Terpulo leaned forward and plucked the glass vial from the lad’s belt pouch, examining it. He then did a quick circuit of the soldier.
‘Rust free armour . Good. Just Mister Rusty in his bottle , and it looks to me like you’ve even polished the bottle .’
The young man looked hopeful for a moment.
‘Shame you went and cocked it all up by failing to pay attention while on guard. You’ve been caught out twice , now . Only an idiot doesn’t learn from his mistakes. Are you an idiot , Legionary Sidonius?’
The lad almost answered, then realised at the last moment, and shook his head.
‘Good. Because where we’re going we’ll be fighting, and fighting hard, and I won’t have time to coddle idiots. Back outside, lad. Still a ghost until first watch, though. Then you can get a bite to eat. And don’t let me catch you a third time, else you’ll lose your retirement benefits and I’ll find a new hiding place for Mister Rusty .’
Dejected yet silent, the lad left, bowing to the officers as he closed the door.
Fronto removed the scarf, tested the air for a moment, then stuffed it back into place.
‘You think the men will hold up well on campaign? Some of them are a little… advanced, let’s say.’
Arruntius gave him a look that would wither steel, and Fronto had to concede he wouldn’t want to question the veteran centurion’s quality. One harsh look from him could cut a hole in a man.
‘Fair enough,’ he said quietly.
‘I remember this mad old bastard at Sucro ,’ Pulcher snorted, gesturing at Arruntius. ‘I’d just been promoted to the centurionate, and was desperate to make a name for myself. Saw myself as primus pilus of a legion within a year. Then I had my first lesson in humility. Arruntius here was already second most senior in the legion . Were you at Sucro, L egate?’
Fronto shook his head. The battle, fought around the Ca r thago Nova and Saguntum area during the Sertorian war , had taken place a dozen years be fore Fronto had even set foot in Hispania. That these men had been centurions two and a half decades ago was impressive.
‘Well the whole thing was a mess. Sertortius was a good general. Pardon my saying so, as I know he’s not a popular figure to revere in Rome these days , but if you were serving in his army there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him.’
‘You fought for Sertorius?’
That meant that for a short time at least, these men had been classified as enemies of Rome. With an odd jolt of kinship, he suddenly realised that he had more in common with them right now than they knew.
‘We did. Sertorius met Pompey’s army by the river bank and we all fought like crazed bastards. The battle was going nowhere. Both sides were just as good as each other – we were all legionaries, after all – and both were doing a good job of turning each other’s flank, so we were starting to rotate like a giant bloody wheel. Then Sertorius rides down from the tribunal where he’s been commanding, and tells the men he’s damned if he’s going to lose to Pompey. He starts kicking his horse forward and joining in. Well you can imagine the effect it had on the lads. Everyone started pushing that bit harder , and even though the general then retreats to his command post, the job’s done. And the primus pilus shouts out that he’ll give his own silver torc to the first man to break the enemy line. Well I went at it like a bull in a cowshed. I reaped the shit out of Pompey’s forces that day, and I’ve still half a dozen scars to show for it. And I was way ahead of most.’
He grinned and sat back. ‘I burst through the enemy’s ranks into their reserves, leaving them a co mplete shambles, and I thought “ This is it. I’ve done it. I’ll be rich and famous. ” ’
‘And?’ Fronto prompted.
‘And there was Arruntius. He was already way ahead of me, surrounded by enemies, entirely on his own, and he almost killed Pompey. Got in a damn good cut. Saw it with my own eyes. Then it was chaos. All around us, our lads were breaking through and Pompey’s lot were starting to run. And I just stood there like a stricken idiot, watching Arruntius grumbling because Pompey managed to ride off without dying.’
‘No w I know you’re pulling my leg,’ Fronto laughed.
‘Oh?’
The legate pursed his lips and leaned forward. ‘You’re telling me that Arruntius was the one who gave Pompey his scar? I’ve seen it. It was a hair’s breadth from a killing blow! ’
Pulcher reached up and pulled down his scarf, taking a tentative breath, then relaxed. ‘Course, if we’d had Terpulo there we coul d have taken down a whole cohort at a time with a single gust . Juno, man but you need to put a plug in that thing.’
