'Time for another rest.' Gratefully Brennus lowered his pack by a large beech tree.
'I can go further.'
'Sit down.' He patted the moss, thinking it was a good time to tell Brac about his plan. 'Let's eat. Leave less to carry afterwards.'
They both laughed.
The pair sat beside each other, leaning against the broad trunk. In companionable silence, they drank water and chewed on dried meat.
'Is that smoke?' Brac pointed to the south.
There was a thick grey plume rising over the nearest treetops.
Brennus' fist clenched on his spear. 'Get up! That's from the village.'
'But how . . .?' Brac looked confused.
'Leave your pack and blanket. Take only weapons.'
The young warrior quickly obeyed and moments later they were running full pelt downhill, dogs at their heels. Brennus ran as if the gods were giving him strength and it wasn't long before Brac began to fall behind. He was fit and healthy, but there were few men who could match his cousin's physical prowess. When the big Gaul noticed Brac struggling, he stopped.
'What's going on?' Brac asked, chest heaving.
Brennus was a hopeless liar. 'I don't know, lad. A cooking fire out of control, perhaps?' He stared at the ground, Ultan's words echoing in his head.
Not you. Many others.
'Don't shield things from me,' said Brac. 'I'm a man, not a child.'
Brennus' eyebrows rose. Brac wasn't as naive as he appeared. 'All right.
Our warriors must have been defeated.' He sighed heavily. 'The bastards obviously didn't wait for us to offer battle.'
Brac's face paled. 'And the smoke?'
'You know what happens. The village is being put to the torch.' Brennus closed his eyes. Liath. Their newborn baby. What had he been thinking to leave his family at such a time?
'Why have we stopped?' Brac pushed past roughly, feet sure on the narrow path.
They ran for a long time, guilt and rage giving them strength. Neither spoke, and they stopped to rest only occasionally. A short distance from the settlement, Brennus at last slowed down and came to a halt. Even the dogs seemed glad of an opportunity to rest. But his cousin kept running.
'Brac, stop!'
'Why? They might still be fighting!'
'And arrive completely winded? What damn use would that be?'
Brennus breathed deeply, calming himself. 'Always go into combat prepared.'
Reluctantly Brac walked back to where the big man was standing, feeling the edge on a spear tip.
'This is good enough for a boar,' said Brennus, baring his teeth savagely. 'Should kill a bastard Roman or two.'
Brac spat on the ground in agreement, checking every arrow tip was well attached. Then he looked up. 'Ready, cousin?'
Brennus nodded proudly. It was at times like this that a warrior knew who would stand by him. But a knot of fear was forming in his stomach. Terrified for his family's safety, Brennus also wanted to protect Brac from danger. As Conall had done for him.
They moved off at a slow trot, concentrating on their surroundings, wary of possible ambush. Following paths familiar to both, they soon reached the edge of the trees. Already it was obvious something was wrong. Summer was a busy time of the year, yet there was nobody out hunting or picking fallen wood, no children playing in the shade.
The sight that greeted Brennus would haunt him for ever. Past strips of cultivated land running up to the forest, his village was in flames. Thick spirals of smoke billowed upwards from thatched roofs. Screams carried through the air.
Thousands of legionaries surrounded the defensive wooden palisade that had always served the Allobroges well. The invaders were clad in chain mail and russet-brown thigh-length tunics. They had heavy rectangular shields with metal bosses, viciously barbed pila, short stabbing swords, rounded bronze helmets with ear flaps and neck guards. Brennus knew and hated every distinctive part of the Roman soldier's garb.
Behind the close-ranked cohorts stood the ballistae, massive wooden catapults that had fired flaming missiles over the walls. Trumpeters at the rear followed orders from red-cloaked senior officers, blowing staccato bursts from their bucinae to direct the attack. Every man knew his task, every sequence was planned and there would be only one outcome.
So unlike the brave, disorganised chaos of a Gaulish battle charge.
The deep moat round the stockade had already been filled with wood in numerous places. Long ladders were in place against the walls, allowing attackers to swarm up. More legionaries were heaving a battering ram to and fro against the main gates. Here and there an occasional figure fired arrows from the walkway, but the battlements were almost bare.
'There 's no resistance!'
'The warriors won't have run,' said Brac, face pale.
Brennus shook his head, a shiver running down his spine.
The lack of opposition meant only one thing: Caradoc and the men had been beaten, leaving the village defended only by women and the old.
There was no chance of saving Liath and the baby. Nausea washed over Brennus and he bit his lip until he felt the salty taste of blood. The pain focused his thoughts, preventing him from blindly charging forward. Not you. Many others.
Ultan had foreseen the attack and sent him hunting anyway.
'Come on!' Brac was also ready to leave the trees' protection.
A giant hand gripped his arm. 'It is too late.' Brennus frowned, staring at the sky. 'We came back a day early. The gods meant us to be up the mountain, not here. Ultan warned me.'
'The druid? He's crazy. We can't just stand here and watch!'
'They are all good as dead.'
'But your wife, Brennus!'
He clenched his teeth. 'Liath will take her own life and the child's before a single Roman touches them.'
Brac looked at him with total disbelief. 'Coward.'
Brennus slapped him hard across the face. 'Two of us against thousands of Romans?'