Chapter IV: Brennus

Nine years pass.

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, a way to goad the Allobroges into rebellion.

Now they stood alone — against Rome.

And Caradoc would not listen to his counsel.

Confident that battle would not be joined for a week or more, the frustrated warrior had decided to gather his winter meat early. Hunting was a vain attempt to forget what was happening in the valleys below.

'I want an eagle standard,' Brac's face was eager. 'Like the one taken last summer.'

'You will have one,' lied Brennus. 'When the Romans have been beaten.'

The young warrior swung his free arm through the air, mimicking a sword thrust. He nearly dropped the end of the branch.

'Steady now!' said Brennus fondly.

The Gauls reached the temporary camp hours later, both men sweating from carrying the deer. Brac gratefully dropped his end of the carcass. A dog darted in to lick the blood and Brennus kicked it away with a curse.

The site had been their home for four days. The big man had led his cousin away from the village at the valley mouth, far from where other warriors usually hunted. They had toiled up wooded mountain slopes for the whole morning, finally reaching a large clearing through which a shallow stream flowed.

Brennus had gestured expansively. 'Water and firewood. Open space so the sun can dry the meat. What more do we need?'

As soon as they had erected the hide tent that would protect them against rain, the hunt had begun. That first afternoon had been unsuccessful, but Brennus returned calmly to the camp and constructed several wooden racks.

He had gazed at the sky and smiled. 'Belenus will guide us tomorrow. I feel it in my bones.'

By the following evening, the dogs had been fighting over the stripped carcasses of two deer, while Brennus and Brac sat by the fire, stomachs bulging. Further hunts had also been fruitful, with a boar and another deer falling to their arrows. The animal they had just killed brought the tally to five.

'We don't need more.' Brac pointed at the drying frames creaking under the weight of meat. 'And the spear count was today. We should get back.'

'Very well,' Brennus sighed. 'Let's eat plenty tonight and return in the morning. Today's kill can always dry in the village.'

'Won't have missed it, will we?' Brac was chafing to blood himself against the invaders. The impending clash had been the main topic of conversation for weeks. Caradoc was very charismatic, drumming his people into a frenzy of hatred against the legions.

'I doubt it.' Brennus tried to sound casual. 'We had three weeks of skirmishes before the battle last year. Remember?'

'How could I forget?' Brac could still picture warriors returning laden with Roman weapons and supplies, giddy with success.

Transalpine Gaul had been under the Republic's control for over sixty years and large numbers of troops were permanently stationed near its towns. The Allobroges' final victory, thanks to their guerrilla attacks from the safety of the forest, had been most unusual. And it had come at a high price, something few of the men seemed to have considered.

'Perhaps Caradoc can see what will happen,' Brennus muttered. 'Is it better to die free than to flee our lands like cowards?'

'What was that?'

'Nothing, lad. Get the fire going. Got a hunger on me like a bear after winter.'

Brac had so much to learn and as his oldest male relative, it was Brennus' job to teach him. As he began butchering the deer, the big warrior prayed the gods would allow him to complete the task as well as protecting his wife and child, the only people more important to him than Brac and his family. Thoughts of fleeing with them over the mountains before any fighting seemed weak, but, like defeat, flight was inevitable. In Brennus' mind, certain death awaited any who stayed to fight the Romans. Caradoc had persuaded the warriors otherwise. Concerned and frustrated, Brennus had approached the tribe's druid for help some time before, but Ultan would not get involved. And as expected, Caradoc had refused even to consider leading his people to safety. 'The Allobroges do not run like dogs!' he had roared. 'We will crush the legions. Teach Rome a lesson it will not forget!' Brennus had persisted and a threatening look had entered the old chieftain's eyes. Wary of Caradoc's evil temper, he had sworn his loyalty and not spoken of the matter in public again, even to his friends. Only talk of fighting the Romans was permitted.

