ambitious tribune. Whatever it was obviously delighted him and he was in high spirits when he ordered his men to break camp, seemingly well able to ignore the worried looks they gave him when he kept going west, moving away from the main army base. Soon they were well past the point that Quintus had laid down as the boundary beyond which his flying columns could not operate with any degree of safety, and, as soon as this was realised, the complaints became vocal, as Aquila and Fabius engaged in a mock-argument as to their precise location, to the point where they were ordered forcibly to remain silent.
‘Permission to speak, Tullius?’ said Aquila.
The centurion, who had been standing at the top of the rise gazing into the fertile valley, turned to look at the younger man. Ampronius Valerius, standing beside him, frowned darkly; it was not fitting for the senior centurion to talk, in his presence, to a mere legionary, especially this Terentius fellow, who thought that the possession of a silver spear entitled him to some form of special consideration. He had spoken before, he and that other reprobate called Fabius. Tullius should have shut him up then, and reminded him to do as he was told, instead of leaving it to him. Ampronius thought the senior centurion was hardly much better, and wondered if he shared the opinions of the rankers. Tullius had obeyed orders on this day’s march, but with such a sour expression that the tribune knew he doubted their wisdom.
‘Permission denied!’ Ampronius snapped.
The centurion, who had nodded, had to shake his head quickly, with Aquila cursing under his breath, having overheard the tribune’s orders to march down into the valley. Having sneaked a look while the officers’ backs were turned, he had a clear idea of what the orders entailed. There was only one route in and out, through a narrow defile, and the local tribesmen could be waiting there for them, hidden in the rocks that covered the floor of the pass, as well as on the steep sides of the ravine. Tullius, even if he was not much of a soldier, shared his reservations. What the tribune could see was visible to him, but it represented a different picture and within the bounds of good discipline he had tried to persuade Ampronius that merely being this far into the mountains was dangerous enough. They were surrounded by tribes, friendly and hostile, with no real way of knowing which was which, and in some danger of being cut off by trusting the wrong ones.
The Averici had informed Ampronius that the tribe occupying this valley, the Mordasci, who claimed client status with Rome, had fallen under the spell of Brennos and were planning to turn against the conquerors as part of a grand alliance with other tribes from the interior. They also told him it was a rich plum, ripe for picking, with others, more loyal, waiting to take over the land once the Romans had stripped the place bare. So, on this information, and to Tullius’s mind ignoring common sense, the tribune had marched his men into what they considered the wilderness.
‘Perhaps a small force first, sir, just to test out the enemy?’
Ampronius laughed and spoke loudly; he knew his men were restless and in need of reassurance. ‘Enemy? They don’t even ride horses. They’re nothing but a bunch of farmers.’
Fabius spoke under his breath. ‘What does the twat think the Roman army is made up of?’
Aquila shook his head sharply, telling Fabius to shut up, and quieting the murmuring of the others, who had not only overheard the orders but shared their fears. Most of the men Ampronius commanded would obey blindly, too stupid or lazy to examine what they were doing; for those who were a bit sharper, short of killing the tribune, which would make them outlaws, they had no choice but to follow him. Ampronius, no doubt thinking he could lift his men’s spirits, waved an arm at the valley floor, which was out of sight to most of them, lined up on the other side of the rise.
‘In a minute! You’ll see it for yourselves in a minute. These people are rebels, who claim our friendship, but want nothing more than to stab us in the back.’
‘We wouldn’t want to spoil their fun, would we?’ said Fabius loudly, turning his back on Ampronius so he had no way of seeing who was speaking.
The tribune flushed angrily and gave Tullius a filthy look, but he could do nothing that would not make him look more foolish, so he kept talking. ‘My information is correct, you can count on that, and we are looking at a rich prize. They pan the river for precious metals. There’s gold down there, and silver, with fat cattle and women waiting to be roasted. All we have to do is go and get it.’
The senior centurion had one more try. ‘Might I suggest a runner to return to the general, telling him what you intend?’
