Marius' Mules V: Hades' Gate (16 page)

The Decurion, seriously outranked by this angry yet softly spoken young officer, had the grace to look sheepish.

"The commander told us to commandeer whatever space we needed, sir. We've got to walk every horse and then run them and check their levels of fitness before we decide who to take across the channel and who gets to stay here and be given further exercise and training. The auxiliaries have been stood down all winter and a lot of them are under strength or out of condition."

The man caught Crispus' expression and coughed. "With respect, sir, a horse is a big thing and nearly all the land hereabouts is covered with trees. The parade ground can only be the space he expected us to take, sir."

"You are churning the damned thing up with your hooves, you moron!" Crispus snapped. "Much more of this and it'll be totally unsuitable for even a German horde to jump around on. You'll simply have to find somewhere else to carry out your little tests. I will brook no further argument. Get this heaving mass of horseflesh off my parade ground by the time I count to a hundred or you will be carrying your teeth back to Varus to explain the problem. Do I make myself clear?"

The Decurion went pale and Crispus was further aggravated to see the man's eyes slip past his shoulder and widen with even greater fear. He closed his own eyes and counted silently to five, trying to calm his hammering pulse.
All
he needed now was to be reminded that he was not the angry, fire-in-the-blood officer that some of the legions had. He had worked hard these past few years to throw off the veneer of the studious administrator and achieve some semblance of the military commander that his mentor Fronto had always been. When he opened his eyes again, they fell upon the two tribunes from the Tenth and he sighed. At least these two answered to Priscus and he felt they might be on his side.

"Is there a hold-up, legate? The Tenth is due on the ground shortly."

"Nothing I cannot handle, thank you, tribune. Decurion Death-Wish here is just shifting his troopers now," he turned an angry face on the cavalry officer. "
Aren't
you?" he hissed.

With a hasty salute, the Decurion turned and waved at the musicians. Calls were suddenly blasted from two cornu, followed by the eerie, chilling wail of the Gallic dragon banners being waved and catching the air. Troops of horse began to assemble into groups in preparation to leave the ground.

As the Decurion strode off to remount his horse and lead the column away, Crispus stepped onto the edge of the huge turf square flattened deliberately to serve as a full legion parade ground. Standing disconsolately as the horses milled, he peered down at the churned grass and the deep ruts and hoof prints.

"Idiots."

His gaze rose to the horsemen in front of him and he frowned.

"Wait a moment. You're not one of the…"

The young legate's words trailed off as the man on the heavy, Gallic roan mare in front of him suddenly lunged forward, thrusting a spear into his face.

Furius and Fabius, a mere half-dozen paces away and busy sharing a private joke, suddenly looked around at the commotion in time to see the spray of blood as the iron spear tip emerged from the back of Crispus' head at the base of the skull, pulling through part of the internal matter of his head with it. The two tribunes, stunned by this sudden turn of events, looked back along the line of the spear and blinked in recognition.

Clutching the haft of the weapon was the bruised and battered figure of Dumnorix the Aeduan, somehow not only free from custody but on horseback among - a quick glance around confirmed the tribunes' fears - among the Aedui cavalry contingent!

Even as the world exploded into action, the Gaulish escapee releasing his weapon and gripping his reins, the limp form of Crispus dropping to the churned turf with the spear still transfixed in his head, the Aedui cavalry turned and began to canter off the parade ground making for the only wide path through the surrounding forest.

The rest of the horsemen appeared stunned, milling around uselessly, the pale Decurion staring in shock at the body of the twitching legate as the Aedui fled the scene.

Furius and Fabius exchanged a look.

"Get after them and bring them back!" Furius bellowed at the five hundred or so horsemen gathered on the turf, his tone and resonance easily enough to cut through the general murmur of shock. Simultaneously, Fabius had run over to the Decurion who was sitting with his musicians and signallers and staring at the scene in shock. With no preamble, the tribune grabbed the decurion's steed's bridle and pulled down so that the horse almost knelt, the officer slammed forward in his saddle until his eyes were a hand-width from Fabius'.

