Menenius winced as he moved. “Somewhat pained. The medicus tells me that the wounds are not bad, but I have to admit to suffering with them. I have never been wounded before, barring a broken arm as a child. It hurts surprisingly more than I expected.”
Fronto nodded. “As the recipient of a hundred wounds in my time, I can tell you that they all hurt, and you never get used to it. Well, some do. Balventius in the Eighth seems to actually enjoy it.” He scratched his head. “I wanted to ask you what happened. How did you come to be there when… when whatever it was happened? It’s all so vague.”
The tribune’s face took on a surprisingly sheepish look that made Fronto frown.
“What’s up?”
“I… it’s not a tale of bravery, I’m afraid.”
“Results suggest otherwise.”
Menenius gave an embarrassed smile. “Sadly not. When you formed the wedge to attack the archers, my bowels almost gave way. I have never felt so terrified in my life. It is distinctly possible that I actually urinated in my breeches.”
“But you killed three barbarians. How? I mean, we thought you must have died in the assault.”
“I never took part in the attack, sir. To my eternal shame, I let our entire force charge the enemy, while I dropped to the ground behind and hid in the undergrowth by a tree.”
Fronto stared at the man. This was starting to sound more like the Menenius he had expected. Instead of the loathing he expected to feel for such cowardly activity, though, what he was surprised to experience was a surge of relief. The tribune wasn’t so damned perfect after all. Fronto still had the edge.
“But why didn’t you follow on when we’d taken the place? We searched for the fallen and couldn’t find you. I wondered whether the bastards had carried you off — there were a few missing men.”
Again, the tribune turned his embarrassed face away. “I’m afraid that I fled. As soon as you’d all gone and the screaming started, I ran deeper into the woods. I was in a blind panic. I don’t even know how long I ran or where to. I only stopped when I almost ran straight into the rest of the barbarians coming the other way.”
Fronto nodded to himself. “You ran into the enemy from the farm ambush?”
“Almost. I stopped short and began to make my way back towards you all as best I could. But I had to move slowly and quietly, and I was not entirely sure of the direction. Eventually, they were almost upon me, and I had to hide. I stayed in that hiding place for a while, shaking and terrified. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I think I slept for a while, but I woke when the barbarians came crashing back past me, running for their lives. I could hardly credit it. It seemed that Fortuna was sheltering me that day.”
Fronto smiled “And me, I suspect.”
“Well I waited until the Germanic thugs had fled, and I saw a few legionaries pass, and I was about to stand when I saw you approach and sit, rubbing your knee.”
The legate reflexively repeated the motion now, noting the gentle throb within.
“I stayed crouched for a moment. To be honest, I was less than sure whether I dared make myself known, after my cowardice. But while I tried to pluck up the courage to stand, I saw a few more of the barbarians rise up out of the undergrowth behind you. They must have been hidden just like me, and less than ten yards distant. Remarkable, really.”
“Very” Fronto nodded. “And one of them smashed me over the head from behind.”
Menenius blanched again. “I could have stopped that. I just do not know how I can apologise enough. Had I stood when I saw them or shouted a warning, you could have moved. But I stayed frozen. You fell heavily and I realised then that they would kill you.”
He lowered his eyes to the rattling boards of the cart beneath him. “Something happened. I’m not sure what. It’s all a bit of a blur, then. I think they spotted me before I stood, but possibly not. I drew my sword and… and… well it’s all a bit confused. Next thing I knew I was being lifted up by legionaries, and my eyes wouldn’t focus.”
Fronto nodded again. “It would appear that your courage comes in fits and starts, tribune. The man who turned the tide back at that farmstead is the same one as the man who saved my life. But that man seems to be locked away inside a gentler, more peaceable man. I can’t say I’m not grateful, mind.” He took a deep breath. “But that dichotomy is no use in command of a legion. I would heartily recommend that when the campaigning season ends, you do not push to retain your commission.”
Menenius smiled weakly. “I never had that intention, legate. I have already spent this summer planning my next step up the cursus honorum. My family wanted me to excel in the military. They pushed for me to repeat my year and try to shine, but it is time to resign. I know that now.”
“And don’t let that knob Plancus assign you to anything like that again. Stick to shouting at people and making lists. In the meantime” he glanced at the wagon’s driving seat, where the Gallic-born legionary was studiously examining the rump of the ox before him, “don’t repeat this story to anyone. Just tell them that you don’t recall what happened. It’ll do you no good in Rome if that story gets out.”
The tribune nodded gratefully. “Thank you, legate.”
“And thank you. It seems that I owe you a life somewhere down the line. Let’s pray to Mars that it’s not necessary to collect on it.”
Leaving a slightly relieved looking tribune, Fronto strode forward again at a faster pace. Slowing briefly, he caught the eye of the legionary driving the cart.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Catumandos, sir. Third century, seventh cohort.”
“Well, legionary Catumandos, if any hint of that conversation I just had with the tribune ever surfaces again, I will know exactly where to look. It’s not unknown for an unwary legionary to drown in a latrine trench. You get my drift?”
The soldier nodded, stony-faced. Fronto gave him a long moment of glare, just to push home the point, before strolling off back towards the tents of the settled legions.
Good. Cathartic. That was exactly what he’d needed to hear. So long as he never found himself sharing a command with the man again, everything would go swimmingly.
And now to address the other thing that had been filling his thoughts on the journey before dropping in on Cantorix at the medical section.
“Nice dagger.”
Centurion Furius turned to face Fronto, his face betraying no surprise, his eyes flinty and hard. The legate of the Tenth could hardly fail to notice the way Furius’ hand dropped to rest on the pommel of his gladius in an automatic reaction.
“Legate?”
“I said ‘nice dagger’. Shiny. New, is it?”
The centurion’s jaw firmed. “As it happens, yes. Can I help you in some way?
”Costs a couple of coins, doesn’t it. And Cita can be a bit stingy with replacements. Bet you had to shell out over the odds for that. Must irritate you.”
Furius squared his shoulders and looked the legate in the eye. “Is there a reason you’re keeping me from my duties, sir?”
“Just admiring the dagger. Lost your old pugio, did you?”
“If it’s of any great interest to you, it broke during the battle at the Germanic camp. I requisitioned a new one the same day. I don’t let any man attend duty with missing kit, let alone doing so myself. Are you quite happy now?”
“Tough luck, that” Fronto replied with a grin. He was starting to enjoy himself, and the more irritated Furius became, the more his own mood improved. “I mean, the pugio’s a strong weapon. Damn hard to break that blade. Tried to prise off a pilum head with it, did you?”
Furius simply glared at him and Fronto ploughed on, smiling.
“I mean, I’ve had my pugio since Caesar was a simple quaestor in Hispania and I was on his staff as a junior officer. Used it for the first time in a riot in Numantia, long before Caesar’s proprietorship and my command in the Ninth. I’d say I’ve used it more than a thousand times since then, and it’s still as strong as a vestal’s underwear and has a wicked edge.”