“Anyway, sir, there were little more than a dozen of us. Once we’d been unhorsed, there was little chance of fighting back, so we stayed down and played dead. I realise that’s not very honourable sir, but we thought it would be more important that we get back than taking down maybe a couple more. Unfortunately half of us died when the Helvetian cavalry moved out. Trampled beneath the horses. Since then we’ve been trying to get back to the legions without bumping into the Helvetii again.”
Fronto smiled a little
“I’ve heard what you did on the battlefield from the other commanders. Perhaps not the most prudent course of action, but commendable nonetheless. Going to the aid of a trapped unit is the sort of thing that gets one decorated, soldier. You can be sure that Longinus is already aware of your heroism.”
He pointed at the other, unconscious officer. “Nice job, though you should have left him there. Man who leads recklessly like that’s a liability.”
Ingenuus’ face took on a sombre cast.
“I think you need to hear the rest sir.”
Fronto frowned once again and motioned to the guards.
“You lot help the medics take these others to the hospital. Don’t let anyone else near them.”
He looked at Balbus and Priscus.
“This has the feel of an important and possibly confidential conversation. It’d be better in my tent. Can we help this man there?”
The cavalryman stood.
“I can walk sir.”
“Splendid.”
The four of them made their way across the camp to the officer’s tent, where Priscus made himself busy lighting oil lamps and ordering the guards to patrol outside the tent. Fronto retrieved a flask of wine from a corner while Balbus helped the young man get settled on a seat.
Fronto poured a wine for them all, watering all but one, which he handed to Ingenuus.
“You’d best go on.”
The young man took a deep, appreciative swig of the wine.
“When the Helvetii’d gone, sir, we crawled out from under the bodies. The other officer was already in pretty bad shape, but he made sure he told me something before he passed out. Wanted it to get back, y’see.”
Fronto nodded encouragingly.
“Well, he said it was his second in command, a Gaul, who drove the ala to attack first. He was taken by surprise and had to charge in after his unit to try and break it up, sir. He said he was doing alright rallying the men until the bastard, meaning his Gaulish deputy begging your pardon sir, stuck him in the back with a spear.”
Fronto looked up sharply at Balbus, who nodded gently.
“You mean this Gaulish auxiliary officer led a fatal charge, attempted to murder his own officer, and then escaped to lay the blame at his feet?”
He shared a glance with Balbus again. The older man spoke first.
“I hope that other young officer lives through the night. We may need his evidence when we bring the Gaul to trial.”
Fronto smiled grimly.
“If this is who I think it is, he’ll not get a trial. I’ll gut the bastard myself. Balbus, do you think we’ve got enough legal grounds to detain that particular cavalryman in the stockade?”
“More than enough. I’ll have a word with Longinus and ask him to arrange it. He and I can go through the man’s gear too. Look for some evidence to link our two incidents together?”
“If it is him, Quintus, I want him. I want him myself.”
Balbus nodded sombrely. “I know. You’ll have to talk to Caesar as soon as we have enough evidence. In the meantime, are you finished here?”
“Yes.”
“Then, decurion Ingenuus, I think we should go and see your legate.”
The two stood and left the tent, Ingenuus giving a last salute to Fronto as he left.
Priscus made to leave, but Fronto waved him to a chair.
“You sleepy?”
“Me? No, not really. Why?”
“I’m a bit keyed up now. Not much chance of sleep tonight. Think I’ll drink for a while, then go see what Balbus and Longinus have turned up. Want to join me?”
Priscus fixed Fronto with a hard glare.
“So long as you’re not going to get all fired up and go do something stupid. I know you, Marcus. You’re going to go find that cavalryman after a skin full of wine and beat the man to within an inch of his life.”
Fronto grinned at him. “It’s a possibility.”
Priscus sighed.
“I suppose I’ll have to stay, then. Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble. A primus pilus’ work is never done. As if it’s not enough having to look after five thousand men for my superiors, I have to look after my bloody superiors too. Give me that!”
He snatched the jar of wine from Fronto’s hand and drank deeply from it.
Chapter 8
(Temporary Camp in Aedui territory)
“ Decimation: the worst (and rarest) form of Roman military punishment, saved generally for insurrection or cowardice of a whole unit. The entire unit would be lined up; the officer would walk down the line and mark every tenth man, who would then be beaten to death by his comrades.”
“ Gladius: the Roman army’s standard short, stabbing sword, originally based on a Spanish sword design.
Pilum: the army’s standard javelin, with a wooden stock and a long, heavy, lead point.”
Fronto slammed his fist down on the table so hard that he wondered if he had broken his hand. Caesar sat in his campaign chair fuming, his face red and strained.
The guards standing by the tent doorway did their best to blend in with the leather. Balbus and Longinus had long since slipped out; the argument had been going for nearly ten minutes now.
Caesar took a deep breath, ready to begin the next round of verbal pummelling.
“The evidence you have provided, legate Fronto, will be laid before my chief provost. He will advise me on the appropriate legal courses and I will decide the case myself. I absolutely forbid…”
Fronto once more rose from his seat and slapped his hands flat on the table.
“General, I will deal with this myself! That bastard killed one of the senior centurions of the Tenth, and the attack was meant for me. You risk losing the respect and support of the whole legion if you take this out of our hands.”
Standing back, he took a deep breath.
“I don’t want to fight about this sir, but it really is that important.”
Caesar lowered his head.
“I will not allow one of my senior officers to put himself in harm’s way for the sake of a grudge. If you want the Tenth involved, I can arrange that. Any punishment, and I’m sure it’ll be execution, can be administered by your men.”
“That’s no good, sir. You know I’m going to kill him, with or without official sanction. If I don’t, one of the others will; maybe even Priscus. Don’t make me disobey orders, sir.”
Caesar sighed and cradled his fingers.
“The prisoner can be held a while yet. We’ll keep him under the guard of the provosts for a few days. You need time to calm down and see this from an objective point of view, rather than a victim’s angle. We’ll discuss the matter again then. Maybe you’ll have seen sense.”
Fronto said nothing; trusted himself to say nothing. He merely stood, hands flat on the table, glowering at his commander.
Caesar sighed again.
“In the meantime, the matter is closed. I would advise you to make it very clear to your men that no attempts on the life of the prisoner will be tolerated. I have no wish to hand out punishments for disobedience. If you fear that the whole Tenth will take the decision badly, I will have to take measures. I will not allow my legions to take matters into their own hands. Decimation has been rare as a punishment for a long time, and I have no wish to resurrect the practice for one legion who goes against their general’s wishes. Just remember who pays you all.”