Nemesis

by C. R. May

  Both men shared a laugh and Brennus stretched and belched. He rubbed his stomach and pulled a face. ‘We are all growing fat here, Solemis. This siege warfare is just not our way.’ He sighed and looked across to the dome of the Capitol. The summer was waning; the smattering of trees that hugged the slope of the great hill were beginning to lose their sheen as the bread oven heat lessened a little more with each passing day.

  Brennus took a swig from the amphora and handed it across. ‘I wanted to talk to you Solemis because you don’t think like other men. Most men’s thoughts run in a straight line – their life, their clan. But you stand back and see the whole. Despite the death of your father, what did you spend the winter doing before we attacked Clevsin? Most men would have raged about the murder and plotted their revenge, but you made friends with your Umbrian neighbours and learned how to speak both their language and that of the Latins. You saw the wider world, Solemis. That is a rare quality.’ Brennus placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and fixed him with a stare. ‘It is why I will be recommending that you replace me as chieftain of the clans when the main army goes home – just until my return.’

  Solemis was thunderstruck. ‘Where are you going?’

  Brennus sniffed and tugged at his moustaches as he thought, seemingly a little guilt-ridden and reluctant to reveal the thing that had called him away. After a short while he turned his face to the Horsetail and Solemis could see the flames of war dancing behind his leader’s eyes as he explained. ‘I received an embassy sent by Dionysius of Syracuse, a while ago while you were still in the south.’

  Solemis looked askance and Brennus explained. ‘Syracuse is another of the city states that they seem so fond of down here; apparently it is part of a large island called Sikelia, which stands off the place where the land ends. This Dionysius is a sworn enemy of Rome so, as you can imagine,’ he said, glancing about the courtyard with a self-satisfied smirk, ‘he enjoyed the defeat and fall of this place almost as much as we did ourselves.’

  Solemis had guessed what was coming next and he opened his mouth to speak, but his chieftain held up a hand to cut him short. ‘I know you feel that the Horsetails deserve to be in on any new adventure, and you would be right.’ He laid a hand on Solemis’ shoulder and threw his subordinate a warm smile. ‘I have given my word and received part payment that we will be away in this Dionysius’ service for three years. I will be taking a third of the warriors with me, and that is why I must ask you to remain behind. I know my limitations Solemis – I am a war leader, nothing more. The Senones are settled here now, they have made new friends but also powerful enemies. The Romans and the Etruscans will not forget their humiliation at our hands. The people need a strong, intelligent leader and that man is you. A leader who is held in respect for his wisdom and battle fury by the people, a man who has the guile and open handedness to forge the alliances that will help to protect the clans until the warriors return. Besides,’ he added with a glint in his eye, ‘the word from home is that Aia’s time is near – you should be there to welcome the future chieftain of the Horsetails into the world.’

  Solemis gaped at the news. He had always thought the possibility that his gwr was with child was a secret known only to them, but a moment’s thought told him that must be an impossibility. Childbearing was a difficult thing to hide, and a constant stream of messengers had been moving to-and-fro across the saw-toothed peaks of the Apeninnus carrying news from the settlements to their menfolk in the army all summer long. As chieftain of the clans it was Brennus’ duty to keep abreast of developments on both sides of the mountain chain. The pair shared a laugh as the truth of it became written on Solemis’ features, and Brennus held out the amphora and grinned. ‘Drink on it, da?’

  Solemis sank a deep draught to steady his nerves as Brennus gazed into the distance. A dark cloud moved across the face of the sun and an owl ghosted across on silent wings. He knew that it was a sign, but he was unfamiliar with reading portents. He was a warrior – maybe he would seek out a druid later and ask him what the augury signified.

  Brennus spoke again. ‘We need to get the army home, soon Solemis, before the snows return and close the passes over the Apeninnus. We have won another great victory here; men should be with their clansmen in time to share the news with their ancestors at Samhaine. They missed that last year after the fight against the Etruscans because we left it too late. Let us not let that happen again.’

  Solemis returned the amphora and ran his tongue across the hedge of his moustache, savouring the remaining droplets. ‘When do you leave.’

