The Dacian War (Book 6 of the Veteran of Rome Series)

by William Kelso

  Chapter Twenty-Nine – The Gold Mine

  “Right, listen up, all of you,” Fergus called out, as he strode down the line of twenty legionaries of the 2nd company who stood facing him. The men were clad in their armour and were clutching their legionary shields. A sturdy rope was tied around the waist of each man, linking him to his neighbour and in their hands the men were all holding unlit torches. One of the men had a coil of spare rope slung over his shoulder. “When we get inside it will be dark, slippery and it will be cold,” Fergus cried out. “Watch your step and trust your torches. The rags that are wrapped around their ends are dipped in oil, sulphur and lime and will not go out, even if they come into contact with water, so there is no need to panic down there. The rope will ensure that we do not lose you. It’s a maze down there and who knows what creatures may be lurking and hiding in the shadows. I hope none of you are afraid of the dark because we may be gone for several hours.” And as Fergus made the remark, a grin appeared on the lips of the men.

  “And don’t forget, it is five hundred denarii for the man who captures Bicilis,” Fergus cried out, as he inspected his men. “He is down there somewhere in those tunnels. We know he is in there and every tunnel exit is being watched. We have him trapped like a rat in a barrel. Now we just have to go in and drag him out.”

  A month had passed since the successful assault and capture of the Dacian fortress that guarded the gold and silver mining district of Rosia Montana. The battle group had made the captured Dacian fortress their HQ and within days, a dozen or so high-ranking Dacian nobles had arrived at the fortress to surrender. Once they had been rested and had recovered sufficiently from the fighting, the Roman units of the battle group had started to fan out across the mountainous district and the vexillation from the Twentieth Legion had been assigned to guard several gold and silver mines and lead the on-going hunt for the elusive Dacian commander. Many of the Dacian mines that scarred the district were open cast mines, nothing more than trenches dug into the rock which followed the veins of gold and silver, but there were also some deep-gallery mines and it was to these that Bicilis seemed to have fled. From information provided by friendly villagers and Dacian deserters the location, where Bicilis had taken refuge with his family had been narrowed down, to two of these deep mines. The vexillation from the Twentieth had promptly surrounded the mine entrances, posting guards and sending search parties down into the labyrinth of tunnels, galleries and caves that honeycombed the mountains. But so far, they had found nothing. Then just a few days ago, another legionary battle group had come marching past, heading north towards the Dacian settlement of Porolissum that butted up against the edge of the northern Carpathians. And with them the newcomers had brought welcome news. Emperor Trajan and the legions under his personal command had stormed and sacked the Dacian capital of Sarmisegetusa Regia and King Decebalus was on the run. The war it seemed, was coming to an end at last.

  For a moment, Fergus paused and glanced up at the fierce August sunlight. The noon heat was making him sweat even when he stood still. He had told no one, but he was terrified of confined spaces and he really didn’t want to go down into the mine, but he could not refuse a direct order. Along the earthen embankment and wooden palisade that protected the small Roman camp, the sentries were all watching the search party as they prepared to enter the mine entrance. The twelve white tents of the hundred-odd men of the 2nd and 3rd companies of the 2nd cohort stood in two neat rows and in between them, were the blackened embers of the men’s cooking fires. With a resigned sigh, Fergus turned, walked up to where Lucullus was resting and saluted smartly.

  “We’re ready Sir,” Fergus said quietly.

  Lucullus was lying stretched out on a comfortable looking divan that had been looted from a deserted Dacian village. One of his legs was wrapped in a bandage and a jug of wine and a pair of crude, wooden crutches sat on the ground beside him.

  “Five hundred denarii, that is what the tribune promised,” the centurion replied looking up at Fergus. “And remember there are other search parties down there already. This blasted mine has several entrances. The fourth and sixth companies have sent men down as well, so don’t kill each other in the dark by accident. That would make us look stupid, Fergus,” Lucullus advised.

  “We will find him today,” Fergus said, with a nod.

