The Last Battle

by Nick Brown

  Cassius shook his head. ‘Too good to be true, my friend.’

  ‘This life is mostly bad,’ said Indavara. ‘Maybe the next one’s better.’

  They had conducted similar discussions many times. Cassius admonished himself for not realising earlier that Indavara might be thinking of his lost father and brother.

  ‘Maybe.’

  The meal was a quiet, tense affair. Cassius tried to improve the atmosphere with a few quips but soon realised his companions were all weary and still dealing with their own concerns. He could imagine what Simo might be considering but did not want to think about it. Nor did he possess much of a desire to consider his own future. He felt a familiar sense of dislocation; and reckoned its cause to be the recent weeks of danger and ongoing months of travel. More than anything, he wanted to just stop and settle for a while. It seemed incredible that he would soon be back with his family in Ravenna.

  On the following morning, he was glad to hear that all had slept well. Now came three more long days of riding. There was at least no more rain; only warm air and white cloud, good conditions for time in the saddle. As they rode east, the Maritime Alps came closer: soaring grey peaks with flanks carpeted by forest.

  On the day they reached Segustero – which occupied a pass between two mountain ranges – the four riders barely exchanged a word. It seemed to Cassius that the fears and doubts and hopes of Indavara had affected them all. No one commented or speculated about what they might discover in the five villages.

  Then came the day that might finally provide answers. They spent most of the morning following the Durantia, a loud, fast-flowing river that ran through narrow rapids and broad beds of rock. The path was a good one but they had to travel in single file and tow the horses through the difficult sections. Around the fourth hour, they encountered a squad of legionaries from the Fourteenth Legion. Cassius exchanged a few words with them and discovered they were part of a century charged with controlling river crossings.

  The squad had encountered a military courier from Augusta Taurinorum. Apparently, Aurelian’s victory was already being celebrated in Italy. As well as defeating the Palmyrans and the Goths, he had crushed rebellions, tackled corruption, reformed the currency and even begun rebuilding Rome’s ancient walls. Cassius grinned at the thought of the triumph that would mark the emperor’s return to the capital. He intended to be there.

  Nivisar had told them that the five villages were to be found ten miles south of Segustero. Around midday, they reached a tiny settlement: three timber buildings within a sheltered cove. Simo had purchased provisions in Segustero but they were in need of local information. There initially seemed to be only women and children present but eventually an older man emerged from one of the houses. He spoke limited Latin and they discovered that Simo’s Gaulish was very different to the variation used in these parts. Amarante’s dialect, however, was more similar, and she made it clear that they were in need of a guide.

  The old man then surprised them all by cupping his hands and unleashing a mighty shout. This he repeated twice and before long a lad of about twelve came trotting along the riverbank carrying a fishing rod and net. Having delivered his haul of fish to one of the watching women, the lad hurried over. The old man turned out to be his grandfather and he assured them that the boy, who was named Iorix, could guide them. Cassius gave the old man two denarii and offered the same to the lad. The youngster seemed keen to avoid his fishing duties and at least knew a few words of Latin. He nodded enthusiastically when Cassius listed the five villages and his grandfather confirmed that they could all be reached by nightfall. As for accommodation, there was an inn six miles downstream.

  While Iorix went to fetch shoes and a pack for himself, the grandfather wished them well and returned to his dwelling. Meanwhile, the women stood in a line, regarding the visitors with friendly curiosity. As with everyone else they’d met, they reserved most of their interest for Amarante, who was gazing out at the river. Cassius had noted how often she stopped to study the natural world. He supposed such opportunities had previously been rare.

  Indavara stood with one boot on a small boulder, tapping his fists together. Cassius could not think of a single sentiment that might be even vaguely helpful. They were now close to the end of a very long road and the day would surely bring either hope or despair.

  When Iorix returned, Amarante spoke to him. Though punctuated with a lot of gesticulation, their exchange seemed to go well.

  ‘The closest village is some way from the river,’ she explained. About an hour.’

  ‘Can you ask him if they are Segusini?’

  Amarante did so.

  The boy shook his head and answered proudly. ‘Medulli.’

  The first village was built halfway up a slope in the shadow of a rocky escarpment. Iorix had jogged most of the way with Indavara close behind. As the trees thinned out, a clearing and a dozen dwellings came into view. Every one had walls composed of small slabs of rock and conical roofs of thatch, just as Indavara had described.

  Cassius dismounted, passed his reins to Simo and hurried forward. ‘Do you recognise it?’

  ‘Not sure,’ replied Indavara. ‘Could be this place or just somewhere like it.’

  Cassius examined the little settlement. Smoke drifted up from several of the dwellings. One man was sawing away at a log; a woman was beating a rug. Three children were playing a game involving pebbles and a board marked out with branches.

  Indavara suddenly dropped down on his haunches and covered his face with his hands.

  Cassius could not recall ever seeing him cry but soon the man’s entire body was shaking. Amarante came hesitantly forward but it was Simo who dropped down beside him and put an arm over his shoulder.

  By now, some of the villagers had noticed the new arrivals. Iorix sensibly went ahead, raising his hand to greet them.