  Brennus brightened as he saw that Solemis had accepted the situation put before him. ‘Very soon – Dionysius is despatching a fleet of ships to Ostia to carry us south. They should arrive any day now.’

  Solemis nodded. ‘Then I had better get the army moving. I am going to take the Horsetails back along the Salt Road if Aia’s time is near, otherwise I will be tied to the speed of the slowest wagon. There are enough chieftains of ability in the army and we have already smashed the armies of Rome and Etruria. They will meet no opposition.’

  Brennus raised a brow, and Solemis saw that he was about to question his decision but curbed himself before the first word came. ‘It’s your decision now,’ he said finally. ‘But there is something else that you should know.’ Brennus lowered his voice and looked about them. ‘In addition to this gold from Dionysius the Romans have offered to pay us to go away.’

  Solemis’ eyes widened in surprise and his face lit up with a smile. They had all spent too long in the man-made canyons of the city; Celts belonged among trees and grass where they could ride everyday under the wide sky and their gods were close to hand. To be paid to do the thing they most desired was the thing of dreams. ‘When? How much?’

  ‘When you were out gathering supplies in the east. They came to the barrier and offered me six thousand pounds of gold to leave.’

  Solemis could barely contain his excitement at the fabulous fortune on offer. Added to the gold and silver from Dionysius and the booty amassed from the city of Rome itself the coming time of potlach would keep the bards busy for years to come. ‘You accepted their offer, of course,’ he laughed. ‘I would if I were chieftain of the clans, particularly if we were about to leave anyway!’

  Brennus gave a sly chuckle. ‘Eventually. I did say that I wanted to supply the weights that would measure out the tribute.’

  Solemis knew that there was more to tell. His mouth curled into a smile. ‘And?’

  Brennus laughed and shot his friend a look of admiration. ‘You are a canny lad, chieftain Solemis. I have had a smith make up weights that are heavier than the official stamps on them declare.’ He shrugged. ‘A sort of parting insult, if you like.’ He turned to Solemis again, and the Horsetail saw that his leader’s eyes were sparkling with mischief. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘What can I say if they object? Something in their language, something short and easy to remember.’

  Solemis reached across and took another swig from the amphora as he thought, before a smile lit his features as the perfect retort came to him. ‘How about Vae Victis – it means ‘Woe to the Conquered!’’

  A wicked smile spread slowly across Brennus’ face as he tested the phrase. ‘Vae Victis…’

  Solemis chuckled as he heard the reply from Brennus’ lips. ‘Yes, that sounds fine. If they complain that the weights are not true throw your broadsword onto the scales, remember me and say Vae Victis!’

  * * *

  Numerius shifted in the saddle, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun as he stared into the west. Away to the south the Via Ardeatina sparkled like a mountain stream as the sunlight reflected from arms and armour. The allied columns were clearly in view now and he pursed his lips as he began to fear that his hunch had been wrong. Numerius turned to his brother and spat in frustration. ‘It’s no good, we shall have to rejoin the main army.’ He cursed and struck the horn of his saddle in disappointment. ‘I would have wagered anything that th
e barbarian would retrace his route here. We cannot allow Camillus to enter Rome at the head of the relief army and take all the plaudits – we shall have to return.’ Quintus nodded but remained silent. Word had reached them several weeks before of the death of their father and the flames of vengeance burned unchecked within them.

  Their lands subject to the ravages of Solemis’ Horsetails, the other cities of Latium had finally lived up to their treaty obligations and gathered beneath the Roman war banner. Ardea of course had sent their spearmen to be commanded by the old Roman dictator who lived among them, but also others – Aricia, Cora, Pometia, Lanuvium – were now marching north to rid the Latin lands of the scourge of Gallic horsemen.

  A decurion edged his mount across, raising himself in the saddle as he squinted into the distance. A moment later his excited cry shook the sour mood from them. ‘Tribunes! A rider coming in from the north!’

