by R. W. Peake
I took it, albeit grudgingly, and with Gaius and Egina in tow, I left the hospital. Diocles, Scribonius, and Balbus walked with us to my tent and, as we did, Gaius told me about the assault.
“We took the rampart without any problem,” he explained. “But when we went to open the gate, the Moesians put up a hard fight. I lost three men trying to get to the gate, but we got it open.”
He went on to talk about his part of the fight, and from Scribonius and Balbus I learned the rest. Confirming what I had seen with my own eyes, the Moesians were individually brave, but they were poorly led. Instead of consolidating their forces by falling back earlier, small groups continued to fight, oblivious to the larger picture, so that they were surrounded and cut down group by group. The town was taken by late afternoon, the men now enjoying the fruits of the town as we returned to camp.
“And Runo?” I asked.
“Captured,” Scribonius replied. “He’s to be executed in the morning, in front of an assembly of the surviving nobles of the town.”
“And the prisoners?”
“They’re going to be sold,” Balbus said, shooting a glance at the girl, who fortunately did not understand what was being said.
She was looking about wide-eyed, clearly awed by the sight of our camp.
“Where’s Ocelus?”
“In his stable, eating his oats,” Diocles assured me, which was just as well, because there was no way I could have ridden him.
By the time we arrived at my tent, I was exhausted, making it hard to keep from staggering. I headed immediately to my cot, where I collapsed, and almost as soon as my head hit, I was sound asleep.
I was awakened some time later by Diocles, who informed me that Marcus Crassus had come to check on me. I was struggling to my feet when he came into my private quarters without waiting for Diocles to show him in, waving me back down when I tried to stand and salute.
“You need your rest, Prefect. I just came to check on you the first chance I got.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
Despite knowing the real reason for his visit, I also knew that he had to go through the formalities of appearing to care what happened to me.
“You had me worried when I talked to Philipos. He told me that you were gravely injured. In fact, I didn’t know what to expect.”
I pointed to my hand, which per Philipos’ orders I was keeping upright.
“This is the most serious, but I just lost my little finger, and he says that I'll regain the use of the other fingers just fine.”
I do not know if his relief was feigned or real, but it seemed genuine.
“That is good news.” He smiled.
“I understand that the town fell with few problems.”
“That it did,” he agreed. “The men performed magnificently. And now they’re enjoying their reward. It will probably take us two or three days before they’re fit to march again.” He grinned. “Apparently there was a lot of wine in Naissus.”
This was one of those times that I was happy that I was not responsible for a Legion, because it would take quite an effort to get the men in hand again.
“I received a report from Pilus Prior Palma and from Pilus Posterior Vettus. They both said that your nephew Porcinus performed magnificently and with great bravery.”
Despite being angry with him, the pride I felt at Crassus’ words filled my heart; finding that words would not come, I just nodded. Crassus seemed to understand, favoring me with a smile, then pursed his lips.
“There is one item that concerns me,” he began, and I braced myself. “It appears that Prixus and his men have gone missing.”
“Really? That’s surprising,” I said blandly.
“Yes, it is.”
His eyes searched my face for several moments before he continued.
“The last they were seen was shortly after we entered the town, when they headed down the first street branching off the gate road. The Optio for the Century responsible for that sector said that he thought they took off down an alley, apparently chasing a girl, which sounds like Prixus, I must say.”
I nodded but said nothing.
“Wasn’t that about the same area where you were ambushed?” he asked, his tone hesitant.
I pretended to think about it, then slowly nodded.
“I believe it is, sir.”
“But you didn’t see them?”
“Not that I can recall. Of course, as you see, I was in a bit of a scrap myself, so I don’t really remember much.”
Crassus watched me carefully, then said lightly, “Well, no matter. I'm sure they'll turn up somewhere, safe and sound.”
“I'm sure they will, but I wouldn’t bet on them being safe,” I said quietly.
He let out a long breath, his relief plain to see, finally giving a brief nod.
