi auxiliary at his side.
“Shit!”
Priscus’ head snapped back and forth as he tried to decide on a course of action.
“Can you find our way back?”
Galronus nodded.
“Think so.”
Priscus took a deep breath, ran to the side wall, and threw himself unceremoniously through a window. Galronus was hot on his tail and, as the primus pilus picked himself up and disappeared toward the backs of the houses, his Remi companion hit the earth, rolled and came upright into a run.
At the rear of the building, Priscus looked around desperately. There were several other houses, some lit, some not, and he could see, not far away, the burning torches on the top of the oppidum’s defensive wall. They were surprisingly close to the main gate.
“This way!”
He turned at Galronus’ voice and raced away up the grass behind the houses. Behind them, close to the central square, the commotion was now audible over everything else. The Aduatuci were shouting; Guards were calling to each other. Briefly there was a scream; just the one, and Priscus found himself wondering which of their companions got the worst of it: the one that had just died, or the one that hadn’t?