watch, and I would have liked to wrestle with him.
The wagons were full of barrels, and the barrels were his gift to me. We had twelve big casks, and each weighed as much as a pig of tin. I laughed, embraced him and told him through Gwan that Gwan would go with me to Marsala and return rich enough to retrieve his father’s debts to the Venetiae. In effect, I involved Collam in an alliance to preserve Gwan’s honour — and my convoy.
Collam shook my hand again, and through Gwan, told me that fifty horsemen had crossed his lands the night before and that as far as he knew, Brach was gone.
Fifty horsemen. I laughed. ‘They’ll need a lot of help,’ I said.
Collam offered me twenty warriors, but I patted his shoulder and told him not to worry.
We swapped belts, there on the shore. It was a little like living in the Iliad. And then we were away, into the late morning, poling hard upstream.
Gwan usually rode ahead, but I kept him by me — the best way to avoid temptation is to avoid temptation, in fact — and I sent Seckla, who was a brilliant rider, to lead a dozen other men who could run. I’ve already said that the Sequana runs like a snake: a few men, running and resting, can easily pace a convoy of boats.
It was mid-afternoon when we ran out of water. There were good landing stages; this was the point from which the Venetiae transshipped their own cargoes. A big town stood there, well fortified with heavy palisades and a stone socle under the timber ramparts.
Gwan’s father was a minor lord in these parts. But the men who were to form our donkey train didn’t seem to be part of a conspiracy: the animals were already assembled, and they had panniers sewn to hold the big pigs of tin. There were eighty animals in the train, with forty men to handle them. The whole assemblage cost us four pigs of tin.
In the town, which was both smelly and quite marvellous, I found a gem — a goldsmith whose skill, while barbaric, was still very fine. I traded him a small amount of our gold for a pair of arm rings such as the local gentry wore. I liked them, and I needed to wear my status. It is often that way, when you are among foreigners. In Boeotia, they would know who I was even if I was naked and covered in soot from the smithy. In Gaul, I needed a pair of heavy gold arm rings. Herodikles mocked me for turning barbarian, but I think the arm rings stood us all in good stead.
We drank wine, ate well, and a day later, we were away. In any place we lingered, we spent too much. I had almost one hundred and eighty men, and they cost me an amount of gold equal to the size of your little finger every day just to keep in food and wine. Let me put it this way: we took a rich treasure from the Phoenicians, and two hundred slaves. The treasure, every ounce of it, about paid for the food. It had been the same when I served with Miltiades — there isn’t much economy to piracy.
On the other hand, without two hundred hungry men with an absolute loyalty to me, I doubt that we’d ever have got so much tin over the hills.
At any rate, we enjoyed Agedinca. Gwan was feasted, and through him, Seckla and Gaius and I met the lords of the Senones, the people who controlled the upper valley of the Sequana. They were rich in good farmland, and in the possession of the trade route, and their halls were full of armour and magnificent plates and cups. Their women wore more jewellery than Persian princesses.
We camped well outside of town, and we rotated a guard of forty men on our camp. By now, every former slave had a sword, a helmet, a spear or two and a shield, and I drilled them myself, teaching them the dances of Ares each day. I had two reasons for my care: first, that they might fight well, if we had to fight; and second, to keep them busy. They were oarsmen, and they had every reason to be bored.
When our donkey train was ready to cross the hills, the King of the Senones came to see us off. He admired my warriors, and offered me a hundred more men.
I bowed respectfully and refused them. I didn’t want to have to trust him.
He shrugged. ‘The Aedui are our enemies,’ he said. ‘They often attack the tin trains. Be wary.’
Gwan nodded. After we had started up the valley, he rode up to me — we had two-dozen horses — and pointed up the pass. ‘If the Venetiae are going to ambush you,’ he said, ‘They won’t do it themselves. They’ll pay someone to attack you. The Aedui are the obvious choice — they attack trains all the time.’