Slapping his hands against his thighs, he stood. “Well, as I said, I just wanted to check on you and let you know how well your nephew performed. Get back on your feet as soon as you can. The army needs you, as do I.”
Thanking him for his visit, I watched him turn to leave my quarters.
Just before he reached the leather curtain, he turned to say, “By the way, I'm recommending your nephew for the Corona Muralis. According to his Pilus Posterior, and seconded by his Pilus Prior, he was the first over the wall of the town.”
So that was the payoff for getting rid of Prixus, I thought.
“Thank you, sir. Do you want to tell him, or should I?”
“I think it would mean more coming from Titus Pullus, don’t you think?”
Favoring me with another brilliant smile, this time accompanied by a wink, Marcus Crassus left my quarters, looking for all the world like a man with a huge weight lifted off his shoulders.
It was not until late the next day that the bodies of Prixus and his men were found. It was Scribonius who came to tell me. He described how their bodies had been found in one room of the building, with signs of a fierce struggle. His face was composed, his tone emotionless while he talked, but it felt like his eyes were boring into my skull, able to see my darkest secrets.
“They obviously ran into a group of Moesians that weren’t impressed with how skilled they were in the arena,” I said when he had finished.
“That’s the funny thing,” he said, giving me his frown. “I saw the bodies myself. Their wounds weren’t inflicted by anything that the Moesians carry. It was a Spanish sword that killed them, and from the looks of it, the same one.”
“Meaning?”
I knew exactly what it meant and so did he, but I could not think of anything else to say.
“Meaning that one man managed to kill Prixus and his three remaining men,” he said irritably. “Do you have any idea how many men there are in the army that could take on that number of trained, veteran gladiators and come out alive?”
“Not many,” I admitted.
“That's an understatement,” he shot back. “In fact, I can only think of one man who has the ability, and he just happens to also have a good reason to want Prixus and his men dead.”
“You don’t mean me, do you?” I was determined to keep maintaining my innocence, despite knowing that Scribonius was not going to be fooled.
“Of course I mean you.” He was growing angry now, beginning to pace around my cot, something he often did when he was worried. “And here you are, bandaged up, with some pathetic excuse of a story that anyone with a bit of intelligence knows is nonsense. Titus, I’ve always known you are reckless, but how could you be so stupid? Don’t you think that Crassus will be forced to do something about men in his employ being murdered?”
So that is what this is about, I realized. Scribonius was not angry with me for lying to him, or excluding him from my plan, although I am sure that was part of it. His displeasure with me was based in his ignorance that it was Crassus himself who had given his approval to go after Prixus. I relaxed somewhat, trying to decide how forthcoming to be with Scribonius.
&nb
sp; “Actually, I don’t think Crassus is all that upset about what happened to Prixus,” I said carefully, his eyes narrowing at my choice of words.
“What do you mean?”
I bit back a curse; as smart as Scribonius was, he could be remarkably dense at times. I suppose that it was because his own mind did not have that deviousness that mine does.
“I mean,” I said distinctly, staring hard at Scribonius, “that nothing is going to come of Prixus’ death from Marcus Crassus. I can assure you of that.”
Realization of my meaning slowly dawned in his eyes, causing him to take a seat on a nearby stool, landing heavily.
“But why?” he asked, clearly mystified. “I don’t know how much Crassus was paying Prixus and his bunch, but it had to be a fair amount. Why would he be willing to just throw that away?”
“Maybe Prixus was proving to be more trouble than he was worth, and Crassus needed a way to cut his ties to Prixus, but couldn’t because…well, because he was scared. Not that I know that for sure,” I added hastily. “That’s just my guess.”
“Ah, I see.” He thought for a moment. “It makes sense, I suppose, this guess of yours.”
His mouth twitched, but I could not tell if he was fighting a grimace or a smile.
“The army is better off without Prixus, and so is Crassus,” I said quietly.
“That I can't argue.”
Scribonius stood to take his leave.
“Titus.” His expression was serious. “You can't continue to act as if you're in your twenties. You were lucky this time, but even luck as famous as yours is bound to run out some time.”
