by Tony Roberts
Most of the shops were in between the basilica and the forum. Casca guessed the waterfront boathouses would be over in that direction. He led Manneric through the straight street that appeared to be the backbone of the settlement. Curious passers-by gave them long hard looks, worried they might be invading barbarians, and they hurried on to their homes and a hot meal after yet another day of survival.
There was a tavern, inevitably, and Casca pushed past a patron who was leaving and thrust himself into the well-lit interior. Lamps hung from chains suspended from the pine beams of the ceiling. It was a bright oasis in the gathering gloom of evening.
“Hey, over here!” Flavius waved.
Casca grinned and led the Goth over to the far corner where the four others were seated. Flavius clasped Casca’s arm, Roman-style, pleased he had survived. After telling them the brief details, Casca got down to business. “Where can we get a boat?”
“Plenty up on the ice just outside,” Gerontius jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’ve broken a route out to the clear water so they can float out to fish. It’s their main food supply and they don’t want to starve.”
“Then we take one now. We’ll spend most of the night out on the lake. I want to be over on the far side by daybreak.”
They heaved themselves out of their seats and filed out into the cold air. Flora looked lost in her furs and Casca smiled down at her. “Not far now. Gaul is on the other side of the lake.”
Flora smiled wanly but her heart wasn’t in it. She was too cold and frightened. They walked round the building and came across the shore, a long stone and shingle area about ten feet in width. The ice stretched out into the darkness, but opposite the middle of the town a clear path had been smashed through and that was their route. They looked around the boats beached up on the shore and they selected one of the smaller ones, big enough for all six of them but not too big to push. Oars were lying in the bottom. Nobody would steal a boat here, so why put anything away?
“Flora, get in. We don’t want any accidents now,” Casca said. The girl was helped in, and they men all began pushing. The boat scraped loudly on the stones, then slid into the water. Casca and Flavius held the side while the others clambered in, and then the two got in with helping hands from the others. Shouts went up from the town as they were spotted and Casca grabbed an oar. There were two oars only. “Flavius, you any good with one of these?”
“Never tried.”
“Anyone?”
Mute shaking of heads. Cursing, Casca thrust the other oar in Flavius’ hands. “Do as I do.”
With both oars dipping in the water, Casca called the stroke, and the boat began moving down the channel. People began arriving on the lakeside and shouted in anger. They didn’t come onto the ice though, as it was clearly too thin for them to run across it close to the channel.
Casca organized the crew. Mattias sat at the rear, watching the town recede along with fist-waving townsfolk, and Manneric and Gerontius were at the prow, peering ahead for any obstruction. Flora huddled into her furs in the center, saying nothing.
The night closed in around them and now they were alone, probing along the channel in the ice. After a while the ice receded on either side and they were out in the clear water. Mattias put a hand in the water and jerked it back with an exclamation. “Gods! It’s colder than Valhalla!”
“You’ve been there, then?” Casca asked.
“I have now!” Mattias said with feeling, sucking his fingers.
Even Flora smiled, and Mattias winked at her. If it had been daytime, he’d’ve seen her turn red.
Keeping the lights of Lousonna behind them and off to their right, Casca steered the boat through the night. The others took their turn at the oars, and all of them got what little rest they could, but nobody slept.
As morning came they found they were getting close to the ice on the other side and Casca guided them to the edge and peered down at the ice without much enthusiasm. Another thing was that visibility was poor. A morning mist floated over the lake, and they couldn’t see exactly where they were.
The two at the front, Flavius and Manneric, smashed the ice with their weapons, and the boat nudged deeper in. Eventually, when the ice got too thick to break, they came to a halt. Casca got to the side of the boat and looked down at the surface. “Well, might as well give it a go.” As he was one of the heavier there, if it took his weight then it would take them all. He placed one foot on the solid water, and then the other. It creaked but held.
He moved away and tested it. It was thick enough. “Right, all out and get away from the boat. We’ve got to make for the shore.”
They all got out and the boat was pushed back out along the new channel they’d made.
Leading the group gingerly across the ice, Casca made for the vaguely seen shore ahead. It was still some distance off. As morning progressed the mist began to thin, and visibility improved. A weak winter sun broke through and lit their progress up.
Then came a shout from behind and they all turned. Coming across the lake on boats were the Burgundians. It seemed they had entered the town and stolen more. They had seen them and had turned their vessels in their direction. Some were even getting out onto the ice even as they watched.
“Oh shit,” Casca said. “We could have done without that!”
They all looked at one another in dismay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Casca looked behind him. His recollection of the area was fuzzy but a faint memory stirred at the corner of his mind. He’d been this way once before, two hundred years ago, and he began tugging at Flavius and Manneric. “Come on, off this lake! They’ll be all over us before we know it here.”
The others followed, slipping on the ice but making the best speed they could. Gerontius held Flora’s arm, almost pulling her off her feet in haste. Mattias kept on looking over his shoulder and his face was becoming grimmer each time he did so. “They’re gaining on us.”
