large number of both infantry and cavalry there.’
‘Not a surprise, given the destruction of the garrison. Odd that we’ve not seen whoever’s responsible, though. Which direction do the tracks lead?’
‘That’s the odd thing,’ Palmatus replied quietly. ‘Both. The ones heading north appear to be newer than the ones heading south, which are beneath them.’
‘So a large Gallic force came south into Roman territory, presumably when they discovered that we had withdrawn most of the garrison, and then turned round and left. Whether it’s because they heard about us or they’d merely had their fill of loot, it seems they’ve gone. It can only be a good thing anyway. If they were a large force I wouldn’t fancy pitting this lot against them. We’ve all seen what a full-strength Gallic army can do when their blood’s up, they’re well-rested, and probably battle-hardened. And all we have is eight thousand sons of shopkeepers dressed up like legionaries.’
He took a deep breath.
‘Anyway. Our sights are not set on local tribes and their opportunistic forays. I could go to Caesar with the news, but I can tell you right now he won’t sanction a hunt for them. He has his sights set on the mountain pass over the Cevenna range, behind which the Arverni await. He intends to hit Vercingetorix below the belt and see how he reacts. I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that when the women and children of his warriors are put to the sword.’
‘I don’t like leaving a potential enemy army floating around down here behind us,’ Palmatus muttered.
‘Nor do I. But we’re playing close to time here. We need to be over the mountains and among the Arverni before word reaches Vercingetorix that we are in his lands.’
He looked up at the hillside above. This valley was deep enough, but it would pale into insignificance when they reached the Cevenna. Priscus had already told him horror stories about the lofty passes.
‘Ah, shit. Here we go again.’
* * * * *
Cavarinos wiped the faint drizzle from his face, ground his teeth and let his gaze slip to his brother who rode alongside, unconcerned. Critognatos was more stubborn than any mule - smelled a little like one, though - and the almost continual alternating between tiresome argument and brooding silence between the pair had led to their escort of two dozen Arverni warriors from their home at Nemossos tactfully riding some forty paces behind, almost out of range of the bickering.
It was not unknown for brothers to argue, even rabidly, Cavarinos supposed, but the years had brought only a deepening of their disagreements and a widening of the rift that had begun to form between them even as children. It was a situation that their mother had bemoaned until the day the flux had taken her and that their father had demanded repeatedly that they repair.
Both brothers had made their attempts over the years to stitch that tear in the fabric of the family, but every attempt had failed, and had often widened the gap. Cavarinos had repeatedly tried to find common ground that they could use to lay the foundations of a new relationship, but inevitably, Critognatos would bring it back to being the will of some god or spirit, which Cavarinos simply could not accept. The gods may or may not exist, but he knew in his heart that it was he , and not some invisible, intangible force that widened or narrowed their rift. His oafish brother had, in fairness, made his own attempts at healing, but they inescapably revolved around something or other that Critognatos loved, which was almost always something abhorrent to his brother.
And so the rift divided them and, it seemed, would always do so.
Cavarinos took another preparatory breath and launched once more into his point.
‘The thing is, brother, that while we were given two orders and told which of us should pursue each goal, we are now many leagues away from Vercingetorix and the rest, and no one will ever know if I
‘Not a surprise, given the destruction of the garrison. Odd that we’ve not seen whoever’s responsible, though. Which direction do the tracks lead?’
‘That’s the odd thing,’ Palmatus replied quietly. ‘Both. The ones heading north appear to be newer than the ones heading south, which are beneath them.’
‘So a large Gallic force came south into Roman territory, presumably when they discovered that we had withdrawn most of the garrison, and then turned round and left. Whether it’s because they heard about us or they’d merely had their fill of loot, it seems they’ve gone. It can only be a good thing anyway. If they were a large force I wouldn’t fancy pitting this lot against them. We’ve all seen what a full-strength Gallic army can do when their blood’s up, they’re well-rested, and probably battle-hardened. And all we have is eight thousand sons of shopkeepers dressed up like legionaries.’
He took a deep breath.
‘Anyway. Our sights are not set on local tribes and their opportunistic forays. I could go to Caesar with the news, but I can tell you right now he won’t sanction a hunt for them. He has his sights set on the mountain pass over the Cevenna range, behind which the Arverni await. He intends to hit Vercingetorix below the belt and see how he reacts. I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that when the women and children of his warriors are put to the sword.’
‘I don’t like leaving a potential enemy army floating around down here behind us,’ Palmatus muttered.
‘Nor do I. But we’re playing close to time here. We need to be over the mountains and among the Arverni before word reaches Vercingetorix that we are in his lands.’
He looked up at the hillside above. This valley was deep enough, but it would pale into insignificance when they reached the Cevenna. Priscus had already told him horror stories about the lofty passes.
‘Ah, shit. Here we go again.’
* * * * *
Cavarinos wiped the faint drizzle from his face, ground his teeth and let his gaze slip to his brother who rode alongside, unconcerned. Critognatos was more stubborn than any mule - smelled a little like one, though - and the almost continual alternating between tiresome argument and brooding silence between the pair had led to their escort of two dozen Arverni warriors from their home at Nemossos tactfully riding some forty paces behind, almost out of range of the bickering.
It was not unknown for brothers to argue, even rabidly, Cavarinos supposed, but the years had brought only a deepening of their disagreements and a widening of the rift that had begun to form between them even as children. It was a situation that their mother had bemoaned until the day the flux had taken her and that their father had demanded repeatedly that they repair.
Both brothers had made their attempts over the years to stitch that tear in the fabric of the family, but every attempt had failed, and had often widened the gap. Cavarinos had repeatedly tried to find common ground that they could use to lay the foundations of a new relationship, but inevitably, Critognatos would bring it back to being the will of some god or spirit, which Cavarinos simply could not accept. The gods may or may not exist, but he knew in his heart that it was he , and not some invisible, intangible force that widened or narrowed their rift. His oafish brother had, in fairness, made his own attempts at healing, but they inescapably revolved around something or other that Critognatos loved, which was almost always something abhorrent to his brother.
And so the rift divided them and, it seemed, would always do so.
Cavarinos took another preparatory breath and launched once more into his point.
‘The thing is, brother, that while we were given two orders and told which of us should pursue each goal, we are now many leagues away from Vercingetorix and the rest, and no one will ever know if I
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