I poured him some wine and we sat in two chairs outside my tent. The evening was warm and pleasant, with a slight breeze freshening the air. ‘I have patrols out at all times, Byrd. They will not surprise us.’
He stretched out his legs. ‘These Gauls not like Romans. They have lived here for hundreds of years. They move unseen. Killed one of my scouts yesterday.’
Now I was alarmed. ‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘Do not know, lord. We found him tied to a tree with his throat slit. They had stripped him naked and blinded him first.’
‘How do you know they put out his eyes first?’
He took a drink from his cup. ‘No point in killing someone then blinding them. No sport in that.’
I shuddered. The thought of hundreds of men like Crixus prowling the forests all around us did not fill me with glee.
‘Do you know where their main camp is?’
He finished his wine. ‘Yes, lord, but would not advise you go unless you take many horsemen, but perhaps…’ He turned away and looked at a group of mail-clad horsemen returning to camp, their mounts sweating after a hard patrol.
‘Perhaps what?’ I asked him.
‘The Princess Gallia is the daughter of King Ambiorix. She could speak to her father, perhaps.’
‘King Ambiorix?’
‘Yes, lord. He is the master of the lands we march through.’
They came that night. How many I do not know, but they killed two sentries and two others who had the misfortune to be in their path. They cut open the side of the tent and stole inside, and after what must have been a brief but violent struggle they left as silently as they had arrived. I stood in her tent and stared at the lifeless body of a young Gaul lying face down on the floor, a wound in his side. A red-eyed Diana sat on the bed, likewise staring at the dead man, as if he would suddenly spring to life and give us answers. A cowered Rubi sat huddled in the corner, a look of terror on her face. I could hardly believe it. I felt as though a blade had been stuck into my belly and was being slowly twisted. Diana buried her head in her hands and wept again. I could not bear it so I waved a hand at a pale-faced Praxima to take her away. As she was gently lifted from the bed and shuffled past me, I laid a hand on her shoulder.
‘We will get her back, I promise.’ Was I assuring her or me? I did not know. All I knew that I would not rest until she was safely back by my side.
‘I have sent our patrols in all directions, highness,’ said Nergal.
‘There were no horse tracks outside the camp,’ added Rhesus.
‘They would have left the horses in the trees,’ I said, dejectedly, ‘They will be miles away by now.’
Gallia slept among the women of her company. They had been in the main camp before we had defeated the Romans in Umbria, but after our triumphs I had grown too confident and had allowed them to stay with the cavalry. She would not countenance being away from them and said she would only share my bed as my wife. I respected her for that but did not like the idea of her being removed from me. So I had her company positioned in the centre of the camp every time we erected our tents. In this way, or so I thought, she would be safe. I was wrong. And now the woman that I loved had been snatched away and I was left helpless. I prayed to Shamash that she still lived, for life without her would have no meaning and death on the end of a Roman spear would be a blessing. They had taken her in the early hours, just before the dawn broke when men’s senses are at their most confused. She must have fought them, though, because they left one of their number dead. I just hoped that her show of defiance would not go against her. But did she still live?
Spartacus and Claudia arrived at midday, both of them trying to offer solace. They failed. Nergal and Burebista returned shortly after to report they had found nothing. After a brief rest to drink and eat, they set out again on fresh horses. Gallia, and in truth all her women, had become very popular among my horsemen, many of whom regarded them as lucky mascots. Those who rode with me came to love her, with her blond locks, her riding skills and her prowess with a bow. And of course it is easy to become besotted with a beautiful woman. There was thus no shortage of volunteers to go looking for her, though none met with success.
‘She is still alive,’ said Spartacus, after inspecting the dead Gaul. ‘If they had wanted her dead she would be lying there instead of him.’
‘But why did they take her?’ I was going frantic with worry.
He shrugged. ‘They want something from us.’
‘But what?’
‘We will soon find out, I think,’ added Rhesus.
