They did not have to wait long before a mounted warrior entered the glade from the hollow that came from the marsh. The man was a Gaul – or he looked like one – with dark pigtails descending from beneath a conical helmet to rest on both sides of his mailed chest. He wore bright yellow-checked trousers and appeared to be an officer from one of the auxiliary cavalry troops. He was followed by another rider. This one was a Roman, mounted on a fine steed and wearing a dark cloak with a red plumed helmet. He looked red-faced and tired. Both horses were covered in the slime of the marsh.
"Refresh yourself here, my lord Argus," the Gaul said, sliding off his mount and guiding his horse to the stream. "The beasts stay here. The path is too difficult for them. We will move faster without them."
The Gaul proceeded to take a drink from the fresh stream. The Roman dismounted, but he did not drink. He looked extremely anxious.
"Hurry up, will you?" Argus, the Roman, demanded. "We haven't the time to tarry. I must get to Boduognatus before the column reaches the ford. It is imperative that I do so."
"I am thirsty," the Gaul said defiantly, "and I will rest a moment, even if you will not."
"Damn you, then! I'll go myself!"
"I would not advise it," the Gaul said smugly, "I have travelled these woods more times than I can count. They are treacherous. One wrong turn and you will not find your way out. The Nervii designed them that way."
Argus only gave the Gaul a look of displeasure as he tied his horse to a tree.
"The Nervii know me, Argus," the Gaul said. "If they see you alone, and with no escort, they are likely to run you through before you can get two words out."
"I will manage." The Roman officer made to leave and then paused in a moment of doubt. "If, by some unlikely event, I do lose the path, and you make it there before me, you must pass on a message to Boduognatus."
"And that is?"
"You must tell him the plan has changed. That he is not to wait for the impedimenta, as he was told before. He must now attack the moment the first legion reaches the river plain. Tell him this message comes from the senator himself.
The Gaul raised his eyebrows, and chuckled. "The senator? You Romans truly are a vicious people, betraying your own as easily as you wipe your ass."
"The message is a simple one!" Argus snapped irritably. "You have been paid in gold. Now, will you deliver it or won't you?"
"Oh, I suppose I will, but first you -" the Gaul was cut short in mid-sentence.
The Roman looked at him in puzzlement as the Gaul's eyes stared straight ahead, registering sudden pain and shock. He stumbled to his horse, and when he turned, Argus could see that a six-foot spear shaft protruded from the Gaul’s back. The Gaul seemed delirious, gasping for air. He unlooped his horse’s reins from the tree, as if he might mount and flee. But then his brow crinkled, and he fell to the ground dead, his untethered horse running off into the brush without him.
Argus instantly drew his sword and scanned the surrounding brush for the assailant. The woods were alive with birds and insects and a dozen sounds he could not place. He could see no one. It was as if the trees themselves had cast the spear.
"Who is there?" He shouted. "Who is bloody there?"
He heard a twig snap behind him. He wheeled around to see a young boy staring at him from the edge of the glade. The boy wore a somber expression, as if he were a nymph of the forest. Surely he could not have cast a spear with enough force to penetrate the links in the Gaul's armor.
At that moment, Argus realized that he had been tricked, that the boy was a distraction, and now he turned around expecting to see someone coming at him. But there was no one there. He noticed that the long spear that had been lodged firmly in the dead Gaul’s back was nowhere to be seen. He spun back around to face the boy, but now the boy was gone, too.
Whether phantoms or mortal men, his attackers had him completely at their mercy. He saw the hole in the hedge, the one that led to the Belgic army, and he made a dash for it, throwing his useless sword away in an effort to move faster. A rustling noise behind him told him that his attackers were in pursuit. He allowed a curious glance over his shoulder to see who they were, but it was a mistake he never should have made. With an icy horror, he saw that the spear was in the air, sailing straight and fast directly for him.
His cries of terror, then of pain, were quickly swallowed up by the sounds of the swamp.
XXII
Caesar’s army had reached the river Sabis.
It was early afternoon when the eagle standard and front ranks of the Seventh legion, the van legion of the twelve-mile long Roman column, emerged from the hedges and forest country onto a grassy depression. It was the first clear ground they had seen all day. The narrow road upon which they marched continued on, cutting a straight path down the green knoll to the edge of the wide, sparkling river. Those legionaries who cared, and who were not too busy swatting at the millions of biting insects produced by a nearby marsh, could see that the road disappeared at the river’s edge only to emerge again on the north bank and get lost in the wooded hills beyond.
General Balbus halted the Seventh Legion and spurred his horse forward with his staff to study the ground further. He could see that centuries of ebbs and floods had cut a gentle depression in the surrounding land, affording a good-sized clearing on both banks, although the tree line on the opposite bank was much closer to the water’s edge. Glittering in the afternoon sun, the wide river ambled along, generally east to west and generally straight. Balbus immediately took notice of a large hill on the opposite side of the river that dominated the surrounding landscape. The road wrapped around and disappeared behind it.
A good place for an ambush, Balbus thought. The hill was thick with trees, and there was no telling what lay beneath the green canopy.
As he watched, a band of mounted, spear-wielding warriors suddenly emerged from the tree line about half-way up the side of the hill. They rode down to the water’s edge, stopping on their side of the river, and there they waited, staring back at the Romans.
“Scouts, sir?” the staff officer beside Balbus asked.
“Yes. Nothing more, I expect,” Balbus replied confidently, knowing every man in the leading cohort would be listening, too. “Come to watch us cross the river, I expect.”
At that moment, a troop of auxiliary cavalry thundered up both sides of the road, kicking up a great cloud of dust that the halted legionaries had to breathe in. They were Treveri spear cavalry, clad in bright tunics, helmets, and small shields. Like the Aedui, they were experts in the saddle, far surpassing the speed and dexterity of any Roman horseman. They were led by a young Roman officer who reined in his charger beside Balbus and saluted.
“You’re a mite late,” Balbus said, removing his own plumed helmet and dabbing his perspiring forehead with a rag. “I was afraid I was going to have to ask those gawking bastards to bugger off all by myself.”
“Caesar wishes the army to camp here for the night,” the cavalry officer said, ignoring Balbus’s statement entirely. The young man looked fatigued. His face was covered with a layer of dirt that his sweat had turned into streaks of mud.
“Are you sure?” Balbus asked, half-mockingly. “Putting our backs against a river in enemy land doesn’t seem like good strategy.”
“It’s waist deep in most places!” The cavalry officer retorted with some abrasiveness, “And even shallower at the ford. Do not worry, my good general. Should you decide to run, it will not hinder your retreat!”
Balbus smiled casually. “I’d be happier throwing a screen across the river, just now. Has the blessed proconsul even seen this place?”