“The tribune?” Lucius asked curiously. “Me? What on earth for?”
“I have no bloody idea. I do what I’m told, and so do you. Now, get your arse down there, and stop asking so many questions.”
By the time Lucius reached the burning huts on the outskirts of the village, he had fully convinced himself that the tribune had somehow found out about his loot. Surely, he was being summoned for a reprimand, or perhaps to hand it over. Even so, it seemed puzzling that Piso could have known about it, let alone summon Lucius by name. Until that moment, he had no idea that the tribune knew him from any other man in the legion.
Lucius found Piso sitting upon his mount amidst a village half in flames with mangled bodies lying everywhere. Any structure that was not burning was being ransacked by plunder-maddened legionaries and auxiliaries.
"Legionary Lucius Domitius,” Piso had said after catching sight of him. “Stand before me."
Lucius did as he was ordered.
"I have heard that you are good with the sword, legionary. That you far surpass your comrades. Is this true?"
"Some have said as such, sir," Lucius answered cautiously.
"Good. Then I have a commission for you. Do you see that hut over there?" Piso pointed to a rather large dwelling with a smoking chimney that was one of the few houses still untouched by the raid.
"Yes, sir."
"I am told that it belongs to the chieftain of this pathetic little hamlet. The coward has gone into hiding, but his wife and family are trapped inside. Go in there, and slit their throats." He said it as casually as if he had just ordered Lucius to carry his luggage. "Do not come out until you have slain them all."
Lucius stared at the darkened doorway of the hut. There was no visible movement inside, and it seemed oddly silent. Forewarnings rang out inside his head. There were two dozen legionaries within earshot who could have performed the same task. Something was not right. Piso’s summons, the tribune’s bizarre behavior, and the even more bizarre orders all told Lucius that he had stepped onto a carefully orchestrated stage. Whatever lay in wait for him inside that hut, he was sure it was not the chieftain’s wife and children. Was this some kind of elaborate ambush to steal the money he had just unearthed?
"Did you not hear me, soldier?" Piso said, irritated when Lucius did not move instantly to carry out the order.
Lucius had to think quickly. He had to delay as long as he could while he tried to figure out what he was up against.
"I wish for you to go in there and kill them!” Piso said, now turning red-faced with impatience. “Is that clear, Legionary Domitius?”
Lucius nodded and drew his sword. He could see no way out of it. He began walking toward the doorway, fully resolved to go inside and face whatever trap lurked for him in there. But, at that moment, a terrifying shriek sounded behind him. Lucius wheeled around to see that a handful of sword-wielding Belgae had burst from a nearby haystack in which they had been hiding. The shriek had come from Piso, who they obviously intended to be their first victim. The panicked tribune struggled to bring his kicking mount under control as the Belgae quickly surrounded him. They were not warriors – that much was evident – but they were desperate men, each with a suicidal hatred in his eyes. They were led by a large, gray-bearded man who looked to have been a warrior at one time in his life, but his paunch gut indicated that those days were far in the past. Lucius presumed this to be the chieftain. The chieftain and the men with him had succeeded in surrounding the panicking tribune, but they hesitated to rush him, not so much from the inept swipes of Piso’s sword as from the kicking hoofs that threatened to brain any man that stepped nearer. The trained legionary within Lucius rushed to the tribune’s aid without thinking. In a flash of steel he drove his gladius into the back of the closest man, severing the man’s spine, and sending him to the ground in a bloody mess of twitching limbs. Next, the chieftain, wielding an ancient, four-foot sword, turned to face Lucius. With a nimbleness that surprised the veteran legionary, the big man brought the long sword around in the blink of an eye, coming close to striking off Lucius’s jaw had Lucius not pulled back at the last moment. The chieftain, now over-extended, realized his fate an instant before Lucius’s blade came down with a violent slash that divided the big man’s neck from his right shoulder, slicing through flesh, bones and arteries. The blade came out with a rush of pulsating blood, and the gallant chieftain died within moments. Lucius then turned to face the others, but a cluster of nearby legionaries had already come to his aid. The rapid thrusts of a dozen stabbing pila quickly turned the remaining Belgae into a heap of red-painted corpses.
As Lucius wiped the blood from his gladius, he looked around for Piso, but the tribune was nowhere to be found. Whether he had fled out of cowardice, or had simply been unable to control his skittish horse, was anyone’s guess.
At that moment, Amelius, the blonde-haired adjutant, ducked out of the doorway of the chieftain’s hut, followed by two more men. All three carried blood-stained swords. Lucius thought it odd because he had not seen any of the men enter the place. Further, the men with Amelius were not legionaries. Lucius recognized them as two of the Gallic mule drivers he had often seen handling the impedimenta of the Seventh. Why, in Jupiter’s name, would they have been hiding with Amelius inside the hut?
Lucius could only surmise that the bloody swords held by the three men had been used to slay the chieftain’s family. But how long had they been in there? Had the bastards already killed the chieftain’s family when Piso ordered Lucius to do it? Had those bloody swords been waiting just inside the doorway for him?
Amelius’s yellow curls caught the wind as he stood upright and scanned the square, presumably looking for Piso. He had noticed that Lucius was looking at him and had flashed a brief nervous smile before running off with the other two, doubtless to find the tribune.
Now, a full day later, as Lucius cleaned his kit beside the pond, all of it seemed like some surreal dream. Word had obviously made it to Vitalis that Lucius had not obeyed the tribune’s order, but that was to be expected. There had been others about, and surely they would have witnessed it. Through the long day’s march Piso and Amelius had ridden past the 9th Century many times, but aside from a few glances in Lucius’s direction, they did not let on that the event had ever transpired.
“Tribune Piso,” Jovinus muttered. “Now there’s a mule’s arse for you!”
Lucius mumbled something like an agreement. He had not told Jovinus or anyone else about the incident, nor did he intend to.
“I’ll never forget how that pompous bastard laughed while our Gaul friends over there killed those little babies in the village yesterday,” Jovinus continued. “Like they were chickens. A pity our centurion has to take orders from the likes of him. I’ll wager that boy of a tribune has never been on campaign in his life before now. I’ll bet his friend hasn’t either.” Jovinus then nudged Lucius, and said in a lower tone. “I hear they’re old school chums. They say that blonde rascal, what’s his name – Amelius – latched on to Piso in Greece. They say he and Piso are…inseparable…if you comprehend my meaning. Our boy of a tribune brought his playmate along for a little adventure in Gaul, no doubt.”
A woman screamed in the distance. It came from the auxiliary camp. The screams were accompanied by the laughter of many men. The screams echoed against the wall of silent trees, beneath the darkening hues of the sky.
“Do you suppose the Belgae have an army hidden in that wood?” a young legionary cleaning his kit near Lucius and Jovinus asked as he studied the black tree line. “Do you suppose that’s why it’s so infernally quiet?”
“Perhaps,” Lucius replied. “Perhaps it’s Jovinus’s evil spirits, come to haunt us.”