  Cassius grabbed the reins of each mount and tethered them. By the time he’d finished, Indavara cleared his throat and stood up.

  ‘Come on then,’ said Cassius, walking past him along the path. ‘We can’t do this without you.’

  He knew his red tunic would attract attention – if not some suspicion – but he was armed only with a dagger and smiled at every villager that caught his eye. Visitors were clearly a rarity because before long there was at least twenty of them surrounding the strangers. These people were clearly not wealthy but neither were they poor. All the adults and children were well attired and though the men were an imposing, bearded bunch, they didn’t seem unfriendly.

  Iorix waited for them all to gather then translated for Cassius, explaining Indavara’s story.

  Cassius watched the villagers as they looked Indavara over. He in turn looked at them, face tight with emotion. When one man tried to speak to him, Iorix and Amarante interjected, explaining the language difficulty. Another man asked a few questions and Cassius recognised the names of the other villages. One older woman limped over to Indavara and peered up at him. Cassius saw no spark of recognition from either of them.

  Then a tall man approached Iorix and spoke. The lad translated.

  ‘Indavara is not Medulli name.’

  ‘These people are all Medulli?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘Yes,’ said Iorix.

  ‘And the other villages?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  Cassius was growing impatient. If Nivisar had been right, they would be wasting their time in Medulli villages. Yet this had previously been Segusini.

  ‘Ask them. Ask about Medulli and Segusini.’

  Iorix only understood the question when Amarante clarified it for him. She also had to help Cassius with the translation:

  ‘It sounds like there has been fighting on and off for years but there is peace now. Some Segusini stayed around but many retreated to higher ground. Largest settlement is a place called Ancamna’s Caves. There are at least a hundred there.’

  ‘How far is it?’

  At this another man stepped forward, s
peaking in passable Latin.

  ‘Five hours or so.’

  ‘A well-marked route?’ asked Cassius.

  ‘No. The Segusini keep to themselves. They let the paths grow over and the last section is steep and narrow. You’d need a guide.’

  ‘Would you do it? Five denarii for conducting us safely there.’

  This man seemed keen to take the chance before someone beat him to it.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘By nightfall?’

  The villager looked up at the sun. ‘Perhaps. If we go now and there’s no rain.’

  ‘Simo, two denarii now. You’ll get the rest later.’

  As the attendant handed the guide his coins, Cassius approached Indavara, who had been listening intently. The old woman had moved away and the others were beginning to lose interest.

  ‘Don’t lose heart. This might be good news.’

  Their guide was named Luko. Though he insisted on bringing a spear, he seemed trustworthy enough and the jealous looks of the other villagers suggested that five denarii was quite a prize. While Luko continued on foot, Cassius and the others were able to ride for most of the afternoon. Cassius had no doubt that they wouldn’t have made it without him, because the path regularly branched and crossed others.

  By late afternoon, they were negotiating a steep-sided gully. Luko kept up a swift pace and they stopped only twice: once to down some food, once to water the horses. Black cloud had swept in from the north and now unleashed a summer downpour. Within minutes, the rainwater was pouring down both sides of the gully. The five of them raised their hoods and plodded onward across sodden ground.

  Once out of the gully, they found themselves on a zig-zagging route barely wide enough for the horses. The mountains above were cloaked by more dark clouds and rain continued to pummel them. Parts of the track were covered by great puddles and others became unstable. Their pace slowed.

  Pausing under an outcrop that gave a little shelter, Cassius took a flask from Simo and drank wine. His feet were wet, his good hand ached from gripping his horse’s reins and his bad hand just ached. The mounts all stood with heads bowed, coats glistening in the fading light. Luko cursed in his own language then drank from his own flask. Simo wiped rain off the saddlebags with a towel. Amarante squatted in the driest part of the overhang and twisted her long hair to squeeze water out.

  Cassius walked around the horses to Luko. ‘It will be pitch black in an hour and we’ve no chance of lighting a torch. How long?’

  ‘At least an hour. But the last bit isn’t so bad.’

  Cassius turned to the others. ‘We go on.’

  Despite an angry look from Amarante, he gestured for Luko to get moving. ‘Simo, tether my horse to yours. My hands are killing me.’

  Cassius brushed water out of his hair, pulled his hood back up and followed the guide.

  With only the last remnants of the day’s light to guide them, they reached the top of the slope and found themselves on a path that cut through several terraced fields. Cassius knew that ground this high would be difficult to farm and he imagined life would be hard for anyone that dwelt up here.

  Ahead he could see the higher peaks of the Maritime Alps; below that, only an indistinct gloom. He was about to ask Luko how close the caves were when he heard footsteps. The guide called out cheerfully but the answer sounded hostile. Cassius peered into the darkness and saw two figures come forward. Armed with spears, they instantly fired questions at Luko and their tone changed only after they’d inspected every person and mount. At the guide’s suggestion, a few coins eased their passage and soon they were being escorted along the path, one guard at the front, one at the rear.

  The rain had stopped completely by the time they halted. There was at least light here: several torches within a row of large caves, the orange glow illuminating pale stone and a surprising number of curious faces, young and old. It seemed clear to Cassius that not all of the caves could be natural; these had been carved out over many years.