  They turned as one and tracked the dust cloud down to its source. Numerius felt a kick of hope; it could only be one of the men he had placed on the ridge overlooking the city. He was certainly moving like he had important news to impart, and the Roman sent prayers to Jupiter, Hercules and Mars that he was correct. It seemed to take an age before the man appeared before them, and he waited impatiently as the messenger spat the road dust from his mouth and made his report.

  ‘Tribunes! A group of barbarian horsemen have left the city and are heading in this direction.’

  Numerius spat out a reply. ‘A group? A century? Five? How many?’

  The rider flamed and cleared his throat. ‘About a score, tribune. They look to be heading for the Via Salaria.’

  Numerius made a fist and exchanged a look of triumph with Quintus and Caeso. ‘It must be Solemis and his men!’

  His horse caught the mood, skittering sideways as Numerius calmed it with a sweep of his hand. ‘Right, you know what to do. The moment that we break cover they will see us, but we must reach the bridge before them or they will escape.’ They brought their spear points together and hardened their expressions. ‘For father!’

  * * *

  Solemis was euphoric. They were finally leaving Latium after a summer spent raiding and fighting among lands he felt he now knew better than his own. No Horsetail had ever been raised to lead the tribe of the Senones, and he was eager to return home and begin the feasting and distribute the potlach that would cement his position among the clans. The meeting at the barrier had gone well; the Roman representatives had sullenly handed over the promised gold to be weighed, and the look on their faces when told that the amount was light had been a joy to behold. Their protests had been met with a smirk and ‘Vae Victis’ from the present Senone chieftain, which had finally driven the last vestiges of the haughty superiority from the southerners that they had all come to know so well. It had been the final moment of victory in a war that had started, they now knew, with the scheming of a Roman tyrant named Camillus, when he had used the slimy Greek merchant Kyriakos to entice them south across the Alpes to help in his war against the Etruscans.

  Albiomaros interrupted his thoughts as he drew his attention to the sky. ‘The vultures are back – look.’

  Solemis narrowed his eyes and peered southwards. The dome of the sky was clear and bright, all the haziness of summer a memory. They exchanged a look. ‘Let’s pick up the pace. We know that they are gathering an army around Ardea; we cannot afford to meet them here, not alone.’

  He cast a look back along the column. Bringing up the rear the pack animals laboured along, the panniers at their sides bulging with Roman gold, and he chastened himself for growing careless. The last serious opposition to their arms had come months before during the rout at the river they now knew to be called the Allia. He had grown complacent over the course of the summer but the enemy were showing signs of recovery; he really should have sent the gold north with the remainder of the army.

  Solemis urged Tantibus on and the horse lowered his head and surged forward. The Horsetails were strung out now as they gained the salt road and flew eastwards as fast as the pack horses would go. A hand reached out to tug at his sleeve and Solemis looked across to find that Rodolfo had drawn level. He relaxed the reins and leaned across as the Umbrian cried out over the thunder of hooves. ‘Dust Solemis, to the south.’

  Solemis looked again and cursed. They still had about five miles to go before they gained the bridge across the River Anio, the same place where they had entered Roman lands in the spring. It would be a close-run thing. As they crested a fold in the land the riders hove into view, and he cursed again as a quick tally told him that they were outnumbered four or five to one. Solemis’ eyes flicked to left and right as he judged the distance between the men who were clearly Roman equites and the bridge and allowed himself to relax a little. The enemy were close to the crossing, but not near enough to intercept them before they crossed, even slowed down as they were by their plunder. How long they could stay ahead on tiring mounts would be another matter, and Solemis pushed down the disappointment as he realised what needed to be done if the clan was to escape.

  The blackened remains of the toll collector’s hut flashed by as they swept down and galloped onto the approaches to the bridge, and as the men of his clan clattered across Solemis hauled on his reins and brought Tantibus to a halt. Moments later they had copied his action, wheeling about to gawp at him in surprise and confusion. The Romans were approaching the crossing, hefting their shields as they prepared to give battle, but to the dismay of his men Solemis threw himself from Tantibus’ back, drawing his sword as he threw them a parting instruction. ‘Go… quickly.’

