Black, oily smoke poured into the air from three neighbourhoods and the crackle and roar of flames was periodically punctuated by the crash as a building fell in. Screams and shouts and occasionally the ring of steel on iron echoed across the city.
‘What was the final number?’
‘Five,’ Palmatus said with a satisfied tone. Fronto nodded. Five losses was more than just acceptable, given what they had achieved and under what conditions. Of course, five of eighteen was more than a quarter, but still, for their success…
‘One of the Remi, three of the good old boys from your Tenth and an archer, who just managed to get his fire arrow off before he collapsed.’
‘Somehow,’ Fronto replied quietly, ‘I can’t see replacements being a problem with Antonius backing us.’
‘I take it you’ve warmed to the idea of a singulares guard then?’ Palmatus smiled.
‘They have their uses, yes.’
‘Oi, oi,’ Masgava nudged Palmatus and the three turned to look in the same direction. Fronto’s remaining ten men were gathered in a knot nearby, rubbing their arms and feet and sloshing water down the nape of their neck, while at the corner of the square legionaries were dragging a reluctant future-slave from his ravaged house. Between the two groups, though, Galronus was trotting over on horseback with half a dozen Gauls behind him.
‘Not much for cavalry to do here,’ Fronto said as the Remi officer approached and reined in. It was sometimes hard to remember that Galronus was of the Belgae. Though his hair and moustaches were long and braided, and he wore a torc around his neck and the long ‘trousers’ of the Gallic peoples, his clothing was exquisite, sewn in Rome by a craftsman at an extortionate price in fabrics acquired from as far afield as Arabia and Hispania, and dyed the madder red of the legions. Indeed, his tunic was of a Roman cut anyway, cinched with a Roman belt buckled with a silver Medusa head. He even sat atop a four-horned Roman saddle. Fronto found himself wondering whether his ever-more-Romanised friend was a talking point among the men under his command.
‘Not a good place for my people to be at all,’ Galronus grunted as he swung down from the horse and gestured to another of the riders. ‘But I thought I would let you hear this yourself.’
Fronto waited patiently, Palmatus and Masgava edging closer to listen in.
After a moment of silence, the man Galronus had invited stepped around his horse and approached with a nod of recognition. Short and wiry for a Gaul, he was instantly familiar.
‘I know him. A scout?’
Galronus nodded. ‘Searix of the Condrusi. One of the senior scouts in the army. His tribe are as loyal as the Remi, but their lands are trapped between the Nervii, the Eburones and the Treveri. Danger lurks there for a supporter of Caesar.’
‘Then he’s to be commended for sticking to his oath,’ Fronto said quietly. ‘Many tribes in less difficult circumstances seem to be having trouble doing so.’
‘That’s sort of the problem, Marcus.’
‘Go on.’ Fronto had a sinking feeling as he saw the darkness in the eyes of the scout. Galronus nodded to Searix, who moistened his lips.
‘The officers say that you are a man who listens without judging.’
‘The officers,’ Fronto replied carefully, ‘apparently do not know me that well.’
Galronus gave a meaningful frown and Fronto sighed. ‘Alright. Let me guess: you have a problem with something but will not take it to Caesar either because you think he won’t listen to you, or you think he will and then won’t like what he hears?’
Searix had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable.
‘Go on,’ Fronto prompted wearily.
‘This is bad for the allegiances to Rome.’ Searix indicated the burning city with a sweep of his hand. ‘For those who took oaths.’
‘It’s considerably worse for the Nervii, who didn’t. Bear in mind, Searix, that the Nervii have never even claimed to ally with us and we are under no obligation to them. Whereas the Remi and your own Carusi — ’
‘Condrusi.’
‘Them too — have a standing alliance with Rome and this treatment will never be visited upon Rome’s allies.’
Again, Searix looked uncomfortable.
‘That promise is not enough?’
‘For some,’ Searix replied in a defeated voice. ‘The Remi are in no danger and enjoy Roman favour. Other tribes, though, for all their oaths and loyalties, lie in direct danger from Rome’s most bitter enemies. My people sit as an island of your Pax Romana amid a sea of rabid Rome-haters. It will not surprise you to hear that there is always a small portion of our tribe that maintains we would be better discarding our oath.’
‘Of course. In their position, I might think twice myself,’ Fronto replied. ‘But two things remain fact. Firstly: Rome will win any war she sets her mind to. The world knows this. A hundred beaten enemy peoples know this. And siding with Rome is the fast track to a glorious golden age, while facing off against her is a sure path to destruction. Secondly: breaking an oath is the act of a coward and a traitor, and just as Rome hates an oathbreaker, the Belgae are also a people founded on the nobility of spirit and the reliability of a man’s word.’
It was truth. These two facts had become instrumental in Rome’s rapid expansion over the past two centuries, and every new campaign made them more central and certain.
‘Honour,’ Searix nodded ‘is paramount to a warrior. And our tribe honours their oath. But the more we watch your army act without honour, the more voices join that minority in our tribe that condemns Rome for a butcher. This new policy of Caesar’s is destroying his reputation among his allies.’
Fronto sighed and sagged back onto the well’s lip.
‘If you think this is the be-all and end-all of Roman savagery, you really have seen nothing yet. Ask a Carthaginian about Rome’s vengeance — if you can find one! And Caesar is far from the most forgiving and peaceable of Romans. But the fact remains that these are our avowed enemies, and they are suffering for their actions. No such cruelty would be visited upon an ally.’
‘The Condrusi are still your allies,’ Searix replied somewhat stiffly. ‘We will remain so as long as those of us who respect our word outnumber those who fear your betrayal. But as I say this, remember that there are other tribes out there sending you grain, supplying you with horses and warriors, guarding your backs, who will be experiencing the same difficulty as us. And some of them may have less of a grip on their oath than us. If Rome is to maintain her alliance with the tribes and continue to enjoy their support, someone is going to have to turn Caesar from this most dangerous path down which he has us walking.’
Fronto rubbed his scalp and was surprised when his hand came away stained pink. Other people’s blood, of course, but still…
‘Thank you for confiding in us, Searix. See what you can do to reassure your people. They may be trapped, but the Eburones are a shadow of what they were and the Treveri are having too much trouble with Labienus to turn on them. And of course, the Nervii are now suffering.’ He saw the darkening of the scout’s expression and held up his hands defensively. ‘Frankly, Caesar is considerably less likely to listen to me than he is to you, but I will see what I can do. To some extent, I agree with what you say.’
Searix nodded and turned, striding back to his horse.
Galronus waved away his men, and they escorted the scout back through the city, in case he be mistaken for a Nervian and enslaved or butchered. At a gesture from the Remi officer, they took his horse with them. Galronus rolled his shoulders and produced a skin of wine from somewhere about his person.
‘Today I feel the need,’ Fronto grumbled and reached out as Galronus passed it over.
‘It is more serious than it sounds,’ Galronus said quietly.
‘What?’
‘Searix down-played the trouble for your benefit. But I have heard unhappy rumblings even among the Remi.’
‘That’ll be the fault of your turd-flavoured beer,’ Palmatus snorted, earning a gimlet stare from the Remi.