  Turning away, Fergus gestured to the Dacian guide who would help lead them down into the mine. The man was unarmed except for a burning torch, a small brush and a bucket of red paint that stood at his feet.

  “All right, light your torches and let’s go,” Fergus called out to the twenty legionaries in a loud voice. Lifting the sack that contained spare rags and a small reserve of oil, sulphur and lime, Fergus swung the sack over his shoulder and headed off after the guide. The trapezium-shaped mine entrance was just a few yards from the Roman camp. The dark brooding entrance had been cut straight into the rock face with some skill. And as the silent Dacian guide vanished into it, Fergus cast a final glance at the bright august sun. Then he too stepped through the entrance and into the darkness beyond. In the flickering firelight from the torches, Fergus could see steps, hewn from the rock leading down into the earth.

  Following closely behind the guide, Fergus turned to look at the rough, rocky walls of the tunnel as he began to descend.

  “How deep are these mines?” he asked quietly, tapping the guide on his shoulder.

  The Dacian didn’t look round nor did he pause.

  “The lowest galleries go down a thousand feet into the earth,” the man said in thickly accented and broken Latin. “It is easy to get lost without a guide. Lucky for you, you have the best. I have worked in these mines all my life.”

  “Shit,” Fergus muttered to himself, as he tried to imagine how far a thousand feet would stretch.

  The stairs led them down and down into the earth. Then at last, after what seemed an age, the sloping tunnel levelled out and in the flickering light, Fergus could see that they were in a huge natural cavern. Raising his torch, he saw that the cave was at least a dozen yards high and covered in wonderful icicle-shaped stalactites and stalagmites that glinted and gleamed in the torchlight. Some of the pointed tips of the mineral formations nearly reached from the ceiling to the ground and from somewhere in the cool darkness, Fergus could hear the steady drip of water.

  “This is the oldest part of the mine,” the Dacian guide grunted in his thick accent. “We call it the bat cave. The gold has long been gone from this place.”

  “The bat cave?” Fergus muttered.

  And in response, the guide lifted his torch up to a wall and in the flickering light Fergus suddenly caught sight of thousands of black bats hanging from the ceiling of the cavern. Startled, he took a step backwards and in the gloom the guide sniggered.

  “Would Bicilis know the layout of this mine?” Fergus asked trying to hide his embarrassment.

  “I don’t know this man,” the Dacian replied. “But if he has a good guide he will be able to go and hide anywhere inside this tunnel system. Come, we go this way. The others have not been down this passage before.”

  “Where does it lead?” Fergus asked as he began to follow the guide across the rock and boulder strewn floor of the cavern towards a corner of the cave.

  “Down to the lower galleries,” the guide replied. “Tell your men that they must bend, the tunnel is going to get low and narrow and it’s going to get wet.”

  As the guide approached the wall of the cavern, he paused and raised his torch revealing another trapezium shaped hole in the rock. Then ducking his head, he entered the passageway and vanished from view.

  “Mark it,” Fergus muttered, turning to the legionary behind him who was carrying the bucket of red paint, and in response the soldier dipped his brush into the bucket and quickly drew a red II symbol on the wall beside the tunnel entrance.

  Stooping, Fergus hastily followed the guide into the tunnel. The ceiling was lower here and he had to bend his head to prevent his
helmet from scraping against the jagged, uneven rock ceiling. And as he followed the guide’s torch, the tunnel began to slope downwards into the earth, twisting and turning as it went. As they went down the carefully hewn steps, Fergus noticed other tunnels and galleries leading away into the darkness. Here and there they came across some old, rusting and abandoned miner’s tools, a broken hammer, a chisel and the handle of a pickaxe. Along the rocky walls, Fergus suddenly noticed a metallic gleam and with a shock he realised that this must be gold. The twisting gallery must be following a gold vein into the depth of the earth. Behind Fergus the legionaries came on, the rattle and clink of their armour the only noise in the claustrophobic tunnel. But as they descended deeper into the earth, Fergus suddenly began to hear a different sound. From somewhere ahead in the darkness beyond the flickering torch light, he could hear the rush and crash of water. It grew steadily louder the further they went. Then at last the guide stepped out into a large chamber and, as he followed and raised his torch in the air, Fergus gasped as he caught sight of the magnificent waterfall cascading onto the rocks. The waterfall was coming from a jagged crack in the rocks, close to the ceiling of the cave and fell a good eight yards into a rock pool. The noise was deafening.

