Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1

by S. J. A. Turney

  * * * * *

  The Second Cohort backed across the deserted camp in good order, moving quickly but with their formation intact and presenting the cohort’s fighting front to the town. Velius walked alongside, shouting orders. In the distance, far above the abandoned camp, Fronto could see Labienus and the riders making with all haste for Bibracte and Caesar’s army. The six men with Fronto moved from wall to wall like thieves in the poorer districts of Rome, the legate glancing back over his shoulder constantly to make sure the cohort was still in sight. Velius had disapproved of his commander heading back into the settlement, but Fronto had insisted. Not only was all his best armour and uniform packed in the chest, but his sword lay there and he was damned if he would leave a fine sword like that in the hands of this German rabble.

  They reached the corner of the hut in which he had been staying and the optio leaned round the corner while the legionaries protected Fronto.

  ‘They’re by the gates to the compound, and the gates are open. Velius is going to have to start moving fast soon or there’ll be a hell of an engagement here. Give me the key to the chest sir, and I’ll go get your stuff.’

  Fronto glared at the optio.

  ‘I’ll get it myself. I need to throw on my kit though. You’d best help me, quick as you can, while these five keep watch.’

  The optio nodded and slipped round the corner of the hut and into the street. Aware of the dangerous situation he had put them all in, Fronto followed. Glancing nervously at the gathering crowd by the gates, he stole as quickly as he could into the hut. The optio had already dragged the chest to the centre. Fronto ran in, fumbling for the key.

  As he flung the chest lid back, the optio hauled out the cuirass and subarmalis. Fronto slung the rest to one side, wondering momentarily whether it would be feasible to carry his spare boots with him. With a sigh he gave up and flung them into the corner of the room. He looked up as the optio reached out with the subarmalis and hurriedly pulled it round his commander. As he tied it at the back, Fronto took up his helmet and buckled it into place. The optio picked up the heavy cuirass and Fronto tried, even with his weak arm, to hold the front and back plates in place while the junior buckled them together for him. Finally strapping the sword at his side, he noticed in the bottom of the trunk his two cloaks. Wearing a flowing cloak in the current emergency would risk entanglement and was asking for trouble, but he considered it for a moment. Sighing sadly, he slammed down the lid and the ornate, decorated cloak that meant so much to his sister vanished from sight.

  ‘Optio, let’s get out of here as fast as we can.’

  The optio nodded and moved quietly to the door. With a glance out to one side he pulled his head back in and stood straight against the wall.

  ‘The street’s full of Germans. They’re on their way now. We’re trapped.’

  Fronto looked round the hut. The windows were far too small to climb through. While the structure of the hut was poorly put together, and they could probably break through the walls in moments, the noise and mess would draw a great deal of attention and almost certainly get them all killed.

  ‘Optio, get under the bed. Hide and keep damn quiet.’

  The optio hesitated, nodded uncertainly and dropped to the floor. Aware of time running short, Fronto leaned to the window and whistled quietly.

  ‘Sir?’

  The face of one of the legionaries appeared in the gap.

  ‘All five of you need to go hide, now.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  The legionaries moved away from the hut as stealthily as they could manage and disappeared into a back street. Fronto glanced round the hut. With the optio under the bed, there were no other convenient hiding places. He could clearly hear the stomping feet and guttural voices of the German warriors out in the street. Drawing a deep breath, he reached up for the beams of the roof. Wincing with anticipation and hoping that the roof would not collapse under his weight, he hauled himself up among the smelly, dirty, cobwebbed eaves of the hut’s roof. His right arm burned with a wrenching pain and, in his need to keep from crying out, he bit his lip so hard that blood ran down his chin.

