some ten feet from the edge of the cliff and the far side concealed what did appear to be an entrance to a passageway some five feet tall and just wide enough for a man.
“If this is the way they left, they couldn’t have taken all their gear through there.”
Balbus, behind him, nodded.
“But if they were prepared with enough time to spare, they could have lowered everything down the cliff before they left. Balventius has put out the call. The Eighth are on the way across.”
Fronto nodded, but was already levering his way down into the gap.
“Then they can follow us down. No time to waste.”
Balbus grinned.
“Crazy as ever, Marcus.”
Stepping into the tunnel and straightening as much as he could, Fronto drew his sword and gestured to the legionary.
“You’re not one of mine?”
“No sir. Legionary Capito, sir, of the Eleventh legion, third cohort, century of Pictor.”
“Well, legionary Capito” Fronto grinned “time to lead the charge. Come on, but you’ll have to leave your shield; I don’t think there’s room.”
Balbus examined the entrance speculatively.
“I’m not sure I’m going to fit through there either. I can only assume there are no fat Veneti!”
Fronto laughed.
“Stay there, Quintus, and send your men down behind us once they’re ready.”
Even as he stepped into the passageway, Fronto could hear the men marching across the hill toward them. He examined the passageway ahead, descending steeply into the darkness. As the legionary clambered into the tunnel behind him, Fronto clicked his tongue irritably.
“No time to get torches and light them. We’re going to have to go down in the dark.”
The legionary shuddered.
“Best watch your head, sir.”
Fronto nodded and turned back to the tunnel.
The first half dozen steps were easy enough, despite the wet and slippery rock beneath his feet, as there was a touch of daylight still filtering through from behind. As they descended though, the light faded, leaving an oppressive gloom. No matter how hard he squinted, Fronto could hardly make out the passageway ahead and had to move at a ridiculously slow pace, feeling his way as he went.
Ten more steps. A scraping of his cuirass on the wall and a grazed elbow. Yes, it would have been almost impossible to get down here with helmet and shield.
Eight more steps…
Thump.
Fronto almost struck out with his sword before he realised that what he had bumped into was solid rock. Capito walked into the back of him and apologised profusely.
“Shh.”
Feeling around, Fronto tried to determine where the passage went from here. This couldn’t be a dead end, could it? It could just be for storage? It…”
His hand disappeared into dark space. The passage turned to the left. Fronto nodded. Of course, it would have to turn back on itself or it would come out two thirds way up the cliff. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the space, feeling for more. Yes. It only went a few feet and then turned left again. Nodding with satisfaction, convinced now that this was the route the enemy had taken, Fronto explored with his hands. The passageway seemed to be opening out at this point, much wider and more spacious. Perhaps this was now a natural passage they were in? It was so hard to tell in this stygian darkness.
A few more steps brought him to the next turn and, as he carefully edged round, he was surprised by a yellow glow. Perhaps fifty feet down the long, straight passageway, a lamp flickered on a ledge, illuminating the tunnel. The light was low and small, but felt like the glare of the sun after the darkness behind him. Fronto smiled as he realised that this part of the tunnel was quite wide and high for most of its length.
He paused, blinking. The light had, of course, ruined his night vision, resulting in purple and yellow blotches dancing around in his eyes no matter how much he blinked and squeezed his eyes shut. Why would they leave a light to help…
It was only that sudden thought that saved his life.
The Veneti warrior who had been lurking in the darkness behind a section of jutting wall, his back to the light source and fully attuned to the dark, lunged forward with his blade aimed resolutely for Fronto’s neck. The legate was already moving to the side as the man leapt, the blade connecting instead with the shoulder section of his cuirass and scything through the fasteners. The shoulder piece flapped loose as the sword ripped on through it, deprived of a solid target, and the point hammered home into the wall of the tunnel.
With a breath of relief, Fronto stepped to his left twice, away from the blow, trying to get the flickering of the lamp out of his vision so that he could see better. There was a clunk and a shifting of weight as the front and back pieces of his cuirass separated at the shoulder, becoming instantly irritating and uncomfortable.
The Gaul was hauling his blade back for a second blow, though the long Celtic weapon was unwieldy in the confined space. The well-designed gladius in Fronto’s hand, however, was subject to no such restrictions. Unwilling to allow the man enough time to make another careful blow, Fronto stabbed with his sword repeatedly into the rough area of the Gaul, the dancing blotches in his eyes making targeting difficult. Still, given the closeness, at least three of his six sharp lunges connected and he heard a gasp and a gurgle.
Stepping back, he tried to focus. Slowly his vision cleared as he saw the body of the Veneti warrior crumple to the floor. Lucky… very lucky.
Fronto turned to the legionary behind him.
“Try not to look at the light. Keep your eyes low.”
Stopping for a moment to try and adjust his shoulder, he fidgeted at it irritably and gave up in disgust. The shoulder piece was ruined. A job for the armourers next time they had a minute. They didn’t have time now…
Back and above, he could hear the legionaries pouring into the tunnel, making a noise like a hundred iron plates being dropped into a well. So much for sneaky…
Gesturing to Capito, he moved on downwards. The way was easier, but they moved warily, watching for more hidden figures to left and right. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the lamp and Fronto gratefully turned left to peer down the next corridor, putting his back to the dancing light.
For the second time in as many minutes, he cheated death as he felt a hand grasp the broken backplate of his cuirass and haul him away from the corner. He toppled backward, caught surprised and off-balance, and landed on Capito whose hand was wrapped tightly around the bronze plate.
The arrow that would have struck Fronto square, and very definitely fatally, in the head sailed past and hit the passage wall with a crack. Fronto blinked.
“Sorry sir” Capito breathed. “Heard the bow string stretch.”
“Crap, you have good hearing. Thanks!”
“What now, sir?”
Fronto smiled.
“If they’re there to shoot at us, it means they haven’t left yet. Hang on.”
Standing, the legate stepped forward gingerly to the corner and peered round the very edge, squinting. The next length of passage, perhaps forty feet long, was lit by dim reflected daylight. The end of the tunnel was sealed with some sort of gate, through which the light filtered. Outside was some sort of wide cavernous opening at sea level. The smell of brine and the distant noise of waves confirmed it. This was the end of it.
He could see two figures moving behind the gate, in some sort of undergrowth. There was the tell-tale stretch of a bow string again and he stepped back.
“Could be a bit troublesome getting down there without being shot.”
The legionary nodded.
“Not much we can do, sir.”
Fronto grumbled. He refused to get this close and be stopped by a damn gate. Behind, the first men of the Eighth legion rounded the corner and moved down to join them. A voice called out.