  Behind Fergus the legionaries gasped in astonishment as they emerged into the chamber and raised their torches above their heads. In the large, open space, large enough to house a four-storey insulae apartment building, a forest of stalactites and stalagmites glinted and gleamed in the light, which filled the chamber. And running through the middle of it all, from rock pool, to rock pool, was an underground stream. Hastily Fergus took a step forwards and extended his torch, but there was no sign of any human presence.

  “They won’t be short of drinking water down here,” Aledus exclaimed in a loud voice, as he dipped his hand into the gushing underground stream. “Hell, it’s freezing!”

  “From here we will search the drowning gallery,” the guide cried out, as he turned to Fergus, “Tell your men that they are going to get wet.”

  “The drowning gallery?” Fergus sighed.

  “You will see what I mean,” the Dacian guide said as, raising his torch, he began to make his way across the vast chamber.

  With a certain amount of apprehension, Fergus followed the guide, moving his torch from side to side but he could see no sign that anyone had ever been down here before. Behind him he could hear the legionaries muttering uneasily amongst themselves. This was a world that none of them had ever witnessed before. Up ahead, the guide suddenly paused and crouched and extended his torch towards the cavern wall. For a moment, the Dacian remained silent. Then he rose and turned to Fergus who was standing behind him.

  “Someone has been here, recently,” the guide hissed. “Look, there is a piece of cloth snagged on one of the rocks.”

  Fergus lent forwards and peered at the rocks to which the guide was pointing, and there, caught neatly on a sharp jagged edge was a torn piece of clothing. Straightening up, Fergus sucked in his breath.

  “Whoever was here used the drowning gallery,” the Dacian guide said, pointing at a jagged, dark hole in the wall a couple of yards away. “Its half-submerged in water so we shall have to wade through it. There are more caves beyond; dry caves and there is an airshaft to the surface. It would be an ideal place to hide. And this is not the only way to get to those caves. There are other escape routes.”

  “So why the hell do we have to get our feet wet Fergus?” Aledus hissed.

  Turning around Fergus saw that he had been listening into the conversation. “I don’t like this,” Aledus muttered, leaning towards Fergus. “It feels a bit like we are about to cross the river Styx and meet the ferryman of the underworld. And if that happens, I am not paying my coin. I am cutting this damned rope and heading straight back the way we have come. And the boys feel the same.”

  “Shut up and follow me,” Fergus snapped irritably, as the guide started out into the dark hole in the chamber wall. Without waiting for an answer Fergus turned, ducked and followed the guide into the tunnel.

  “Follow me,” Fergus called out as he felt the rope tied to his waist go taught, “There is nothing to fear down here but fear itself. Now move it.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he felt the rope slacken and behind him the first of the reluctant legionary’s torches appeared. Up ahead, the guide had paused to allow Fergus to catch up. Then seeing him approach, he turned and began to wade into the water. Silently Fergus and the legionaries followed and as he waded into the tunnel-water Fergus gasped. It was ice-cold. As he pushed on deeper into the tunnel the still, silent black water rose to his waist but no higher and, holding his torch in the precious space above the water, Fergus doggedly pushed on. Behind him the legionaries were gasping at the cold and muttering uneasily amongst themselves. On and on the guide led them through the half-submerged gallery and as they kept going, a grim determination seemed to come over Fergus. He was not going to leave these mines until he had Bicilis. They had come too far to let him slip away now.