  Hooking his legs over a beam, he grasped the top of the door lintel tightly with his left arm, his right resting on his torso. One slip and he would come down with a crash. He tried to breathe as quietly and shallowly as possible. Dust motes drifted to the ground below as he turned his head at the sight of trousered legs tramping past the hut door. Briefly he cast a silent prayer to Fortuna and hoped that Velius had taken the initiative, moving the troops out as fast as possible. He should have taken an oblique angle as soon as he was out of sight of the town, and all but doubled back on himself. The Germans could search for hours, but would be unlikely to find them. It would only work if he had moved out before the Germans reached the encampment, though.

  Over and over the Germans stomped past the hut in small knots, disorganised and shouting. Fronto could feel the muscles in his arm beginning to burn unbearably with the constant strain of holding up his entire bodyweight. He glanced the other way and was satisfied to see that the optio was well and truly out of sight.

  More and more Germans passed and Fronto began to wonder truly how large this army actually was. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes for a moment, he shifted his grip on the lintel, almost losing it altogether. Dust drifted down to the floor. Breathing heavily but slowly, he relaxed a little.

  With a sudden flurry of activity and a guttural shout, several warriors broke off the column and made for the hut. Fronto tightened his lips and tried very hard to become invisible. The mass of Germans in the main street was diminishing. Most of the army had gone past and there had been no cavalry, so they must have gone out a different way. That could, of course, spell trouble for Velius and the cohort, but he would worry about that later.

  Half a dozen Germans reached the door of the hut. Two hung around outside, laughing jovially in their indecipherable tongue and then wandered off. The other four walked into the hut, their matted hair and horned bronze helmets coming within a few finger-widths of Fronto’s chest as he clung, suspended, above them. The warriors looked around the hut and two of them made for the chest. Another went for the bed, while the last strode over to the corner to investigate the abandoned pair of boots.

  Gripping the lintel tighter than ever, Fronto glanced out of the window. The mass of warriors had passed, and only a few stragglers moved in the street. He knew that this would not hold much longer. Should any one of the warriors look up, they would be found. He ran through the scene in his head, planning what moves he could make should there be trouble.

  Trouble, however, came to the optio first. The warrior investigating the bed pulled back the sheet and prodded around inside. As he rummaged in the linen of the bed, he became aware of something beneath it. He turned and gave an angry cry in his harsh language. The optio must have been prepared, though perhaps not enough. A moment later the point of the soldier’s sword thrust out from under the bed, shearing the muscle of the German’s calf. With a brief scream the barbarian collapsed to the ground, blood spraying from the wound. The other three turned to face the bed, hands going to their swords.

  Fronto in one fluid motion turned over and let go of the lintel with his fingers. He held his good arm out to the side, bent at the elbows as he swung downwards in an arc. The jarring as his helmet met with the shoulder of the tallest warrior was intense, but the warrior lost his footing from the blow and, falling on the wounded man, his head struck the floor with a sickening noise. The third German, standing by the chest, was caught full in the face by the legate’s elbow and collapsed with a bone-crunching sound.

  Reaching out and grabbing the downed German, Fronto unhooked his knees from the beam and landed rather gracelessly on the floor. The optio had pulled himself to the edge of the bed, where Fronto could see him, and was frantically thrusting and swiping with his sword, causing lacerations and wounds to the two men on the floor in front of him.

&nbs
p; Climbing to his feet, Fronto drew his sword and advanced on the warrior in the corner, who had drawn a large Celtic-style sword. Feinting with his own blade, he moved closer carefully, keenly aware of the range of the large, sweeping blade in the German’s hands. Without looking away, he addressed his junior.

  ‘Optio, finish those three quickly.’

  Aware vaguely of the wet sounds and the sighs and whimpers as the optio slit the throats of the three men on the floor, Fronto concentrated on the remaining warrior. He looked nervous; as well he might be facing two Roman officers now on his own. Surprisingly, he was quiet. In his position, Fronto would be shouting at the top of his voice, trying to get the attention of the warriors not far down the street. There was no way he was going to be able to gut the warrior with that massive blade swinging between them. He just did not have the reach. Shame he was not carrying the Celtic blade that Priscus had saved for him. He could not wait for the optio to stand and join him, or the man would have long enough to come to his senses and start shouting. Only a distraction could work.

