Rome: Fury of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series)

by R. Cameron Cooke

  Adalbert nodded, and then drew back the bow and took aim. The straining wood creaked as he brought the feathers to his ear. Then, he released, and the arrow sailed through a gap in the trees and buried itself in the neck of the Nervii warrior’s horse. The beast instantly went into violent convulsions, kicking wildly with its back legs as its perplexed rider cried out in horror. Finally, the man’s hand slipped from the reins and he flew from the saddle, crashing violently into the rock-hard trunk of an ancient tree. The man’s neck jerked back on impact, snapping it like a twig.

  The two Romans, not having seen the arrow, concerned themselves with keeping their own mounts clear of the kicking horse until it finally galloped off back down the track. As the horse ran past the two men, one of them saw the arrow protruding from its neck, and was about to raise the alarm to his companion, when a feathered shaft suddenly appeared protruding from his bare thigh. Adalbert’s second arrow had been aimed at the Roman’s horse, but the horse had moved at the last instant. The man shrieked in pain as he tried to remove the barbed point from his leg, but this seemed only to increase the flow of blood. Unconsciously pulling on the reins, the man sent his horse into a spin. The other Roman, realizing they were under attack, drew his sword, ignoring his struggling companion, and scanned the woods for any sign of their attackers.

  The Roman searched the foliage to the left of the road, and quickly picked out the thin form of an Aeduan archer, standing a mere thirty paces away and taking no pains to conceal himself while he notched another arrow. The archer must have been completely confident that his next arrow would fly true, because he made no move to run. Even after the Roman prompted his horse into action and charged straight for him, the archer simply drew back his bow and calmly aimed. The Roman could see the blue eyes of the bowman, even at this distance, and he kept focused on them, and them only. When he saw the archer’s eyes blink, he quickly jerked his horse to the left. The arrow sailed past, well clear of him, and he felt an instant moment of elation. He was charging at the archer now, as the man reached for his next arrow. There was no way the archer could get it notched and loosed in time. He had him, and he knew it. He raised his sword, preparing to smash down on the pathetic man’s head, but then several things ran through his mind at once. The fact that he could now see two horses tied up behind the archer, where there stood only one man. That gurgling sound behind him that told him the arrow that had missed him had not been aimed at him at all, but was now firmly lodged in the neck of his companion, its intended target. The serene nature of the archer who appeared not the least bit concerned that a cavalry gladius was about to cleave his head in two. All of these things raced through his head in the space of a heartbeat, and he came to the correct comprehension of them a moment too late. From seemingly out of nowhere an axe head appeared in front of him. It had been swung by someone concealed behind a tree, and it struck him with full force in the chest, crashing through his breastplate and knocking him clean from his mount.

  As Divitiacus allowed a moment for his arms to recover from delivering the hammer-like blow, he saw the Roman fall to the ground flat on his back. The Roman’s body twitched once, and then went limp. He was dead, but the other Roman, the one that now had one of Adalbert’s arrows protruding from his neck and another in his thigh, was still alive. He, too, had fallen from his mount and was flailing about trying to remove the arrow that had severed his windpipe.

  Divitiacus bounded over to him and knocked the man’s hand away from the shaft.

  “What deal did you make with the Nervii, you bastard?” Divitiacus snarled as he stood on the Roman’s chest and twisted the shaft in his neck. “Why did Valens send you here? What happened to Lucius Domitius? Tell me, or I’ll cut your balls off!”

  The Roman growled in pain, gurgling blood and spit, but he made no attempt to speak. His eyes stared back into the Aeduan chieftain’s with nothing but contempt and hatred.

  Seeing that he would get no further with the Roman, Divitiacus ended the man’s suffering with a single, lightning-quick swing of his axe.