  One of the guards went off then returned with an older man and two lads. The older man carried a torch that hissed and spluttered in the damp air. He looked to be about fifty and struck Cassius instantly as a leader: he was tall and blessed with hard, angular features. Like the guards, his long hair was tied up in a knot. In other circumstances and garments, he could have passed easily for an aristocrat. His Latin was also the best they’d encountered since Segustero.

  ‘You are welcome. Filthy weather, eh?’

  ‘Certainly is. Cassius Corbulo.’

  ‘Brogimarus. I’m told you are an army officer.’

  ‘Quite so.’ Cassius generally calculated that his status offered more protection than risk in most areas of the empire.

  ‘Indavara.’

  When he came forward, Brogimarus shifted the torch to see him.

  Cassius continued: ‘We believe my friend here is from the Segusini. He was injured during a battle with the Medulli eight years ago and lost his memory. He doesn’t even remember your language. He was taken east by slavers and we’re trying to get him home. We’ve narrowed the search for his family to this area.’

  ‘Indavara is one of our names though not a common one. I’ve fought in most of our recent battles with the Medulli and I’m afraid I don’t know him. Then again, we’ve lost so many. We’re cut off from the rest of the Segusini but we will stay close to the Durantio, even if it means living up here.’

  ‘How many are there of you?’

  ‘One hundred and twenty-nine,’ said Brogimarus proudly. ‘And I dare say they’ll be interested to meet one of our own.’

  The leader summoned some lads who took charge of the horses. Three other men who seemed senior also came over and Brogimarus spoke to them in Gaulish. These three then hurried away in the direction of the caves.

  Brogimarus asked Cassius to introduce Amarante and Simo, then turned to Indavara.

  ‘Which village were you from?’

  Seeing that Indavara was again struggling to control his emotions, Cassius listed the names.

  Brogimarus nodded. ‘I believe we have people from them all. Most left that area around six or seven years ago.’

  ‘We were told the battle was over water – the effects of the mine?’

  ‘The Medulli have never been good neighbours and there are more of them than us. We at least have peace for the moment. There may come a time when we can move down out of the mountains again.’

  Catching Indavara’s eye once more, Brogimarus waved him forward and started towards the caves. ‘Come on then, friend, let’s see if anyone knows you.’

  XXVII

  At one end of the largest cave was a natural ledge ten feet higher than the rest. Brogimarus and his senior men gathered there and four torches were placed in high stands. Cassius, Indavara, Simo and Amarante had been asked to wait at the bottom of the steps that led up to the ledge. The rest of the tribe now shuffled respectfully into place around them, forms and faces indistinct within the darkness.

  Luko, who did not appear particularly at ease, leaned close to Cassius and pointed at the cave walls. Behind the torches was a rendering of a goddess who appeared to be floating above a mountain.

  ‘Ancamna,’ said the Gaul. ‘She is all but forgotten in these parts now though they still worship her in the north. A goddess of protection. I suppose she has watched over these people well enough.’

  One of the senior men raised his hands high and the people swiftly quietened down, apart from a crying baby somewhere near the back. Brogimarus stepped forward. He did not need to speak loudly – the cave amplified his words. Cassius listened carefully to the local dialect but did not hear Indavara’s name mentioned. But then Brogimarus beckoned them all up onto the ledge.

  Indavara turned to Cassius and Simo. ‘Will you come-’

  ‘Of course,’ said Cassius.

  Simo went up the steps first, followed by Indavara.

  ‘Me too?’ asked Amarante.

  Cassius waited for h
er and was last onto the platform. Luko seemed happy to stay in the darkness. The three senior men made way so that Indavara could stand next to Brogimarus. Cassius looked out at the sea of faces and curious eyes. The leader spoke again and now repeated Indavara’s name twice.

  A gust of wind blew into the cave, causing the torches to flare and flicker. Brogimarus guided Indavara to a position beside one of them so that he could more easily be seen.

  No one spoke. No one came forward.

  Then Amarante approached Indavara. She gently put one hand on his arm then, with the other, reached up to his face. Cassius didn’t understand what she was doing until she brushed his unruly fringe away to fully reveal his features. The bodyguard’s only reaction was to straighten up and look out at the Segusini.

  Silence.

  Cassius shut his eyes, prayed to Jupiter that someone would call out and come forward.

  No one did.

  Brogimarus looked first at Indavara, then back at Cassius, his expression solemn.

  Cassius knew then that he had somehow made a mistake. All paths seemed to lead here and yet they had failed. What could they do now? How could he offer his friend any hope? Was there any reason to hope?

  And then the people at the front began to turn, some murmuring, others making space. Someone was coming forward.

  Cassius and the others on the ledge peered down, transfixed, as the figure moved towards the steps then slowly came up them.

  A woman wearing a long, woollen shawl. She was quite short, her dark hair tied up with coloured twine. She took only two steps across the ledge then stopped.

  Indavara turned towards her but did not move.

  The woman crossed the ledge and gazed up at him.

  When her face became visible in the torch’s glow, Indavara’s eyes shone and his face broke into a joyous smile.