Velius nodded. “I can do it sir, and I want to get this sorted.”
“I know you can do it. First job’s a little unpleasant though. You need to staunch any hint of a rumour about what happened tonight. I mean every hint. Understand?”
Again, Velius nodded.
“You need to get to the legion’s chief surgeon as soon as I leave. Get some of his orderlies to collect the body and keep it out of sight in the hospital. Circulate the word that Cominius died tonight of a seizure. Get the surgeon to support you. We don’t want word of assassins leaking out.”
Another nod.
“Finally, when I leave here, I’ll send Fronto and Priscus back. You need to make sure they’re seen in the camp in full control. I would suggest you get a few of the officers together and have a small drink before retiring. Fronto will need it and we need to staunch any rumours of his demise. In the morning the two of them are to join us in Longinus’ tent and you are in charge of the Tenth. Understood?”
“Sir.” Velius nodded a final time and pulled himself rigidly to attention.
“Alright. Get someone to deal with this man’s effects. You’ll have to arrange a cremation in the morning.”
Balbus removed the spear gently from the still shape of Cominius and turned to leave. As he walked briskly down the Via Decumana toward the gate, cavalry spear held in hand, he could hear Velius behind him, bellowing out orders from the command tent.
He heaved a sigh and glanced at the spear. A Roman spear, meant for a Roman officer. There could be all sorts of reasons a member of a Gaulish tribe serving with the cavalry might want to kill a successful general. It was war after all, but it didn’t make it right or acceptable. It had been many years since the civil war and Balbus had no wish to live through another time like that. War should be up-front and above board, not sneaking and murdering.
He found Longinus in the camp of the Ninth and persuaded the man to join him for a walk down by the stream. As the two officers strolled along the bank, moonlight flashing off the rippling water and the constant rush and babbling filling the air, Balbus felt himself relax for the first time in over an hour.
“We need to talk about this.”
Longinus turned his head and nodded, almost imperceptibly in the darkness. Balbus went on.
“I’ve had word circulated that Cominius died of a seizure. I know that won’t fool the assassin, but I don’t want to set panic or suspicion among the legions. We don’t want any word of assassination going out, or the killer will go to ground. One thing’s sure: by morning he’ll know he failed to kill Fronto.”
“He probably already knows that.”
Balbus shook his head.
“I don’t think so. If he’s a recently recruited Gaul, he won’t know one officer from another apart from his own unit. He wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between Cominius and Fronto at speed in the dark. No. He’ll be feeling self-satisfied tonight.”
Longinus nodded.
“I suppose so. There’s not much we can do right now, but I’ll have a think on the matter and see what I can come up with.”
“Plenty of time tomorrow, while we move. You’re going to have to keep those Gaulish cavalry under a watchful eye, though.”
Chapter 7
(Deep in Aedui land)
“ Burial Club: A fund looked after by the standard bearer that each legionary pays into to cover costs of funerals and monuments to fallen colleagues.”
“ Signifer: A century’s standard bearer, also responsible for dealing with pay, burial club and much of a unit’s bureaucracy.”
“ Magna Mater: The Goddess Cybele, patron of nature in its most raw form”
The funeral of Cominius took place the next day not long after sunrise. The signifer had doled out appropriate funds, men of Cominius’ century under the supervision of Velius had cut plenty of timber and erected a funeral pyre and the unit’s stonemasons had hastily cut and chiselled a tombstone in memory of the fallen man. Cominius had been a popular officer, and only a small amount had to be drawn from the burial club, the stonemasons labouring several hours for free. His worldly goods remained packed in his tent, ready to be distributed as his will attested.
The smoke from the burning pyre drifted across the ranks, the acrid yet sweet smell of burning meat filling the nostrils of the watching soldiers. Red dress-uniform crests were being worn atop every helm in the watching crowd, with the exceptions of Velius and Fronto, both of whose skulls remained too tender to allow the press of metal.
Fronto had been the one to light the pyre, and had stepped forward from the Tenth, where he stood as their legate, the torch extended in his hand. Unhooking one of the medals from his dress harness, he had attached it to the flaming mass, extended the burning tip the kindling and watched it spring into life, the flames quickly spreading around the wooden bier.
Now, fifteen minutes later, the pyre was starting to collapse. Most of the legionaries in the surrounding circle had a tear in their eye, though more from the stinging cloud than from emotion.
Fronto was itching to move. The legions were packed and ready and after the funeral they would move on, leaving a burial detail to finish off. The fact that a colleague had been taken not in the heat of battle but by the blade of a murderer irked Fronto, but the thing that made him fume most was the almost imperceptible way that his friends and colleagues were tip-toeing around him. Since last night, he had had only a few hours alone while he slept and even then he had heard Priscus, Velius, Balbus and Longinus at different times during the night, never more than a few feet from his tent. Against his wishes, the legate’s Guard had been assigned to watch his tent (a traditional honour for senior officers that Fronto had long since dispensed with.)
His eyes continually strayed across the pyre to Longinus and his cavalry officers. The legionary cavalry were here out of respect for Cominius, though the auxiliary cavalry, under a few trusted officers, were maintaining their pursuit of the Helvetii. Balbus and Longinus had had a long argument about the necessity of keeping the auxiliary cavalry under the watchful eye of the mounted legionaries. Fronto had listened in on the conversation from the other side of the leather tent wall and could appreciate both points of view. Yes it was necessary, particularly after the attack last night, to keep the auxiliaries under close scrutiny but Fronto could also, surprisingly, see Longinus’ point of view. He had specific orders from Caesar to follow the Helvetii, yet wanted the legionaries to honour the death of one of their own, so splitting them was necessary.
As the flames turned to embers and the mound of burning timber fell in on itself like a collapsing building, Fronto realised that Caesar was looking pointedly in his direction. He stepped out in front of the Tenth and called the legion to attention. They had, theoretically, been at attention for the duration of the previous hour and a half but had, over time, slipped into a more relaxed pose. At times of personal reflection, some leeway was afforded the troops, and Fronto was more sympathetic then most.
As soon as the legion had fallen in properly, Fronto turned to face them.
“Centurions, give the order.”
Around the field, commands rang out, letting the units know they were dismissed. The Tenth were first to fall out, though the other legions were close behind.
As Priscus turned once again to face his commander, Fronto indicated with an inclined head that he wanted a word.
Priscus watched a moment longer to make sure the legion had fallen out properly and then walked alongside his commander, who had already made his way toward the pyre.
“Sir?”
Fronto continued to face the pyre, his primus pilus behind him.