  Divitiacus and Adalbert searched the bodies, and the saddle pouches of the horses. While searching the Roman whose chest had collapsed under Divitiacus’s axe, Adalbert found a small paper, folded carefully and tucked away in the man’s tunic. The paper appeared blank at a first glance, but upon further examination, Divitiacus found that it contained a collection of Greek letters written in faint ink, almost invisible unless held at the right angle to the light. The characters were arranged in columns. Divitiacus knew immediately what it was.

  “The cipher!” he cried aloud.

  “The what?” Adalbert asked in confusion, befuddled at his chieftain’s reaction.

  Divitiacus did not answer. His mind whirled as he considered his options. The dead man at his feet was a fool to have ever carried such a damning document on his person. Divitiacus was convinced that the cipher would unlock the message he had found on the dead Nervii officer and then had presented to Caesar. This was the final proof that the senator was involved in some kind of malicious plot. But was it a plot to betray Caesar? Perhaps this Senator Valens was communicating with some double agent of the Nervii, and this foray into enemy lands was meant to ensnare the Nervii rather than to go into league with them. If that was the case, then Divitiacus may have just killed two loyal Romans and may have bungled a plot to undermine the Nervii.

  The contents of the message would provide the conclusive evidence, either way. Unfortunately, he had left the message with Caesar, and who knew what the proconsul had done with it.

  “How long would it take you to reach the Roman column?” he said, turning to Adalbert.

  “Going back the way we came? A day, maybe more.”

  “And if you cut a more direct path?”

  “Across the wild?” The scout shrugged. “Maybe more, maybe less. It all depends on how many marshes I have to go through, and how many of those hedges I have to go around.”

  Divitiacus nodded, and then handed the document to him. “Then take whatever path you think best, but ride as fast as you can and get that document in Caesar’s hands before the sun sets tomorrow. Is that clear?”

  Adalbert nodded as he folded and tucked away the paper.

  “Guard it with your life,” Divitiacus said firmly. “And be discreet about gaining an audience with Caesar. No doubt, that senator is watching his every move. He’s sure to be monitoring all of Caesar’s visitors. You will raise less suspicion than if I were to deliver it.”

  “You are not coming, my lord?”

  “No,” Divitiacus said simply, without expounding. “Now, be off!”

  Adalbert nodded, and, after stowing his bow, jumped into the saddle and rode off at full gallop.

  Divitiacus did not bother to watch him go. He hastily hid the Roman bodies, and then he, too, mounted and kicked his horse back onto the path. He did not, however, take the path back the way they had come, as Adalbert had. Instead, he continued on in the direction that would take him deeper into the Nervii lands.

  He was certain Valens was a traitor, and that his success would mean disaster for the Aedui. The cipher was one thing, but whatever it might reveal, Divitiacus was sure the senator could talk his way out of any culpability in the matter. On the other hand, the senator had a dark and dirty little secret, something that could seal his political fate forever. Lucius Domitius knew that secret. Why else would the senator have gone to such great lengths to do away with him? There was a chance that Lucius was still alive, somewhere out there in the hands of the Nervii.

  Divitiacus was determined to find him, even if it meant risking his own life.

  XVII

  When Lucius awoke, the guards were gone. He woke to the face of a boy, looking at him quizzically. The boy seemed to notice that he was awake, but said nothing and continued to clean his wounds.

  Lucius remembered being dragged to this place, a poorly lit hut that seemed much bigger than the other huts, and then being pushed into a corner
, where he was continuously watched by both guards who sat grimly at a nearby table drinking beer. The howls of the mustering army had resounded outside and had nearly made Lucius’s throbbing head split. He had not slept in days, it seemed, and eventually he had faded off to sleep.

  Now, as the boy dabbed at his head with a cool rag, it was nearly silent outside. Gone were the drums of the host, and he could even hear the sounds of birds and cows through the open window. The late morning sunlight revealed a large open room with chairs and tables and a hearth. The guards were gone. Someone must have removed his chains while he slept because he now wore loose-fitting Belgic trousers. The irons had been fastened onto his ankles again, which would allow him only slight movement for walking, but his hands were now free. It appeared that he and the boy were all alone in the room.