The stand-off with Caradoc had made Brennus' decision easier. Using the hunt as a practice run, he would gather the two families upon his return and leave immediately. Liath and Brac's mother knew of the plan, but Brennus had decided not to tell his cousin until the very last moment. Still naive, Brac might inadvertently reveal the plan to another warrior.

The men worked in silence, gutting the deer, slicing meat into thin strips and hanging it from the racks. One leg was fixed to a spit and suspended over the fire. Soon after the sun had set, the clearing was full of the smell of roasting flesh. The dogs sat close by, knowing they would eventually get something.

By the time the pair had eaten, the moon had risen. Mountain air began to cool fast. They huddled closer, wrapped in blankets, dogs chewing bones at their feet.

'Second-best place in the world up here.' Brennus waved a hand at the panorama, belching contentedly. The moon hung above nearby mountains, casting a beautiful light on the snowy peaks. Only the reassuring crackle of burning logs broke the silence. 'Good day's hunting, then a belly full of meat by a warm fire.'

'Where 's the best place to be?' Brac asked curiously.

'Under the blankets with your woman of course!'

Brac blushed and changed the subject. 'Tell me a story about the time before the Romans came.'

Brennus was happy to oblige. Recounting long tales about hunting or cattle raids was one of his favourite pastimes and popular with everyone in the village. He launched straight into the story of the biggest wolf ever killed by an Allobroge.

Brac's face lit up.

'The winter of ten years ago was one of the hardest in living memory,' began Brennus. 'The heavy blizzards drove packs of starving wolves down from the forests. With nothing to eat, they began to prey on our penned cattle every night. But none of the warriors dared go out to hunt them.' He shrugged expressively. 'The snow was waist deep and there were rarely less than twenty of the creatures together.'

His cousin looked round the clearing nervously.

'Within a month, dozens of cows had been killed. Then an old man collecting firewood was attacked at the edge of the forest and Conall, your father, had had enough. With my help, he worked for days making large traps.'

'And you caught plenty!' Brac's eyes shone and he rubbed the long canine tooth hanging from a leather thong round his neck.

Brennus nodded. 'Five in as many nights. The wolves quickly became more cautious and people 's spirits rose. But it was not long before the pack's alpha male and a few others began to return, killing a beast with each visit. They had become far too clever to take the bait in the cages and men began to say that they were evil spirits.'

'Ultan says they were too scared to help.'

Brennus raised his eyebrows, taking a drink from his water carrier.

'Conall and I talked. There was no question of following the wolves into the woods. Up there the drifts were deeper than a man. So the next night Conall tied an old cow to a stake outside the palisade. There was no moon, just a few stars. He wouldn't let me stay with him. Said I was too young.' Brennus grinned, fondly remembering the man who had taught him everything he knew about weaponry. His own father had died when he was only an infant. 'So I sat on the walkway with my bow and a hidden torch.'

'Where was Father?' Brac had heard the story a thousand times but always asked.

'Wrapped in a fur cloak and deep in a snowdrift, close by the ox. It was a long, cold wait.'

'Half the night, he said.'

The big warrior nodded. 'Of course the cow smelt the wolves first and began bellowing like mad. Conall stayed calm and waited, as a good hunter always does. I could see nothing at all from my position.' Brennus lifted a hand to his eyes, squinting dramatically into the darkness. 'Then suddenly they appeared: seven grey shadows creeping across the ice.'

Brac shivered with delight.

'The alpha male came in fast, going straight for the kill. I quickly planted the torch on the battlements to give me light, but the wolves were so hungry that they didn't even pause.'

'Father said you roared like devils were after you,' laughed Brac.

'Of course I did! They'd have smelt him any moment.' Brennus shuddered. 'One man against that many wolves wouldn't stand a chance.'

'He jumped up and you had already killed three with arrows.'

