‘Oh you are such a bloody comedian.’
Furius grinned as he slapped his friend on the shoulder. With one useless hand and one fake eyeball, jokes were beginning to circulate among the men about which body part the veteran tribune would lose next. Some were even saying he deserved the name ‘Felix’ — the lucky — more than Mittius of the Eleventh, who had borne the nickname for a decade.
‘You can check the hut yourself,’ Fabius snapped irritably. ‘There’s no one here. Just like the last ten places, the tribe have fled at the news of the approaching force. Can’t really blame the bastards. Everyone knows what Caesar has in store for them.’
‘Caesar’s not in charge here.’
‘But Labienus is following the general’s orders.’
It was true. Despite the senior commander’s well-reported leanings towards conciliation with the tribes, he was taking his duty very seriously. For three days now they had scoured the great forest and each settlement they had come across had been recently deserted. And yet at each one, Labienus had paused the advance long enough for his scouts to seek out the hidden population. They had then been questioned by force and then executed. The commander had been conspicuously absent during the mass deaths, but had not once baulked at ordering them.
The Seventh, Tenth and Fifteenth Legions had continued to move deeper into the forest, all the time keeping in mind that they needed to leave the northern treeline and return to Cicero’s camp by the appointed date.
‘Hey, Furius?’
‘What?’ replied his friend as they began to move to the centre of the village, legionaries all about them ducking into hut doors to check for occupants and failing to find them, gathering anything combustible and throwing it into the huts to add to the conflagration that would take hold as soon as the commander gave the order.
‘I know this place.’
‘It looks the same as every other, mud-and-shit-soaked village in this Godsawful forest.’
‘Not quite. We’ve been here.’
Furius frowned and peered around. ‘No idea.’
‘Picture it deep in snow. Picture the headman hanging by his thumbs from that doorframe over there.’
Furius followed his gesture and his eyes widened. ‘Jove, you’re right. Best part of — what? — two years ago now.’
‘Bet I know where the people are hiding.’
His friend grinned and then turned to see Labienus striding across the dirt of the village centre, the legates Plancus, Crassus and Reginus at his heel. ‘Sir?’
‘Yes, tribune?’
‘I believe I know where the populace are, sir. It’s only about a quarter of a mile, but through thick forest. Fabius and I have been here before.’
Labienus failed to mask his surprise, but nodded without further question. ‘Take a couple of centuries of men and see if you’re right,’ the commander ordered. Beside him, young Crassus held up a hand to halt them. ‘I shall join you.’
The two tribunes shared a look and rolled their eyes, unseen by the senior officers. The youngest of the Crassus dynasty was open to his officers’ advice and certainly an easy man to serve, but he yet lacked the hardness that made a legion commander so efficient and feared. Despite Labienus’ humanitarian leanings, it was noted that he had that hardness in spades when it was required. As they crossed the village, Furius gestured to Atenos and Carbo, who were busy ordering the legionaries around at the centre of the settlement.
‘Two centuries with us, Carbo.’
The pink-faced, hairless veteran centurion relayed the orders to his signifer, who waved the standard and directed the two centuries to form up and follow.
‘Lead on, tribunes,’ Crassus nodded professionally, falling in somewhere halfway along the line, still on his horse and protected by the two centuries of men.
‘You won’t get through on a horse, sir,’ Fabius said, and Crassus frowned. ‘Got to push through deep woodland, sir,’ Furius added. Crassus took a deep breath, apparently weighing up the situation. To the pair’s surprise, and some disappointment, the legate nodded and slid from his horse, gesturing for a legionary to take the reins and lead it away.
As Crassus gestured for them to move off, Carbo and Atenos fell in alongside the two tribunes.
‘Where are we going, sir?’ Carbo asked quietly.
‘There’s a deep river gulley about a quarter mile from here. It’ll be where the villagers are hiding.’
‘And why is the legate coming with us?’ Atenos grumbled under his breath.
‘Because it’s his prerogative. Fronto would have done, too.’
‘Fronto’s more use than a wet flannel.’
‘I’d advise you to stow that attitude,’ Fabius hissed, though his face bore a smile. The four officers turned to peer back at Crassus, who was striding forward as though out for a summer stroll, the legionaries giving him plenty of space.
‘Give the lad a bit of support,’ Furius sighed. ‘Look at his family. He’s got a bit of a reputation to live up to. His dad owns half of Rome and his brother’s a war hero.’
‘Worth noting though,’ Atenos grumbled, ‘that since Fronto left and we got Crassus, the Tenth have rarely been fielded in a worthwhile action, and not won any renown.’
‘You Gauls and your bloody renown,’ grinned Carbo.
‘Anyway,’ Furius said, his voice lowering even further, to hide beneath the crunch of boots on rock, ‘I hear through the grapevine that Fronto is in line to retrieve his command. Crassus will be going back to Rome at the end of the season, and his father will have secured some big-nob post in the city for him.’
‘That’s just rumour,’ Fabius snorted. ‘His old man’s out in the desert, kicking Parthians about. He’s hardly going to stop in the middle of a big campaign and organise a sinecure for his youngest.’
‘Big word for you, that.’
‘Shut up,’ Fabius snapped, starting to get sick of his friend’s jibes. ‘Simple fact is: the only reason Crassus is here and with the Tenth is that his father didn’t know what to do with him, so he sent him to Caesar to mollycoddle.’
He paused, aware that his voice had risen, and turned, grateful to note that Crassus was paying no attention, instead passing the time of day conversationally with a legionary who looked thoroughly uncomfortable at the attention.
‘It’d be nice to get Fronto back,’ Atenos shrugged, and Carbo nodded. ‘He needs us. Needs looking after, he does.’
‘The poor bastard’s somewhere out here. Wonder how he’s getting on?’ Fabius mused.
‘Come on. Quiet for now,’ his friend urged, and they moved out of the village clearing, into the deeper woodland, stepping over fallen timber, circling around brambles and small thickets and snapping branches where necessary to facilitate their passage. Behind them the legionaries followed suit, staying in formation as best they could, and Crassus in the centre smiled as though enjoying the jaunt.
‘Off that way,’ Furius pointed to their left, and Fabius nodded, working their way off at an angle. A few moments later there was a cry of alarm from one of the legionaries as he slipped on loose earth and had to grasp a branch to prevent himself slipping down a slope off into the trees.
‘Watch your footing,’ Furius ordered. ‘There’s a bitch of a drop down there to the river. Anyone slips down there and you won’t be coming back.’
As the two centuries of men moved to the side to allow a wide berth around the area where the ground fell away, Fabius and Furius led the column to the gulley that ran down at a steep angle towards the ravine, along which they could now hear the roar of the river.
‘This is a way down?’ Carbo said, eyeing the treacherous rocky slope warily.
‘The only one we found. Valley narrows at the far end, but to a steep waterfall. This gulley goes all the way down. Everywhere else it’s a drop down a sheer cliff face. Which would you prefer?’
The Primus Pilus grinned. ‘To send the men down and sit at the top with a cup of wine, waiting, frankly. Still, let’s get it over with, eh sir?’