by C. R. May
Nemesis
Cover
Title Page
Map – Central Italia
Epigraph
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Characters
Places / Locations
Conquerors of Rome
About the Author
Also by C. R. May
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
Panic stricken by the unexpectedness of the invaders’ expedition, by their numbers, by the huge size of their bodies and by the strange and terrifying sound of their voices, they forgot their training in military science and hence lost the use of their valour.
Cassius Dio – Roman History
One
The moon slipped free of the cloud and the man froze. Twenty paces before him the guard was grinning as his head swept in circular patterns, the wan light reflecting dully from the polished bronze of his armour. A small shape, a solid point of black amid the gloom, flitted past in the chill air, and the giant Aeduan caught his breath as the Roman’s gaze swept through and beyond him as it followed the erratic flight.
Berikos’ eyes flicked down as he judged the distance between them, but he quickly discounted the idea of a sudden rush forward. The bat was moving just too quickly, its flightpath too difficult to predict; he slowly turned the blade of his dagger until the pale reflection disappeared with a final flicker.
The guard’s gaze passed across him once again as the dark shape sped past on its circular beat, and Berikos closed his eyes briefly lest the glint in them betray his presence. Senses heightened and nerves taut, Berikos felt the air move against his face as the rhythmic sound of tiny wings split the air only inches away. Desperate for the life-preserving shadows to return, he cautiously stole a look. Rolling his eyes skywards hope returned as the cloud, its greyness edged in silver, began to nibble at the moon’s rim. Agonisingly slow did the cloak of darkness deepen, and he gripped his blade tightly and crept forward with feline stealth.
Twenty paces… fifteen…
The gods continued to show him their favour – the guard’s head flicked up, the bat climbing suddenly as it homed in on a silvery moth. Ten paces, and the warrior knew he must strike. His gods were with him, but they could also be fickle, and they craved entertainment; it would not do to press them too far.
Now!
Berikos leapt forward, and a heartbeat later the knife blade was pressed firmly against the olive tones of the guard’s upturned throat. As the man went rigid and his eyes widened in terror, the Aeduan spat softly through gritted teeth. ‘A single noise from you and it will be your last. If I hear so much as a nervous gulp or a squeaky fart you’ll find yourself with another mouth, a big red one. Do you understand?’ He leaned in and increased the pressure on the blade to lend weight to his words. ‘We are going to cross the field here, and you are not going to try and run. If you do, my friends will pepper you with arrows before you can get more than three paces, intelligo?’
The guard moved his head almost imperceptibly as he struggled to overcome the fear of the cold steel pressing against his windpipe. Berikos reached down and drew the man’s own dagger from its sheath and tucked it into his belt. He hissed into his ear. ‘Any more?’
The guard gave a slight shake of his head, and Berikos grabbed a handful of his tunic and twisted it into a tight ball as he prepared to push the man before him back into the safety of the trees. As he made to drop his dagger to his captive’s side a nearby door opened suddenly, washing the area with the buttery light from the fire within. Berikos pulled the man to him and increased the pressure of the blade as the sound of animated conversations carried to them.
A sudden shout made both men start. ‘Marcus, shut the door. This isn’t a barn!’
Marcus let the hem of his tunic drop as he leaned across and tossed a light-hearted comment back into the room. The answering jeers were cut short as the door closed with a clatter, and the newcomer hitched up his clothing once again as he splashed noisily against the outside wall. Berikos and his captive tensed as Marcus threw a comment over his shoulder. ‘It is a cold night, Atilus. Glad I’m in the warm.’
Atilus rolled his eyes towards Berikos, who shook his head and hoped that the night was cold enough to draw the man quickly back to the warmth of the fireside. Berikos attempted to slip behind Atilus as Marcus glanced across but, with mounting despair, he knew that the action was futile. He was larger than most Celts, and often found that he stood almost twice the height of these men in the south. In desperation, he flicked the braid of his hair forward and snuggled into his bemused captive.
As Marcus reached out for the handle of the door, the Aeduan cursed inwardly as the man paused and leaned forward, squinting into the shadows. ‘Have you got someone there with you?’
Berikos whispered a warning into Atilus’ ear as the man’s superior took a pace towards them, easing the pressure of the blade just enough to enable him to make an edgy reply. ‘No, sir. All alone.’
The man hesitated for a moment and seemed about to return to the hut, when an innate sense that something was not quite as it should be caused him to move back towards them. He spoke again, angrier now. ‘Yes, there is. You are on guard duty, if it’s that woman again you’ll be in serious trouble, lad!’
Atilus tensed as Berikos increased the pressure once again on the dagger and wound his body in preparation to strike. As Marcus unwittingly left the safety of the light a dark shape detached itself from the shadows and padded stealthily across the courtyard with a litheness that belied its size. At that moment the moon slid from behind the cloud to bathe the trio, and Berikos was finally revealed by its watery light.