Brennus shrugged. 'His task was far more dangerous. As I shot the third beast, Conall took the head off a fourth and maimed another, leaving only the leader and his mate. They were savaging the poor cow. I killed the female and managed to draw a bead on the male just as he turned to face Conall. They were only twenty paces apart, far enough for me to loose safely. But your father yelled at me to hold. "The bastard's mine!" he said.'

There was silence for a moment.

Brennus stared at Brac. 'He was the bravest man I have ever known. That wolf was as big as a bear and Conall had no shield and no armour. Just his sword and a hunting knife.'

Brac rocked to and fro, barely able to contain his excitement.

'The wolf kept darting in, trying to knock him over, but Conall kept it at bay with ease, waiting for a chance. Then he slipped on the snow and fell flat on his back, losing his sword. Before I could react, the alpha male leapt into the air.' Brennus' voice dropped. 'It was going to rip his throat out.'

He paused and Brac's grip on the tooth tightened.

'Somehow Conall drew his dagger and turned it upwards with both hands. The blade went straight through the wolf 's heart as it landed.'

'You thought he was dead!'

'Seemed that way until he pushed the body off,' replied Brennus with a smile. 'I've never been so relieved.'

'Father always said he could never have done it without you. The only one who would help.'

'It was nothing,' Brennus muttered awkwardly.

'It meant a lot to him. And me.'

Brennus quickly looked away.

'Tell me another,' said Brac, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but it was the wrong thing to say.

'Not tonight.' Brennus poked a stick at the blaze, releasing a stream of sparks into the night sky. 'Another time, perhaps.' He gazed sombrely into the flames, mood changed. Conall's death the previous summer still affected him deeply. At the end of a major skirmish against the Romans, Brennus had been swept away from the main body of warriors and surrounded by dozens of legionaries. As the big man had watched his fellow Allobroges run for the safety of the trees, he had asked the gods for a swift death. But instead of fleeing like the rest, Conall had led several men on a suicidal counterattack, saving his nephew but losing his own life. Guilt had weighed heavily on Brennus since, and Brac knew better than to persist.

'Get some rest. It will be tough tomorrow carrying all that meat.'

The younger warrior obediently curled up in his blanket, secure in the knowledge that he was being watched over.

Brennus stayed awake for some time, brooding about Conall and remembering Ultan's last words.

The tribe 's druid had been an old man when Brennus' father was a boy.

No one could explain how Ultan had lived for so long, but he was feared and respected by all and his blessings and predictions were an integral part of tribal life. If a child or beast was sick, Ultan was called for. No one could draw an arrow from a wound or treat a fever like the druid. Even Caradoc consulted him before making any important decisions.

Brennus had been weaned on Ultan's amazing tales, told by the fire in the meeting house on cold winter nights. He looked up to the druid like no other and in turn Ultan had a soft spot for the man who had grown into one of the mightiest Allobroge warriors ever seen.

Before he and Brac left to go hunting, Brennus had asked Ultan for a blessing. Frustrated that the druid would not intervene on his behalf with Caradoc, he had not lingered to chat in Ultan's ramshackle hut on the edge of the village. Prayer completed satisfactorily, Brennus had reached the door when the old man spoke.

'You are always one for long trips.'

Peering into the dim interior, Brennus had been unable to make out the druid's features. Bunches of herbs and mistletoe hung from nails beside the dried carcasses of birds and rabbits. Brennus had shivered. It was said that Ultan could brew a potion to charm the gods themselves. 'Will it be a difficult hunt, then?'

'More than that,' Ultan had muttered. 'A journey beyond where any Allobroge has gone. Or will ever go. Your destiny cannot be avoided, Brennus.'

He had steeled himself. 'I will die in the forest?'

Brennus had thought he saw a trace of sadness in the old man's eyes. In the poor light, he had not been sure.

'Not you. Many others. You will take a path of great discovery.'

