The next day broke bright as a summer morning and brought them eventually to a distinctive hill shaped like a sleeping bear. It was bounded by a river to the north and a well-found road that ran parallel with its western flank. The soldiers’ road. And it was well named.
From a clump of trees on the summit they watched an endless column of legionaries pass. Century after century. Cohort after cohort. Ten eight-man sections to each century, six centuries to each cohort, apart from the First cohort, the elite of the legion, which would have eight hundred men: the shock troops who would go where the danger was greatest and the fighting hottest. Thousands of men, perhaps even tens of thousands. They marched south, filling the road as far as Valerius could see. Their breath steamed in the cold air and their armour shone in the sunlight so that it was like watching a glittering river of soldiers; an utterly disciplined, implacable river. Each unit was followed by its baggage, the food and heavy weapons without which no legion could operate.
‘I saw two eagles,’ Serpentius said. ‘But only about fifteen cohort standards.’
‘Yes,’ Valerius agreed. ‘So a full legion and half of a second.’
‘And their auxiliaries.’
Yes, their auxiliaries, infantry and cavalry. There had been hordes of them, their identity clear in the oval shields they carried and the less disciplined ranks they kept. A small army, but still an army. And that meant Vitellius had been cleverer than anyone had expected. He’d split his forces in two and now they were closing on Italia like a scorpion’s pincers. If one army was blocked by Otho’s legions, the other would crush them like a piece of soft iron between a hammer and an anvil. Should he try to get back and warn the Emperor? The chances of bypassing the troops they had just watched march past were almost hopeless. No. Their only chance was to reach Vitellius and somehow persuade him to call off his dogs.
‘I have brought you here.’ Valtir stood by uncertainly, his eyes flicking to Serpentius.
‘And we thank you for it,’ Valerius assured him, ignoring the Spaniard’s snort of disgust. ‘We had a bargain.’ He reached inside his tunic and took out a small purse. The Celt frowned, but Valerius pressed it on him. ‘What happened happened, but it is in the past. You brought us where you said you would and by the quickest way.’ Still the little man hesitated. ‘If there is a debt to pay, then pay it by your silence.’
Valtir bristled. ‘Valtir is a prince of the Orobii, a man of honour.’ He reached to his belt and Serpentius’s hand went for his sword, but the Celt pulled out the small dagger Valerius had given him. ‘I cannot take this.’ He held out the knife in the palm of his hand.
Valerius kept his own hand by his side. ‘It is a pity to waste a good knife, but if you cannot take it, then give it as a sacrifice to the mountain gods and pray for our safe passage and our safe return. Only one more thing will I ask of you. When you reach home, send word to the Emperor of what you have seen here.’
Valtir stared at him for a long moment, the narrowed eyes unreadable. Eventually he gave the slightest of nods and went to his pony. He rode off without a backward glance.
Valerius felt Serpentius’s eyes on him. ‘I know.’ He sighed. ‘But this is the way it will be.’
The Spaniard made to spit, then thought better of it. ‘North then?’
‘Yes, north.’ Valtir had assured them that all they had to do was follow the river north and they would eventually come to a trading settlement and another, much greater river, which must be the upper waters of the Rhenus. ‘We’ll keep to the riverbank, and stay clear of the road for the moment.’
‘Slow going.’
Valerius nodded. ‘That might change. We haven’t seen any carts or mule trains, in fact no civilians at all, so it looks as if the road has been closed to anything but military traffic. If it seems clear, we might risk travelling it by dark, but I want to be sure. No point in coming all this way and ending up on a nervous auxiliary’s spear point.’
‘Like thieves in the night.’
The Roman smiled. ‘Is there any other way?’
They waited until the road emptied, soothing the horses, which had become restless in such close proximity to others of their kind, and trying to stop their teeth chattering in the cold that seemed to eat into their bones. The road cut straight as a spear shaft across the flatlands, following the general course of the river. The river, as rivers do, wound its way without any apparent purpose, and its banks alternated between hoof-sucking bog and almost impenetrable brush, dotted by the occasional welcome water meadow. Eventually, their progress was so painfully slow that Valerius decided he had no alternative but to return to the muddy fields that flanked the road or they would never reach their destination.