‘And yet the king said nothing of the fifty horsemen,’ I noted.
Gwan looked away. ‘He is my cousin,’ Gwan said. ‘But not a friend to me or to my father. I think perhaps he takes your tin to build your train — and takes silver from the Venetiae to allow your train to be ambushed.’
Gaius said, ‘If that’s so, then the baggage-handlers and the teamsters will all desert. Or attack us.’
Gwan shook his head. ‘That would be hard to work out,’ he said.
I wanted to trust Gwan, but there was a barrier between us, deeper than the cultural divide. I truly wished that I had Daud or Sittonax with me. Leukas was Alban, and too far removed from the politics — if I may call them that — of the Gauls. Leukas distrusted Gwan all the time. Leukas was also jealous of Gwan’s continuing success with every maiden — I use the term loosely — on the river.
People are very complicated.
Men told me that it was six days over the hills to Lugdunum, the town at the head of the Rhodanus River that flows into the Inner Sea. The first night in the hills it was cold, and men pulled their cloaks tight around them and lay closer to other men, or built their fires higher. We had camped at a traders’ campsite — so it was stripped of all useful wood, you can bet. I sent fifty men off into the hills for wood, and another ten armed men to watch them. We built big fires, and shivered, and Gaius and I went from fire to fire, reminding men that we were ten days from Marsala and the Inner Sea, to encourage them that if we had to fight, it would be worth doing.
At a fire, one of the original crew of the Lydia asked me what the shares of the tin would be. It was a fair question, and one that had occupied me.
We’d started as a half-dozen men with a dream. We were coming home with more than a hundred freed slaves. Only sixteen men had died on the whole trip through accident, quarrels and Apollo’s arrows, and the men who were almost home had begun to wonder what they might receive.
And, of course, the men who had started from Marsala thought they were more worthy than the men who had been rescued from slavery. Gian told me point-blank that the former slaves now had their freedom — that was their share.
‘And weapons!’ shouted another Marsalian shepherd.
Greed. They’d been like brothers when we were rowing for our lives in the fog, but ten days from home I assured everyone that the shares would be fair. There was probably some half-truth to my statement, because I had yet to think of a simple, logical mathematical solution. But the mere promise that there would be a payout was enough.
The hills were magnificent; greener and more heavily wooded than hills in Greece. I thought they were quite high, until we climbed over the summit of the second pass and arrived at a mighty hill fort set at the top of a rocky crag and surrounded by stone walls built like any fortress wall in the Ionian Sea. It was a puzzle of giant rocks, as if the whole wall had been built by Titans. From those heights, I could see a range of mountains to the east that rose like jagged teeth. I had never seen mountains so high, even on the coast of Asia. They were breathtaking, at least in part because they were so far away. The Senones all told me they were the Alps. The hill fortress was a capital of the Aedui, but they offered us no violence. In fact, the lord of the place — I forget his name — told me that a Greek had designed his walls and taught his people to build them. I thought about what it would be like to be working so far from home. It cost me a whole pig of tin to feed my people across the hills. They had their own gold and silver here. They wanted tin.
And then we were down the other side of the pass, down the path into the high valleys of the Cares River. Fewer farms, and more trees.
My pig of tin had purchased more than just food. It purchased six more horses and some information, and I was aware that there were fifty horsemen ahead of me on the road. North of Lugdunum, where the Cares flows into the Rhodanus, we marched down the valley and I saw the sparkle and sun-dazzle of Helios on naked steel, and I knew.
I trusted my Senones by then. They didn’t seem shifty enough to be traitors, and they laughed a lot and drank hard. It is difficult for a Greek to distrust such men. Despite which, I had a former oarsman stand with every Senone in the train. And then we all armoured ourselves.
You may say that I was broadcasting to the ambush that we knew they were there.
I was. Why fight? If they wanted to slip away into the hills, I wanted to let them. My guides and my drovers