Terpulo chuckled. ‘Careful, Pulcher. I could take umbrage at that, and I know where you sleep.’
Fronto laughed and removed his own gag, taking a strong pull of wine. Along with his own veterans he was grateful to have the support of men such as these. In the morning they would march into Sibusate territory and, while that tribe might still be loyal, they might equally be either absent or belligerent. W ho knew what the unknown lands of Aquitania held ? One thing of which Fronto was absolutely certain: there would be a hard fight involved somewhere.
* * *
The journey through Tarbelli lands and into those of the slightly more distant Sibusates took two days. Well rested, the column had made good time, following the Aturrus River inland for some forty miles. And over the past five or six, the native scouts , augmented with a small group of loyal Aquitanii from Lapurda, had confirmed that they were in the territory of the Sibusates .
There was one notable difference between the two tribe s’ lands. Life.
The Tarbelli they had passed had been quiet and withdrawn, clearly uncertain and unhappy about the Roman army among them and the situation among their neighbours , holding to their oath and causing no trouble, selling goods as requested. The less cultivated, more forested lands of the Sibusates had yet, in those five or six miles, to yield a single human being , just as Prefect Barba had indicated . Two villages they’d passed had been completely bare, just like the one they found on the slope south of Burdigala. The similarities had everyone looking to the trees for archers.
Moreover , Fronto was starting to become convinced that even the animals were shunning this place, for birds were scarce and rustling in the undergrowth seemingly absent. His fears were in no way laid to rest by the presence of Aurelius, who was currently strung tighter than a ballista , and when t he man snapped, Fronto didn’t want to be around.
Finally, though, the scouts reported that the first major settlement of the Sibusates , a place called Sorda , was close. Shortly thereafter, the river forked, the more major channel running almost due east, while a lesser channel branched off south - east toward the distant mountains. There was a brief discussion as to chosen route, but with this Sorda lying less than two miles along the southern branch, that was the clear choice and the army picked up the pace automatically, sensing the end of the march approaching . Fronto gestured to Carbo, who was riding close by, and the bald, pink-faced officer trotted ahead to join him.
‘Sir?’
‘When we get to Sorda , the first thing will be to confirm whether or not they are holding to their oath. On the assumption they are remaining loyal, or at least professing to do so, we will set up camp somewhere close by, send in a diplomatic party and try to trade with them. Let’s set up talks, make sure we’re all good friends, and then ply them for information. The Tarbelli seemed to know nothing about what was going on, but this lot are closer to the trouble, and they should know more. The scouts say the town is on the north bank of the river, but the river is quite narrow here and there should be a bridge. ’
Carbo chewed his lip reflectively.
‘And if they haven’t held to their oath?’
‘Then I daresay we’ll find that out pretty quickly. Besides, there’s still a chance the place will be empty like all the other places we’ve found. Pass the word to Atenos and the others. As we approach the river I want everyone re ady. Be pre
pared for anything. For a rchers, in particular.’
‘Sir.’
Carbo dro pped back with the instructions and Fronto w aited tensely for a few moments as Bucephalus’ steady g ait carried him along the green sward between the wooded flanks. The scouts had already checked out the forest, so there was supposedly no chance of another surprise attack like the one back at the lake, but Fronto had not lived to his good age by presuming safety.
What had happened to these tribes? Like the Tarbelli, this Sibusates lot had been hungry consumers of Roman goods, including wine. They had sold their goods to the local traders and garrison, and then, as if plucked from the land by the hands of the gods, the whole bunch of them seemed to have vanish ed.
Fronto remembered times in northern Hispania when he’d seen similar things. In Caesar’s time as governor of Hispania Ulterior, he had led an army into the northern tribes of that peninsula, sending Fronto via Tarraco and the east to become the second pincer along the southern line of the Pyrenaei . Several times he had encountered empty tribal lands, just like these, though the reason for that had been the advance of a belligerent Roman force. The same could not be said in Aquitania. The peoples here had left long before the Romans arrived.
