Falling Sky by Harry Sidebottom

Author:Harry Sidebottom [Sidebottom, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zaffre Publishing

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The High Country of the Arverni

Three Days before the Ides of July

A

LL MORNING THEY HAD lain up in a copse at the foot of the ridge. Now, in the afternoon, they were climbing. The ascent was difficult. They went on foot, slowly and carefully. Unlike some of the soldiers, Ballista had faith in the landowner Argicius.

Two nights before, after the raid of the bacaudae, order had been restored. The loose horses had been caught and tethered, the fire extinguished, more vedettes posted. While the troopers tended the horses, treated those that had been hurt in the tumult, Ballista had convened a council of his officers. Sensibly, although technically a prisoner, Argicius had been summoned. Only the Gaul knew the country. He could lead a party straight to the lair of the bacaudae. Argicius, however, knew the ways of the brigands. They would have left a man hidden somewhere on the surrounding heights to observe the column. If the troops marched directly, the bandits would scatter, vanish into the hills and forests, and there would be no chance of recovering the horses. The approach must be subtle.

Twenty horses had been lost. In the morning, Ballista had ordered the majority of the decurions and men on additional pay among the Thracians to hand over their spare mounts to those of their comrades who found themselves unhorsed. The exchange made, with much reluctance bordering on insubordination, the expedition resumed its journey to the west. On the march, Ballista had selected volunteers to the number of a squadron – sixteen from the Thracians, and sixteen from the Emesenes. The merging was more for their different fighting styles than to ameliorate the ill feeling between the units. Fabius, the chief scout, was seconded to command the turma.

That night, some twenty miles from the site of the raid, Ballista and the chosen men had slipped quietly from the camp. Argicius had led them back by an unfrequented and roundabout route skirting to the north. Nothing disturbed their progress, except the creatures of the night: owls glided overhead on silent wings; a vixen, intent on slaughter, stopped and regarded them with suspicion. By dawn they were ensconced in the wood at the base of the high ground. There they had passed most of the day, safe, as far as they could tell, from prying eyes. Once, a shepherd had driven his flock along a nearby path. Ballista was glad none of the sheep had strayed, the man not turned aside. Outside pastoral poetry, all shepherds were little better than brigands. This one, given his proximity to their base, must be in league with the bacaudae. Even so, it might have felt wrong to kill him out of hand. And there would have been the problem of what to do with his bleating flock.

At the ninth hour, about three hours before sunset, they had moved out. One in four of the troopers remained as horse holders among the trees. In single file, the rest followed Argicius along a goat track up the mountain.

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