“I don’t think I know either of them.”
“You’ll have seen them around at the staff meetings. They should serve quite nicely. They’re both involved with preparation at the moment, so would you mind kindly looking after the Eleventh and Twelfth until they’re ready to take command?”
Fronto sighed.
“Alright. I’ve already got them repairing and replacing weapons and armour. You can probably see the smoke from all the temporary forges if you look out of the window. I’ll go and issue orders for the day.”
He bowed and turned to leave, stopping momentarily by the door.
“I don’t suppose there’s been any word of Tetricus yet?”
Caesar shook his head.
“Nothing yet, but the battlefield is still being cleared. Unless he deserted or he was captured, we’ll find him.”
Fronto nodded sadly and left the headquarters, making for the south gate of the Eleventh’s temporary camp.
Spotting two centurions talking by the standards, he turned straight for them.
“You two.”
The men straightened instantly.
“Get every able bodied man from both of your centuries and meet me at the redoubt by the lake. They don’t need to be armoured and they can leave their furca behind. Now hurry.”
As the two centurions ran off, Fronto had wandered down to the lake, past the Eighth Legion, who appeared to be having some kind of party. Every time he walked past a small group of seated soldiers and they saw a superior officer, they sprang to their feet and saluted and, by the time he reached the redoubt, he was rather sick of saluting. He surveyed the damage done to both Helvetian and Roman armies from the vantage point and shook his head. He was still reflecting on the attrition rate of siege warfare when he became aware of the thump of booted feet not far away. The two centurions approached with over a hundred men. Fronto turned to face them, a determined look on his face.
“Alright gentlemen, we’re going to head from here down to where the first units of the Eleventh were stationed. From there we’re going to split into three groups. One lot will search on our side of the stockade. One will cover the stockade to the river. The other will search across the river. We’ll search as long as the light lasts until we find a sign of what happened to tribune Tetricus.”
There was an equally determined look of the faces of the men as they set off at a fast march to the first position of the Eleventh.
It was, in fact only an hour or so into the search when a legionary gave a shout.
“I think it’s him sir!”
Fronto ran up to the stockade and hauled himself to the top, where he could see a small knot of soldiers and one of the centurions huddled close to the water’s edge. In the centre, he could just make out a small pile of bodies with spears sticking out of them, resembling some sort of hedgehog.
Fronto carefully clambered over the parapet and dropped the bone-jarring distance at the other side. He rushed towards them as they carefully hauled the extraneous bodies from the tribune, the soldiers making way for him as he arrived.
“Is he dead?”
One of the legionaries, presumably a capsarius, was kneeling, examining the body closely. A spear rose from the man’s stomach, pointing accusingly at the sky. Tetricus looked remarkably white and a pool of very dark congealed blood had collected near his stomach.
“He’s breathing sir, but won’t be for long. I’m going to need three people’s help here, and the rest of you need to clear out and give us space. We might be able to help him, but he might already have lost too much blood.”
Fronto unfastened his armour and let it drop into the water. One of the centurions and one of the legionaries stayed, while the others joined the steadily growing ranks of observers by the shore.
“What can we do?”
The capsarius looked up at him doubtfully as he tore a long strip from his tunic hem.
“I need two of you to hold that spear very steady, and one of you to take this cloth and hold it very gently but very steady around the entry point. Do NOT press down under any circumstances. While you all do that, I will very carefully cut through the spear.”
It took a gruelling five minutes to remove the bulk of the spear without rupturing any more of the tribune’s insides. Even so, far too much more dark blood welled up around the shaft for Fronto’s liking.
“Alright.” The capsarius threw the spear out into the river, where it bobbed away with the current in the cool, clear water, and pointed at the man with the cloth.
“Now you’re going to keep that cloth over the wound, but with only very slight pressure. You two are going to very slowly and gently lift him from the ground, while I look underneath. Alright? Now go.”
As Fronto and the centurion gingerly lifted Tetricus as gently as they could, the capsarius put his head level with the ground and, as soon as the body was slightly clear, he reached underneath.
“The point was still in the ground, so the shaft went right through. The point’s diamond-shaped and quite narrow, so it shouldn’t have done too much internal damage. I don’t want to draw it out though. We should get him to a medicus as soon as possible now.”
He looked over at the group on the bank.
“Make yourselves useful. Put together a makeshift stretcher. It needs to have a hole in the centre of the fabric so we don’t drive the spear any further in. Once that’s done, get him as fast as possible to the chief medicus of the Eighth, but carry him gently. Any more blood loss and he’s gone for sure.”
The capsarius washed his hands in the water.
Fronto leaned down toward him.
“If you ever want to transfer unit, you’d be an asset to the Tenth.”
And now, two weeks later, Velius was back in his accustomed place, though still with a tender shoulder and a broken cranium. He would be unable to lift anything with that arm or to wear headgear for several weeks yet. Despite his injuries, he seemed to have picked up exactly where he left off and ignored any discomfort he felt. Tetricus had lived through the first four days and was hopefully still alive now, but had been far too delicate to travel. He had not woken during all that time, and had remained in the camp at Geneva, with a medicus to look after him. If he regained his strength and healed, he would take charge of the local auxiliary force.
All in all, things had worked out better that they’d initially seemed. Regardless, he’d been happy to see Priscus and the Tenth. It was like reuniting with a family. The three reserve legions had reached a prearranged point just north of the river a day ahead of the force moving from Geneva and had made camp over night. Just before lunchtime the next day, Caesar and the command unit had crested the hill and come down to find Crassus in overall command of the three legions. Crassus had bowed to Caesar and formally greeted him, while the lesser ranks’ reunions were considerably less formal. Following Fronto and Balbus’ advice, Caesar had agreed to spend one day camped to allow the legions to unite properly before they moved on.
Priscus had clasped hands with Fronto and then walked with him.
“Why were we kept there, Marcus? The Helvetii have gone past toward Gaul days ago on this side of the river, while we were all too far south to do anything about it. Level with me.”
Fronto sighed and looked around to make sure they were alone.
“Gnaeus, we’re heading deep into Gaul. You’re absolutely right. We couldn’t spring a trap and stop the Helvetii, or we’d have no excuse to chase them into new and fresh territory. We have to prepare for a long campaign. Which reminds me…”
Walking over to the small pen set aside for the animals, Fronto scanned the beasts.
“Priscus!” he shouted. “Where’s my horse?”
Priscus turned to look at him and shrugged. “I put it to work helping carry the wooden frame for the mess.”