"Dismount, soldier." He turned to the musician a few feet away as the horse staggered back to its full stance. "And you!"

Obediently, still in shock, the two men did as they were bade. By the time Furius had bellowed at half a dozen groups of riders, sending them off after the Aedui, Fabius came up alongside him on horseback, leading the other mount. He gestured at the horse

"Come on."

With a nod, the senior of the two tribunes clambered up into the saddle and the pair began to race their mounts off towards the wide roadway that had been cut through the forest in the direction of Gesoriacum, down which the Aedui had fled, the rest of the cavalry right behind them.

"How in Hades did he get out?" Furius growled as they pounded along, in the wake of the others.

"Can't have been too hard. Clearly the man's making friends in low places. The bloody guard on the prisoners could do with a bit more discipline, mind!"

Furius' face darkened. "I imagine they're beyond all discipline now. Priscus is going to want an investigation into this."

"Let's just catch the bastards first."

Fortunately the two horses they had taken belonged to senior regular cavalrymen and consequently were among the better mounts to be found in camp and it was only a moment before the two tribunes began to pass the stragglers among the auxiliary pursuers. Another few heartbeats and they passed into a wide, shallow valley, a stream meandering along the centre, a shimmering pool off to the right.

Already some of the pursuit appeared to be breaking off here and Furius was about to vent his anger at the horsemen before he realised that groups of them here and there were actually Aedui horse, surrendering to their pursuers, the other cavalry reining in to take them into custody. With a nod of approval he rode on after the diminished group heading for the forest path on the far side of the open space.

"Dumnorix could be among them?" suggested Fabius almost breathlessly as they rode.

"Not likely. He'll not come back by choice. He knows what's ahead for him."

"Then he might have veered off into the woods? Gone to ground or fled on foot leaving the rest as a distraction?"

Again, Furius shook his head. "He's not that brave - you know that from how easily he caved in to interrogation. He can't be sure of the locals' loyalty and he feels safe with his Aedui around him. Fortunately it doesn't seem that they're as true to his cause as he expected. One small pursuit and they're just giving in. They probably outnumbered their own captors too."

Again, the pair plunged on into the shade of the forest thoroughfare. Even here and now, small groups of horsemen were coming to a halt at the sides of the path, half a dozen Aedui giving themselves to their pursuers and turning their back on the would-be rebel.

"There!" Fabius shouted, and Furius peered ahead. Sure enough, they had caught up with the core of the fleeing cavalry. By now less than forty or so men surrounded the hunched figure of Dumnorix, and the pursuers were more than double that number. Even as they closed in on the lead, the two tribunes watched with suitable appreciation the way the loyal native cavalry managed to push an extra turn of speed from their mounts, peeling off to the sides of the track, ducking the overhanging branches and flanking the fleeing horsemen, effectively blocking the path ahead.

All of a sudden, the Aedui seemed to come to the conclusion that the game was up and that they had lost. Their mad flight into the woods had been a dismal failure, largely due to their having drawn too much attention to themselves with the murder of the legate before turning to flee.

Dumnorix found himself in trouble. He was in the midst of the group of warriors - it had been the safest position to take during the flight, surrounded by his countrymen and safe from outside blows. However, now that those same warriors were slowing their mounts to surrender, he found himself slowing and stopping, unable to break from the group.

His protection had become his prison.

Furius and Fabius slowed their mounts as the Aedui began to throw down their spears and swords and raised their hands to show their empty palms. Within the tightly packed crowd, the tribunes could hear a commanding, if desperate, voice bellowing orders in the Gallic tongue. Apparently Dumnorix was still hoping to exhort his men to flight. They would not be following his orders.

As the pursuing cavalry began to gesture small groups of Aedui away from the main force, binding their hands with their own reins, Furius and Fabius watched the protective screen in front of the fleeing noble shrink and then finally vanish, leaving him centred in a horseshoe of his former allies.

Defiantly, the Aeduan noble walked his horse a few steps back towards them, a sword in his hand.

"You intend to take me back and torture me again for more information, I expect."

Fabius let his lip curl slightly.

"Not at all. We intend to let someone much more experienced and inventive do that."