  The optio watched in astonishment as Fronto stopped stabbing with the blade and held it vertically in front of him with his left hand. He smiled warmly at the German and pointed at the blade with his damaged hand. Confused and intrigued, the sweeping motion of the Celtic blade slowed, its wielder watching the blade in Fronto’s hand. With an elaborate gesture, the legate threw his sword away, into the corner of the room. The German’s eyes followed the arc of the gleaming sword as it fell and pulled themselves back toward his adversary, just in time to see Fronto’s fist hurtling toward him.

  The German slid down the wall at the side of the hut, unconscious and with a broken nose. Fronto bit his already lacerated lip to prevent the unbidden cry escaping, rubbed his fist and made a face. Muttering, sure he had re-broken several bones, he went to retrieve his sword and stopped in the centre of the room.

  ‘To hell with them.’

  He picked up his ornate cloak and tucked it beneath his arm. Slipping the sword back into its scabbard, he straightened.

  ‘Right, optio. Let’s go and find your men.’

  The optio nodded, and the two officers moved toward the hut door. Fronto peered gingerly round the corner and could see the stragglers near the settlement’s gate. The mass of the German force was visible on the hill, moving rapidly away from the town. The German cavalry were with them, so the cohort had apparently made it to safety. Fronto and the optio left the hut and dashed around the side into the back streets of the town. He looked at the optio and made motions suggesting a search. The optio shrugged. They stood for a moment, and the legate smiled. Leaning back against the wall, he began to whistle the call to arms of the Tenth Legion. Grinning, the optio joined in, and the two regaled the empty street with two full blasts of the call.

  A couple of moments later, a legionary’s head peered gingerly around the street corner.

  ‘Sir? Thank Fortuna. I thought it was more of those bastards. We had a couple of run-ins and they chased us half way round the town.’

  Fronto gestured to him to come out from behind the wall.

  ‘Is everyone alright?’

  The legionary shook his head.

  ‘We lost two sir, and Mannius is looking quite bad.’

  Fronto grimaced and sighed. They had done better than they had any right to.

  ‘Well we should be alright now. Take us to the others. We’d best collect the dead and get them back to the cohort. Don’t want to leave them at the mercy of these barbarians.’

  With a nod, the legionary turned.

  * * * * *

  The relief on Velius’ face was evident at the sight of his commander. Fronto and his small party came down the embankment on a horse and cart stolen from the all but deserted Sequani town, the two corpses lying in the back between their more fortunate fellows. The small group passed by the scouts and through the picket line without being challenged.

  As Fronto dismounted, the optio clambered down the other side and came to attention in front of his centurion. As the other legionaries saluted, Fronto turned to the small party.

  ‘Dismissed. Get those two buried and get some food. We’ll be moving very soon.’

  Gratefully, the men of his patrol fell out, taking the bodies and the horse and cart with them. Fronto turned to Velius.

  ‘As you can see, we had varying degrees of success. I take it things went without a hitch for you?’

  Velius nodded and opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by the clatter of hooves and shouting.

  ‘What’s all that bloody noise? If you don’t shut up, I’ll string you up and leave you here for the next lot of bloody Germans!’

  As Velius spoke he turned toward the clamour in time to see three cavalry men dismounting. One was Ingenuus, the prefect. He turned back to Fronto, raising his eyes skywards.

  ‘See what I mean. A waste of good flesh, the cavalry. We should put the troopers to work on ditches and eat the damn horses.’

  Fronto’s smile went as fast as it appeared when he became aware of the look on the cavalry prefect’s face. Ingenuus was pale and looked sickened and the other two cavalrymen appeared equally unhappy.

  ‘Ingenuus. What’s happened?’

  The prefect pointed down the valley.

  ‘We’ve just been scouting on ahead and we’ve found… something. I think you ought to see this, sir.’

