Fronto smiled with actual, genuine relief. It was better than he could have hoped for. ‘What makes you think Ambiorix will come to you?’
‘He must, if he wishes to rule the Eburones. Currently his supporters number small bands of survivors from last winter’s war, while much of the surviving tribe are subject to my rule. My scouts tell me Ambiorix waits at this time on the Treveri, who rise once more against your general in the south, and then he will return to Eburone lands.’
‘And how do you intend to kill him? With the greatest of respect, he is much younger and stronger than you, and if it comes down to a clash of arms, he will not lead his small band against your larger one. He is not stupid enough for that.’
Again, Cativolcus chuckled. ‘One of the benefits of being old is that I have little left to lose. In fact, if it buys peace and security for my people, even my honour is for sale. I have a vial of poison so virulent that a single drop will kill. Ambiorix will parlay with me, as it is our right and duty as leaders of men. He will not walk away from that conversation.’
Fronto nodded slowly, surprised to find the old man so blasé on the use of poison. It seemed anathema to all the Gauls held dear to remove an opponent in such an underhand manner. Still, it suited Fronto perfectly.
‘I was about to offer our services in dealing with Ambiorix, but it sounds to me as though you already have things planned out better than I. I would dearly like to ask a few questions of Ambiorix before he dies, though. How fast will your poison work?’
The old man pursed his lips and removed a small earthenware container from his belt, peering at it in the low light. ‘That depends entirely upon the quantity. This brew is distilled from the yew tree in methods known only to the druids. It is extremely powerful, and — as I said — a single drop will kill. But slowly. For a quick death, much more must be administered. A single drop would suffice, though, and Ambiorix will linger for some time in exquisite agony. I have seen yew-juice taken before. He will shake like a wild horse, sweat like a running man and gasp like a throat-slashed one. He will have time to tell you what you need.’
‘And you have no problem with this interrogation?’
‘What care I how many of the rat’s secrets he spills to you. I care only for the security of my people.’
Fronto smiled and leaned forward, unfolding his arms and legs. ‘It would seem, king of the Eburones, that we have an understanding. We are in concord. Have you somewhere that we can stay while we await the inevitable arrival of your enemy?’
Cativolcus slouched into his chair. ‘Ullio will see to it. He sees to everything. Strange, the paths down which a man might tread, eh, Roman? That the Goddess deliver a Roman to me and he and I might find common purpose under my roof?’
Fronto smiled as he rose. ‘My own Goddess, Nemesis, had no small part in the process, I can assure you. Thank you for your time and your honesty, king of the Eburones. With the help of the Gods and our own strength, perhaps we can see a way through this to preserve the Eburones from the wrath of Rome and leave you as undisputed king with Caesar’s blessing.
Cativolcus once more smiled and waved Fronto away, closing his eyes and relaxing back into his seat. Fronto turned and gestured to the other three and they made their way back to the door. As they exited and Fronto closed the portal behind him, Palmatus whispered ‘Do you think we can trust him?’
‘He certainly seems to want Ambiorix out of the picture as much as we do,’ Fronto hissed back.
‘Beware just how far you trust,’ Masgava added, darkly.
‘What?’
‘He may have seemed resigned to his fate, but there were at least eight men on the floor above us in the dark, and I heard bow strings loosen as we left. One wrong word in there and we would have been pinned to the wall.’
Fronto nodded. ‘A king is allowed his protection. It’s expected, but to keep them hidden and secret is unusual, I’ll admit. You don’t think he was lying, and that Ambiorix is already here?’
Samognatos shook his head. ‘He was truthful on that account at least. And he has everything to gain and nothing to lose from Ambiorix’s death.’
‘Just remember that he might have other agendas too,’ added Palmatus.
The four men stepped out to rejoin the rest of the remaining singulares, Ullio standing ahead down the street a little.
‘The king would see us quartered for the night.’
Ullio nodded and gestured on down the path. Fronto turned to the others. ‘Well, we’re closer than ever. Ambiorix is lurking to the south, but is almost in our grasp. Let’s just hope Labienus can put the Treveri down first.’
Chapter Fourteen
Hillside in Treveri lands.
Andesaros of the Treveri brushed aside the stray braid that continually hovered on the periphery of his vision and sat on a wide, flat rock, peering down into the valley ahead. Behind him, his warbands took advantage of the pause in the journey to eat, drink, share jokes and boast about what they would do to the Romans when they had overwhelmed them.
Two small groups had broken off from the sizeable army and were making their way forward to him. One of his loyal bodyguards stepped close to him, putting a meaty hand on this hilt of his sword, but Andesaros waved him away negligently. It was only the other two chieftains come to interfere yet again. Besides, what use were these impressive bodyguards? They hadn’t done much to save his uncle’s life, after all. There was in fact every chance that this big man fondling his sword pommel was one of those who had attempted to claim Roman gold for Indutiomarus’ head. Andesaros had long-since decided to keep such men at a good distance, relying on his own solitude, wits and reflexes rather than the muscle of others.
‘Why have we stopped?’ snapped Dunohorix of the Mediomatrici, sliding from the back of his horse angrily. ‘Every hour we stop for something. You promised us Roman blood and Roman spoils!’
Behind him, also dismounting, Solemnis of the Tribocci was nodding his agreement. Solemnis was a weasel who simply agreed with whichever greater man stood next to him at the time, but Dunohorix was a necessity. Without him, the army would halve.
‘My scouts ride back at speed, see? I would know what spurs them to such pace before I walk into it.’
The Mediomatrici chieftain harrumphed, but fell silent and stood poised. Unity was needed and they all knew it. Soon, the tribes from across the Rhenus would join them, and their ranks would swell immensely, but the three chieftains would have to work in close consort or risk losing control of the army to the madmen of the Suevi and their battle-crazed allies. Once or twice, Andesaros had regretted accepting that lunatic Ambiorix’s advice and making pacts with the dogs from across the river. He had almost ten thousand men right now, with the elements of the other two tribes added to his own. He should be able to destroy that one legion easily without the aid of the Germanic lunatics, but Ambiorix had been cautious and talked him into a treaty that would seriously diminish potential spoils and glory, but would treble the size of his army. Whatever it took. His uncle would be avenged. This ‘Labienus’ — a womanish peace-lover’ they said — would pay for the dishonourable demise of Indutiomarus, beheaded in a ford by traitors with a lust for Roman coin.
‘How far are we from the legion?’ Solemnis asked, betraying what sounded like a hint of nerves to Andesaros.
‘Four hours,’ he replied calmly. ‘Across the river on a rise.’
The men fell silent once more, waiting as the four scouts galloped across the open grassland and up the slope towards the leaders of the army. Andesaros stood and smoothed his clothes, making sure his torc and arm rings were in clear view.