Nobody needed to be told. The Burgundians were intent on fulfilling their vow to their king, and nothing would stop them now, except death. The lake ended in a steeply sloping shore, the mountains rising up all around sheer in some places. Pine trees covered the slopes and it was clear there was no way up there. But Casca knew that a river emptied into the lake ahead and it was here that he led his rag-tag band. Closing on them were the fur-clad Germanic warriors, their grunts now audible as they redoubled their efforts in catching their prey.
Where the river flowed into the lake the ice thickened into ridges, a result of water flowing over the ice as it had formed, then in turn had frozen itself. Underneath there was a huge air bubble and they skirted this feature, not wanting to fall into the chilly depths. It was probable a quick death awaited them if they were unlucky enough to plunge into the Alpine waters.
The ice groaned and cracked as they filed into the long and narrow valley formed by the river, and the sides were just as sheer. “They’ll be on us fairly soon, chief,” Mattias said with anxiety. “Let me stand and fight here; they want me more than any of you.”
“Don’t be a damned fool,” Casca grunted. “Up ahead’s a small path with something there we can beat these swine with.”
The others glanced at each other and pressed on. They came round a sharp bend and saw to the right the track. It cut through the terrain, possibly an old watercourse long dried up, or maybe something animals had been using for eons, but whatever, it was a path off the ice. And something more. Above where the path met the river, the mountain had been undercut by hundreds of thousands of years of wind, rain, ice and the effect of the water. Rocks had fallen at times, and what remained had been carved into fantastic sculptures. Casca’s memory had been true. Perched precariously on a rock outcrop was a large boulder, the size of three oxen. It must have weighed as much as ten. But it was teetering on the edge and it was clear that a good push would send it down, right into the river.
Eyes met and widened in hope. Flavius shouted in glee. “Hey
, we can smash these bastards and drown them! Will it move?” he added in hope.
“One way to find out,” Casca replied, moving onto the path. “Everyone, this way! Right – Manneric, you block this path with Gerontius. Nobody must pass, you understand?”
Manneric, his face darker than usual, nodded in understanding. For the death of his cousin, many would die. He flipped his cloak open. The neat row of axe handles came into view. Gerontius stood next to him, a quizzical look on his face. “Why me?”
“Because Flavius, Mattias and I are going up there to push that damned thing down on the Burgundians. You’ve got to hold them off – keep them on the ice. Flora, you get back out of range from the fight.”
Gerontius was about to argue when the first of the enemy appeared round the bend. He pulled out his sword and stepped alongside Manneric. He glanced at Flora and nodded to her. Fearfully, the girl backed away and came to a rest by the trunk of a tall pine tree. Casca and the other two scrambled up a steep but negotiable series of ledges until they were fifty feet up on the wide ledge the boulder rested upon. Chests, heaving, they walked to the edge of the ledge, above the river, and placed their hands against the solid surface of the immense boulder.
The Burgundians had stopped when they had caught sight of the scene, but now that they had all caught up, they began to advance across the frozen river, breath clouding the air, weapons drawn, teeth bared. The wind, whistling and moaning through the trees, called out the overture to the battle. It would soon be drowned out by louder noises.
Casca turned his back to the boulder and planted his feet on the ledge. Mattias and Flavius did likewise and all three strained, grimacing and uttering high pitched sounds. The boulder seemed to shift slightly and a couple of chippings rattled, but the boulder itself remained.
Below, the Burgundians were closing, swords, spears and axes brandishing. There were maybe fifty of them. Manneric hauled off his outer cloak and uttered a deep throaty howl of fury, grabbing two axes from his leather vestment. In a trice, he flung them at the enemy, both striking home, splitting one man’s skull and smashing the second man’s chest. Both toppled to the ice, sliding for a short distance.
With a snarl the Burgundians came at them, not able to run due to the slippery surface, but rapid enough to only allow Manneric one more double throw. Two more went down. Gerontius stepped across and slashed hard, determination on his face. One Burgundian went down hard, his neck sliced open and his tunic slashed into bloody ribbons.
Two more came at them but Manneric’s fifth axe smashed into a Burgundian’s chest and he fell, spitting blood, grasping futilely at the blade embedded deep within him. Gerontius slashed again, but a shield blocked him.
The ice began cracking under the weight of so many men concentrated close to the path, and the Burgundian chieftain yelled at them to spread out. One of the subordinates yelled back that the two could hold off any attack if they were spread out and that only by crowding them could they hope to succeed.
“Fool of a goat’s offspring!” the chieftain snarled. “Use your spears. Skewer them!”
Gerontius heard them. He cut down another Burgundian and as he stepped back, bellowed a warning to Casca and the two others high above them.
Casca was bathed in sweat. The damned boulder was still defying them. It was moving slightly but still stubbornly stuck to the ledge. “Come on!” he panted, “one big effort. Rock on my command, push, relax, push, relax. Got it?”
Mattias and Flavius nodded, chests heaving. The rock could easily fall back onto them, crushing them to a boneless smear, but they were in desperate straights now. “One, two, three, push!” Casca strained as hard as he could, tendons taut as if carved from marble, legs locked straight, the heels firmly jammed into a small crack in the rock. Mattias bellowed like a huge aurochs, his eyes wide and staring, while Flavius gritted his teeth and growled deep in his throat, straining mightily.