  Their mouths gaped as their gaze flew from their chieftain to the rapidly growing shapes of the enemy horsemen, but Solemis forestalled any protests with a jerk of his head. ‘There is no time to argue. The bridge is narrow, I can hold them here. I won’t be remembered as the chieftain who was responsible for losing Brennus’ gold and the annihilation of the clan!’

  Before they could respond he slapped several horses on the rump with the flat of his sword, hastening across to the highpoint of the span as the horses skittered and snorted. He was running out of time to block the crossing; the leading Romans were already on the approach, but a volley of gaesum whispered overhead as he ran to fall among the leading riders. As Romans and their mounts tumbled to block the entrance to the crossing further javelins arced across the gap, skewering those attempting to pick their way through the mess of kicking, screaming men and horses. The volley had bought him enough time to gain the high point of the bridge and broken the cohesion of the enemy charge. Solemis turned back and flashed his clansmen a last look of thanks; to his surprise they had formed a line to his rear, and he felt overwhelming pride as they beat their last spears against their shields and cried out his name.

  ‘So-le-mis! So-le-mis! So-le-mis!’

  As he turned back the final missiles whispered overhead to fall among the packed ranks before him, and he rolled his shoulders as he prepared to face the onslaught. Without a shield he could employ the full sweep and power of the heavy broadsword, and clasping the grip with both hands he swept the blade in wide silvered arcs as he prepared to face down the foe alone.

  At last a rumble of hooves carried from behind and he felt relief flood through him as he knew that the others had seen the sense in his decision – living to fight another day, perpetuating his clan. As the Romans began to dismount he sensed another move to his side, and he snorted as he took a step to the left. Albiomaros laughed and took up a battle stance as he came up, his blade hissing as it cleaved the air in short, adder-like strikes. Solemis risked a look at his friend as the Romans finally crossed the wall of dead and dying and began to form up behind their shields.

  The big Trinobante grinned as the dying sun reflected a flaming crimson from the plates of his owl-helm, and he held up the palm of his hand to show the red weal that marked their brotherhood. Solemis gulped with emotion as he returned the gesture and indicated the oncoming wall of
shields with a flick of his head. ‘They want us alive, genos.’

  Albiomaros looked back and noticed that the Roman soldiers carried no arms. They would close inside the sweep of the Celts’ great blades and pin them against the parapet as others knocked them unconscious and trussed them up like hams at a feast. He threw Solemis a look of incomprehension and the chieftain indicated to one side of the bridge. Near to the remains of the toll hut the three Fabii brothers were sat astride their mounts, savouring the moment of final victory over their tormentors. Albiomaros looked back with a fatalistic smirk. ‘They may well want us alive, Solemis.’ He kissed his blade and touched the pendant at his neck for luck. ‘But they will pay a heavy price!’

  Twenty-One

  ‘Sail ahead!’

  The lookout shimmied to the top of the bow post, throwing an arm around the figurehead as he peered northwards. As the rest of the crew paused at their work and raised their chins in his direction Catumanda watched as he turned back and cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘More than one, Anaxos,’ he cried, the surprise obvious in his voice. ‘It looks like a fleet.’

  The kubernetes’ knuckles whitened on the handle of the pedalia as he threw a look shoreward. Although they were carrying little of worth, years of experience in the busy waters along the coast of Latium had taught him to always place caution before curiosity.

  So far it had been a pleasant trip up the coast from Neapolis bound for the port of Ostia. Despite the lateness of the season the dome of the sky had remained clear, the winds light, and the druid had wondered at the beauty of the coastal strip. Shattered headlands of creamy stone punctuated belts of golden sand and salt marsh. Further inland lush green forests marched away towards a horizon edged by crenellated peaks; it was the perfect place to contemplate what was beginning to look like the culmination of her life journey. Only the strange grey forest remained to be explained from the recurring dreams that had plagued her nights since she was a child, and Catumanda was beginning to discover to her surprise that the fact had produced an inner calm. She was sure now that the final image that had haunted her nights since childhood had marked the end of her story, but the fate of the crew of the Alexa still weighed heavily upon her conscience, and she was pleased when the captain hauled the pedalia to his chest and guided the bows of the little Kalypso landward.