Free Roma Mater by Poul Anderson Page B

Germanian province eastward has stayed quiet too – good Germans, those, not Hun-like Franks. You should find Belgica easy;and, if I do say so myself, it’s concerned citizens like me who keep it that way. But beyond, as you enter Lugdunensis – my information is that the more west you go, the worse conditions get. I trust you’re not alone?’
    ‘No, I have soldiers with me.’
    ‘Good. Just the same, watch out. I don’t
think
the Bacaudae would attack a military unit, but you never know, these days. The word I have is that they’re growing ever more brazen.’
    Gratillonius searched his memory. He had encountered the word before, but only the word, and that was back when troubles were a not quite real thing that happened to somebody else. ‘Bacaudae?’ he asked. ‘Bandits?’
    ‘Worse than bandits,’ Lugotorix said indignantly. ‘Rebels. Men, if you can call them men, who’ve fled their obligations, gone into the woods, and don’t just live by robbery and extortion – no, they have some kind of organization, they call themselves “Bacaudae” – “the Valiant” – and they war against the very state. Wolves! Vermin! Crucifixion would be too good for them, if we still did it.’
    ‘It was not too good for your Saviour, was it?’ Gratillonius murmured.
    Luckily, perhaps, that was the moment when the boy carried forth his meal. He ordered it put on a different table, and made clear that he wanted to eat by himself and go to bed immediately afterwards. Lugotorix quacked a few questions – what was the matter? – but, getting no response other than a glower, soon quit.
    There was no more to learn from him, Gratillonius thought, and so there was no need to spend more time at his board. Nothing could be done for the children except to beseech that Mithras – or Christ, or whatever Gods had stood over their cradles – would at last receive their weary spirits. The faith of Gratillonius was pledged to theman who could save Rome. Later that man would set about restoring her true law, making her again the Mother of all.
    3
    The military highway dropped well south before meeting one that bore west, but pavement offered faster going than most secondary ways in this rainy month. Gratillonius set no fixed daily goals. He took his men as far as they could make it under the given conditions without becoming exhausted. That usually meant about thirty miles, since they were spared the labour of constructing a wall and ditch at the end. It took a gauging eye to know when he should call a halt, for he was on horseback. He would have preferred to share the footwork, but dignity required he ride, as it required a private tent. The men expected it and didn’t mind.
    They made a brave sight on the march. Gratillonius ranked them four abreast so they wouldn’t be slowed by any civil traffic they met. To spare hoofs without the trouble of sandalling them, he rode on the gravelled side-strips when those were provided, while three men at the rear led the pack horses. On the highway, Eppillus named a different man each day for the honour of striding in the van, holding the standard on high and with the bearskin over his armour. Everybody wore full battle gear; in sunny weather, light flashed off helmets, mail, javelin heads, the oiled leather of shield facings. Gratillonius displayed silvery coat and greaves, together with crest athwart his helmet and cloak flowing away from his throat, both as vivid a red as the eagle banner. Hobnails crashed down in drumlike unison, but the lines were notrigid, they had that subtle wheatfield ripple that bespeaks men whose trade is war.
    At first they travelled through country such as Gratillonius had heard described. It was smooth terrain, grazed by livestock or worked by gangs of cultivators. Aside from woodlots, trees were few. Hamlets generally amounted to a pair of long houses, half-timbered and thatched, divided into apartments for the dwellers and, in winter, their beasts. Carts