The Condrusi scout’s strange, permanent smile — the result, Fronto surmised, of some ancient facial injury — seemed horribly out of place in this mass burial and land of the lost, but despite the grin, the scouts eyes were dark with distaste.
‘You know I wish this had worked out another way,’ Fronto said quietly.
‘I know.’
‘And it could have been so much worse. Those in Caesar’s path will be suffering so much more.’
‘I know.’
Fronto sighed. ‘What news, then?’
‘We close on him,’ Samognatos said in hushed tones. ‘Two days ago Labienus’ legions came here and it took but half a day for them to reduce the place to rubble. The man said the nobles refused to surrender or even speak of Ambiorix. Now those nobles are gone, and with them almost all their people.’
‘Go on.’
‘The survivors returned to the oppidum yesterday morning, once it was certain that the Roman column had moved safely on, and began the process of gathering and tending to the dead. As the light was failing last night and they were finishing up for the day, Ambiorix passed through with a small retinue of warriors. Apparently there was a bit of a scuffle. A few of the locals took exception to their king’s presence, after what the Romans had done to them for his resistance. They managed to kill one of Ambiorix’s men and wound another, but these men were true warriors and half a dozen locals joined their dead kin before Ambiorix moved on.’
Fronto took a deep breath. ‘We’re only half a day behind him now. He can’t be more than ten miles away in these woods. So close I can almost smell his treachery.’
Samognatos nodded. ‘I am not familiar with the terrain east of here, but Ullio says there is a valley that runs towards the Rhenus and opens out into wider, flatter land towards the edge of the great forest. That is the direction Ambiorix left, and it is the most direct route to the river. There can be little doubt now that the king is making to escape across the water and seek Germanic aid.’
‘Then we have to get to him before he manages to reach that river. We need to speed up our travel.’
Samognatos nodded. ‘There’s more.’
‘About Ambiorix?’
‘No. Not more than an hour after Ambiorix passed through to the east, as the last light went, a huge warband of Germans passed through to the north.’
‘Germans?’
The man thinks they were Sugambri, from across the Rhenus to the east. They are about the nearest of the tribes.’
Fronto shrugged. ‘Caesar gave permission for other tribes to come and raid the Eburones. I don’t like it any more than you, but the Sugambri have sworn oaths to Rome, and are here at Caesar’s invitation.’
Samognatos shook his head. ‘You misunderstand, Fronto. They’re not raiding the Eburones. They’re going north. North is out of the forest. We’re not far from the flat lands now.’
‘So where are they headed?’ Fronto asked with a furrowed brow.
‘There’s no way to be certain,’ Samognatos said quietly, ‘but by my estimation, and Ullio’s too, the road north from here leads to the camp where your legion was destroyed in the winter.’
‘Sabinus and Cotta’s camp?’ Fronto frowned. ‘What would they be going there for?’
‘That’s the other thing. Apparently, while nine of the legions are prowling these woods looking for Ambiorix, the other one is at that old camp, protecting all Caesar’s baggage and wounded.’
Fronto felt his pulse quicken.
‘Who’s in command? Do we know?’
‘They say it is the man the Eburones could not kill.’
‘Cicero, then. You say it was a huge warband?’
‘The man said they filled the valley from side to side. Must be every warrior the Sugambri could muster.’
‘Gods help Cicero, then. Let’s hope he’s fortified himself.’
‘Should we not send warning?’ Samognatos asked quietly.
‘No point. The Sugambri would probably be there before our man. Besides, he’d have to go round the Germans to get there. Anyway, now that we know Ambiorix has a party of warriors with him, I’m loathe to release any of our men in case we need them. We’ll just have to hope the poor bastard’s on top form. He’s held a camp against an army around here before.’
* * * * *
Baculus sat up in his sick cot. He was still feeling unwell, though his strength was returning daily now, and his flesh was considerably pinker than it had been. The medicus had even sanctioned him going for a twice-daily constitutional, as long as he stuck to gentle exercise and did nothing stupid.
Time for a walk, he decided, listening to the tell-tale sounds of a force preparing to march. Standing, he used his stick to straighten, more from habit than out of necessity, and walked slowly but steadily from the room.
The camp was sizeable. When they’d arrived a week ago, they’d been surprised to find the defences still of good quality. It had been a simple matter of cutting back the nearest woods to rebuild the palisade and the internal buildings. Cicero had also constructed two large enclosures, each surrounded by equally strong defences, effectively quadrupling the size of the fort in preparation for the arrival of the rest of the army.
The hospital complex was a large one, having taken in the wounded from every legion while their healthy comrades campaigned in the great forest, but Baculus was still the most senior officer within the complex, and ruled the roost of the sick and damaged as though they were a working cohort. Nothing happened in the complex without his knowledge and permission, despite the medicus’ exasperation.
Striding from the door and between the small orderlies’ quarters, he left the hospital zone and emerged in the open space used currently as a parade ground and muster point within the walls. The camp was larger than necessary for its current occupants, and Caesar’s orders — given to Cicero in detail on a tablet — had stated with no margin for misinterpretation that he was under no circumstances to place the legion in jeopardy, and that all forces should remain in camp until the army returned by the kalends of Quintilis. A brief exception had been made upon arrival in order to gather the timber for the camp’s fortifications, but after that time, even parades had been carried out within the ramparts.
Why, then, Baculus pondered, were there several cohorts of men forming up in full kit?
He briefly ran through his days in the hospital bed, wondering if he’d missed a day or two somewhere? No. The kalends was tomorrow.
His eyes picked out Cicero standing on the raised timber platform at the far side with two tribunes, and, the twitch beneath his left eye starting up once again, Baculus walked slowly around the mustering men, closing on the podium.
Cicero was in deep conversation with the tribunes as he stomped up the steps and stopped in front of them. After a few moments of clearing his throat meaningfully, the legate looked up in surprise.
‘Baculus, isn’t it? From the Twelfth? Thought you were removed from duties?’
Baculus saluted gingerly and nodded. ‘Yes sir. Heard all the commotion and thought I’d come see what was happening?’
‘Well, centurion, it appears that our supplies are running dangerously low. I have authorised a forage party to scour the local countryside and settlements and refill our stores.’
‘Sir?’
‘Hard of hearing, centurion?’
Baculus frowned. Labienus he’d got to know, and would take that kind of comment from, as he knew he still commanded the man’s respect. This armoured politician, on the other hand, was looking at him as though he’d crawled out from under a rock.’
‘Respectfully, sir,’ he replied, stressing the syllables as though he might push them through that decorative bronze cuirass and make them part of the legate, ‘Caesar’s orders were specific. I was there when they were read out. No leaving the fort until the army arrives on the kalends.’