Next morning was chilly and full of bright sunlight. Thanks to the cave's altitude, temperatures dropped much lower than in the valley. Silence filled the crisp air and the sky was clear of birds. No living creatures were visible on the bare slopes, but Tarquinius knew from experience it was a good time to hunt. The tracks he had seen the night before would lead him to the wolves.
Neither spoke as Tarquinius filled his pack and ate a piece of dry bread. The haruspex sat on a rock by the entrance, watching quietly, a satisfied look on his face.
'Thank you. For everything.' Tarquinius swallowed hard. 'I will always remember you.'
'And I will never forget.'
They grasped forearms. Olenus seemed to have aged even more overnight, but his grip was still strong.
'Go safely, Arun. We will meet in the afterlife.' The old man was calm and serene, at one with his destiny.
Tarquinius lifted his pack; it was heavier now with the liver, staff and sword inside. The map was tucked safely against his chest in a small pouch. He tried to find words.
'There is nothing more to say.' As always, the haruspex had read his mind. 'Go now and be blessed.'
Tarquinius turned and strode down the track, an arrow notched to the bowstring.
He did not look back.
Chapter IV: Brennus
Transalpine Gaul, 61 BC
'Loose, before it sees us!'
'Long shot.' The Gaulish warrior looked at his younger cousin and grinned. 'It's at least a hundred paces,' he whispered.
'You can do it.' Brac held the two hunting dogs close, stroking them softly to stop any whining.
Brennus pulled a face, eyes returning to the deer standing between the trees. His powerful bow was already half drawn in preparation, goosefeathered arrow fitted to the string. They had crept the last distance on hands and knees, coming to rest behind a huge fallen trunk. Thanks to the brisk wind blowing away from it, the animal was totally unaware of the men's presence.
The pair had been following the tracks all morning, the dogs' noses guiding them through dense summer undergrowth. The deer had moved without concern, nibbling on leaves from the lower branches and it had paused to drink some rainwater pooled in the gnarled roots of an old oak.
Belenus guide my arrow, thought Brennus.
Drawing the gut string to full stretch, he closed one eye and took aim.
It took immense strength to hold the bow at full draw, but the barbed arrow tip remained steady as a rock. Exhaling, the Gaul loosed the shaft. It flew straight and true, driving deep into the deer's chest with a soft thump.
The quarry toppled to the ground.
Brac clapped Brennus on the shoulder. 'A heart shot! Saved us a long chase.'
The two men loped through the trees, almost unseen in their brown fabric shirts and green trousers. Brac was tall and strong limbed, but his cousin towered over him. The big man's face was broad and cheerful, dominated by a battered apology of a nose. After the fashion of their tribe, the Allobroges, they wore their blond hair in pigtails tied with cloth bands. Both warriors were armed with bows and long spears for hunting.
Daggers hung from hide belts.
The deer's eyes had already begun to glaze over. With a few precise cuts of his knife, Brennus freed the arrow, cleaning off the tip on some nearby moss. Shoving it back into the quiver, he muttered another prayer to Belenus, his favourite deity.
'This won't get back to camp on its own. Cut down that sapling.'
They tied the legs to a sturdy branch with strips of leather Brennus carried in his pouch. With a heave of effort, the pair picked up the dead beast. Its head bobbed up and down with the movement. The dogs growled with excitement, licking at blood that dripped steadily from the chest wound.
'How many more do we need?'
'One, maybe two. That'll be enough meat for both families.' Brennus shifted the load on his shoulder slightly, smiling at the thought of his wife Liath and baby son. 'More than the fools in the village will have.'
'They have no time to hunt,' said Brac. 'Caradoc says the gods will look after us when the Romans have been defeated.'
'Old fool,' Brennus muttered and instantly regretted the loss of control. Usually he kept his opinions to himself.
Brac was shocked. 'Caradoc is the chieftain!'
'He may be, but my family needs food for the winter now. When they have sufficient, I will join the rebellion. Not before.' Brennus stared hard at Brac, who was barely old enough to shave.
'Tell him, then.'
'Caradoc will find out in his own time.' Two missing at the spear count would be obvious enough. Brennus would have to justify their absence when they returned.
'You should be in charge of the tribe anyway,' said Brac.
Brennus sighed. He had been approached often enough recently. Many warriors were keen for him to challenge the ageing Caradoc, chief for nearly twenty years.
'I don't like leading men, cousin. Except in battle, and that should be avoided if possible. I am no use at negotiating.' He shrugged his broad shoulders. 'I'd rather be out hunting or with my woman than settling arguments.'
'If you had led the fight last year, the Romans would not have returned.'
Blind faith shone from Brac's face. 'You would have smashed them completely!'
'Caradoc's no friend of mine,' growled Brennus. 'But he is a good leader. No one could have done better against those bastards.'
Brac fell silent, unwilling to argue further. The youngster heroworshipped his cousin. It was why he was not in the village, preparing for war.
'Caradoc says none will leave our land alive,' Brac ventured, eyes still eager.
The big man felt bad at his outburst. 'There 'll still be plenty left for us,' he said reassuringly. 'The scouts said there were thousands in the next valley.'
'Not too many?'
He laughed. 'Nobody beats the Allobroges. We are the bravest tribe in all Gaul!'
Brac grinned happily.
Brennus knew that his words were hollow. Sick of broken promises, Caradoc had finally led the tribe against its Roman masters the previous summer, protesting at the new, extortionate taxes. His initial efforts to win justice through negotiation had met with abject failure. Rome only understood war. And remarkably, the first campaign had been successful, driving the legions off Allobroges land.
But victory had come at a heavy price.
Fully half the warriors had been killed or maimed. While the Gauls had no way of replacing their dead, the Romans seemed to have an inexhaustible supply to draw on. Just two months after their defeat, Republican cavalry had begun raiding outlying settlements. A wave of savage reprisals had only been halted by the arrival of bad weather.
Soon Brennus knew his people would be defeated, crushed and enslaved, just like every other tribe who had once lived nearby. There were too few warriors left to repel the imminent Roman attack.
Pomptinus, the governor of Transalpine Gaul, and ambitious politicians like Pompey Magnus were hungry for slaves, wealth and land and would take it by whatever means were necessary. For several years, burnt-down villages and bloody tales from passing traders had been commonplace. New settlers, tough ex-legionaries who deliberately encroached on tribal territory, provided more evidence. Increasing the taxes had been means to an end,