Despite the fire 's heat, a shiver ran down the big man's spine. Typically, Ultan had refused to explain further. Unsettled, Brennus was worried enough to offer more prayers to Belenus than normal as they had climbed the wooded slopes. The hunt had gone well so far, but he knew the druid's predictions tended to be accurate. Would his family be safe? Would Brac's? Although it was early summer, the journey over the mountains was not without peril. Snow, ice, swiftly flowing rivers and dangerous paths awaited them.

Or had Ultan meant something else altogether?

He stared round the quiet clearing. The normally alert dogs twitched happily as they dreamt of chasing deer. Nothing. Closing his eyes with a sigh, Brennus pulled the blanket closer and lay protectively beside Brac. He slept well, without dreaming.

It was the last peaceful rest Brennus would have for many years.

When the younger warrior awoke, the sun's rays were already lighting up the mountains on the other side of the valley, turning the snow on the sharp peaks pink, then orange. He threw off his blanket and stood up, shivering in the early morning air.

'Had enough sleep?' Brennus laughed, over by the drying racks.

Brac flushed with guilt when he saw the packs were ready. All that was left to do was roll up the bedding and fill their leather water carriers from the stream. 'How long was I asleep?' he muttered, hurrying.

'As long as you needed.' Brennus' tone was kindly. 'Feeling rested?'

'Yes.'

'Good! Try this on.'

Staggering under the weight of one pack, Brennus gestured at the other beside him. With help, Brac managed to fit the bulging bag on his back. He noted with shame that it was much lighter than his cousin's.

'Let me take the heavier one.'

'I'm bigger and stronger. That's all there is to it. Yours is heavy enough.'

Brennus clapped him on the arm reassuringly. 'It's more than most could carry.'

Brennus led the way, using a hunting spear to steady himself on uneven ground. Brac and the dogs followed close behind. The little party made steady progress through the forest and by mid-morning they had covered just over half the distance back to the settlement.

'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?'

Brac fell silent, tears running down his cheeks.

The big man stood, trying to think. 'Listen if you want to live.'

Brac gazed at the burning settlement. 'Why live after that?' he asked dully.

Brennus saw the anguish in his cousin's face. The same distorted his own. Brac's mother and sisters were also doomed and he shuddered, trying to thrust their fate from his mind. After Liath and the baby, they were the only family he had in the world. Somehow he conjured up Ultan's expression that last day. Had it been sad? He couldn't be sure. What was now certain was that the Allobroges were taking a voyage to the other side. But that was not his path, according to the druid.

Why had Ultan refused to talk to Caradoc and kept silent about this attack? There could be only one answer. The druid's message must have come from the gods. He had to believe that, or his sanity would be lost.

'We go back to the meat. Take enough for a month. Then cross the mountains, join the Helvetii. They are a strong tribe and no friends of Rome.'

'But our people. ' Brac began weakly.

'The Allobroges are finished!' said Brennus, hardening his heart. He had never imagined it would come to this. 'Ultan told me I was to go on a great journey, one never taken before.' There were only a few moments to convince Brac before they were seen. 'This must be what he meant.'

Wiping his eyes, Brac gulped and surveyed the village once more. As they watched, the roof of the meeting house fell with a great shower of sparks and flames. Cheers rose from legionaries outside the walls.

The end was near.

Brac nodded, trust in his cousin implicit.

Brennus shoved the younger man in the back. 'Let's go. This way the Allobroges will live on.'

The warriors turned to leave, dogs close behind. They had gone only a few paces when Brac stopped.

'What is it?' hissed Brennus. 'There 's no time to waste.'

Brac looked stunned. A thin stream of blood ran from his mouth and he pitched forward on to both knees. Protruding from the middle of his back was a Roman javelin.

'No!' The big man darted to Brac's side, cursing as he glimpsed the legionaries who had crept within missile range unseen. There were at least twenty — far more than he could hope to kill on his own.

Grief filled him. There would be no more running.

'Sorry.' Brac gasped with the effort of speaking.

'For what?' Brennus snapped the pilum in two, lying Brac carefully on one side.

