‘Fuck me!’ shouted Aurelius in a panicked voice. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!’
‘Get a hold of yourself, man!’ snapped Palmatus, showing a great deal more control than Fronto currently felt. All around the clearing, the men were now rising from their blankets, swords in hand. The wolf-thing cast the severed head into the fire, where the hair caught and the burning object rolled through the flames towards Fronto, who stepped aside as it passed. Figures began to loom in the darkness behind the wolf-creature, each one a horrible animal parody. A man-thing with a stag’s head, antlers sawn off close to prevent snagging on the branches. A bear-man. Others, too indistinct in the darkness.
‘The Goddess!’ yelled Aurelius. ‘It’s Arduenna!’
‘It’s not Arduenna!’ Fronto snapped angrily. ‘She’s a woman, and she’s on our side!’
The horrible creatures stepped out of the woods and into the clearing and, as if from nowhere, Masgava suddenly appeared beside the wolf-man. One hand went up to the creature’s chin, illuminated orange in the firelight, and yanked the head to one side as the other struck, driving a thick, long knife into the creature’s jugular, spraying dark liquid out into the night.
As the creature jerked and fell away, Masgava’s hand slipped, grasping at the wolf’s hair, and the wolf-mask slid off in his hand, hanging limp as the man who’d worn it collapsed to the ground, clutching at his neck, bleeding out his life.
Masgava was visible largely from the brilliance of his white grin in the dark as he cast the wolf’s head away and turned to face the rest of the animal-masked attackers. As the men leapt forward, Fronto turned to Aurelius. ‘Get a grip on yourself, you daft sod!’ he snapped as he dashed away to join the fracas, grateful that he’d stopped just short of soiling himself and that Aurelius would never know that.
Now, half a dozen of the men were in the clearing and fighting, though they had lost the element of shock that had accompanied their arrival with the pragmatic Masgava’s impressive first kill. Now, the efficiency of Roman-trained soldiers came into play. Fronto ran across and found himself standing facing the stag-man, with Magurix the Remi on his right, fighting off a second wolf-man. Even as he parried a sword strike and delivered a sharp stab to the stag’s upper arm, Fronto had a moment to admire the big, muscular Remi warrior’s abilities. With a heavy sword in his right hand and bearing no shield, Magurix neatly knocked aside the attacker’s blade and delivered a succession of three blows with his left arm: a drive up into the man’s kidney, an uppercut to the wolf-muzzled jaw, and then a sharp elbow down onto the cord that connected shoulder to neck as the man fell back. Before he even hit the floor, Magurix had recovered his sword position and drove the blade into the falling chest.
Gods, the man was fast.
Fronto delivered a second and then third stabbing strike to the stag-man, dancing back out of the way of his desperate counter-stroke, and found himself facing the bear-man beyond, as his previous victim fell to the earth. With a deep breath of smoky, cold night air, he readied himself for the next fight, but paused as the big bear-headed man stiffened and toppled forward to the turf. A neatly-fletched arrow stood proud from the man’s back.
Startled, Fronto stepped back, wondering whether he could make a dash for his shield. None of them had had the time to retrieve their shields, so sudden was the attack.
‘Hold still, Roman,’ the archer said in passable Latin, stepping forth from the darker trees beyond. He was clearly a local, in a yellow-brown tunic and grey checked trousers, his white-blond hair braided at the temples and moustaches drooping below his lips. A second arrow was nocked on the man’s bow. Even as Fronto lowered his sword, he saw shafts plunge into the remaining animal-headed attackers, killing them quickly and cleanly.
Fronto stepped back, sheathed his sword and raised his hands in a placating manner.
So much for lookouts. One of the pair on duty tonight had been beheaded and the other… well there had been no sign of Valgus during the fight. In truth, these woods were so close and dark and unfamiliar he felt it unlikely he’d have spotted an attacker any more than the others.
‘We mean you no harm,’ he said sidestepping the fire in his retreat and closing on his shield.
‘You said Arduenna was ‘on your side’?’ the man asked, narrowing his eyes, arrow still trained on Fronto.
‘We are here with the Goddess’ blessing, on the directions of the druids of Divonanto,’ Fronto said, hoping that the blessing of the Goddess and the aid of druids would be enough to offset the mention of a settlement that remained loyal to Caesar.
‘The Goddess apparently does not protect you from bandits?’ the man said, ironically, nudging the dead bear-man with his toe as he stepped past, bow still raised. Other natives were behind him, also with arrows nocked. Slowly, the men of the singulares stepped back into the clearing, making for their shields at a slow retreat.
‘Perhaps she does?’ Fronto countered. ‘You showed up in a timely manner.’
The archer let out a short barked laugh and let his string loosen, the arrow tipping away from Fronto’s chest. ‘Well said. A Roman with the blessing of druids and our Goddess is a curious thing. What brings you into the great forest?’
Fronto tried to ignore the real possibility that these very men had been among those who had butchered a legion and a half mere months ago, and forced a smile onto his face. ‘We seek Cativolcus, king of the Eburones.’
‘A dozen Romans will not slay our king.’
Fronto nodded. ‘I am aware of that. I said we sought him, not his head.’
‘Curious,’ the archer replied, his eyes still slitted in suspicion. ‘I am Ullio, of Espaduno. And you must be favoured of the Goddess. This collection of animals has killed many a strong warrior in the night, and we have been hunting them for two days. Gather your goods and follow. We will take you to Espaduno, but I warn you of this: if the king does not wish to receive you, things will not go so well.’
Fronto nodded. ‘Just take us there and we shall see what we shall see.’
As the native hunters, of which there appeared to be the best part of a score, took up guard positions on the periphery, bows still in hand, Fronto and the others gathered their kit and packed everything on their horses, untying the beasts from the branches where they had been tethered for the night. Once they were on the move again, heading south with the Eburone hunters around them, Masgava leaned close.
‘When we left, I had a quick look to the north path. I couldn’t see Valgus, let alone his body. He’s vanished.’
Fronto sighed. ‘Great. So now we don’t know whether he’s alive or dead or possibly even a traitor like Brannogenos, run off to his masters.’
‘I think we can discount the latter. He and Celer are close as brothers, and Celer is still here, wearing a mask of grief. I fear they were lovers.’
Fronto blinked. ‘What?’
‘Lovers. It is not unknown, Fronto, even among gladiators, let alone legionaries.’
‘I… I just never knew. Keep your eyes open. I think Valgus is still out there somewhere. The bandits came from the south, and so did our Eburone rescuers, but Valgus was guarding the north approach. He’s not the fastest or quietest of men, but if he’s out there, he’ll be shadowing our party.’
Masgava nodded and moved away again.
Fronto rubbed at his temples. His brain hurt. What had Gaul come to in his absence? When he’d last been here it had been a simple matter of dressing like a Roman, standing in a shieldwall and stabbing Gauls. Now here he was being protected by the Eburones — the most rabid of the tribes Caesar could currently count among his enemies — as he sought an audience with their king at the behest of druids, all with the favour of a Goddess who hated Romans.