‘Here,’ he said.
The word was greeted by a gasp from one of the Thracians and a mutter that might have been a curse or a prayer. Dasius rode to Valerius’s side and together they studied the soaring slope, which looked exactly like every other hillside they’d passed. Perhaps a little less sheer, but still unscalable.
‘Can it be possible?’ Valerius whispered. The cavalryman shook his head and hissed a question at Valtir. The little man’s reply was accompanied by a shrug.
‘He says it is an old cattle raiders’ trail. If they could get cows over it, we can take horses. They will have to be led, but this is the steepest part, and once we are over the rise he claims it becomes easier.’
Valerius locked eyes with Serpentius, who had been born and raised in mountains just like these. After a moment’s consideration the Spaniard nodded. ‘If he says it can be done, I believe it can be done.’
Valerius turned to the Thracian commander. ‘Dasius, you have escorted us further than I had a right to ask. I release you and your men from your duty with my thanks.’
The young auxiliary’s chin came up and he pointed to where his men stood in a huddle by their horses. ‘We have spoken about this. Without me, who would translate for the guide? So I stay. And these brigands will not leave me, even when given a direct order and faced with a climb that would daunt an ibex.’ The nut-brown faces broke into a collective grin. ‘So they stay, too.’
Valerius nodded slowly, embarrassed. He wanted to tell them how he valued their loyalty and their courage and that the hardship they were enduring was worthwhile. But he hesitated because he wasn’t certain if that was true. It had all seemed so simple when they had set off from Rome. Find Vitellius and persuade him to bring his legions to heel. Succeed and they would save countless lives. Fail and … well, they would cross that ford when they came to it. But here in these gods-cursed mountains he was beginning to think they might never reach Colonia Agrippinensis. Yet what choice did they have but to continue? Dasius answered his doubts with a fierce grin and turned away to help his troopers share the supplies equally between all the horses. Before he went, Valerius reached out with his good hand and touched the Thracian’s arm. It wasn’t much as a gesture of thanks, but Dasius treated it as if he had been awarded another phalera to add to the medals on his armoured chest. His eyes turned grave and he saluted as if he were on the parade ground.
When he was out of earshot, Serpentius said quietly: ‘We are fortunate in our friends.’
Valerius couldn’t meet his eye. ‘Yes, we are.’
Dismounted, Valtir led them in single file, not directly up the mountain as Valerius had feared, but diagonally across the slope. The guide’s little pony skipped across the rocks, but the other mounts had to be coaxed, placing a hoof at a time on a path that was barely discernible to the naked eye. At first it was relatively easy, but soon the track took a sharp turn and they were climbing rapidly, the valley floor suddenly dizzyingly far below. Valtir set such a brisk pace that the breath turned to fire in Valerius’s chest. They worked their way up the slope in a series of diagonals, always gaining height and every step increasing the agony in muscles unused to the mountains. The higher they went, the deeper the snow and the more treacherous the going. A pack horse would baulk at the incline and they would halt while it was manhandled from before and behind until it kicked and bucked its way to the next level. Eventually they reached a point where Valtir disappeared over a rise and Valerius found himself looking down into a narrow, snowbound valley that had been hidden by the ridge. His heart raced as he realized that it offered a comparatively safer route through the mountains. Each man who followed stopped to take in the panorama and rest weary legs. If anything, the descent was worse than the climb.
By the time they reached the valley floor, it was too late to continue and men and horses were exhausted. Valtir marked out a circle on the ground and began to clear it, piling the waist-deep snow in a wall along the curve he had drawn. Valerius ordered the others to follow the Celt’s lead and eventually they had an enclosure that protected man and beast from the worst of the cold wind. After a mouthful of bread and a swig of wine they collapsed exhausted into their blankets, leaving Serpentius to take the first watch.
Next morning Valerius nudged them shivering and cursing from their beds. Ahead of them the ground rose steadily, but nothing like as steeply as the first climb, and Valtir said they would be able to ride again. They mounted and urged their beasts through the snow, the pack horses trailing alongside. In the thin strip between the snow-capped peaks, the sky cleared to a pristine azure blue, but no sunlight reached them in the valley bottom and the raw cold gnawed at their bones. As they climbed, the gorge narrowed still further and Valerius could see Valtir studying the peaks to the left and right, his head darting like a fearful sparrow searching for a hawk. A boulder-strewn stream surged its way down the centre of the pass in foaming cascades and gradually it forced them deeper into the shadow of the mountains to their right.