Serpentius grunted approval. ‘We can bed down by the river at dark.’
They made what distance they could while daylight lasted, and the sun was well down before Valerius pointed the mare towards the river. By the time they approached it, the brush was a solid barrier and they wandered upstream until they found what seemed to be a reasonably dry spot to bed down. The only drawback was a cloying, sickly-sweet scent that hung in the air around them and filled their throats and nostrils.
‘Mars’ sacred arse,’ Serpentius spat. When he turned to Valerius his eyes were bleak. ‘Nothing we can do tonight.’
The Roman nodded. They both knew well enough what they were smelling.
Valerius woke before dawn, grateful he couldn’t remember his dreams. He stretched, wincing at the sharp pain in his half-healed shoulder and bruised ribs, before wandering towards the river to piss among the bushes. Now the smell seemed worse than in the darkness and they practically had to force down the meagre breakfast Serpentius prepared. Daylight showed them camped south of a great bend in the river. Fighting off a disabling lethargy, the Spaniard found the strength to check the road for signs of activity. When he was certain it was safe they saddled up and made their way towards the source of the stench, cloaked in a terrible sense of foreboding at what they would find.
It was a familiar enough sight in its way. Still, Valerius felt the bile rise in his throat. The bodies carpeted the surface of a great eddy the river had dug from the bank, fish-belly white and bobbing obscenely in a froth of greenish foam. They could only have been dead for a few days, but already the expanding internal gases had bloated their corpses and those floating face up had lost eyes and tongues to the buzzards and crows hungry enough to brave the unstable platform.
Serpentius worked his way down the bank and hauled the nearest body half out of the water; a broad-shouldered giant with long moustaches and foul pink craters for eyes.
‘Tribesmen. Warriors, and they were killed in a fight.’ He pointed to the familiar jagged rip in the man’s stomach where a length of blue-grey intestine hung clear, twisting sinuously in the current like a plump eel. He frowned. ‘They didn’t die in the river. They’ve been stripped of anything of value; weapons, jewellery, everything. That means they were butchered and then thrown in. Why would anyone do that when they knew they’d be depending on the river for water?’
‘Because they’re sending a message.’ Valerius nodded at the empty fields. ‘That’s why we haven’t seen a farmer or a slave in two days. They’re terrified to come near the river or the road, because that’s the way the man who’s commanding this part of Vitellius’s army wants it.’
The next day and the day after they found more of the army commander’s messages: bodies in the river or littered like dead fish along the banks. But there was worse to come.
A dark stain hung over what little was left of the Helvetii township; not smoke exactly, rather the shimmering aura of disaster. They rode through what had once been a substantial gateway, hoping to find a few buried stores to supplement their dwindling supplies. The moment he smelled the familiar roasted-meat scent Valerius regretted the decision.
‘Bastards.’ There was murder in Serpentius’s voice as he led his horse through what had once been the main square. To one side, in the angle between two houses, congealing blood caked the earth inches thick and the Spaniard picked up a stained wooden doll that had once been a child’s toy. Closer inspection showed that the blood lake was dotted with gobbets of flesh and hanks of blond hair. A sandal formed a small island at the centre and a tiny hand, severed at the wrist, seemed to be attempting to find sanctuary on it. ‘Bastards,’ the gladiator repeated, remembering another torched village and another dead child. He turned to Valerius with murder in his eyes. ‘So this is your Roman peace?’
Every building had been burned, but, at first glance, the job had been poorly executed. It was only when you looked closely that you realized the gently smouldering mounds were not half-burned timbers, but the charred remnants of the former occupants, twisted and blackened, red sinew still showing through cracks in the incinerated flesh, grinning teeth brilliant white in blackened skulls that were the gods’ way of showing the true nature of the human form. Old men, women and children, almost certainly, but it was impossible to be sure.
‘I don’t understand. What we saw was an army marching on Rome. These people would never have dared to oppose them.’
‘No, but their menfolk did.’ Valerius swallowed hard as he surveyed the destruction and wanton carnage. The combination of rotting bodies and roasting meat filled his throat and made his stomach heave. ‘This is another of his messages. “Anyone who opposes me will be wiped from the map. Man, women and child.”’ He shook his head as the undeniable truth came to him. ‘Strategically, his reasoning is sound. He could not afford to leave an enemy in his rear when he marched south. He doesn’t have the troops to secure his supply lines, so he uses terror in their place. Paulinus did the same in Britain.’