Chamanca and Atlas were still around. It was a shame his troops hadn’t caught them. Caesar would have rewarded him well for killing them after all the trouble they’d caused. By the skill it would have taken to shoot three Celermen, the archer surely had to be Lowa. That was interesting. He’d assumed that Chamanca and Atlas were working as mercenaries with the Gauls and the Germans, but if Lowa was with them it seemed like they were indeed a British effort to hamper the Roman advance. Lowa would have been a good kill, too … No matter, he thought, all three would be dead soon enough.
“Pondering your successes?”
Felix span round. It was Kelter, chief Celerman.
“Hello, boss,” he said, his accent thick Sicilian. “What’s next?” He’d stripped to the waist and removed his hood. Kelter had been a beautiful man once, with prime skin, high cheekbones, thick, dark hair and a lean, muscled body. Unfortunately, the magic that gave the Celermen speed also caused their hair to wither and fall out, and blazing red pustules constantly surfaced all over their heads, each blooming, yellowing and erupting in a few hours. The pus-spouting spots were why Felix made them wear hoods. From the neck down, they were hairless but unblemished, their torsos and limbs not far from perfect in the druid’s eyes.
“Next,” said Felix, letting his eyes stray over Kelter’s pectoral and abdominal muscles then pretending that he’d looked down because he’d seen something interesting on the ground, “we rebuild the bridge, cross it and kill everything we find: man, woman, child, dog, cat, bird – everything. The Germans will learn that Gaul is Roman territory. They will never cross the Rhenus again. When we’ve killed all we can find, we cross back and destroy our bridge.”
“There are many injured Germans in the camp,” smiled Kelter. “We can use their energy to build this bridge.”
“Good, yes. Have the Maximen gather building materials from the smashed camp – large stones, long planks of wood, rope and pottery – and bring them here.”
“Pottery?”
“To be ground and mixed with limestone for cement that will set underwater. I’ll have engineers deliver the limestone and requisite tools and show you how to make it. Have the other Celermen corral the German survivors, and appoint three in rotation to guard them from the Maximen. Keep four hundred Germans alive to power the bridge building. The rest you can kill. Got it?”
“I have it.”
“Set it in motion then, quickly.”
Chapter 15
R agnall walked through the thriving industry of an itinerant Roman army making camp, glad that he was spared the donkey work of digging ditches and pitching tents every night. The centurions and legionaries did all that. Ragnall was officially a legate now, one of Caesar’s inner circle, upgraded from clerk. Nobody had told him what his new role was, but it seemed that he was expected to follow the army, hang around the other legates, keep quiet and simply be a British king in waiting. So he spent his waking hours marvelling at Roman efficiency and watching the scenery change as they marched across the land. It was enough to keep him busy.
Now he’d been summoned to Caesar’s tent, however, and was worried that he might be called upon to do something dangerous like going on another envoy mission. Surely Caesar wasn’t going to send him to Britain? Carden and Atlas had seen him acting as Roman envoy to King Ariovistus. If he went back to Maidun, who knew what they’d do to him?
As usual, Caesar was dictating his diary when Ragnall arrived: “So Caesar pursued the treacherous Germans to the Rhenus where he found that the bulk of their army had escaped by boat. His advisers suggested that he and his army cross in the same manner. However, travelling by boat is beneath Caesar’s dignity, so he ordered that a bridge be built. In ten days, Roman engineers and legionaries built a strong bridge across the Rhenus, forty
“Pondering your successes?”
Felix span round. It was Kelter, chief Celerman.
“Hello, boss,” he said, his accent thick Sicilian. “What’s next?” He’d stripped to the waist and removed his hood. Kelter had been a beautiful man once, with prime skin, high cheekbones, thick, dark hair and a lean, muscled body. Unfortunately, the magic that gave the Celermen speed also caused their hair to wither and fall out, and blazing red pustules constantly surfaced all over their heads, each blooming, yellowing and erupting in a few hours. The pus-spouting spots were why Felix made them wear hoods. From the neck down, they were hairless but unblemished, their torsos and limbs not far from perfect in the druid’s eyes.
“Next,” said Felix, letting his eyes stray over Kelter’s pectoral and abdominal muscles then pretending that he’d looked down because he’d seen something interesting on the ground, “we rebuild the bridge, cross it and kill everything we find: man, woman, child, dog, cat, bird – everything. The Germans will learn that Gaul is Roman territory. They will never cross the Rhenus again. When we’ve killed all we can find, we cross back and destroy our bridge.”
“There are many injured Germans in the camp,” smiled Kelter. “We can use their energy to build this bridge.”
“Good, yes. Have the Maximen gather building materials from the smashed camp – large stones, long planks of wood, rope and pottery – and bring them here.”
“Pottery?”
“To be ground and mixed with limestone for cement that will set underwater. I’ll have engineers deliver the limestone and requisite tools and show you how to make it. Have the other Celermen corral the German survivors, and appoint three in rotation to guard them from the Maximen. Keep four hundred Germans alive to power the bridge building. The rest you can kill. Got it?”
“I have it.”
“Set it in motion then, quickly.”
Chapter 15
R agnall walked through the thriving industry of an itinerant Roman army making camp, glad that he was spared the donkey work of digging ditches and pitching tents every night. The centurions and legionaries did all that. Ragnall was officially a legate now, one of Caesar’s inner circle, upgraded from clerk. Nobody had told him what his new role was, but it seemed that he was expected to follow the army, hang around the other legates, keep quiet and simply be a British king in waiting. So he spent his waking hours marvelling at Roman efficiency and watching the scenery change as they marched across the land. It was enough to keep him busy.
Now he’d been summoned to Caesar’s tent, however, and was worried that he might be called upon to do something dangerous like going on another envoy mission. Surely Caesar wasn’t going to send him to Britain? Carden and Atlas had seen him acting as Roman envoy to King Ariovistus. If he went back to Maidun, who knew what they’d do to him?
As usual, Caesar was dictating his diary when Ragnall arrived: “So Caesar pursued the treacherous Germans to the Rhenus where he found that the bulk of their army had escaped by boat. His advisers suggested that he and his army cross in the same manner. However, travelling by boat is beneath Caesar’s dignity, so he ordered that a bridge be built. In ten days, Roman engineers and legionaries built a strong bridge across the Rhenus, forty
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