Romulus knew now that he could not escape his fate. He felt it rushing in as if borne on the wings of doom itself. Thoughts of returning to Rome seemed utterly futile, a waste of valuable energy. Better to save it for the fight the next day, when death would find them all on this green plain, by the River Hydaspes. Seventeen seemed too young to die, he thought sadly.
A strange sense of complacency filled Brennus. Word had spread that they were not far from where Alexander’s incredible advance had been halted. ‘This is the end of the world,’ muttered many men as they sat around their fires that night. ‘Even if they could, who would want to travel any further?’
Their unknowing words reverberated deep in the core of the Gaul’s being.
A journey beyond where any Allobroge has gone. Or will ever go.
After nine long years, the gods were finally beginning to reveal their purpose to him.
Chapter XVI: The Road to Gaul
Northern Italy, winter 53/52 BC
Seeing her fear, Secundus moved closer. ‘Tell me.’
‘It’s the fugitivarii,’ Fabiola whispered. ‘I know it.’
‘This would be their style,’ he said with a scowl. ‘And they’d be wary of my men. So they creep in like thieves and kill them unawares.’
‘To even the numbers.’
‘Exactly.’ Secundus scanned the nearby trees and bushes. ‘The bastards will have been tracking us since we left.’
‘Should we go back?’
He barked a short, angry laugh. ‘Whoever it was murdered these lads will find it easier to recruit more men there than if we keep moving. Besides, the rioting has spread. Rome is no place for any of us right now.’
‘And it’ll take weeks for Pompey’s legions to arrive,’ said Fabiola. If the rumours sweeping the city as they left were correct, the sole consul would by now be dictator for the year. Nervous of the situation, the Senate had finally acted. But Pompey’s armies were scattered throughout the Republic; most were in Hispania and Greece, while others were dispersed across Italy.
‘Time we don’t have,’ Secundus declared. ‘Best move on.’
‘Fast,’ added one of the others.
Sextus bared his teeth in agreement.
Fabiola did not argue. The graphic evidence of what might happen if they did nothing was still lying before her.
Despite the frozen soil, it did not take the veterans long to bury their comrades. Fabiola was struck by their efficiency as she watched them swiftly shovel out a pair of deep holes, inter the blood-soaked bodies and cover them with earth. Their weapons were also buried. Everyone stood around while Secundus said a few words. But there was no time to carve a wooden grave marker. Servius and Antoninus had disappeared as if they had never existed.
Yet the plain graves were still more than most slaves got, Fabiola thought sadly. Like the excess city waste and the bodies of executed criminals, they were simply discarded in stinking, open pits. After a battle, a similar fate awaited the dead soldiers of the losing side. Like Romulus, at Carrhae. Or wherever the battle she had seen in her vision would take place.
She climbed miserably into the litter, followed by a stone-faced Docilosa. Secundus barked an order to move out.
Nothing further happened that day and Secundus made sure that the party reached a town by nightfall. Not wanting others to know their intended route to Gaul, it had been his aim to avoid human contact where possible. The night attack had changed things; safety now lay in numbers. Secundus hurried them to the best inn to be found, a low-roofed timber affair with a bar room full of unsavoury types and a muddy yard enclosed by stables. Curious glances followed the two women as they quickly descended from the litter, raising the hoods on the dark-coloured military lacernae which Secundus had provided. They had been reduced to skulking like thieves.
Once a simple meal had been provided for Fabiola and Docilosa in their room, Secundus left two men outside their door with Sextus. He and the others shared the neighbouring chamber, but regularly came to check on them. With Docilosa in bed early, there was time for him to talk to Fabiola in private. Secundus seemed increasingly convinced of her right to become a Mithraic devotee, and had begun revealing fascinating details about the secretive religion, including its central beliefs and rituals. Keen to be part of a cult which recognised slaves as equals, Fabiola soaked it all up.
Eight more days passed in this fashion: journeying without pause, followed by a poor night’s sleep in a flea-ridden, uncomfortable bed. By the morning of the ninth day, Fabiola was beginning to wonder if her fears had been overreaction. The violent storm and the sentries’ murders had sent her mood into the black depths. Perhaps now though their deaths could be put down to bandits: a random event that would not be repeated. The border with Gaul was a week’s march away, and the thought of seeing Brutus again filled her with joy.
Even Secundus and Sextus seemed happier. Only Docilosa remained in bad spirits. Not even the prospect of better weather could please her. All along the roads, the frost was melting. Snowdrops were already poking free of the short grass beneath. When the sun emerged from behind the clouds, there was a new warmth in its rays. Spring was coming at last. Birds sang in the trees, alerting the world to the fact. Fabiola could not stop herself from smiling at Docilosa’s continued grim demeanour as the litter bumped and creaked along.
Later, she would regret not paying more attention to it.
Their choice came in the afternoon, not long after the road had entered a narrow valley. Tall trees hemmed in the way ahead, their bare lower branches reaching out threateningly at head height. Entering, the bright sunshine all but disappeared, leaving a small strip of sky visible overhead. Between the closely positioned, gnarled trunks on either side were huge boulders covered in moss, the remnants of an ancient rock fall. Few birds or animals were visible, leaving a deathly silence over the wood. It was most unwelcoming.
Unusually, Sextus had left Fabiola’s side to check out the way ahead with two men acting as scouts. Secundus conferred with them upon their return while Sextus stood alongside, nodding his head. According to the three, there was little choice but to press on. The alternative route around the defile would set them back a day or more.
‘My lads saw no sign of anyone,’ Secundus announced. ‘And this section only lasts for a short distance before opening out again.’
Unsure, Fabiola chewed her lip.
‘They both have noses for trouble like a hound on the scent,’ Secundus went on. ‘We’ll be through it in half an hour. No more.’
Sextus grinned encouragingly.
The temptation was too much for Fabiola. If Sextus, her good-luck talisman, was happy, then it must be safe. Ignoring Docilosa’s grumbles, she nodded her assent.
A trio of Secundus’ men led the way, bows at the ready. Next came the litter, borne by the sweating slaves, flanked closely on either side by a pair of veterans. The narrowness of the road and the sweeping branches meant that these men were forced to stoop regularly as they walked. Taking up the rear were Sextus, Secundus and the last two of his followers. It was far from an ideal way to continue, thought Fabiola as she peered out and almost lost an eye to the sharp end on a half-decayed branch.
Time dragged in the semi-darkness. In an effort to lift the mood, Fabiola tried engaging Docilosa in conversation about the possibility of finding Sabina, her daughter. The child had been taken from her at the tender age of six, sold as an acolyte to one of the temples. It was a bad choice of topic. Docilosa’s sour expression deepened, remaining unchanged no matter what Fabiola said. She determined to try and track down Sabina if she ever got the chance. It would be worth paying good money just to see Docilosa smile.