It was enough to curdle his gut, let along make his brain thump.
* * * * *
Espaduno was an impressive sight for its design, rather than its might, even in the dark. This was no oppidum or simple town. It was a collection of holy places visible eerily in the moonlight, linked by houses and shops in neat roads that were betrayed by the orange lights of torches, fires and lamps, all of it surrounded by a low mound surmounted by a palisade fence.
As they reached the edge of the trees and peered down the slope, they took in the settlement, bathed in a silvery glow. Away to their left, along the hillside, stood a collection of grand — for the Gallic peoples, anyway — buildings, surrounded by its own palisade. A neat collection of streets in a tight web below, within the main palisade, connected three different nemeton, each separated from the civic areas by a wattle fence and circle of trees.
‘That is the sacred springs of Arduenna,’ Samognatos said in a hushed voice, pointing towards the separate area on the hillside.
‘That doesn’t concern me,’ Fronto replied. ‘Only Cativolcus and Ambiorix concern me now.’
He turned to address the white-blond hunter who apparently led their escort. ‘Ullio? Will you be able to provide us with a place to sleep for the night?’
The man turned in surprise. ‘Only if the king tells me so.’
‘We are to see Cativolcus at this hour? I thought we would likely wait for the morning?’
‘The king rarely sleeps.’
Fronto nodded. Neither would he, in the man’s precarious position. ‘Very well. Will you allow me to take companions in to see him?’
‘If he wills it.’
Fronto sighed and followed as the party descended the slope and approached the entrance through the palisade — a simple wooden gate that would hold back a legion for about the time it took to use the latrine. They were held up at the gate for only a moment before Ullio was recognised and they were admitted. The men on guard duty — presumably a reduced number for the night — watched with barely-concealed loathing as they passed, despite the fact that, as far as Fronto was concerned, they bore precious little resemblance to Romans.
Wordlessly, they were led through the dark, packed-earth streets of Espaduno, riding to the end of the settlement that was closest to the sacred springs on the hillside and near to the largest of the three nemeton. Here, the party halted in front of a building of two storeys that looked no different to any other structure in the settlement.
‘Wait here,’ said Ullio authoritatively, and then rapped once on the heavy timber door and pushed it open, walking inside. Fronto stood and waited with the rest outside, feeling the strangest tension at his surroundings and situation. After a long, odd pause, the door opened, and Ullio reappeared. ‘He will see you, and whoever you feel you need to accompany you.’
Fronto felt himself sag with relief. He’d not come up with a viable plan of action if Cativolcus would not see him. ‘Palmatus, Masgava and Samognatos: with me. The rest of you be on your guard, but respectful. We are here as guests, strange as that may seem.’
With a nod to Ullio, Fronto stepped to the door.
‘Your swords and daggers,’ the hunter said, blocking the doorway with his arm. Fronto nodded and drew his sword and pugio, passing them to the blond archer. Behind him the others also removed their weapons. Fronto paused for only a moment, and then turned to his officers. ‘All of them,’ he noted, raising looks of surprise from the others, but a smile of respect from Ullio.
Entirely disarmed, the four men waited for Ullio, and, passing the pile of weapons to his closest man, he gestured for them to enter, closing the door behind and remaining outside.
The large building was one single room, with a mezzanine floor above. A fire in the room’s centre provided most of the heat and a reasonable light, supplemented by a number of braziers. Cupboards and chairs and other furniture lay around the room’s periphery, and a large table was covered with bric-a-brac. The room had one single occupant, which surprised Fronto. He had expected the king to have a guard of several on hand, especially if he had agreed to receive Roman visitors.
‘Your name, Roman?’ The old king’s voice was reed-thin and hoarse, like the whisper of a dying man on the wind, and Fronto felt somehow saddened by the tones. Something about the man’s voice suggested a once-powerful warlord, now old and frail. Oddly, despite everything, he suddenly found himself feeling a touch of sympathy for the old man.
‘Marcus Falerius Fronto, staff officer in the army of Rome under Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of Gaul.’
‘Ah,’ the old man smiled. ‘The ‘Proconsul of Gaul’. A title that seems to be contested by many. Not here, though. It is worth remembering that we are Eburones, and not Gauls. Our forefathers came from the great forests beyond the Rhenus, not from the tilled soils of the south. We are the hardened sons of blood-soaked Gods, not smiths and farmers.’
‘Very impressive, I’m sure,’ Fronto said nonchalantly. ‘Shall I laud the Republic of Rome through its history of conquest and violence and its great founding by heroes of Troy? Or shall we stop bullshitting one another and talk straight as men?’
Cativolcus whispered a hoarse laugh. ‘I have heard of a Fronto who commanded legions against our peoples. You are he?’
‘I am.’
‘Very well, killer of Belgae. Tell me why you are here without your legion?’
Fronto gestured to a seat opposite and the old king nodded. As the other three leaned against the table and the wall at the room’s edge, Fronto sank into the hard, wooden chair and adjusted himself to a vague semblance of comfort, crossing his legs and folding his arms.
‘It is said that you are no lover of your brother king Ambiorix.’
‘It is said truthfully,’ the old man replied, and Fronto felt a flood of relief. That the pair might have been reconciled had been one of his greatest worries.
‘You will no doubt be aware of Caesar’s wrath towards Ambiorix?’
‘All our lands are aware of Caesar’s wrath. He burns and levels entire tribes in his anger.’
Fronto nodded. ‘He has made a solemn vow to both our people and our most powerful Goddess — as revered as your Arduenna — that he will kill Ambiorix. He will stop at nothing until that comes to pass.’
‘And he lays waste to whole lands to do it,’ Cativolcus rasped.
‘He does. And if you think what he has done to the Nervii and is apparently now doing to the Menapii is unpleasant, it pales to nothing against what he will do to the Eburones, who destroyed an entire Roman army and killed some of our leading citizens.’
‘You have chosen a strange way to deliver such a threat, stepping into the bear’s jaw, Roman.’
‘I am not delivering a threat. I am simply stating Caesar’s intentions. He has made an unbreakable vow to a powerful Goddess, and will move the world to see it fulfiled. Fortunately for you and your people, Ambiorix is the subject of that vow, and the might of Rome could be turned aside from you and your tribe simply by handing over Ambiorix.’
‘An excellent solution,’ the old man smiled, ‘if I had him.’
‘Ah, but you have come south to the border of the Segni at a time that your counterpart is rumoured to have been among them. A little too convenient to be coincidence. If you have no love for the man, why do you move to intercept him?’
Cativolcus gave a knowing laugh. ‘You are shrewd and well-informed, Roman.’ He sighed and leaned back. ‘Very well. The time has come for the Eburones to unite under one king. Ambiorix wishes it to be him, as he seeks a grand army to lead against Rome in another of his foolish crusades. I am an old man who has seen enough of war and destruction, and I care not at this stage of my life whether I rule all the Eburones, but for the good of what remains of my people, I will do what I must to prevent Ambiorix from doing so.’