There was a time I would have argued with Sextus Scribonius, when I would have told him that the man had not been born who could defeat Titus Pullus, but I knew he was right. I had come very close to death, fighting Prixus and his men; it was equally as much luck as it was skill that I had managed to walk out of the building victorious.
“Hopefully there’s nobody left for me to fight,” I said jokingly.
“Not likely,” Scribonius retorted, finally favoring me with a grin. “With your personality, I have no doubt that someone will want to kill you again.” The smile vanished. “Next time,” he said quietly, “don’t keep me in the dark. You need someone to watch your back. And never lie to me again.”
He did not wait for an answer before he left.
Chapter 4-Bastarnae
Like Crassus had predicted, it took two days to get the men fully in hand from their sacking of Naissus. The army smiths were kept busy forging chains with which to secure all the prisoners taken, more than 25,000 in all, between the remaining warriors, their families, and the occupants of Naissus. Crassus decreed that not everyone was to be sold into slavery, leaving about a third part of the population behind to remain in the town to keep it going. I did not know if Egina’s family had been one of the lucky ones, yet it did not appear to matter, because she disappeared the day after the town fell. Our losses had been relatively light, but there still needed to be some shuffling done with Centurions and Optios, taking another day, thereby making our time at Naissus almost a month. Our cavalry was still north, watching the Bastarnae, who had apparently decided to sit and wait on further developments. My fears that they were working in concert with the Moesians proved to be unfounded, which I believe encouraged Crassus to make the decision to resume our pursuit of the Bastarnae. Despite being extremely stiff, with sudden movements impossible without terrible pain, I was determined that I would not ride in one of those bouncing wagons. My hand proved to be the biggest problem, since I usually held the reins in my left hand, meaning that now Ocelus and I had to become accustomed to using my right hand, which as we both learned was heavier on the bit than my left. The first day was the worst, with him almost bucking me off twice because of my heavy-handedness. As one can imagine, the slightest jerk was extremely painful, and the second time he opened the wound on my side, soaking the bandage through.
Regardless of my personal trials, the army marched north and it was clear to see that the assault on Naissus had done quite a bit of good for the men. They had been fully blooded now, performing what was usually the bitterest kind of operation, the assault and carrying of a fortified town or city, and their new confidence was clear to anyone with eyes. They sang their songs with more gusto, their banter now focused on those funny moments that happen in battle instead of just on the drunken revels of their off duty time. I was forced to admit that perhaps Crassus knew what he was about, having understood how much this army needed a sharp but relatively easy action to prepare it for whatever might lie ahead. By the end of the first day on the march, my hand was in agony, despite riding for a good part of the day holding it upright. I was seeing Philipos at the end of each day to have the bandages changed, but after seeing my hand the first time he did so, with every finger turning purple, I refused to look. He assured me that this was normal and he made me move my fingers about every day, which was painful to say the least. The strange thing was that with my hand wrapped up it felt like my little finger was still there, which he also said was normal.
Crassus never mentioned Prixus’ name in my presence again, and as far as I know, not in front of others either. After a couple of days of some tension between Scribonius and me, things smoothed out, getting back to normal, where we passed the day joking and laughing like we always had. Marching northward, we received daily reports from the cavalry commander Silva about the activities of the Bastarnae, who had settled into a semi-permanent position next to the Cedrus (Lom) River where it emptied into the Ister, with their warriors conducting foraging raids to keep their people supplied. There had been some clashes between our cavalry and theirs, with mixed results; some skirmishes we took the honors, some they won. The country we marched through had been stripped clean, and supply might have been a problem but Crassus had the foresight to raid the granaries of Naissus to fill our own stores. This was a good move on his part and it was not like there were many people left behind to worry about. Fortunately, the weather held as well, only giving us brief showers in the afternoon, enough to cut the dust but not so much that the wagons bogged down in the mud. When we were no more than four or five days from the Cedrus River and it became clear to the Bastarnae that we were coming after them, they packed up. Using the boats they had commandeered, now months before, they crossed the back across the Ister river, then burned them to prevent our using the same craft to pursue. With this news, for a brief period of time, we thought that we would be returning to Pannonia, since the Bastarnae were now in their own lands. However, Crassus was not through chasing glory; at the morning briefing, after we learned of this latest development, he announced that we would continue to pursue the Bastarnae. My heart sank when I heard his words, because I had grown to like young Crassus immensely and I feared that he was playing with fire. Scribonius had convinced me that Octavian would not appreciate Crassus’ thirst for personal honors, not after all that had happened the last several years. The last thing he would want was someone who attracted the affection of the lower classes, and I thought seriously about trying to talk to Crassus to warn him. After thinking it over, however, I decided against it; my experience with dealing with the upper classes definitely played a role in my decision. While I liked Crassus and thought he could be trusted, I was not sure enough of the man to take the risk. The others were not shy about voicing their opinions.
