‘Tonight we rest in the town and speak to the council of elders. They will have had men in the forests, watching, and will know we are here. In the morning we climb to the nemeton and commune with the druids.’
Fronto turned, prepared to argue the necessity for speed, but there was a quiet reverence in the scout’s face, even straightening his permanently-smiling mouth a little, and the Roman found his words dried in his throat. If it were true that there were druids here who would actually help, it would be a good idea not to irritate them. He still felt uncomfortable with the very idea, though. He’d never yet met a druid who hadn’t either spat bile at him or tried to kill him.
Behind him, the others rounded the bend and there were a few whistles of appreciation at the sight of the sacred settlement.
‘We’re bound for an inn first.’ Fronto straightened in his saddle. ‘Once there, I will take six men with me, as well as Samognatos here, to talk to the leaders. The rest of you get the horses fed and stabled, store the kit and secure the rooms. Send out a few men to replenish the supplies we’ve used so far and then wait for our return. In the morning we’re to visit druids and I want to be sure we’re ready for anything.’
As he turned and began to walk Bucephalus down towards the river, with the column moving along behind, he leaned across to Samognatos.
‘How do we get across?’
‘Ferrymen,’ the scout replied. ‘Pay them well.’
Fronto looked at the fast, wide and deep river and nodded. ‘Believe me, I will.’
By the time the party had assembled on the near bank, horses snorting gratefully and taking the opportunity to rip at the lush green grass of the valley, the ferrymen were already on their way. Clearly they were used to dealing with vehicles and beasts of burden. The ferries were wide and flat with high sides, large enough to accommodate a cart with oxen, and there were two such vessels ploughing through the rippling water towards them. As the first approached with surprising accuracy, making for the bank directly before Fronto, the commander noted the iron rings driven into the timbers of the boat and the ropes stacked in a corner for tethering skittish animals during the crossing. As he watched the men work, he realised they were using a line submerged beneath the water, running through a ring on the vessel, to pull themselves across with such accuracy. As one of the ferry’s two occupants leapt ashore and began to haul the boat up onto the gravel, the other entered into a brief exchange with Samognatos.
‘He says three men at a time. No more. One silver coin a trip. A sestertius would do.’
Fronto nodded his agreement as he made a quick mental calculation and fished seven coins from his purse. ‘Sensible. Ask him if he’s transported any other groups of riders this big in the last couple of days.’
The scout relayed the question as the ferryman gestured for the first three to board. Fronto dismounted and motioned to Palmatus to join him, leading Bucephalus onto the wooden deck.
‘He says no group of this size,’ Samognatos relayed, dropping from his own steed. ‘A party of foreigners came through here yesterday, but there were only five, and they were not stopping in the town.’
‘Were they the ones we saw?’
‘They were southerners, he says.’
‘So, yes, then.’
Palmatus led his horse aboard, rubbing his sore posterior in relief, and Samognatos joined them as the second ferry approached and Masgava selected three men to cross first.
‘I don’t like the fact that Arverni have passed through here. I don’t trust the druids at the best of times, and that Arverni warrior had close links with them, he said. Everyone stays in the inn except for collecting supplies, and I want them out in pairs for that, too, and armed.’ Palmatus nodded his understanding. ‘Do you think they know we’re out and about?’
Fronto shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I think they’re on their own business, but I’d sooner they didn’t learn about us, just in case.’
The three men fell silent and leaned on the side of the ferry, watching the slate-dark water slide past as the ferrymen hauled on the rope, dragging them back across to the town. The imposing bulk of the tall cliff became ever more impressive as the ferry drifted towards it and the shape, which already loomed, took on an extra level of ominousness with the knowledge that druids who may or may not be in league with the Arverni sat atop it waiting for them.
Fronto was busy trying to make sense of it all when the ferry crunched to a halt on the town-ward side, and he had to grip the timber strake to keep his footing. Moments later, the three men had led their horses from the vessel and the ferrymen had slid their watery steed out into the river once more, making for the waiting horsemen. The next three were already halfway across.
‘There will be no inn that can provide proper accommodation for nineteen men,’ noted Samognatos. ‘Either we split between two or three inns, or many men will have to sleep in a bunk house together.’
Fronto pursed his lips.
‘That’s an inn, right?’ He pointed to a large building at the very end of the wharf, with a ground floor of stone and a timber upper, lights shining in the shuttered windows already and a painting of a mug on the wall by the door.
‘It is. Not a large one, though. I was going to suggest the one in the town’s centre, which will accommodate the most men appropriately.’
‘They’re soldiers. They’ll just be glad they’re not in a tent. I like the place. Right on the edge. Come on — let’s go and introduce ourselves.’
* * * * *
Fronto straightened as he approached the large, well-constructed ‘council building’ of Divonanto. For a moment he wondered what the hell he was doing, but the image of the burned-out, desecrated landscape of the Nervii insisted itself into his mind’s eye once again, and he steeled himself. Caesar would not stop until Ambiorix was dead, for he had vowed it to Venus. And he would burn Gaul to cinders to do it, if Fronto couldn’t bring him his quarry first.
It came to him as he took in the surprisingly sophisticated town around him that, whatever his ostensible reasons for trying to prevent the searing of this land, as much of it was down to his growing respect for Gaul’s potential as for the security of the army’s auxiliary forces. Just as Galronus’ closeness over the past few years had Romanised the Remi nobleman beyond any expectations, Fronto realised that he had come to respect the Gallic aspects of his friend, too: his inordinate strength and self-belief. His honour and his truthfulness, which far exceeded any to be found in the Republic’s seething capital. His love of — and protectiveness of — his family and tribe. There were things about the Gauls that should make Rome look to its own morals. And soon, if things proceeded apace, Galronus would be his brother. There would be a great deal of trouble for the family with the die-hard patricians who still believed that no one born outside Latium ranked above cattle, but the Falerii were nothing if not adaptable and hard-skinned.
His reverie was interrupted as Samognatos reappeared in the doorway and beckoned. Fronto glanced round at Masgava and his men. He had wondered whether bringing the dark-skinned Numidian would put the locals on their guard — a reminder of just how foreign their visitors were — but had settled on the ex-gladiator for two reasons. Firstly he was softer spoken and more accommodating than his fellow officer, and secondly, Palmatus had a legionary’s grasp of defence, pickets and passwords, and was therefore plainly the man to leave in charge of the inn, with its stores, horses and men.
‘Come on.’
Putting as much confidence in his stride as he could muster, Fronto strode into the building after Samognatos, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the interior lit by a central fire-pit, whose smoke drifted up through a hole in the roof, and by three braziers spaced out around the edge.
The upper floor took the form of a mezzanine around the central smoke-hole area, reachable by ladders. Shuffling in the darkness above announced the presence of people on that floor, though they were invisible from below.