  "Where am I?" Lucius asked.

  The boy looked at him confused and Lucius realized that he had asked the question in Latin. Of course the boy wouldn't be able to understand him.

  "Where am I?" Lucius asked again, this time in Celtic.

  Lucius’s Celtic was not that good and, judging from the look on the boy’s face, he might have just told him he was a crazed leper. The lad could have been no more than ten years of age, and as the light revealed more of the youth’s ruddy complexion, Lucius realized that he had seen the boy before.

  "I am Lucius." Lucia said in Celtic again. "Who are you? What is your name?"

  The boy’s face scrunched up and then broke out in a grin that revealed a set of crooked yellow teeth.

  "Do you speak Gaulish?" the boy said suddenly. "I do."

  "Why, yes, I do," Lucius said, relieved because that was a language he spoke nearly fluently.

  "Please use Gaulish.” The boy smiled. “Your Celtic is hard for me to understand."

  "What is your name?" Lucius asked, this time in Gaulish.

  "They call me Alain."

  "That is an Aeduan name, is it not?"

  The boy nodded and then continued dressing Lucius’s wounds.

  "Then you are a slave here, of the Belgae?" Lucius asked.

  "Yes, just as you are," the boy replied simply.

  “Me? I’m no slave!”

  “You are the slave of my lord Boduognatus, but do not worry. The lady Gertrude, his daughter, is kind and generous. She seldom beats me. Much less than my parents did, Lugus rest their souls.”

  “Tell me, Alain, how long have you been here?”

  “Since I was six years old, I think, but I have lost track. The Belgae raided my village, and my family was killed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Alain looked at him oddly. “I am content here. My life is very simple. I do what I am told, and I am rewarded with food. My lady Gertrude takes better care of me than my own people ever did. I have never been hungry.”

  Lucius glanced around the room once more, and then said in a whisper. “Where are the guards? Are they gone?”

  The boy’s face was suddenly hostile and he quickly moved several paces away from Lucius. “They are near, Roman dog. Do not try anything, or I will call them.”

  Lucius heard a man’s deep belch through the open window, and knew that his guards from the previous evening were lounging just outside the door. That did not surprise him, but the boy’s tirade did.

  “Why should you be so angry with me?” Lucius asked in an attempt to calm Alain. The last thing he wanted to do was alienate him. He noticed that the boy wore no chains, and a slave with such a free reign might be able to help him to escape. “I am an ally of your people. The Romans and the Aedui are friends.”

  “They are no longer my people, dog, and I am no friend of the Romans. They wish to conquer us, and to make my lady Gertrude one of their whores.”

  “Then why were you taking care of me just now?”

  “Because I was ordered to,” Alain said testily, but then his face softened. “And because I have heard that you saved my mistress’s life, when some other Romans tried to kill her.”

  “Your mistress, Gertrude, is she – “

  “Your mistress, too, dog!” the boy snapped.

  Lucius bit his lip to avoid back-handing the runt across the floor. “Uh, I’m sorry. I meant to say our mistress, the lady Gertrude. Is she the –“

  At that moment, a young woman entered from the door. It was the golden-haired maiden that Lucius had seen at the Nervii farm, and then again last night as she had pleaded with the older man, presumably this chieftain Boduognatus the boy referred to, to spare his life. She was flanked by the two guards from last night. She took one look at Lucius, and her face broke into a smile. She then turned and said something to the guards in Celtic, and they grudgingly went back out the door, presumably to wait outside.

  The maiden seemed somewhat nervous as she approached Lucius, who still sat on the floor. Then she said something to Alain in Celtic

  “My mistress does not speak your tongue,” the boy said, his tone still resentful. “I will speak for her.”

  “Tell her, I very much appreciate her saving my life last night.”

  Alain sighed, and then relayed the words, and it prompted a sympathetic nod from Gertrude. She then spoke again, gesturing to the table, where some bread and meat were laid out.