‘No you may not!’ replied Ampronius coldly.
He was well aware that Quintus could forbid him to proceed. Besides, if the consul had the same information, and thought that there was something in this place worth having, he would try to take it for himself. Ampronius would have to share it with him, of course, but by doing this, stretching his orders, he could earn a great deal of money and do wonders for his personal and family prestige.
He issued the necessary commands and the cavalry, fifty strong, moved out first, in pairs. Once they had threaded through the pass, they would fan out, riding hard to seal off the other exits to the valley. Ampronius was not completely stupid, so next he sent in the skirmishers. He had these lightly armed men move into the rocks on either side of the pass, some climbing up the steeper face of the defile to check for an ambush. The other side was less precipitous, and to Aquila represented the greater danger; men charging down that slope could, with sheer momentum, smash through any defensive line.
With Ampronius and Tullius in the lead, Aquila’s cohort moved out next, shields up and javelin at the ready. As they came abreast of the rise, the whole panorama opened up before them and from this height, in the distance, they could just see the end of the valley floor. But it was the immediate view that preoccupied the legionaries. Grey rocks, some as tall as a man, lined the actual track: the hill on the right rose at a sharp angle to a line of thick gorse; on the left a small stream ran along the opposite face of the defile, which seemed to act as an overhang, cutting out a great deal of light from their route. As they entered the narrowest part of the ravine, the sound of their boots echoed eerily off the walls, then, at the end, the whole scene opened out to reveal smoke drifting lazily from the roofs of tiny huts, with people working in the fields, and herds of cattle grazing peacefully. It was a perfect pastoral setting.
‘They must know we’re coming,’ said Fabius, marching alongside Aquila and sharing his surprise at this tranquil vista. ‘Maybe they’re as dozy as Ampronius Valerius hopes.’
‘It smells,’ replied Aquila, his eyes turning back to search the wall of rock that towered above his head.
The whole mood of the detachment had lifted at the sight, changing from fearful apprehension to something close to pleasure. Even Fabius was infected by it. ‘You just don’t want to admit you were wrong.’
‘When we see the camp of Quintus Cornelius, I’ll do more than admit I’m wrong. I’ll even go to Ampronius Valerius and apologise.’
‘I shouldn’t bother. He’d only have you flogged for insolence.’
‘For telling him I was mistaken?’
‘No. For informing him that you had the gall to think, for even a second, that he wasn’t a genius.’
The river, which had been a babbling stream at the top of the hill, became an increasing torrent as the drop increased and the water was forced into the narrow defile. The spray billowed up and covered their faces, a welcome relief from the stifling heat. They came to the neck of the defile and fanned out onto the valley floor. The cavalry had done as ordered, ridden ahead, and in the process had alerted the tribe to their presence, so that a party of men were approaching on foot, bearing gifts of food and wine. The man in the middle, who seemed to be the leader, was richly adorned, with a silver and gold necklace, plus several golden torques about his arms. All the others wore some kind of precious decoration, which caused a great deal of nudging and excitement in the lines of Roman legionaries.
The other units had come through and deployed to the rear of Aquila’s cohort and now Ampronius stood out in front, sword still out, as the tribesmen approached. The leader stopped and addressed the Roman in his own tongue. It was not quite the same as that which Gadoric had taught Aquila, but he recognised some of the words. Another tribesman, wearing flowing robes, had come between his leader and Ampronius and he looked as though he was quietly interpreting the speech, which seemed to be one of welcome, into Latin.
The chieftain spoke loudly so that those with him could share the solicitations and Aquila heard the word ‘peace’. He also recognised the expression the chieftain used, indicating he was a client of the Roman state. The name of the previous governor, Servius Caepio, was plain, since that was rendered in Latin, but the rest he lost. The baskets of food were laid at Ampronius’s feet, the men bearing them bowing to him. All the while he stood, stiff and unbending, interjecting with the odd, softly spoken question, then, when the leader finished, he spun on his heel
