Gallia Invicta

and go find them and draw supplies from them. I’m not expecting them to have much corn but, from what I read, they’re fishers, so you may be able to procure us stocks of seafood.”

Lastly, his finger strayed up and right, deeper inland and back toward better-known territory and came to rest somewhere around forty or fifty miles north of Vindunum.

“Terrasidius? You can take a detachment to the Esubii. They should be nice and easy to deal with and will have surplus corn stocks if I’m not mistaken.”

The legate fell quiet, still regarding the map, his chin cupped in a hand. The tribunes stood in uncomfortable silence, shuffling their feet. After a pregnant pause, Crassus turned, an expression of feigned surprise on his face.

“Are you still here?”

Without waiting for further admonishment, the tribunes turned and made their way out of the building and out of sight of the legate. As they left the relative comfort of the low, dark interior and stepped out into the grey cloth of mist, they kept walking until they were at the far side of the square and safely out of earshot of both the office window and any other human being.

“Arsehole!”

The other three turned in surprise at Gallus’ outburst, but understanding quickly claimed their expressions.

“He really has no idea just how much of the time we spend trying to smooth over relations with the Gauls after he wanders around Armorica kicking them out of the way. It’s almost as though he wants them to revolt.”

Velanius nodded unhappily.

“The Venati are an argumentative bunch. They fight for fun in their village squares; I’ve seen it — bare knuckle fighting until they’re lying comatose just to work up an appetite for dinner. I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to approach them and broach the idea that they should give us a sizeable chunk of their fish. I have a horrible feeling about this.”

Gallus’ grim expression revealed his own thoughts on the matter quite clearly. He turned and rounded on Terrasidius.

“See how he favours his own legion? Cushy job you got there, asking for a handout from a friendly tribe that’s almost drowning in excess corn.”

The tribune from the Seventh shrugged.

“You can call it favour if you like and, yes I get the easy tribe, but when we start moving in spring, you’ll head back to your own legates and get on with it. I’ll still be wandering around behind my illustrious leader, trying to remove the stick from his arse!”

Gallus stared at the tribune for a moment and burst out laughing.

“Fair enough. He won’t be expecting us to leave until the morning. Too late in the day to set out now. Anyone else here fancy a drink? There’s two taverns in this shithole that they left in service, and I know which one doesn’t spit in the beer for Romans!”

The three men nodded, relieved to have their thoughts turned from the task ahead, and strode off toward the tavern with its friendly warmth.

“This had better be the right place; I’m truly sick of getting the run-around with these people.”

Tribune Velanius nodded miserably, shrinking deeper into the crimson wool cloak as his horse plodded slowly through the bone-soaking drizzle.

“You know how some sailors say that the seas go on to the north and west to the end of the world and then irrigate the Elysian fields?”

Silius eyed him suspiciously.

“Yes. You do know you can’t irrigate anything with sea water?”

“Well you can quite bloody believe it! The further north we get from Rome the wetter, colder and more miserable it gets. If it weren’t for all the cliffs and rocks, I’d say it would be hard to tell where the land ends and the sea begins in this place.”

His companion gave a small laugh and turned to look at the cavalry escort. One of the outriders was returning.

“Now we’ll find out.”

The pair drew their steeds to a halt and sat in the miserable rain as the cavalry trooper approached and reined in.

“Sir” the trooper said, giving a half bow in the saddle, “there’s a sizeable settlement up ahead on a spur of rock above the sea. It’s a lot bigger than any of the other villages we’ve seen. I think we’ve found our town.”

“Good. Form up an honour guard. Let’s do this properly.”

As the cavalry settled into lines of twelve men to either side with a small van- and rear-guard, the two tribunes held their breath as they approached the crest of the hill. They still had no idea how they would go about their mission, but the time seemed finally to be upon them when they would have to decide.

Slowly they rode to the top of the hill in a stately procession. Beyond, the open countryside, dotted with copses, stretched out, swooping down and then up to the now all-too-familiar line of jagged cliffs and coves that formed the coast of north western Gaul. In the centre of the view, a headland stood proud, rising higher than those to either side. Ramparts protected the landward side, while cliffs formed the defence of the rest, with jagged rocks and heaving seas below. Within the walls, a typical Gaulish town lay, squat and grey-brown with random, curving streets. Smoke rose from a multitude of roofs, warming the occupants and warding off the chill rain.

“Even that place is starting to look good when you’ve been on horseback in the rain for so damn long.”

Velanius pointed down at the near side of the town.

“Will you look at that!”

“What?”

“The approach. It would take Neptune and Mars working together to take that place!”

Silius peered through the rain, trying to pick out more detail and, as he did, he understood his companion’s fascination. The town was all but impossible to access from the sea, given the steep cliffs and the fact that the whole headland was surrounded by partially submerged rocks. But the land approach was no better. The walls were as thick and high and impressive as any they’d seen these past two years in Gaul, but to even reach the walls, an attacker would have to descend the slope to sea level, crossing a narrow causeway that stood perhaps a hundred yards wide.

“That would be a killing zone if they had archers on those towers.”

Velanius shook his head.

“Better than that. It’s still a fairly low tide right now. That causeway will be underwater a lot of the time, and those nasty rocks will be hidden just below the waves. This place isn’t a town, it’s a damn fortress.”

As they descended the slope, the seaward dip and its tidal causeway disappeared from view. The first of a number of small copses rose up to either side of the road, granting blessed, if momentary, relief from the worst of the bleak drizzle that seemed to travel horizontally in this country.

“I’d be willing to come to some very favourable terms if they’ll just supply me with a towel, a warm hearth and a bowl of broth!”

Silius laughed again.

“Don’t start on about your stomach again. I spent most of yesterday listening to you banging on about it.”

Velanius opened his mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but instead his mouth formed into a shocked ‘O’ while his eyes widened. Behind his companion and the line of miserable cavalry troopers, a vague figure appeared like a ghost between the boles of the trees, a long spear thrusting out ahead. The tribune had not even the time to call a warning before the spear caught the nearest rider just under the ribs on his left side, plunging in deep through his torso, to emerge at the opposite collar bone. The shocked rider opened his mouth to scream and a gobbet of blood was all that issued as he toppled from the horse.

Velanius was aware that he’d shouted something, though he couldn’t remember what it was in the sudden confusion. They had no chance, and that was clear from the outset. There must be dozens of men lining the sides