'Not running fast as you. Not listening enough.' The boy's face was ashen. He did not have long.

'Nothing to be sorry for, my brave cousin,' Brennus said gently, squeezing Brac's hand. 'Rest here a little. I need to kill some Roman bastards after all.'

Brac nodded weakly.

A lump filled Brennus' throat, but anger overtook the grief, surging through every vein. He gripped Brac's arm in farewell and got to his feet.

The druid had been wrong. He too would die today. What reason was there left to live?

There was a rush of air as javelins hummed past him, embedding themselves in trees with dull thudding sounds. One of the dogs collapsed, yelping in pain at the long metal shaft protruding from its belly. Unsure what to do, the second stood with tail firmly between its hind legs.

Many of the legionaries were within twenty paces now, running at full tilt.

'Sons of whores!' Brennus pulled out an arrow and fitted it to the string, drawing to full stretch. He released while hardly looking at the nearest soldier, knowing it would take his target in the throat. The Gaul's next three shafts killed as well. By then the Romans were so close he had to drop the bow and pick up a spear. As his enemies encircled him, curved scuta held high, swords ready, Brennus let battle rage engulf him. Any thoughts of a long journey were forgotten.

Because of him, his wife and child had died alone. Because of him, Brac was dead. He had failed everyone, and all Brennus wanted to do now was kill.

'Bastards!' He had learned dog Latin from traders who passed through every year. 'Come on! Who's next?' Without waiting for an answer, he hurled his spear. The heavy shaft punched effortlessly through a shield, driving links of chain mail deep into the soldier's chest cavity. The man collapsed without a sound, blood pouring from his mouth. Brennus stooped quickly and picked up Brac's weapon, repeating the procedure with a second Roman.

'You have only a dagger now, Gaulish scum.' A red-cloaked officer leading the legionaries gestured angrily. 'Take him!'

His men raised their scuta in unison, closing ranks, stepping over the bodies.

Brennus bellowed an inarticulate cry of rage and charged. His entire people had just been annihilated in one short, vicious encounter. He was about to die, wanted to die. Anything to end the pain.

Ripping the closest man's shield from his grasp, the warrior turned it on its edge. He swept round in a circle, knocking several enemies from their feet. In the confusion, Brennus jumped to stand over the legionary whose scutum he had taken. With a savage blow downwards, he decapitated the man with its metal rim. Blood spurted over his calves as he grabbed an unfamiliar gladius from the ground. Its owner would never need a weapon again. Gauging the balance, he swung the straight-edged blade, wishing it was a longsword.

Armed now, Brennus was an even more intimidating prospect. Unwilling to face certain death, the thirteen Romans remaining hung back.

'Seize him, you fools!' the officer screamed, the horsehair crest on his helmet bobbing indignantly. 'Six months' pay for the man who takes him alive!'

Spurred on by the reward, they closed in, forming a tight circle of locked shields. The Gaul killed another three legionaries when they reached him, but at last a sword hilt connected with the back of his head. He stumbled, stabbing another enemy fatally in the groin as he went down.

A hail of blows followed.

Brennus landed on the bloody ground semi-conscious, his torso covered in minor wounds.

'Thank Jupiter most Gauls are not like this ox!' The officer smiled contemptuously. 'Otherwise you women would never conquer them.'

His men flushed with shame, but none replied. Their superior could inflict dire punishment if they answered back.

Concussed and confused, Brennus was still desperate to fight. He struggled to rise, but the last of his huge strength had been expended. Through a red haze, he heard the centurion speak again.

'Bind his arms and legs. Carry him to the surgeon.'

Fuelled by anger, one of the soldiers found the courage to speak. 'Let us kill the bastard, sir. He 's done for eleven of us.'

'Fool! Governor Pomptinus wants as many slaves as possible. This one will be worth plenty as a gladiator in Rome. A lot more than you miserable scum.'

Brennus closed his eyes and let blackness take him.

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