“How do we justify crossing into territory that belongs to people that we're not at war with, nor do we have a treaty?” Macrinus asked, although his tone was respectful.
Crassus was unperturbed by the question and in fact seemed to have a ready answer, which led me to believe that he and Macrinus had arranged this beforehand.
“This is a region that has been hard to pacify. We need to send a message to all of the tribes that any incursion they make, even if they leave before we're able to meet them in battle, will be punished severely. The Bastarnae have been living off land that doesn't belong t
o them. You’ve seen yourselves the extent of their depredation. That can't go unpunished.”
These were fine words, and on the surface, they made sense. The reality was that if the Bastarnae had not stripped the land, we would have done it ourselves, but I suppose it could be argued that we would not have been there if the Bastarnae had stayed put in the first place. Nevertheless, I knew that Crassus would have found a reason to wage war on some tribe out here, whether it was the Bastarnae or Moesians, so I said nothing, going along with the pretense.
Arriving at the river a few days later, we saw that while it was wide and the current fairly swift, it was nowhere near the challenge that crossing the Rhenus had been. The only major problem was that the Bastarnae had already denuded the forest, so rather than haul the logs for the bridge we would build for a number of miles, Crassus marched us downstream to find another suitable crossing spot. Fortunately, less than ten miles away, a site was found where the bottom was gravel and the river narrowed a bit, whereupon the men were set immediately to work. Crassus pushed them hard, not wanting to let the Bastarnae gain too much of a march on us, but they worked well, with no more than the normal amount of complaining. On the fourth day after the work began, the cavalry vanguard clattered across the bridge, followed by the rest of the army. Fortunately for our pursuit, the Bastarnae’s own progress was slow; the scouts we had sent across the river when the work began returned with their position, reporting them to be about two days march ahead.
“We're going to push the men,” Crassus told the Primi Pili. “I want a minimum of 30 miles a day out of them. Be sure to remind them of all the plunder that waits for them once we catch the Bastarnae.”
He knew that was all the incentive they needed, and the men did not disappoint him. The first day they covered more than 30 miles, although they were all done in by the end of the day after camp was made. That day also marked the occasion of having my stitches removed from my fingers, with my heavy bandages replaced by lighter ones, while my finger still remained wrapped. Philipos suggested that I have a leather harness made for it that would protect the stump for the first few months. I had seen other men do as much, so I went to the leather-working immunes who stitched together a rawhide harness. It could not be worn immediately; my finger was still too tender to be in contact with the rawhide that they used for the material, but a week or so later I was able to wear it. With the stitches out, Philipos gave me a series of exercises to do in order to restore movement to my left hand, and the pain was every bit as excruciating as the injury itself. During the march, I would concentrate on flexing my fingers over and over, then after a couple of days, I forced myself to use my left hand for holding the reins of Ocelus. He seemed to sense my discomfort, because he kept his antics to a minimum. Before, he liked to toss his head suddenly, trying to yank the reins from my hand in a sort of game, but while I was on the mend, he did not do it one time. I was still a long way off from being whole again, and I knew that it would be unwise to try to participate in whatever lay ahead. However, I also knew that when the moment of battle came, I was still likely to do something foolish.