"I will not surrender simply, like these sons of she-dogs."

A few of the Aedui turned angry glances on their former charge at the insult. Furius chuckled at the sight of the false bravado turning away any hope he might have of reclaiming an ally among the crowd.

"I imagine not."

"I will tell nothing else. I am not privy to the most important facts and before I can tell you even the most harmless of titbits, I will die."

Fabius looked across at his fellow tribune and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Furius nodded once, and Fabius turned to the remaining Aedui who sat, mostly unarmed, upon their horses in a horseshoe around the renegade.

"No punishment for any man who helps beat Dumnorix the traitor to his well-deserved death."

Dumnorix's eyes widened as Fabius grinned at him.

"Now wait!" he barked, followed by another short statement in his own tongue as the arc of horsemen began to close up and form a circle around him. A moment later the first blow rang out, followed by a cry of pain. Clearly Dumnorix had decided to fight back - one of the unarmed assailants suddenly toppled from his saddle, a nasty sword wound in his chest. But even with most of the circle of horsemen unarmed, the former nobleman stood no chance. The remaining twenty two Aedui warriors went about their grisly business - a business unseen from the tribunes' position - with efficiency and even grim satisfaction. After a few moments, a gap opened up in the lines for just a heartbeat and Dumnorix's horse trotted out, frightened, coming to a halt some way down the road.

Again the circle closed up. There was no noise but for the regular clop and slap of horse's hooves coming down, eloquently describing in simple sound what was becoming of the body in the centre of the circle.

Fabius counted past two hundred before the circle of men broke up and the Aedui filed out, weaponless and with hands raised to meet their captor. The mess in the centre of the mass of dark, red-brown hoof prints could barely be described as human. Only the recognisable signs of the clothing Dumnorix had worn could have identified who it was. It briefly passed through his mind that perhaps some sort of switch had been pulled and that the prisoner had got away, but one look at the faces of the villain's fellow tribesmen - his killers - made it clear that they had done their distasteful duty as requested.

"Drape that thing across it's horse and let's take it back to Priscus."

Furius straightened in his saddle. "Warriors of the Aedui. You took an oath to Rome and to Caesar when you joined this army on behalf of your tribe. By attempting to aid the escape of this dangerous mad dog, you broke that oath. But in taking his blood, you have renewed it. Get back to your units and prepare for the passage to Britannia. Hail Caesar!"

The reply of 'Hail Caesar' was less heartfelt than one might expect from a parade ground of legionaries, but the fact that not a voice remained silent amid the crowd satisfied Furius.

Watching the Aedui slowly return in the direction of Portus Itius, the mess that had been Dumnorix stretched over a saddle, Furius and Fabius squared their shoulders.

"Remind me again why we came back after winter?"

Fabius smiled at his friend and the pair shook their reins and kicked their heels, heading back to Caesar's camp.

Chapter Five

QUINTILIS

Fronto rolled over onto his chest, his face buried in the soft, scented sheets, and groaned with comfort. Outside, the sounds of a full working day for the folk of the city were well and truly advanced. How long had he slept? Lucilia hadn't even bothered waking him.

Rolling over once more, he came to the edge of the bed and swung his legs out and down to the floor, wincing at the jarring in his knee as the foot hit the carpet - an import from Parthia of all places that Lucilia had desired enough to spend a centurion's yearly pay on. With another groan he pulled himself up to a seated position and stretched before knuckling the sleep from his eyes.

Gods it must be halfway to noon! He was getting lazy with this relaxed lifestyle. In the preceding years he would have been up, cleansed, broken his fast, addressed the troops and marched ten miles by now. He smiled a private smile as he realised how much he stretched the truth even speaking to himself. Over the past few years the pressures of the post had turned his always prodigious drinking from a carousing hobby to a necessary habit. Only now that he was out of the armour could he realise just how much he had declined in the past four years. When they'd first marched into Gaul he had been up before the birds in the morning and gone to his cot after the rest of the army. By last year he was dragging himself from his pit after Carbo had already done half the morning's work for him, his head clouded and fugged with last night's wine.