Fronto nodded soberly.
“And what of the Germans, then?”
“They continue their flight as though the very ghost of Scipio himself were after them. I am somewhat unconvinced that any of them will cease their flight until they cross the Rhine. They are, as I intimated, continually pursued by units of our infantry.”
Fronto glanced down at Priscus, who wore a confused frown. He smiled and translated.
“The Germans are running back across the Rhine and we’re chasing them.”
When he looked back up, Crispus now wore a confused frown. He sighed and glossed over the subject.
“Anyway, I presume the cavalry are still out?”
Crispus nodded.
“I very much doubt that the pursuant centuries will reach conflict at all. Varus and Crassus are already halfway to the Rhine by now, and Caesar and Ingenuus will not be tarrying. No one has yet found the King. Perhaps he died on the field, though I am more inclined to the opinion that he escaped.”
Without changing his expression, Fronto turned to Priscus.
“The cavalry are chasing them down. They haven’t found Ariovistus.”
“Yes, thank you. I already got that.”
Fronto smiled.
“Crispus, you have a lovely turn of phrase but sometimes we mortals have trouble following you.”
Crispus smiled back.
“Indeed? Then I shall endeavour to paraphrase myself.”
Behind Crispus, a shadow cast on the tent leather indicated the arrival of another visitor. Leaning heavily on the doctor’s table, still sticky with drying blood, Fronto heaved himself upright, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Immediate pain rushed through his heel and he almost collapsed. With a sigh he looked pathetically at Crispus and Priscus.
“Oh all right.”
The two of them half-lifted Fronto out of the tent, helping him across the threshold. Outside, Florus, the young capsarius from the Tenth, stood waiting respectfully. Fronto smiled.
“Busy Florus?”
The young man nodded.
“Fairly busy sir, though most of it’s a job for the proper doctors now. We field medics don’t get much of a look in back here.”
Priscus looked the young man up and down. The fact that he was covered in blood was unsurprising, given his job, but the ripped chain mail he wore and the dents on his shield told a different story.
“I thought I gave orders that the capsarii were to stay behind the second line. And anyway, weren’t you staying with the hospital, training to be a doctor?”
Florus shrugged.
“I’m a soldier first. Anyway, glory’s quite hard to win when you’re sat in a tent waiting.”
Fronto interrupted.
“Were you actually waiting for us?”
“Yes sir. A number of officers have gathered on the hill above the camp. Legate Balbus sent a message asking if you’d join them for a celebration.”
Fronto grinned. It seemed to have been a long time since there’d been anything worth really celebrating. Suddenly he found that he was missing that nice little tavern at Bibracte.
“I’d certainly like to. Best find a horse though; can’t walk all that way with my war wound!”
Priscus stifled a laugh.
“War wound. I heard you were defeated in battle by an old woman using only her teeth!”
Fronto frowned and glanced around him. Crispus had erupted in laughter and was stifling it with his hand. Even Florus’ eyes were watering.
“Fine, lets all laugh at the invalid. Somebody find me a horse. You lot can all come with me.”
They were halfway between the valetudinarium and the horse corral when the tumultuous sound of hooves brought them to a halt. They turned to see a group of a dozen auxiliary horsemen led by a regular decurion. The decurion was leading an extra horse with a young woman of perhaps fourteen tied by the wrists to the saddle horn. She was clearly Germanic and her wild hair and dirty face were matted with blood. She was unwounded, however, and stared arrogantly and defiantly down at the officers and men.
The decurion addressed the group, saluting at Fronto.
“Apologies, but could you direct me to the senior officer in camp?”
Fronto shrugged.
“That’s probably me, decurion, on the assumption Caesar hasn’t returned yet.”
The decurion nodded.
“Then I deliver into your custody one prisoner, taken by prefect Ingenuus. We’ve a number of others, but this one’s important.”
“Important? How?”
“I believe that she’s the daughter of the German King.”
Fronto’s eyes widened.
“Ariovistus’ daughter? Caesar’s going to want to see her. She’s royalty, so we’ll have to treat her well. Honour of Rome and all that crap. Why’s she tied to the saddle and gagged? Not good, decurion; not good.”
The decurion looked down at Fronto.
“With respect, legate, you haven’t had to control her for the last hour. She’s a biter sir. Got the prefect a good one on the hand. He lost a finger.”
Fronto shook his head.
“What is it with these German women? All right, give the reins to the centurion here and we’ll take her.”
As Priscus took the reins in his left hand, the other hand still helping to support the legate, Fronto tapped Crispus on the shoulder.
“Mmm?”
The young man looked round.
“Aulus, I think you’d best go to the group on the hill and tell them we’ll be delayed. Best tell them why too. I’ll take the capsarius here with me.”
Florus looked up in surprise.
“Me sir?”
Fronto nodded and gestured at the prisoner.
“There’s a lot of blood there and I want to make sure none of it’s hers. Priscus? When we get to the praetorium and you drop her off, can you go and see the quartermasters? See if you can round up some intact and clean clothing and a cloak for her?”
Priscus nodded.
“Anything else, your leglessness?”
“Funny.”
He glowered at Priscus as Crispus jogged away up the hill to see the rest of the officers. Turning to Florus as they headed for the centre of the camp, the legate gestured once more at the prisoner.
“Can you remove the gag, lad?”
With a considerable effort, the capsarius reached up and unknotted the military scarf that had been used for a gag. As he pulled it away, the girl spat on him, a mixture of saliva and blood.
“Charming.”
Fronto looked over at her.
“Do you speak Latin?”
The girl frowned and growled quietly, then took the opportunity to spit on Fronto, hitting him square in the face.
“Honour or no honour, I’m tempted to put the bloody gag back on! Listen, Princess: if you speak Latin, you need to tell me now. I’m actually capable of being quite nice and reasonable, and the young man here is a doctor who can help you with any wounds you suffered. When the General gets back, he’s less inclined to be nice. In fact he can be a downright bastard. Now’s your chance.”
Her third attempt at spitting on a Roman went awry. This time both were prepared and jerked out of the way.
“Very well. Let’s get her to a guarded tent and I’ll leave her for the other staff. I’ll be damned if I’m going to take my chances with another biter today.”
Ingenuus rode on, his left hand clutched tightly into a ball, with a scarf wrapped around it. The bloody witch had got two of his fingers. Two! He was no longer wielding a sword, just riding. The few pockets of fleeing Germans they came across either hurled themselves to the floor in supplication or hid in the brush. This wasn’t combat; it was just making sure they left Sequani land. He kicked his horse a little and caught up with Caesar. The General rode at the head of his cavalry, not fast. He was happy to overtake a few survivors, but didn’t want to impede their flight across the Rhine.
As he pulled level, he became aware of shouting further back along the column. Turning, he saw two of the outriders heading toward the head of the line.