An answer of sorts came at noon when a lone rider entered the camp, a young man stripped to the waist, his body covered in blue tattoos. He surrendered himself to the guards immediately and asked to be taken to see me. He was brought before Spartacus and myself in my tent at spear point, though he seemed unconcerned at the malice that was being directed at him. One of the guards pushed him down on his knees. He was broad chested, with muscular arms and thick wrists. He had pale blue eyes and his hair had been drawn back and tied behind his neck, around which he wore a gold torque.
‘What do you want?’ He was smiling at me.
‘You are the one they call Pacorus?’ He spoke Latin with a guttural accent.
‘You are to come with me.’ Nergal and Burebista hissed in rage behind me, but I stilled them with a raised had.
‘Why?’
‘If you wish to see your woman again you will follow me, alone and unarmed.’
‘And if I don’t?’ I knew the answer already.
‘She will be killed.’
‘Why shouldn’t we kill you, also?’ asked Spartacus.
The Gaul looked at Spartacus and then me. I guessed that he did not know the identity of the large warrior who stood next to me, though he must have detected the authority in his voice. The Gaul smiled.
‘My father does not wish to kill anyone. He wants only to discuss — certain matters.’
‘Your father?’ I asked.
‘King Ambiorix.’
I was surprised. ‘Then you must be…’
‘The brother of Gallia, yes.’
‘What are these matters?’ said Spartacus.
‘Only my father knows. But if I do not return within four hours then he will assume I am dead. And…’
He did not have to finish his sentence. He was bundled outside as I gave orders for Remus to be saddled.
‘Do not go, highness,’ said Nergal. ‘Give this man to me and I will make him reveal the location of his camp. Then we can rescue the Lady Gallia.’
‘Thank you, Nergal, but no. This is their country and they are probably watching the camp now. If we harm this Gaul I might as well kill Gallia myself. I have no choice.’
‘The fact that he sent his son means he attaches some importance to obtaining something from us,’ mused Spartacus.
A few minutes later I was riding Remus out of the camp with my guide beside me. We rode through pastures, across shallow streams and followed dirt tracks though trees. He said nothing until we came to a great camp at the foot of the mountains, which stood in a vast clearing hewn from the forest we had been riding through. The camp was surrounded by a ditch and earth mound, on the top of which had been built a tall wooden fence. The track led across a wooden bridge over the ditch and through two large spiked gates. The gates were flanked by guard towers occupied by warriors armed with spears and shields. Before I rode through the gates my nostrils recoiled from the stench of animal dung and human sweat, and as I rode through the camp I saw pigs and goats in cramped pens living beside untidy huts. Naked children caked in filth ran between the huts, while everywhere stank of animal and human filth. Is this how the Gauls lived?
In the centre of the camp stood a large, squat building made from logs with a thatched roof. We tied the horses to a rail outside the main entrance, which was guarded by two long-haired warriors armed with spears, and went inside. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkened interior, for the only light that entered was via small windows positioned high on each wall of what was a large hall. The roof was supported by thick pillars made from tree trunks, from which hung oil lamps. My guide strode confidently down the hall towards a dais that stood at the far end, upon which was seated a man in an oversized chair and next to him a thankfully unharmed Gallia. More warriors stood behind and on each side of the man seated in the chair, who I assumed was King Ambiorix. I stood a few paces from him and bowed my head, as is the custom when a prince meets a king. I also glanced at Gallia and smiled. She looked pale and tired but was not bound in any way. The man who had been my guide stepped onto the dais and took his place beside his father. The king was not like a typical Gaul. He had no facial hair and his face was lean, almost gaunt. He wore a gold torque around his neck and gold rings on his fingers, but his tunic and trousers were plain and his boots were also ordinary. His arms were not tattooed and, unlike those of his warriors, were not thick and hairy; rather, they were lithe and thin. His hair was fair and his eyes were blue, but unlike Gallia’s they were full of cunning and malice. A young girl walked from the shadows holding a tray of silver goblets. She stopped before the king who took one, then offered me one. I took it and raised it to Gallia’s father, who likewise raised his goblet and then drank. The atmosphere was unbearably tense. I sipped at the drink, which was crude mead that tasted of juniper berries and a hint of oak.