‘It’s not like Hispania,’ he muttered, willing the trees to move aside so he could see this town of Sorda.
‘In what way?’
He looked around to see that Galronus had fallen in alongside him.
‘I found deserted lands when I led the Ninth across northern Hispania, but they were fleeing from us, which is not what’s happening now.’
‘ How did you end up in northern Hispania,’ the Remi officer asked with a quizzical look. ‘I understand Caesar was governor in the south.’
Fronto nodded. ‘It’s complicated. We were there twice. Oh, I think it was sixteen or seventeen years ago when Caesar went to Gades as a qu a estor and I went with him as a junior tribune . He’d pulled strings , you see , to have friends moved into the province with him. I took up a place with the Ninth, who were still a pretty new legion. I got to know Hispania quite well that year, and when Caesar returned to Rome I stayed on for another year and went to serve as an attaché to the governor of Citerior up in Tarraco, a lunatic by the name of Popillius Aquila. Got to know the nor th as well as I had the south. W he n I went back to Rome, my family tried to force me up the Cu r sus Honorum with not a great deal of success, and basically I kicked my heels for a while. I fell in with Caesar and when my father died and I inherited the estates, I helped fund the general quite a bit. So when he went back to Hispania Ulterior as governor four years later, I naturally went with him , as did Verginius .’
‘Back to the south, though.’
‘Yes. But he had a plan this time. Hispania was mostly untouched lands and unknown tribes, and they had gold. A lot of it. Caesar looked at the tribes to the north and saw a way to pay off the huge debts he’d run up in Rome securing his positions. He led two legions up from Italica into the untouched lands fighting a war not of conquest but of loot. And because he was a little worried about what his counterpart the governor of Tarraco might say, he sent me and Verginius there with the Ninth. Well it turned out that the new governor, Vedius Caepio, was a much more accommodating man than the last one I’d met. For a promise of a share in the spoils, he lent me an extra legion and I took the Seventh and the Ninth across the southern edge of the mountains and crushed the tribes against Caesar’s force. The armies joined up and… well there was a bit of a mix up and Verginius paid the price . ’
‘And Caesar went back to Rome rich,’ Galronus noted with an odd sour tone. Fronto sighed. Sometimes it was easy to forget that his friend had been born to a tribe who had similarly watched Rome’s boundaries roll across their lands. But perhaps talk of Faleria ’s former betrothed had helped change the mood too.
‘He did. And once again I stayed for a year and sorted everything out with Caepio in Tarraco . To be honest, I didn’t really need to stay, and Caesar was urging me to return with him. But after Verginius, I just wanted to wallow in drink and misery on my own for a while. And I couldn’t face returning to Faleria. I almost turned into my father that year. I drank Hispania dry. Only the arrival of the new governor stopped me. He was a miserable bastard, Figulus. He told me to go. Wouldn’t have a drunk on his staff , and s ent me packing back to Rome. I didn’t care anyway. The Ninth had shipped out for Cisalpine Gaul , so most of my mates had already gone. I went back to Rome, hoping Caesar would still find me a place with the Ninth. Instead I spent another year in the city being glared at by Faleria before Caesar secured me the Tenth.’
He sat back and stretched. ‘The rest you know. Half a year later we were marching north against the Helvetii. I do some times miss Hispania, though. I spent one miserable drunken year there, but three happy ones. It gets under your skin, does Hispania. It’s warmer than Gaul, and more temperate. I’ll take you to Tarraco some day. Feels like a second home even now.’
Galronus said nothing, his face still brooding, and Fronto sought to change the subject. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing ahead. ‘That must be Sorda. ’
The trees had pulled away from the left of the field, giv ing them a clear view of the river. The land was relatively flat, and the torrent that rushed through it narrowed for a while. Where it did so, with old beech and chestnut trees dotted along the near bank, a township sat on the northern shore. It was the most sizeable place they had passed through since Lap urda, with perhaps two dozen houses and two or three farms around the edge, a large open square at the centre and a sturdy timber bridge across the river.