  Then just as he thought he could no longer feel his feet, the gallery began to slope upwards and after a while the water level began to drop. Carefully, holding his torch before him, the guide led them up the tunnel and, as Fergus finally waded out of the freezing water, he grunted in relief. The tunnel was taking them upwards. That felt good. A few moments later the guide came to a halt and crouched on the ground moving his torch from left to right and then back again. Behind him Fergus did the same.

  “What’s the matter?” Fergus muttered.

  “We have a decision to make,” the guide replied, “The tunnel forks to the left and to the right. Which shall we search first?”

  Fergus was about to reply, when a loud high-pitched scream came echoing down the tunnel and, as he heard it, Fergus’s eyes bulged in fright. After a brief pause the scream came again, hurtling and echoing down the galleries towards where the terror-stricken Romans crouched along the tunnel floor. And as they heard the second scream some of the men behind Fergus cried out in superstitious terror and tried to make a break for it, but the rope held them back.

  “Stay where you are,” Fergus cried out, “stay where you are.”

  Fergus turned to the guide. “That was a woman’s scream. I think it came from that direction,” he exclaimed pointing to the right.

  In reply the guide began to move down the tunnel and as they advanced along the lengthy twisting gallery, Fergus heard the scream again and this time it sounded closer. As they hastened along, Fergus suddenly caught sight of flickering light up ahead but how could this be. Frowning, he followed the guide and suddenly and without warning they emerged into a large chamber. Standing in the middle of the uneven, rocky floor was a group of eight men holding torches, just like those Fergus and his men were holding. They were looking down at a screaming, struggling young woman who lay on the floor. A man was on top of her, trying to tear her clothes from her body and just beyond her, cowering in the flickering torch-light, was a bearded man and two other women. One of the women was clutching a crippled looking boy in her arms.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Fergus roared as he dropped his shield, switched his torch to his left hand and drew his sword.

  Startled, the group of men backed away as they saw the legionaries emerging from the tunnel opening. On the ground the young woman was still screaming and struggling with the man who was trying to rape her. Then in the flickering light of the torches, Fergus caught sight of the man sitting on top of her. It was Fronto. Sucking in his breath, Fergus advanced towards him and before anyone could react, Fergus’s sword was hovering under Fronto’s chin, forcing him to look up at Fergus.

  “Get up,” Fergus hissed. “Make one wrong move and I will cut your throat.”

  Slowly, his eyes gleaming in the torch light, Fronto raised his hands and got to his feet and as he did, Fergus suddenly kicked him hard in the balls sending Fronto staggering backwards onto the floor with a howl of pain. In respons
e one of Fronto’s men moved aggressively towards Fergus, but swiftly Fergus’s sword was pointing at the man’s chest.

  “No, you don’t,” Fergus snapped, staring at the legionary from the fourth company, “Do you know the penalty for striking a superior officer? That’s right. Death by beating. So, go on give it a try.”

  In the chamber the man glared at Fergus but then silently backed away. On the ground Fronto was groaning and clasping his hands to his groin.

  “Disarm these pigs and bind their hands,” Fergus snapped at his men who were standing arrayed behind him. “Any resistance, kill them. They are a disgrace to their banners and our gods.”

  Silently the twenty men from his own company moved forwards across the chamber floor with drawn swords and after an awkward moment, the eight men from the fourth company were disarmed and forced down onto their knees and their hands tied behind their backs with pieces of spare rope.

  On the ground the young woman had stopped screaming and had crawled into the arms of one of the other women, where she lay trembling and sobbing. Then before he could turn his attention to them, the bearded man was approaching Fergus. The man was small in stature and looked around fifty and he was utterly worn out.

  “My name is Bicilis,” the man said in good Latin as he straightened up in front of Fergus. “And I wish to surrender myself and my family to the Emperor Trajan.”

  “You will surrender to me,” Fergus said sternly.

  “No Sir,” Bicilis replied with a firm shake of his head, “I will surrender only to the Emperor Trajan. I have important news for him - and him alone.”