The Forgotten Legion

'You are always one for long trips.'

Peering into the dim interior, Bre

'More than that,' Ultan had muttered. 'A journey beyond where any Allobroge has gone. Or will ever go. Your destiny ca

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

Bre

'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, Bre

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, Bre

It was the last peaceful rest Bre

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?' Bre

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.' Bre

'Yes.'

'Good! Try this on.'

Staggering under the weight of one pack, Bre

'Let me take the heavier one.'

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

Bre

Bre

'Time for another rest.' Gratefully Bre

'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.

Bre

'But how . . .?' Brac looked confused.

'Leave your pack and blanket. Take only weapons.'

The young warrior quickly obeyed and moments later they were ru

'What's going on?' Brac asked, chest heaving.

Bre

Not you. Many others.

'Don't shield things from me,' said Brac. 'I'm a man, not a child.'

Bre

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.' Bre

'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, Bre

'Brac, stop!'

'Why? They might still be fighting!'

'And arrive completely winded? What damn use would that be?'

Bre

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 Bre

Brac spat on the ground in agreement, checking every arrow tip was well attached. Then he looked up. 'Ready, cousin?'

Bre

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 Bre

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. Bre

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 pla

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.

Bre