Again, murmurs and nods around the tent.
‘We move out and travel east as speedily as we dare, saving the horses rather than riding them into the dirt. This is where you come in, Samognatos.’
The scout nodded his strange, half-shaved head and his smile remained fixed.
‘We need some sort of lead on Ambiorix’s probable location. I doubt he’ll be with the Treveri, as they’re embroiled with Labienus to the south. He’s been in contact with the Nervii, though possibly only through intermediaries. He’s got ties with the Menapii, and what remains of the Eburones tribe, though I gather his fellow king, Cativolcus, is no friend to our quarry. Whatever the case, what we’ve known so far will be very much old news by the time we are in his lands, so we need the latest intelligence. Our best, most central, and most loyal friends there are the Condrusi, and so Samognatos here will lead us to his people so we can make enquiries and hopefully know better where to start.’
He gestured at the scout as he poured another wine. ‘Where will we be best to go for information, and how far?’
Samognatos shrugged. ‘Divonanto.’ He announced. ‘The sacred valley lies upon the river Mosa, nestled beneath a mountain. There the nobles and druids alike will tell us everything that can be heard among the Condrusi.’
‘Are you sure the druids can be trusted?’
‘I would stake your life on it.’
‘That’s comforting’ Fronto grumbled in the face of that strange smile. ‘And we reckon how many days?’
‘I would say four if we rode fast and brooked no delays. With no change of horses available and a string of pack animals behind, I would comfortably estimate six days. Eight if you want to be unobtrusive and avoid encounters, which is what I am thinking?’
‘The faster the better,’ Fronto said quietly. ‘Instead of making camp for the night, we’ll have three stops each day for a few hours and we can sleep in rotation. That way the horses will get more rest and we can move at a better pace.’
‘Dangerous, sir,’ Palmatus muttered. ‘Low sleep levels make soldiers less effective. Missile aim can be off, sword and shield reaction times drop.’
‘It’s a risk,’ Fronto agreed. ‘But I’m counting on avoiding running into trouble at least until after we’ve spoken to the Condrusi. We can have a proper rest once we’ve got there. But I want to get close to Ambiorix before we let up. Caesar is calling the Gaulish assembly and it won’t take long. It happens this time every year and the chiefs will be waiting for the call. And once that’s over, the army will turn back east and start to slash and burn again. We want to get as much of a head start as we can.’
‘’Scuse me, sir.’ Fronto glanced around to see Celer holding up his arm.
‘Yes?’
‘If we’s to be fair subtle and unobtrusive… well in all fairness, sir, we ain’t hardly unobtrusive, is we?’ He inclined his head meaningfully towards Masgava.
A chorus of nods greeted him and the Numidian reluctantly joined them.
‘True.’ Fronto smiled. ‘But that’s not the end of it. We’ve requisitioned from a local merchant a whole array of Gaulish trousers and long-sleeved tunics, as well as native wool cloaks, belts and boots and the like. I know some of you will baulk at the idea, but we’re going to dress native. If you have a mail shirt you can wear it, but remove any double layering at the shoulders and any accoutrements that label it as Roman. Likewise no plated belts. Leather only. I have shields for everyone in the stores, all painted up with nice Belgic motifs, and I’ve managed to lay my hands on half a dozen Gaulish helmets. Those of you with older, less decorative Roman helms can get pliers from the stores and rip off your crest holders and any decoration if you want and they’ll just about pass for Gallic at a glance. You can keep your weapons, though. Subtlety notwithstanding, I want everyone able to defend themselves at a moment’s notice. Masgava, you’ll have to keep your hood up most of the time.’
There were a number of groans at the thought of dressing in the itchy, all-encompassing Gaulish wool garments, but no open complaints. Good, thought Fronto. Now we’re almost ready.
‘Alright gentlemen. That’s it. Palmatus and Masgava have already formed you into tent groups, I understand. You will need to get to know each other well — to rely upon one another. But not right now. Right now, you need to go get some shut-eye. You’ve got nine hours to alter your kit and get some sleep before I want you all standing in the stores, raring to go and nail Ambiorix to a post.’
* * * * *
Over the four days since they had left Samarobriva, Fronto had noted a gradual change in the landscape. Slowly, they had left the wide, flat floodplain of north-western Gaul and moved into the foothills of the undulating Belgae lands. It would continue to change, he knew, becoming steadily more vertical, cut through by deep, cold rivers and covered with impenetrable forest.
The forest of Arduenna.
Priscus had warned him to steer clear of it.
‘From what I hear,’ Fronto had countered, ‘you sent Furius and Fabius out into the forest on their own to hunt men. At least I’m taking a small force with me.’
‘I think you missed the relevant fact there, Fronto.’ Priscus had smirked. ‘I sent men. I did not go myself and bring them along for the ride.’
Fronto had been disparaging at the time, but conversations with the men of the singulares had done little to allay his growing unease. It seemed that even the Remi were a little wary of the great forest, which was said to be home to a powerful, vengeful Belgic Goddess and protected by wicked spirits. Only the Treveri and the Eburones, who worshipped Arduenna above all, felt comfortable there. Even the Condrusi, whose land was hidden beneath the edge of Arduenna’s green veil, were wary of her, for all they prayed to her.
Still, that was a couple of days away, yet. They would not pass into the territory of the Goddess for another day or more. Here, they were in the hilly territory of the Nervii, not far from Remi lands. Here, they were inclined to be less wary, given the lack of life signs to be found. Upon returning from Caesar’s devastating campaign against the tribe only a week or more back, the Ninth had come this way and the evidence of their passing blotted the landscape every few miles. Burned, blackened villages. Empty, ruined farms. Piles of charred wood, surrounded by dismantled ramparts. And in two days of Nervian landscape not more than a handful of people to be seen, with even those weeping as they buried their loved ones or investigated carbonised houses in the desperate search for their possessions.
Fronto had agreed to an extent with Caesar’s campaign, and the Nervii had been habitual rebels, but the after-effects, now he had seen them with his own eyes, supported what Searix and Galronus had advised him. Any Gaul or Belgian who witnessed this would question the ways of Rome.
‘Stop!’ came a hiss.
Fronto almost rode into the back of Samognatos as the scout reined in sharply, close to the grey, smoke-stained bulk of a ruined farm house.
‘What?’ he demanded quietly. The Condrusi rider pointed off into the distance and Fronto followed his gesture.
‘Damn. Riders? Out here? How many?’
Samognatos shrugged. ‘More than us. And they are well armed, from the gleam of bronze and iron.’