Marcus’ expression changed instantly to one of shock, and he drew in a breath to shout a warning. At the same instant the wraith-like figure rose to stifle the cry with a meaty hand, and the Roman’s eyes shot open in surprise and horror as his head was snatched violently back and a blade slid across his upturned throat. Druteos moved the dagger down and plunged it into Marcus’ heart, gripping the body tightly as it shook in its death spasm. As the lifeless body slumped the Horsetail hoist it across his shoulder and shifted its weight. He shot his friend a look as he loped past and grinned. ‘I am sorry to spoil your fun, but we really do need to go.’
Berikos realised that he was still cuddling into the terrified guard and, leaping back with a frown, he hissed a reply. ‘If you mention this to anyone you’ll join our friend over there!’
Druteos smirked mischievously, the big man doubling across to unload his grisly cargo in the deep shadow of a wood pile. With a last furtive glance about the clearing, the Celts pushed their captive ahead of them and were swallowed by the darkness.
Behind them, the circle of life and death continued to stalk the night on serrated wings. Vaporous tendrils rose gently in the cold night air from the dark stain on the wall and the small pool that had collected at its base.
* * *
Albiomaros lifted his nose, drawing a deep breath before letting it go with a sigh. ‘Smell that? We are nearly home.’
A rumble of laughter came from the column, as the men shared looks that told of their gratitude and relief that they had m
anaged to survive the task set by Brennus and come safely back to the army. A finger of light broke through graphite clouds to point accusingly at the war-weary city of Clevsin, huddled on its ridge above the valley floor. The army of the Senones was encamped on the ridges opposite, waiting for the men to return with the results of their mission to the southern city of Rome. With the army now a short gallop away they were finally safe from ambush or pursuit, and Solemis allowed himself a small self-congratulatory smile at having fulfilled his task without losing a man.
At his side Albiomaros turned his head, throwing a question back along the column with a smirk. ‘Do you think that your friend made it home, Berikos?’
The laughter redoubled and their chieftain glanced back with a grin as the men puckered their lips and made slobbery kisses. He looked across to the Aeduan and was gratified to see that the man was chuckling happily along with his adoptive clansmen. He was glad; the man had proven to be a popular and useful member of the war band ever since they had released him from slavery several weeks before. They had quickly discovered that the man’s great size and strength was matched by his cheeriness and easy-going nature, and he and Albiomaros in particular had soon struck up a great friendship.
Druteos chipped in as the horses trotted on. ‘The last time that I saw him he was running back towards Rome. Mind you though,’ he added as the men smiled in anticipation, ‘it was not as fast as I would have run if the ugly bastard had slobbered all over my neck!’
They all laughed again as Solemis reflected on the Roman, Atilus. It had been a mistake to risk the lives of his men to capture him. He had already suspected that the Romans would wait until they had regained Etruscan lands before either attempting to overtake his small band and overwhelm them or – as it had transpired – sending a number of their equites on ahead to lay in wait for their return. It had been plain enough from the treatment meted out to them outside the city walls that they were regarded as a curiosity at best – an amusement for the citizens to mock and gape upon as they took their leisure on the Field of Mars. He thought that his judgement had been sound at the time, but to their surprise the captive had quickly regained his humour once he realised that he was not to be killed out of hand, and they had grown to admire his confidence and self-assurance. It had lent the enemy a human face and, having learnt little of use from the encounter, Solemis resolved that he would not suffer a prisoner to live again if the time came.
They had left the paved surface of the Via Cassia with reluctance soon after passing beyond the River Tiberis. Tired and keen to return to their homes and families on the eastern side of the Apeninnus after a long summer away, the solid footing had offered the ideal route home for the weary men. The rapidly shortening days had already added a full day to their journey back to Clevsin, but none had demurred as Solemis had led them across the fields and taken the muddied track that shadowed the roadway. Within hours they had discovered the expected ambush party ensconced within a small settlement that straddled the road. Securing their horses on the far side of the ridge, they had crept forward to observe the enemy force from the safety of deepening shadows, as the sun had dipped to become an indistinct smear to the west.
A full century of equites had left Rome the day before the Fabii brothers had ridden out to deliver the senate’s reply to their demands, and Solemis had immediately suspected that they had been under orders to intercept the Senone party on the road home. He had been exercising his mount alongside Albiomaros, and the looks that a few of the riders had cast in their direction had left him in little doubt that they could be expected to meet again – and soon.
Fortunately, the momentary slip of their much-lauded disciplina had alerted him to the danger, but he had wanted to be certain that they were the same men. He chastised himself as he realised that he had placed his clansmen in harm’s way to do so.
Whoops of joy came from ahead as a party of riders clattered down the Via Cassia towards them, and Solemis’ thoughts came back to the present as the answering shouts of recognition from his own party rose into the chill air. Led by Galatus, the clansmen who had remained behind with the army broke away as they drew near and circled the column, beating spears against shields and announcing the return of their chieftain in a whirl of ululating mayhem. The circuit completed, Galatus steered his mount across and fell into step alongside his chieftain as the rest of the clan exchanged animated greetings to their rear. ‘Welcome back Solemis!’ He cast a glance back along the column as he did a quick head count and shot his leader a delighted grin. ‘You are all here. How did it go?’
