The cavalry officer grinned at him and tucked into a platter of bread, cheese and pilchards. Fronto fought the urge to stand at the rail and empty his stomach contents again. He’d already done so twice since boarding, and the ship hadn’t even slipped the mooring yet. He’d glared at the men nearby, but the smirks had continued nonetheless, increasing with every colour change his face had undergone.
“Remember, whatever happens while we’re over there — on the assumption we even make the crossing — not to get yourself in a position where you’re alone and anywhere near those two centurions from the Seventh. They’ve found it easy enough to attack people even with the whole army present. Over there, you could easily find yourself cut off and surrounded by the Seventh. Be alert at all times.”
“Marcus, stop fussing over us like a mother hen” Galronus grinned. “We’re all grown men and warriors.”
“Aye” Carbo laughed, looking up from his cup of watered wine. “And stop worritting about the journey, sir. It’s only thirty miles. Two more cups of this and I could piss that far!”
Again, Fronto looked around the deck of the high-sided Gallic beast in which they would cross. Such was its size that the officers had managed to secure themselves a fairly private area of deck toward the stern some distance from the groups of men sitting cross legged, rolling dice, singing songs and telling ribald jokes. They had even managed to obtain a shelter of leather tent sections that could hold off the rain that Fronto felt sure was coming.
Even as he glanced across at the steersman and the ship’s captain, the hooded lamp with which they had been signalling the other ships in the fleet caught the wind from the wrong direction and went black with a hiss, plummeting the entire stern of the ship into stygian gloom.
“Whose genius idea was it to sail at night?”
“Apparently it was the best choice” Carbo chattered conversationally. “The tide is right, the omens are good, and all the locals are predicting inclement weather in the next day or two. If we don’t go on this tide, we might not go at all.”
“Sounds just fine to me” grumbled Fronto, feeling another heave of his churning guts on the way.
“Did you have any of that ginger and mint?” Galronus asked lightly.
“Like I could keep it down if I did” snapped Fronto.
“Your sister said it was the only real remedy. You should at least try it.”
“Piss off. And could you all stop eating stinking fish near me. Can’t you naff off down the bow with the grunts to eat that muck?”
“This?” enquired Galronus with a grin, waving a lightly-cooked headless fish at Fronto, who immediately leaped to the rail to empty his stomach yet again.
“Anyway” Carbo said in his light, happy tone, “if I’ve got my timings right, setting off now means we should arrive at dawn. We’ll surprise the goat-humpers and give ‘em no time to prepare.”
Fronto wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and heaved in half a dozen deep breaths before turning and collapsing to the deck again with his friends. As well as Galronus and Carbo, Petrosidius, the chief standard bearer of the Tenth, and Atenos, the huge training centurion, sat in the small circle, wrapped in their cloaks against the chilling wind.
Glancing around to make sure they had as much privacy as the ship’s deck allowed, Fronto leaned forward conspiratorially and spoke in a low voice. The rest of the ship’s occupants were native Gauls or members of the trusted Tenth, but some things needed to be kept quiet, regardless of company.
“I’ve been thinking about our two centurion friends in the Seventh.”
“You do surprise me” muttered Galronus.
“No, I mean I think I see a way to bring something good out of this situation.”
Carbo and Atenos leaned forwards. Petrosidius continued to listen, with his head up, watching the other men nearby. “Go on” Galronus grinned.
“Well until now I’ve been thinking we need to be wary of Furius and Fabius; to keep ourselves away from them and not get caught where we can find ourselves in trouble. Problem is: if we keep doing that, we’re never going to be able to nail them for anything. Perhaps it would be better to play this entirely the other way.”
“Draw them out, you mean?”
“Precisely. With only the Tenth and the Seventh present, they might get bold enough to do something stupid. We should be encouraging that, rather than preventing it.”
“What have you in mind?” Atenos asked, frowning.
“We need to goad them… to push them to breaking point so that they snap and go for it.”
“But how?”
Galronus grinned. “Just be yourself, Marcus. It appears that your very existence annoys them deeply.”
The legate shot the cavalry officer a sour look, but he found himself nodding anyway.
“Irritatingly, you might be right. I am the only one who could maybe wind them up enough to break them; and they already have it in for me anyway. I’m fairly sure they’ll relish the chance to get another crack at me. So the question remains: just how do I wind them up to that extent?”
“That’s easy” Petrosidius shrugged. The signifer, sitting bareheaded with his wolf-pelt on his knees, had been so quiet that Fronto had almost forgotten he was there.
“Go on.”
“Well the Seventh’s eagle bearer, Sepunius, happens to be an old friend of mine, and he tells me that Furius and Fabius have pretty much taken it upon themselves to act as Cicero’s personal guard and escort. Apparently his tribunes are a bit put out that two centurions seem to have more influence than them, but the pair have such a brutal reputation that no one’ll confront them about it.”
“I’ve noticed this.”
“Well, Cicero is fairly outspoken against Caesar at times. A clever man shouldn’t find it too hard to start an argument between the two commanders, especially one of Caesar’s top men. And once you have the two commanders at each other, Cicero’s pet centurions will start straining at their leash and snapping. Should be a walk in the park for you.”
A slow smile spread across Fronto’s face as he pictured the scene. It really wouldn’t be difficult. Hell, he’d already seen it happen several times over the summer.
“It’ll have to be when we land at the other side, of course.”
“So you have long enough to argue between hurling over the rail, you mean?” Galronus needled with a grin.
“Oh piss off.”
“You’re right though” Carbo said quietly. “But that’s only half the battle, as it were. Once you’ve wound them up far enough to make them want to take you down again, you’ll have to give them the opportunity. But play it carefully. Remember that these two are both veterans with as long a record as you or I; both strong and fearless, and they’ve managed several sneaky attacks so far. How do you plan to play it?”
Again, Fronto lapsed into silence for a few minutes, before nodding to himself a couple of times.
“Like what happened across the Rhenus, I think. I can let myself fall behind and get separated — perhaps because of my knee. Everyone knows about that now, so no one will be surprised if I have to stop and tend to it. We’ll be very unlikely to have the chance to prepare any trap in advance, so we’ll just have to be ready to spring it whenever the opportunity occurs. We’ll work out some signal. Then, at some point when I find myself near enough the pair of them, I’ll give the signal and stop to deal with my knee or whatever I need to do to get myself alone. At the signal, you lot need to disappear, but shadow Fabius and Furius wherever they go. As soon as they come at me, you can reveal yourselves and we’ll have them red-handed in the act of attempting to kill a senior officer.”
“We need an impartial witness” Carbo said quietly.