  Fronto nodded. He would have liked to sit down for a while but, from the look on the prefect’s face, he felt this would have to take precedence. Indeed, Ingenuus had proven himself to be as astute and brave as Fronto remembered, and if what he had seen had taken him that badly, it would need investigating.

  ‘Velius, get your second in command running things here. You and I are going with the prefect.’

  The centurion nodded and shouted his orders to the optio before turning back to the prefect.

  ‘How far are we going? Do we need a horse?’

  Ingenuus shook his head, swallowing hard.

  ‘You can take these two horses. Their riders are reporting back to the ala. The … it’s about a mile and a half away, I’d say.’

  Fronto and Velius took the reins from the two cavalrymen and clambered onto the horses, kicking their heels and following Ingenuus as he trotted down the hill. The valley was long and shallow, with lush green grass and a great deal more vegetation besides. If it were not for the purpose of the ride, Fronto could rather have enjoyed it. The journey was short enough on horseback however, and after only a short while Ingenuus reined in ahead of them on a low rise. As the other two came up next to him, he pointed down into the dip.

  ‘That’s just as we found them.’

  Fronto and Velius swayed in the saddle for a moment before moving slowly down the low slope and into the grisly scene. The smell was torture and the buzzing of flies was loud enough to make it hard to think.

  Half a dozen large wooden stakes, branches even, had been driven into the ground. Tied to each were men; Romans and judging by their tunics, cavalrymen. Their armour and weapons were gone, as were their faces and their arms below the elbows. Their heads had been stripped of flesh, not by animals, but by a rough, knifelike tool. Their torsos had been opened up, and the contents allowed to fall out to the ground in front of them in heaps that, despite the several days they had hung there, still glistened. Fronto felt himself growing light-headed and imagined he was probably now as pale as Ingenuus. Velius did not look too good either.

  ‘Did you know them? Are they from your ala?’

  The prefect shook his head.

  ‘None of ours are missing. Besides, how would we identify them even if they were mine? That’s not all though…’

  Ingenuus pointed across the dell, behind the bodies. A fire pit of considerable size lay there, though the blaze had long since burned out and the residue was cold. As he gazed across at the pit, Fronto began to make out shapes in the ash. It took him a long moment to realise that they were horses.
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br />   ‘Minerva save us, they gutted and maimed the riders and then burned the horses? What kind of animals are these people? Is this some kind of German carnarium?’

  Ingenuus’ face had taken on a particularly hard look.

  ‘Germans, sir. And bastards. We’re going to make them pay, yes?’

  Velius nodded.

  ‘Oh yes. We’ll get them for this. But who are they if they’re not ours?’

  Fronto tapped his temple with an index finger.

  ‘Who do you think they are? Who could they be but the messengers Longinus and Caesar have been sending us? No wonder we’ve never heard anything. They must have kept them imprisoned until they were ready to move, then done this to them.’

  Ingenuus swallowed again.

  ‘I’ll have some of my lads come and clean the place up and perform the proper burials.’

  Velius shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let the infantry handle it. These are cavalrymen and I think my boys are a bit more detached. Don’t want them getting stupid ideas of revenge.’

  Fronto nodded.

  ‘He’s right. I don’t think we want to let your men know just yet. Remember what happened with the Helvetii. We don’t want to get them so tightly wound that they’ll get themselves into trouble. I do want the three of us to search the place first, though. We’ll take back anything military or personal we can find before anyone clears up.’

  The three began to move among the mess, scouring the ground for anything of value or importance. After a few moments of searching, Velius shouted them over to the fire pit.

  There, along with the remains of the animals and the charred effects of the troopers, was a pile of charred scrolls, the wax seals melted onto the carbonised parchment. Velius was about to reach down and pick one up, when Ingenuus grasped his wrist.

  ‘You can’t pick them up. They’ll just turn to dust in your fingers. Try to make out what you can where they are. We should be able to make something of them.’