Solemis shared a look with Albiomaros and blew out his cheeks. ‘We all survived, that is the main thing.’ He nodded towards Galatus’ long sword as it bounced at the horse’s flank and pulled a lupine smile. ‘I should keep a sharpening stone nearby, though. We will be busy again next summer.’
A flash of joy animated the warrior’s features as he digested his chieftain’s remark, and Solemis looked back towards the city as a low rumble rose from the Senone army, rising to a roar as the news of their return was passed from man to man. The three men shared a look and laughed. ‘It seems that word of our arrival has reached the camp. The tents will be coming down already!’
Grins and good-natured catcalls welcomed the Horsetails as they rode through the camp and soon Solemis was dismounting and walking up the rise. Ahead, Brennus was perched upon a rock, swigging from a small amphora of wine and reaching into a bucket that lay cradled between his legs. He threw Solemis a grin as he approached, before launching another stone at the head of zilach Porsenna’s helmeted head, which stood impaled on a spear point nearby. Solemis chuckled as the pebble arced low and missed the helmet completely. ‘You should be able to hit that helmet with your eyes closed by now. Have you not moved since I have been away?’
Brennus returned the smile and indicated that Solemis come and stand beside him with a jerk of his head. They clasped forearms in the warrior greeting and exchanged a look that confirmed the high regard in which each man held the other. Brennus scooped another pebble from the pail and took aim as he handed the amphora across. ‘I have a new target now: I can only take a swig when I get one to stay in.’
Solemis looked across and laughed as the pebble bounced away from the gaping maw of the old zilach. Brennus cursed at his side and eased himself from his improvised seat, flexing his back with a grunt. ‘It started to hang open a few weeks ago; every morning now it is open a little more. I was considering taking two swigs for every tooth that I could dislodge, but they are still too firmly fixed to the gums.’
Solemis ran his gaze over the head of the old ruler of Clevsin. Crixos, chieftain of the Crow clan, had led the charge at the second battle that summer, and personally killed the zilach before the Roman Numerius had avenged him. The Roman intervention had broken the laws of nations and Solemis had travelled to Rome in a forlorn attempt to bring the man to trial. Solemis rubbed his chin as he took in the macabre remains. The skin of the zilach had drawn tightly over the cheekbones and taken on a yellow, waxy pallor. Shrivelled eyeballs stared unseeing from the shadowy depths of their sockets and ropes of torn skin and tendons hung from the severed neck. Clearly, the zilach had seen better days.
Brennus placed a hand on Solemis’ shoulder and indicated the small house that stood nearby as he lowered his voice. ‘Come inside and eat. I have other news for you.’ Solemis followed on as Brennus beckoned to the remaining Horsetails with his arm. ‘Come and eat at my table, boys. You all deserve it.’
As his clansmen threw themselves noisily from their mounts Solemis racked his mind. It was unlike his leader to be reluctant to voice any opinion or fact, and he wondered at the tone that he had used. As the men rushed up and edged behind them in a rowdy mass, Brennus snatched up two hunks of beef from the table and indicated that Solemis follow him through the smaller door at the rear. Stooping low, the men passed through, and Solemis flinched as he was hit immediately by the sweet smell of death. Brennus appear
ed not to notice, and he handed a hunk of meat across as a black haze of flies buzzed around them. ‘I will burn these now, but I wanted you to see the lengths that we went to in our efforts to discover who killed your father.’ Several corpses lay in a tangled heap. Each had been flayed, and the shrivelled strips of skin lay discarded in a smaller mound nearby. Brennus tore off a mouthful of beef and waved a fly away with his hand as he chewed. He indicated the buzzing pile of pink, grey and white with a flick of his head. ‘These were the black riders.’
Solemis looked at him. ‘You are sure?’
Brennus snorted. ‘One man might be brave enough to hold out as his skin is slowly stripped from him, but I doubt that they all would.’ The chieftain of the clans tutted and flicked several flies away from his face. ‘Let’s go back inside. These things are driving me mad!’ They ducked back through the doorway, and one of Brennus’ men closed it behind them and pulled a heavy curtain across.
Solemis shrugged. ‘They tried to kill you outside Alesia, and they were almost certainly the ones who stirred up the Helvetii against us in the mountains. They deserved to die, but why are you showing me?’
Brennus fixed Solemis with a hard stare. ‘As I said, men tend to tell the truth as the skin comes away, if only to hasten their end. They all denied that they knew anything of the death of Connos.’
Solemis looked at him with disbelief. His father had been cut down from behind in the hills behind their settlement the previous autumn. The clan had swept the area and interrogated the local Etruscan population. They had all agreed that the black riders had been there and that they had come from Clevsin. Added to the previous attempt on Brennus’ life it had been a reason for the punitive campaign against the city that summer, and now it would seem that they had been mistaken after all. He shared a look with his chieftain as he fashioned his thoughts into words. ‘If they didn’t do it, who did?’
* * *