The three men were incredibly tough and strong, and the boulder shifted. Encouraged, the three held firm, drew in a deep breath, and pushed again. The boulder rocked, then began pushing back at them.
“Keep strong – it’ll push at you,” Casca gasped, hardly able to speak, “then push hard!”
Beneath them, Manneric saw four Burgundians lining up to throw spears at them. He grabbed his last two axes and flung them with all his might at the two nearest him. One axe caught its target full on the neck and the man went down like a felled tree, but the second glanced off his shoulder, spinning the man round but he was still up, and with a mighty roar of rage flung his spear with all his might. The shaft flew through the cold air to impact clean through Manneric’s gut, taking him off his feet and flinging him back onto the hard, frozen earth.
Flora screamed and Gerontius cursed, flinging himself aside as the other two spears arced towards him. The spears missed but a knot of Burgundians came slithering across the cracking ice towards him, intent on chopping him to pieces.
“Longinus!” he roared, getting up on one knee to meet the initial attack. Behind, the rest of the warband were edging closer, testing the ice.
Casca heard the call but was too engrossed in keeping himself from being crushed to reply. The three men, nostrils flared, sweat running down their faces, pushed again. Suddenly the boulder broke from its anchor and rolled forward, pitching over the edge. The three men fell onto their backs, and with their last strength rolled over to see the boulder falling lazily down towards the horrified Burgundians.
With the sound of a thousand breaking pots it smashed into the ice, throwing huge sheets up into the air, pitching the Burgundian war band off their feet, catapulting most of them into the icy black waters that were now exposed. The boulder vanished into the depths of the river, sending a fountain of water up into the air.
Men screamed in terror. Some clung to broken chunks of river ice but slowly slid into the depths, not being able to swim, either weighed down with armor or just too shocked in the change of temperature at being half immersed to keep themselves from slipping into the deep. Nearly all of them had never learned to swim anyway.
The screams subsided gradually. A few lucky ones stood at the rear, gingerly stepped away from the gaping hole in the river ice. Cracks zig-zagged out for thirty feet and the ice was swaying dangerously. Five men remained at the back, and two had been on dry land fighting Gerontius when the boulder had hit.
One of these was now sinking to his knees, his guts torn open, while the second stood stunned at the sudden destruction of his comrades. Gerontius had the tip of his sword at the warrior’s throat. “Drop it,” he hissed.
The warrior did as ordered and stood there, unsure as to what was going to happen to him. Gerontius looked down at Manneric, his eyes wide to the sky, the spear that had hit him thrust up into the air. Flora slowly approached, her shocked eyes on the dead Ostrogoth, then at the scene of the grave of the rest.
Small dislodged stones heralded the descent of the three others, coming down slowly from the ledge. It took them a few minutes, but they were eventually down, shaking. They were almost spent.
Even Gerontius looked at the three with awe. “I’ve never seen the like of that before,” he said, respect in his voice. “What do I do with this creature?”
“We can’t take him with us,” Casca breathed, still trying to recover his strength. His legs were weak and his arms trembled. He felt drained. Mattias and Flavius looked as bad as he felt. “He’ll have to take his chances on his own.”
“He’ll try to follow us,” Gerontius said, eyeing the Burgundian with distaste.
“Tie him to a tree. By the time he gets free we’ll be long gone. There’s a dozen routes off this mountain and he’ll have no idea which one we’ve taken.”
“Good enough,” Gerontius nodded and hauled the prisoner off to bind him to one of the pines.
Casca looked sadly down at the corpse of Manneric. “He died bravely. Flavius, help me with this spear.”
As the two men tugged the spear o
ut of Manneric’s corpse, Mattias stood on the bank staring across at the remaining Burgundians. “Tell your so-called King that I survive. I shall never be found. He’ll have to live out what’s left of his worthless life not knowing whether I shall be coming for him or not.”
“We’ll find you, Mattias, one day,” one of the men called back.
“Try to find me if you have the guts. Remember this day and tell your children what happens if they come looking for Mattias!”
The Burgundians retreated and vanished round the bend.
“Where’s the next crossing point?” Mattias asked Casca as the scarred warrior straightened from putting Manneric into the river where the ice had broken.
“Twenty miles. They’ll never find us. Our route into Gaul is open now.”
They slowly made their way along the narrow track, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Mattias remained at the rear, casting looks over his shoulder from time to time, but nobody appeared behind them.
Casca took the lead. He was the only one who had some idea of the route here. Even so, it was difficult to recall which was the correct way to go. A few miles from the river the terrain opened out and they found themselves on a mountainside. Snow lay in huge white sheets across the ground, and the bare rock that showed through was almost black in comparison. The wind came from the west, into their faces, and with it came the promise of more snow. The air, brought from the Atlantic, rose up as it met the mountains, and the moisture-ridden clouds dropped their contents as snow as they hit the colder air in the Alps.
