The guide Dasius knew proved to be a wiry hillman, made bulky by the thick furs he wore. He had dark skin the texture of leather and slanting eyes accustomed to peering through blizzards. A Celt, his demeanour was surly, even for that taciturn race, and he had the facial expression of a particularly ugly dog otter. He spoke a dialect that was neither Latin nor any other language Valerius had heard, but Dasius understood enough to exchange simple sentences with him.
‘His name is Valtir and he calls himself a prince of the Orobii, who were here before the Romans came and will be here when the Romans are gone. This is his land, but he says he welcomes you as his guest.’
Valerius bowed, smiling at the poetic Celtic combination of insult and courtesy. Valtir’s claim to be a prince seemed unlikely, but it gave Valerius an idea. With grave ceremony he handed over the curved knife he had carried from Rome. It was only a kitchen blade for cutting up food, but it would be an improvement on the rusting spike at Valtir’s belt. The little Celt tested the point against his thumb and his dour face broke into a grin when it drew blood.
‘He says he honours you for his gift. If he’d had a knife like this when he was a young man he would have slit many Roman throats with it.’ Dasius darted a worried glance at Valerius, but the one-handed Roman only laughed.
‘Tell him I am happy for him, but glad I did not meet him when he was young. Tell him there will be another like it if he takes us where we wish to go.’
With Valtir leading on his sturdy, long-haired pony and each second man trailing a pack horse, they made their way north-west to the lake in the next valley, which if anything was even greater in scale than that on which Novum Comun stood. ‘Luanus.’ The Celt pointed to a small settlement a mile away on the far side of the mirrored surface, and led them down a precarious path cut into the hillside which eventually reached a small pier with a flat-bottomed boat tied to it. Valtir held a conversation with the boat’s owner that sounded for all the world like two terriers snarling at each other over a bone, but eventually it appeared he had agreed a price for ferrying men and horses across. It took them four hours and five trips to transport all eight men and eleven animals, and by the time it was done they had no option but to spend the night in Luanus, a mean little place, but at least it boasted a tavern. Next day they rose and broke their fast with bread, oil and olives, washed down with watered wine, before crossing the ridge behind the town and following a broad river valley north. Here at least there was a road, even if it was in poor repair, with bridges that had been badly mended and potholes deep enough to break an ankle. For the first time in a week the sun shone, the skies cleared and Valerius was left to wonder at the dangerous, majestic glory all around. The mountains did not rise; they soared to unreachable summits where only the gods would ever set foot. Elysium would be like this, he thought, with air so clear that it invigorated even a soul as dark as his and chased away the demons that had haunted him for eight years.
Serpentius saw him grinning. ‘You won’t be smiling so much when you have to climb them,’ he pointed out. Still, the appearance of the sun seemed to reinvigorate them all. The Spaniard broke into an incomprehensible song in his own language that seemed to have nothing approaching a tune and Valerius thought he could feel the wound in his shoulder healing.
It was obvious to the others that Valtir was as at home among these peaks as he was on his lake. His mood changed and he chattered endlessly as he rode, and it seemed even Dasius only understood one word in ten. ‘I think he says he has never seen the hills so free of snow at this time of year. But the weather means a greater danger of the thunder god calling the mountains down.’ He shrugged. ‘More chance of an avalanche.’
Valerius found himself warming to the personable young Thracian. It became clear that Dasius had taken an enormous risk by backing Otho’s cause. If the wrong man won this fight, he could lose everything, including his family’s hereditary lands on the plains beside the Hebrus river. But that was not why he had made his decision.
‘I have visited Rome and seen its glory, and I have seen what war does. It is beyond imagination that those great temples could burn, the statues be torn down or the Forum run with men’s blood, yet that is what will happen if we cannot prevent it. Rome is the Empire and Otho was chosen by the people and the Senate of Rome.’ He shrugged. ‘That is enough for me. I do not know the detail of your mission, but I know that your aims and mine are one, and I will do anything I can to help you succeed.’
With those words he kicked his mount and rode ahead. Serpentius drew up beside Valerius. ‘He reminds me of another young pup with a head full of principles.’