  “Burning Romans is the law of the druids, not hers,” Alain translated. “She wishes the barbaric practice would stop. She is sorry about your comrades. Would you like to eat? You must be starving?”

  Lucius was uncertain as to why this woman was being so kind to him, but he wasted little time in making his way to the table. He had not eaten for several days, and suddenly realized just how hungry he was. He crammed the food into his mouth, one handful after another, taking little time to chew before swallowing, and quite forgetting where he was. After a few moments, he realized that Gertrude and Alain were watching him with astonishment, as one might watch a lion devouring a horse. He felt somewhat embarrassed and immediately began to eat in a more controlled fashion.

  While Lucius ate, the woman sat down across from him and studied his face with her piercing green eyes. He tried to avert his own eyes, remembering that he was supposed to be her slave, and soon found himself staring across the table at her breasts. They were concealed and held back from the edge of the table by her dress, but Lucius’s mind could not help but ponder how lovely they had looked when he had seen them fully exposed.

  Gertrude suddenly said something that startled him out of his gaze.

  “She wants to know why your people turned you over to us,” Alain said. “Are you a criminal among the Romans?”

  Lucius looked at the boy. “A criminal? No. I’m no criminal.”

  Gertrude then slapped her hands on the table and sighed. It was the first ill-mannered gesture Lucius had seen from her.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  She then said something in an annoyed tone to Alain. The boy nodded and turned to Lucius. “She says to talk to her, not me. She wants to see your eyes. A man’s soul is in his eyes. I will speak for her.”

  “Alright. If that’s the way she wants it.”

  Lucius did look into her eyes, and he found that it was harder than he had thought. He had seen the resemblance in her green eyes to those of his dead mother and sister back on the farm that day, and now only an arms’ length away, and faced with both of those perfect eyes, and their searching power to reach into the very depths of his soul, he wondered if there might not be some kind of sorcery in them. But he held her gaze and did not look away.

  "My father is a chieftain,” The boy relayed her words exactly as she spoke them. “He has made an arrangement with a Roman senator – a man called Valens. This man gave you to my father. He obviously expected my father to have you executed.”

  “Yes,” Lucius agreed.

  “Why does this man want you dead? He is Roman, too, no?"

  "Among my people there is infighting between families and classes,” Lucius said. “From what I've been told, it has always been
that way. The old Romans fought each other when they weren't fighting someone else. They might conquer a people one day, and then befriend them the next, but all noble Romans are always suspicious of their Roman peers."

  "You are a noble?”

  “No.”

  “But this man Valens is?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are not one of his peers, then,” Gertrude seemed perplexed. “How could he hate you so much to give you over to an enemy?"

  "I think I hate him more than he does me. He's afraid of me, or of what I can do to him. Thinks I'll show up on his doorstep someday looking to settle the score because of what he did to my family. And that's just what I had planned to do, if I ever got to Rome, so I guess he's not a fool."

  "What happened to your family?"

  Lucius paused, holding back what he had kept inside him for so long. "Do you really want to know these things?"

  "Yes. I wish to know all about the man who is…," Gertrude seemed to have trouble finding the right words while Alain waited to translate. “I must know all about my enemies.”

  "You have not treated me like an enemy, thus far." Lucius smiled.

  She smiled back. "I always repay my debts. You saved me from those small-pricked Roman boys. I am grateful to you for that.”

  Lucius laughed out loud at that, and this brought a larger smile to Gertrude’s face, but soon her face drew solemn again, and she prompted him to answer her. Lucius closed his eyes, allowing those painful and long buried memories of the past to come back to the forefront of his thoughts. Through the last few weeks, the repeated attempts on his life, and the revelation that Valens was behind it all, he had wanted desperately to tell someone, anyone, all that was brewing inside him. But he had kept silent, unsure if there was anyone he could trust. Now, sitting in front of this Nervii woman, his enemy, but in some ways, the least threatening soul he had encountered since marching into Gaul all those years ago, when he left his old life in Spain behind and never looked back.