The two officers fell into an awkward silence.
‘You’re convinced we have a traitor with us?’ Palmatus asked in little more than a whisper.
‘Someone set Luxinio’s horse off on purpose.’
‘Could it not have been an accident?’
Masgava shook his head. ‘I saw the stud-marks. They were about two feet up. No one kicks that high accidentally. I think he might have been trying to break its leg. Nearly succeeded, too.’
‘I’d hoped the traitor was Galatos,’ Fronto sighed. ‘Then we’d have lost him and he’d have passed on misinformation. No such luck. So I think we have to assume that Galatos either fell foul of the Arverni in the town, or one of his companions did away with him. That means either Brannogenos or Magurix would have to be the one we seek.’
‘We could just get rid of them both?’ Masgava muttered.
‘I’m not about to dispatch two Remi on the off-chance one of them is not what he seems. Galronus might be a little pissed at me. Besides, when we find him, I want to have a few choice words with this traitor.’
‘So we keep an eye on the two Remi from now on,’ Masgava muttered. ‘Never leave them alone?’
‘Got to be the most sensible course of action,’ Fronto agreed. ‘Think it’s time I got some shut-eye. We’ve a long ride in the morning. Which one of you is on next watch?’
Masgava stretched. ‘That would be me. I’ll go and relieve Damionis now. The poor bastard spent every moment tending the injuries and then went straight on watch. He’ll be exhausted.’
‘Send him back to the fire for a warm up.’
Masgava nodded and rose, disappearing off into the night.
‘Have you given any thought to what we’re going to do when we find the other king?’ Palmatus asked quietly, pulling his blanket round him and settling to the ground uncomfortably.
‘Depends on whether he’s feeling cooperative. If so, we’ll camp down with him and his men and wait for Ambiorix to show up. Cativolcus is well known to hate the man, so we might be in luck. If not, then we’ll take the bugger hostage and wait anyway. The details we can hammer out as we go.’
‘I think we’ll have to get the plan set well in advance if we…’
Palmatus fell silent at the sound of Masgava’s voice raised in alarm. A heartbeat later both he and Fronto were up, their blankets dropping to the ground, drawing their swords and sharing a look before they ran off in the direction of the shout.
Around the clearing, the men of the singulares were coming rudely awake, blinking and lurching from their beds, some alert enough already to be scrambling for their swords. Past the rising men Fronto and Palmatus ran, towards the figure of Masgava, standing at the watch position where the main road and the small track could both be easily observed from the same point.
‘What is it?’ Fronto yelled as he closed on the man, but then added ‘Shit!’ as he saw the shape of Damionis the capsarius splayed out on the ground, soaked in glistening dark liquid.
‘Damn it!’ Palmatus snapped. ‘We should already have been watching them!’
Fronto’s eyes widened as Palmatus turned and raced back into the clearing, the other two officers at his heels. Despite the unity of the singulares, its constituent members were still new enough that they tended to separate off into their national or professional cliques at night. Arcadios had camped down with Myron and Luxinio, Biorix and Iuvenalis tended to talk late into the night in the way engineers seemed to need to, and the Remi habitually camped together.
Fronto’s heart sank as he came to a halt with the others at the edge of the clearing, looking down at the two sleeping blanket/cloak piles. Brannogenos, with his charms and sigils, his dark hair and darker eyes, had gone, and all his kit with him. Magurix lay wrapped in his cloak, snoring like a boar with a sinus condition.
‘Shit, shit, shit!’ snapped Fronto.
Masgava stared down at the sleeping Gaul as the rest of the group began to assemble near them, barring the few who had spread out to search the edges of the clearing. ‘How can he still be asleep through this racket?’
Palmatus shrugged in defeat. ‘Damionis had given him some concoction of poppy juice for his chest. He’d probably sleep through another stabbing, the lucky bastard.’
‘Well I guess that answers one question for us,’ Fronto snapped. ‘Unlucky old Galatos must have been onto him back in Divonanto, so Brannogenos did away with him before following. I guess he realised now that after wounding the horse he’d be watched, so he did a runner. I wonder what the piece of shit has in store for us. He knows where we’re going, too, so there’s a damn good chance Cativolcus will know we’re coming.’
‘We still have an advantage,’ Samognatos announced, strolling up behind them. ‘The horses were all corralled and roped close together near me and they’re all still accounted for. Wherever Brannogenos has gone, he’s on foot. We can beat him there.’
‘I hope so,’ Fronto grumbled, picturing the dark, sour-looking Remi with his various sigils. Was one of them a symbol of Arduenna? He should have looked when he had the chance. Now the man would be out and about preparing to cause them endless trouble.
‘Everyone get back to sleep. Masgava, get on watch, but now I want three men on watch every time we stop. Always in sight of one another, too. It’s time we got this situation under control.’
Turning, Fronto spotted Aurelius climbing back into his blankets, his eyes nervously scanning the branches above that blotted out the stars and moon even in the clearing, courtesy of trees that had been left growing here and there to add to the leafy canopy. He remembered hearing the story of the legionary and the bat that had been entangled in his hair as he went for a late-night piss. Drusus had roared with laughter as he told the tale under the sullen gaze of Aurelius.
Fronto had dutifully chuckled along, but his mind had furnished him with a question. How had the bat got entangled in the first place? He’d encountered endless clouds of the vermin in the caves below the villa in Puteoli and the one thing he knew about them was they never, ever, collided with you.
Arduenna.
‘You’d better have listened to those druids, you ugly, untrustworthy bitch.’
Chapter Twelve
Delta of the Rhenus River
Priscus stood at the water’s edge and watched debris floating out towards the cold northern sea from the heart of Gaul and Germania. His gaze took in the variety of humps of land that sat defiantly out in the sluggish flow and then strayed back to the near bank and the Menapi town. No one knew what it was called — even the native scouts from other Belgic tribes. It was a miscellaneous, unlabelled town. It was also a ghost-town, the latest in a long line.
‘How many does that make?’ Antonius sighed as he skipped a flat stone across the wide waterway.
‘Twelve, by my count, plus endless tiny villages and farmsteads.’
‘All deserted.’
Priscus took a deep breath. ‘I told you before we marched north that these bastards flee into the swamps and islands at the first sign of real danger and feel safe as anything. Largely because they are.’
Antonius nodded dejectedly, his eyes scouring the deserted, empty town as though for a solution. ‘So you think they’re out in that estuary, on those islands?’
‘Yes. And beyond, spread over about fifty miles of marsh, fen, swamp and river.’
‘Is this the Rhenus I keep hearing about?’
‘Not really. But it’s connected… everything’s connected here. The delta and its rivers cover an area half the size of Latium. It’s enormous, and impregnable.’
‘I swear some of those islands are actually moving!’
‘Probably. This place is the worst place to campaign in the world. I’d rather drive a wedge up mount Olympus against the Titans. I’d rather fight a battle underwater. Looking at this place, that might actually happen!’