They moved off at a slow trot, concentrating on their surroundings, wary of possible ambush. Following paths familiar to both, they soon reached the edge of the trees. Already it was obvious something was wrong. Summer was a busy time of the year, yet there was nobody out hunting or picking fallen wood, no children playing in the shade.
The sight that greeted Brennus would haunt him for ever. Past strips of cultivated land running up to the forest, his village was in flames. Thick spirals of smoke billowed upwards from thatched roofs. Screams carried through the air.
Thousands of legionaries surrounded the defensive wooden palisade that had always served the Allobroges well. The invaders were clad in chain mail and russet-brown thigh-length tunics. They had heavy rectangular shields with metal bosses, viciously barbed pila, short stabbing swords, rounded bronze helmets with ear flaps and neck guards. Brennus knew and hated every distinctive part of the Roman soldier's garb.
Behind the close-ranked cohorts stood the ballistae, massive wooden catapults that had fired flaming missiles over the walls. Trumpeters at the rear followed orders from red-cloaked senior officers, blowing staccato bursts from their bucinae to direct the attack. Every man knew his task, every sequence was planned and there would be only one outcome.
So unlike the brave, disorganised chaos of a Gaulish battle charge.
The deep moat round the stockade had already been filled with wood in numerous places. Long ladders were in place against the walls, allowing attackers to swarm up. More legionaries were heaving a battering ram to and fro against the main gates. Here and there an occasional figure fired arrows from the walkway, but the battlements were almost bare.
'There 's no resistance!'
'The warriors won't have run,' said Brac, face pale.
Brennus shook his head, a shiver running down his spine.
The lack of opposition meant only one thing: Caradoc and the men had been beaten, leaving the village defended only by women and the old.
There was no chance of saving Liath and the baby. Nausea washed over Brennus and he bit his lip until he felt the salty taste of blood. The pain focused his thoughts, preventing him from blindly charging forward. Not you. Many others.
Ultan had foreseen the attack and sent him hunting anyway.
'Come on!' Brac was also ready to leave the trees' protection.
A giant hand gripped his arm. 'It is too late.' Brennus frowned, staring at the sky. 'We came back a day early. The gods meant us to be up the mountain, not here. Ultan warned me.'
'The druid? He's crazy. We can't just stand here and watch!'
'They are all good as dead.'
'But your wife, Brennus!'
He clenched his teeth. 'Liath will take her own life and the child's before a single Roman touches them.'
Brac looked at him with total disbelief. 'Coward.'
Brennus slapped him hard across the face. 'Two of us against thousands of Romans?'
Brac fell silent, tears running down his cheeks.
The big man stood, trying to think. 'Listen if you want to live.'
Brac gazed at the burning settlement. 'Why live after that?' he asked dully.
Brennus saw the anguish in his cousin's face. The same distorted his own. Brac's mother and sisters were also doomed and he shuddered, trying to thrust their fate from his mind. After Liath and the baby, they were the only family he had in the world. Somehow he conjured up Ultan's expression that last day. Had it been sad? He couldn't be sure. What was now certain was that the Allobroges were taking a voyage to the other side. But that was not his path, according to the druid.
Why had Ultan refused to talk to Caradoc and kept silent about this attack? There could be only one answer. The druid's message must have come from the gods. He had to believe that, or his sanity would be lost.
'We go back to the meat. Take enough for a month. Then cross the mountains, join the Helvetii. They are a strong tribe and no friends of Rome.'
'But our people. ' Brac began weakly.
'The Allobroges are finished!' said Brennus, hardening his heart. He had never imagined it would come to this. 'Ultan told me I was to go on a great journey, one never taken before.' There were only a few moments to convince Brac before they were seen. 'This must be what he meant.'
Wiping his eyes, Brac gulped and surveyed the village once more. As they watched, the roof of the meeting house fell with a great shower of sparks and flames. Cheers rose from legionaries outside the walls.
The end was near.
Brac nodded, trust in his cousin implicit.
Brennus shoved the younger man in the back. 'Let's go. This way the Allobroges will live on.'
The warriors turned to leave, dogs close behind. They had gone only a few paces when Brac stopped.
'What is it?' hissed Brennus. 'There 's no time to waste.'
Brac looked stunned. A thin stream of blood ran from his mouth and he pitched forward on to both knees. Protruding from the middle of his back was a Roman javelin.
'No!' The big man darted to Brac's side, cursing as he glimpsed the legionaries who had crept within missile range unseen. There were at least twenty — far more than he could hope to kill on his own.
Grief filled him. There would be no more running.
'Sorry.' Brac gasped with the effort of speaking.
'For what?' Brennus snapped the pilum in two, lying Brac carefully on one side.
'Not running fast as you. Not listening enough.' The boy's face was ashen. He did not have long.
'Nothing to be sorry for, my brave cousin,' Brennus said gently, squeezing Brac's hand. 'Rest here a little. I need to kill some Roman bastards after all.'
Brac nodded weakly.
A lump filled Brennus' throat, but anger overtook the grief, surging through every vein. He gripped Brac's arm in farewell and got to his feet.
The druid had been wrong. He too would die today. What reason was there left to live?
There was a rush of air as javelins hummed past him, embedding themselves in trees with dull thudding sounds. One of the dogs collapsed, yelping in pain at the long metal shaft protruding from its belly. Unsure what to do, the second stood with tail firmly between its hind legs.
Many of the legionaries were within twenty paces now, running at full tilt.
'Sons of whores!' Brennus pulled out an arrow and fitted it to the string, drawing to full stretch. He released while hardly looking at the nearest soldier, knowing it would take his target in the throat. The Gaul's next three shafts killed as well. By then the Romans were so close he had to drop the bow and pick up a spear. As his enemies encircled him, curved scuta held high, swords ready, Brennus let battle rage engulf him. Any thoughts of a long journey were forgotten.
Because of him, his wife and child had died alone. Because of him, Brac was dead. He had failed everyone, and all Brennus wanted to do now was kill.
'Bastards!' He had learned dog Latin from traders who passed through every year. 'Come on! Who's next?' Without waiting for an answer, he hurled his spear. The heavy shaft punched effortlessly through a shield, driving links of chain mail deep into the soldier's chest cavity. The man collapsed without a sound, blood pouring from his mouth. Brennus stooped quickly and picked up Brac's weapon, repeating the procedure with a second Roman.
'You have only a dagger now, Gaulish scum.' A red-cloaked officer leading the legionaries gestured angrily. 'Take him!'
His men raised their scuta in unison, closing ranks, stepping over the bodies.
Brennus bellowed an inarticulate cry of rage and charged. His entire people had just been annihilated in one short, vicious encounter. He was about to die, wanted to die. Anything to end the pain.