Three miles away lay their largest town and Julius marched the Tenth toward it as soon as the warriors were disarmed and bound as slaves. The price for them would swell his coffers still further, and the town was known to be wealthy. After he paid his share to the Senate, he still hoped to have enough to increase his fleet and finally be able to cross the grim channel between Gaul and the islands. They had captured nine ships from the Veneti, but he would need another twenty galleys to take more than a scouting force to sea. One more year to build them and then he would take his best men to lands no Roman had ever seen before.

As the Tenth marched toward the Senones’ stronghold, Julius laughed aloud with the excitement of such a prospect, even as his mind filled with the thousand details of supply and administration that his men required to take the field. He was to meet with a delegation from three tribes along the coast in two days and expected them to bring tribute and a new treaty. With the Veneti fleet sunk or run aground, that whole part of the north had surrendered to him, and now that the Senones had been removed from the equation, a full half of Gaul was his. There were no tribes who hadn’t heard of the legions by then. Gaul was buzzing with the news of his conquests, and he rarely saw a day when their leaders didn’t travel to his camps and wait for his signature on a treaty. Adàn was kept busy and had been forced to take on three other scribes to handle the endless copying and translation.

Julius wondered what to do with the king he had captured. If he was left alive, Julius thought him capable of leading a rebellion in the years to come. The king’s own ability prevented mercy and Julius decided his fate without regret.

As the Senones’ town came into view, Julius looked with pleasure on it, already imagining the temples within. It was known that the Senones showed their love of the gods with coins and jewelry, forming rooms of treasure over many years. After the legion smiths had melted the precious metal down into bars and struck new coins, Julius would strip anything of value from every house and public building. He would leave the people alive and under the protection of the legions, but he needed their wealth to go on.

A cold wind touched him from across the plain, and Julius shivered at the first chill of another winter.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked east, imagining the Alps and the distance that he would have to cross.

For the first time, he would not be spending the cold months in Gaul. Instead, he would travel to Ariminum for a meeting to decide the future.

The letter from Crassus crackled against his skin as he rode, and Julius hoped he could still trust the promises of the old man. It was not the time to be recalled, with Gaul opening up before him. The islands over the sea haunted his dreams. There were still some who said they did not exist, but Julius had stood on the coastal cliffs and seen them shimmering whitely in the distance.

The Senones’ town surrendered and the gates were thrown open. Julius rode in under the arches, his mind already on Ariminum and the future.

The legion guards on Ariminum’s walls were well protected against the cold. As night fell, they pulled heavy cloaks over their armor and wrapped their faces in strips of cloth so that only a thin slit was left.

Fires were lit in braziers all along the stone crest, and the legionaries were allowed to huddle around them. Most of them were new recruits, brought up from the towns in the south to replace those fighting for Caesar in Gaul. They showed their youth in the muttered wisecracks and the illicit flask of spirits that made them gasp and choke and clap each other on the back.

The city of Ariminum was a working town and there were few lights in the windows as the winter night darkened. Before dawn, the streets would fill again with carts and produce for the ships. The tradesmen would grab a few hot mouthfuls for a bronze coin on their way to another day, and the legionaries on the walls would be relieved.

Against the backdrop of the silent city, one of the guards looked up and peered into the darkness.

“Thought I heard horses out there,” he said.

Two more left the warmth of their brazier to stand by him. They listened in perfect silence, and just before they turned away, they heard something. Noise seemed to carry farther in the strange stillness that comes from frozen ground.

The youngest guard narrowed his eyes and moved his head back and forth. There was nothing but gloom outside the walls, yet he could have sworn the darkness shifted whenever he set his eyes on it.

The shadows coalesced into sharper shapes and the young legionary stiffened, pointing.

“There! Riders… can’t tell how many.”

The others lacked his keen eyesight and could only stare where he pointed.

“Are they ours?” one of them said, hiding his fear. His mind was filled with the image of barbarian tribesmen storming their city walls, and the cold seemed to intensify as he shuddered.

“I can’t tell. Should we fetch Old Snapper?”

The question made the three young soldiers pause. The possibility of raiders was one thing, but rousing their centurion for a false alarm was simply asking for trouble.

Teras was the eldest of them. He had no more experience than the others, having joined up later in life after failing to make his way as a merchant. Yet they looked to him as they had learned to do in matters of money and young women. He didn’t know a great deal about either, but affected an air of worldly wisdom that had impressed the younger recruits.

While they hesitated, the force of riders came closer and the metallic noise of harness was mingled with the steady tread of marching men. The night wind snapped at long pennants that rippled unpleasantly as the dark figures advanced toward the gate.

“All right, go and get him,” Teras said, biting his lip in worry.

“Approaching the gate!” a voice shouted below them. The guards stood to stiff attention as they had been trained.

“We’re closed. Come back in the morning,” one of the other sentries called, his companions stifling laughter.

There was one who should have been searched for drink before coming on watch, Teras thought bitterly. He could have hit the young fool in frustration, but the words had been spoken. Teras closed his eyes as he waited through a pregnant silence below.

“I will find whoever said that and kick his backside into bloody tatters,” the same voice replied, halfway between amusement and anger. “Now open the gate.”

Teras turned to the men on the locking bar below. There were times when he wished he’d stayed a merchant, despite losing more money than he’d ever earned.

“Open it,” he said. The young men below looked up with worried expressions.

“Shouldn’t we wait for-”

“Oh, just open it. It’s cold and they are Romans. If they were barbarians, do you really think they would be waiting for us to finish our argument?”

By the end, his voice had risen to a shout and the anger seemed to get through to them as nothing else could. The heavy locking bars were heaved away and the gate pulled smartly open.

Brutus rode through first and dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to the nearest guard.

“Right. Now where’s that cheeky bastard on the wall?”

Teras saw another rider come through the gate, as heavily muffled as the guards above. He was an imposing figure nonetheless and Teras could see how the men behind him waited patiently for him to move through the gate. An officer; Teras could spot them a mile away.

“We don’t have time,” the man said clearly. “I’m late enough as it is.”

With a quick nod, Brutus threw a leg over his horse and heaved himself back into the saddle. The officer didn’t wait for him, but kicked in his heels and trotted on through the dark streets, the rest following without a word.