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.Pierrette slept poorly, and was glad when dawn at last lightened the crest ofthe mount where Marius had won (or lost?) his battle with the Teutons.Was she nearing Aquae Sextiae? The mountain's distinctive white limestonescarp was a long, bright line on the northern horizon.The peak was a beacon,visible from any bare hilltop.From ancient times people had orientedthemselves by it.By the time she approached the bishop's seat, the massifwould be east of her and, seen end-on, should resemble a crooked triangularpeak.She still had far to go.* * *Magic had not changed.Her fire-spell still lit her tinder when she stoppedfor the night, between two hills, looking down upon the Via Julia Augusta, asthat portion of the main road between Italia andPage 24 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlIberia was called.Moonlight washed the Roman paving stones white.Campfiresflickered.There were dozens of people down there, with carts and wains heaped high withthe miscellany of farm and household: refugees.She did not need them to tellher how bad things were.She could feel the old, angry, Gaulish spirits thatbrooded in the hillsides, in gnarled old trees no Romans had ever cut.In herworld, Caesar's men had hacked and burned such sacred trees when he outlawedthe druids, andChristians had completed his task.Screams and the rumble of hooves awakened her.She crawled to the edge of theslope.Swords glinted.Shadowy folk ran this way and that.Plumes of feathers and horsehair bobbedatop bronze-trimmed helms.A warrior rode down a child.A single swipe of his long sword took head fromshoulders.The Gaul gave a harsh cry, and leaned from his horse to sweep upthe rolling head.Pierrette backed away, and vomited her meager supper.By the time sherecovered, there were no more cries.The moon had sunk behind the westernhills, and below was darkness.An unseasonal drizzle drifted down.The onlysounds were Gustave's mumbled complaints.At the first wan light, she shook out her blanket and loaded Gustave.She didnot feel like eating, but she forced down a soggy crust.She had to cross the Roman road; that meant going through the refugees' camp.Still forms lay amid the wreckage of the camp, but there were no sounds.Theywere all dead.Men, women, babes.all headless, even the littlest ones.Again she vomited.file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Douglas,%20L%20Warren%20-.l%20Of%20Tears%20(chunky%20HTML)/0671319973___4.htm (7 of 12)2-1-2007 14:13:12- Chapter 4Eyes brimming, she eyed the hard-surfaced road.The mountain was invisible inthe mist, but AquaeSextiae could not be more than six or seven miles west.What would she findthere? The bishop's city, with warm fountains and sunny streets.or aGallic fane below the looming walls of an Entremont grown large, a city nevervanquished, that had never known Rome?Something was nagging at her.Something she had seen in the horror of therefugee camp? She forced herself to look.The headless bodies of children werejust dark lumps.That was it.Gauls took the heads of fighting men.Warrior fantômes werepowerful.But children? What use had Celtic druidae for the captive ghosts ofinfants? It made no sense.The clatter of hoofbeats startled her.With nowhere to hide, she stood frozenas a single horseman reined in, his long Celtic spatha bared.His horse'snostrils flared at the scent of blood.The rider looked anxious.He wasafraid.Of her?"Who are you?" His blade wavered between them.He spoke Gaulish."I'm called Pierrette," she replied in that tongue."You're not.with these?" He indicated the sprawled, headless refugees."I just arrived from the south.I camped up there, and I heard the sounds inthe night.I came down to see what had happened to these people.""People? These aren't people, they're demons.""They don't look it.That one's a child.""An imp." He accepted that she was not a "demon" because she spoke Gaulish?"They appear out of nowhere, speaking the evil Romish tongue
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