Sword of Rome(95)

Valerius rode at the head of the column with his scalp throbbing and the stump of his wrist hidden under a wolfskin cloak. He and Serpentius discussed what they would do if they met another patrol, or were stopped at a checkpoint.

‘We may be dressed like Batavians, but we don’t ride like them and we don’t speak their language,’ the Spaniard pointed out.

Valerius shrugged. ‘If it comes to it, we may have to fight our way through.’

‘And have every unit this side of the Alps on our tails within the hour? Not to mention giving away our position to a Batavian butcher who won’t be satisfied until he feeds you your own entrails?’

Valerius stared at him. ‘You have a better idea?’

‘Maybe.’ Serpentius chewed his lip. ‘According to Metto, there’s been bad blood between the auxiliaries and the legions on the Rhenus ever since the Batavians were shipped back from Britannia. They’re arrogant bastards, the wolf men. They didn’t appreciate the fact that the legionaries had been lording it over their people and romancing their women while they were off dying for the Empire.’ He darted a sideways glance at Valerius. ‘Not that you can blame them for that. Anyway, it’s got so bad that they can hardly look at each other without hands twitching for knife hilts. Even the officers barely talk to each other.’

‘How does that help us?’

‘If we hold our nerve and stick our noses in the air, all we have to do is ignore any bastard who tries to stop us. If they persist, we snarl and spit in their eye and it’ll be exactly what they expect from a surly, suspicious barbarian. Unless we meet a centurion with a head full of hangover I reckon it should get us past most of the units we meet.’

Valerius grinned. It was worth a try. ‘All right, but if it comes to it, I’ll be the one with my nose in the air. You can do any snarling and spitting that’s needed. You have the face for it.’

The Spaniard grunted. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

Two days of hard riding brought them to the point where the road branched off towards Vesontio, where Divine Caesar had defeated the German king Ariovistus, and more recently Verginius Rufus’s legionaries had slaughtered Gaius Julius Vindex’s Gaulish rebels. The valley would take them in turn to the Sauconna and the Rhodanus, the rivers that would lead them home. Serpentius’s tactic of steadfastly ignoring authority had served them well and the journey passed without incident, if you didn’t count the cracked ribs and mild concussion suffered by legionaries who temporarily parted company with their horses.

‘They’re still with us.’

Valerius didn’t need to ask who, or how the Spaniard knew. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was looking at the burning embers in the depths of Claudius Victor’s soul. ‘He won’t give up until one of us is dead.’

‘If we sent Metto and his men on upriver to Augusta Raurica while we head west,’ the Spaniard suggested, ‘it might confuse them, or at worst make him split his forces.’

‘I thought you knew me better, Serpentius.’ Valerius shook his head. ‘Those men helped save my life. I won’t ask them to sacrifice themselves for me. That would make me as bad as the man who’s hunting us. In any case, he’ll have brought a full squadron. Even if he did split his forces we’d still have twenty or thirty on our heels. No, we stay together.’

They rode on, first west, then Valerius planned to turn south, which would take them finally into the wake of Gaius Fabius Valens’ marauding army. Enemies to the front and enemies to the rear. Gaius Valerius Verrens had been in tighter situations, but he had never faced an enemy as implacable as Claudius Victor. He knew in his heart that the only way he was ever going to escape the Batavian was to kill him.

At first, the road took them through soft rolling countryside, dotted with farms and homesteads, and between mountain ranges that dominated the landscape to north and south. They saw little military activity, but Valerius knew that would change when they reached Vesontio, which was a major stop on the trade route formed by the Rhodanus, the Sauconna, the Mosella and the Rhenus. Up and down these rivers travelled olive oil, wine and garum from Massilia in the south, and grain, furs and timber from Colonia in the north. These were the rivers that had carried Vitellius’s western army on its dash south. Vesontio opened up possibilities, but there would be time to think about that.

Early on the third day the ground became more difficult: low hills, rough grassland and swampy, wooded river valleys. They were breasting a rise as the ground fog cleared when Serpentius suddenly stiffened in the saddle and looked back. ‘Riders, maybe fifteen or twenty of them, and coming up fast along our trail.’