And it was empty. That much was clear already. No noise, no movement, no sign of smoke rising from chimneys.
‘The Sibusates have abandoned their centres and moved into the hills, also,’ Galronus noted.
‘It certainly appears that way.’ Fronto gestured at Atenos, who was stumping along behind them in conversation with Carbo. ‘Looks like the place is empty. Sun will be going down in the next few hours, so have camp set up on the grass opposite the town. I’m taking a few cavalry and checking the place out.’
Atenos saluted and Fronto continued to walk Bucephalus slowly forward while Galronus gathered a turma of horse. Once they were assembled, Fronto gave the signal and the small force rode off ahead of the column. Already two scouts were sitting at the bridge waiting for them, and Fronto couldn’t help but note the grim expressions on their faces as they sat patiently.
‘Problems?’
‘The scout simply pointed across the river, and Fronto’s gaze passed over the bridge and the gurgling waters beneath to the square at the centre of Sorda. High-sided w agons stood in the middle, forming a crescent with its back to them. Roman wagons.
‘That can’t be good,’ Fronto muttered, and urged Bucephalus on with his knees. Despite the clear emptiness of the place, Fronto found he had drawn his sword and was riding with it readied . ‘Come on.’
With the cavalry and the scouts falling in behind, Fronto and Galronus trotted onto the bridge, their hooves clunking on the heavy timbers as they crossed the torrent and entered the tow n – a small affair without walls. Fronto suddenly found himself fixing on that point and a notion began to form.
‘I’ve not seen any walled places yet apart from Lapurda’s Roman garrison. They don’t seem to have o ppida down here like that Gauls. Is it possible that they’ve pulled out of places that aren’t defensible? If that’s the case, then we really might have a big fight coming.’
Galronus shrugged. ‘The Aquitanii are a different people. As different to ours as are the tribes across the Rhenus. More so, perhaps. I can tell you that we fought walled settlements a few years back, but they were to the north and east, in the lowlands, closer to the borders of the Nitiobriges, the Cadurci and the Volcae. But they were not mountain people. Who can say what goes on this far south? ’
It was with a mounting sense of dread that Fronto led his men from the bridge and into the town, circling slowly ar
ound the edge, his eyes darting to the windows and doors of the surrounding structures and to the rear sides of the high vehicles . He found that, as he approached the end of the wagon line, he was chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek. It was no ambush that awaited him, and he felt safe enough. The birds were still chirping overhead, so he felt sure they were in no danger, but his nostrils had started to catch just the faintest whiff of carrion, and that sickly-sweet smell of decay never boded well for anyone.
Sure enough, the dead awaited them within the curve of the wagons.
Fronto found himself instinctively averting his eyes as he came into view of the unpleasant tableau, lifting his scarf with his free hand and covering his face in the same manner he did when in a confined space with Terpulo.
The whole Roman caravan was here, in Sorda. They were dead, but they were here. The wagons were empty, looted and broken, and their masters and operators had been cruelly murdered. The slaves, guards and hirelings lay in neat rows on their backs, arms by their sides and legs straight, and each one’s head rested on the pit of his stomach. Each one seemed to be glaring accusingly at Fronto, and he found it difficult to pull his eyes from them, though the rest of the scene was, if anything, worse.
Th ree men had been crucified. One – the centre one – though he was already in an advanced state of decomposition and weathering, had clearly been a fat and fulsome man. The faded and pecked tunic he wore was a rich and very carefully-tailored one, and Fronto would be willing to bet it had come from Rome itself. A filthy blue cloak lay tangled on the ground beneath him, the no doubt expensive brooch that had fastened it taken by his killers.
On one side of him was a man in a similar tunic, though of less high quality . He was likely some sort of factor or overseer, judging by his appearance, but his lesser status had not saved him from the same fate as his master. On the far side, the oth er figure was clearly a heavy – t he leader of the caravan’s guards, presumably. He had the build of a former soldier or fighter, and wore a tunic that, though year-worn and stained and now scratched at by carrion feeders, may well have once been the russet red of a legionary.
Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica Page 10
