“Can’t sir. Wounded.”
“Very well.” The legate looked distinctly put out, which threatened to make him laugh again. ”You appear to be diminished. How many officers do you have?”
Again, Baculus stared.
“I really don’t know sir. Maybe half a dozen? I know we’ve lost two cohorts entirely, including the standards.”
“You lost a standard?” The man’s voice reached a high-pitched shriek.
“Not me personally, sir. That would be the standard bearer you’re thinking of…”
He grinned. The officer glared at him, slowly tuning purple.
“When the general hears that you have lost a standard, he…”
Baculus watched with interest as the young officer’s face dropped and very quickly turned from purple to white. It was a sharp colour change, the likes of which the centurion had never seen before.
“Legate Plancus,” Caesar said, as he reached for Baculus’ other arm and supported him, “I suggest you stop talking before you irritate me.”
The young man’s mouth flapped noiselessly and Caesar smiled unpleasantly.
“As I expect you will observe from the fact that the Twelfth is missing four men in every five, that we are all covered in blood, both Roman and Belgic… and that centurion Baculus is so badly wounded that he cannot stand without aid…” he took a breath, leaving a leaden silence. “I expect you will realise that we have had rather a tough day and I’m not as worried about the loss of a few gaudy baubles as I am about how long it took my damned reserves to reach the field and help us.”
The last few words came out as a growl and Plancus flinched.
“Sir, we came as fast as I deemed sensible. Troops who are tired from running cannot fight as well on the field.”
The general stared at him.
“You left us all to die because you wanted your men well rested? Get out of my sight, Plancus, and be grateful I’m not sending you home.”
* * * * *
Baculus sighed and lay back on the sheet that was his temporary resting place. There had not been enough time to construct even a makeshift hospital and the wounded were being treated on carts where there was room and the ground elsewhere. Blankets and sheets from the medical supplies had been draped over the clear portions of grass at the top of the southern slope and here lay those soldiers who had now been dealt with by the medical staff, but were too wounded to return to duty.
“What the hell?” a voice asked suddenly to his left.
He blinked and turned his head painfully. Legate Fronto of the Tenth was rubbing his head with his right arm.
“Where am I?”
Baculus smiled.
“With the wounded heroes, legate.”
Fronto turned and tried to focus on him.
“Baculus, yes? From the Twelfth?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Looks like they really did a job on you.”
Baculus laughed and then winced.
“You too.”
Fronto nodded as best he could.
“So does this mean it’s over? We won?”
The centurion smiled.
“Pretty much. There were still a lot of them when I was taken away, but they were dying in droves by then.”
“Good.” The legate sighed and tried, unsuccessfully, to move his left arm. “I suppose this serves me right for asking why the Belgae were all pushovers!”
Baculus rubbed his eye.
“You might want to leave that arm alone, sir. I heard the doc talking. He’s only fifty-fifty that you’ll ever use it again and prodding and moving it probably won’t help.”
“Layabouts!” a voice cut across them.
They both craned painfully to look down past their feet at the source of the voice. Priscus stood in front of them shaking his head.
“Thought I’d best update you on the situation.”
Fronto nodded as best he could manage.
“Go on.”
“We lost about seven hundred men. Not done a full head count yet, but that’s a good estimate. Among them were five centurions, three optios, a signifer and one of the tribunes.”
Fronto sighed.
“Not good.”
“It gets worse,” Priscus said, his voice dark. “Velius has gone. Not found him yet, but we’re searching the bodies and we’re not hopeful.”
“Where are the lads now?”
“I’ve got some of them looting the enemy camp with the other legions. The rest are either collecting the bodies or herding the few prisoners we took. There aren’t very many… maybe five thousand, all told. They fought to the death.”
Fronto sighed again and Baculus frowned.
“I don’t suppose you know of the Twelfth’s status.”
Priscus nodded sombrely.
“Unfortunately, yes. They’ve already turned in a headcount. Your numbers are down to nine hundred and twelve, including officers. Only three centurions made it, and seven optios.”
Baculus collapsed back to the floor.
“This was a total bloody shambles.”
“Could be worse,” Priscus sighed. “The outriders spotted scouts from the Aduatuci. They were only an hour away, and there were thousands more of them. They’ve turned round and run back to their own lands.”
“Good,” Fronto grumbled. “I’m rapidly getting sick of the Belgae.”
* * * * *
Paetus cowered and shrank back amongst the Belgic warriors being herded like cattle between the trees and back toward the partially-constructed camp. Dozens of warriors, along with their druid, had left the field and disappeared into the woodland with a view to escaping the battle and finding somewhere they could recuperate before returning to their home. Paetus had gone with them. What else could he do?
All the way through those dark woods he had been deciding how best to deal with this. If he stayed with the Belgae, they would skin him alive when they reached safety; indeed, he was surprised they’d left him this long. But on his own, he’d not survive long either. The other option, to return to the army and deny any knowledge of what had happened, would be difficult to achieve convincingly. Plus it would leave that taste of bile in his throat.
But all his deliberation had been a waste of effort, for the moment they broke cover from the woods, Varus and a cavalry unit had them surrounded. Paetus had wondered what the druid intended to do about it, but somehow the man had vanished before the cavalry sprung their trap.
And now here he was. It was a testament to how much he’d changed in recent days that the cavalry had herded him along without a second glance, assuming him to be one of the enemy. Things had fallen apart once more for him, and yet he was still alive; and as long as he was alive, that fiery thirst for revenge deep in his heart would continue to drive him.
Chapter 18
(Battlefield by the Selle River)
“ Kalends: the first day of the Roman month, based on the new moon with the ‘nones’ being the half moon around the 5 th -7 th of the month and the ‘ides’ being the full moon around the 13 th -15th.”
“ Haruspex (pl. Haruspices): A religious official who confirms the will of the Gods through signs and by inspecting the entrails of animals.”
In the hastily-erected headquarters tent, Caesar leaned forward and cradled his fingers.
“Are we going to have to spend the next few months repeatedly pacifying every Belgic tribe that still has a complaint against us? I was under the impression that the Belgae’s alliance would collapse if we broke the back of the Nervii?”
Galronus of the Remi shook his head gently.
“Nervii, Atrebates and Viromandui are greatest of Belgic tribes…” He paused, and looked a little saddened to Fronto. “Were greatest. And you destroy them. There is hardly man left who can fight; just women, children, old men. They not come to seek peace, for they broken and frightened, but you nothing to fear from them.”