Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (30 page)

He crested the
water with a splash and stood, chest deep, raking his fingers back
through his hair. Rubbing his chin and neck, for a moment he
considered whether he should leave it. Beards may not be popular in
Rome, but they were fairly common among soldiers on campaign;
especially with all these Gallic recruits.

“
No. Roman it is!”

He shook his
head and wiped the excess water from his eyes, stepping forward to
the pile of gear on the wooden shelf. His dagger probably needed
work, but it’d be sharp enough for a cursory shave. A closer one
could come later, as he was short on time right now.

He reached
across and pulled at the coiled belt. The knife was gone.

Instinct made
him use bent knees to launch himself back out into the water, just
as the figure leapt from the reeds and undergrowth to the side.

Six feet out
into the water, almost at the edge of the wooden platform, Fronto
stared. It was a girl. Well, more of a woman than a girl, probably
in her mid twenties and clearly Celtic. Her long strawberry blonde
hair was plaited and braided and she wore a long tunic or dress of
pale blue wool, belted in the middle with expensive-looking bronze,
though stained with mud and blood.

Her eyes were
sharp and clear and she brandished Fronto’s knife and waved it in
his direction threateningly.

“
What in the name of Venus?”

He eyed her
warily. She was pretty, certainly, and clearly strong in both mind
and muscle, but that wasn’t always a good combination. His mind
flashed briefly back to a pretty looking young German woman who
tried to tear his tendon out with her teeth. Frowning and setting
his jaw, Fronto wondered how to proceed.

The woman
gabbled something off in her tongue. Fronto looked her up and down
once again. She was clearly one of the Belgae, but how the hell did
she get down here? They didn’t usually bring their women onto the
battlefield, as far as he remembered. And she was clearly a noble
or a woman of wealth from the bronze and gold belt and jewellery
that adorned her. Perhaps she was a chieftainess? One of these
warrior women rumour spoke of among the Celts? The barbarian
version of an amazon? Taking a step forward, she kept the knife
defensively between them and scooped up his clothes, leaving only
his boots.

“
Dress!”

He was so
surprised at the sudden use of Latin that he merely stood and
blinked. She had a strong Belgic accent, but there was no doubt
about it. She could speak his tongue.

“
I said dress! I know how to use this!”

Fronto
shrugged and moved toward the river bank, his body still submerged
to the chest.

“
I really don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve here, but
your very best option is to run like Pluto himself is jabbing you
in the arse. I expect you’ve heard horror stories about what Roman
officers do to captives; I know I have; but, to be honest, I’m not
the rape and murder type. I’d rather you took my knife and buggered
off, so I can get dressed and go have a bite to eat.”

The woman
tipped her head to one side slightly.

“
Many of your words are not familiar to me, Roman. Now,
dress!”

Fronto emerged
from the water, naked and pale. As he had hoped, the sudden
appearance of naked masculinity caught her attention for a fraction
of a second. It was involuntary and only momentary, but it was
enough. As the legate rose from the surface, she failed to notice
the stick in his hand; a sturdy pole that had been jammed into the
riverbank by some helpful soldier, possibly to hang a cloth
from.

The stick came
out of the water at a fast swing, whacking the woman on the wrist,
and causing her to lose her grip on the knife. In a momentary
panic, she dived for the blade, but Fronto was there first. She
backed away, edgily, watching his every move.

“
Damn it” he grumbled.

He frowned at
her. Why did stupid things like this always happen to him?

“
Pick up my gear!”

She did so,
nervously.

“
Now throw me the breeches.”

Carefully, she
separated them out. He was expecting her to hurl them at his face,
but instead the clothing was tossed gently over to him.

“
I’m going to trust you not to do anything stupid while I put
these on.”

Keeping a
close watch on her and gripping the knife, he let the stick fall to
the platform and used his free hand to pull on his breeches. He
looked up in surprise to see the girl laughing.

“
Something funny?”

“
I think the water… it must be very cold, yes?”

She laughed
again and Fronto cursed the colour that rose involuntarily in his
cheeks.

“
Hilarious, I’m sure.”

He fixed her
with a steady glance.

“
I have no intention of hurting you, young lady, and I can see
that you’re intelligent, wealthy, and strong. So I’ll try not to be
condescending.”

A deep
breath.

“
You have a choice. You can run. In fact, that’s probably your
best choice. You’ll not catch up with your army, but you can
probably make it to one of your allies’ oppida. The Remi, I’ve
noted, are particularly friendly and generous.”

He looked up
the hill at the fort.

“
Actually, that’s not your best option. It’s your only option.
You stay here and either one of the men will find you, which I
can’t guarantee would be pleasant, or you’ll end up with the
officers and Caesar will likely either take you as a hostage or
make you a prize to go back to Rome.”

He pointed
east along the river.

“
Run away, girl. Run home.”

The woman
shook her head.

“
Many wolves around the hills. And bandits. I will not make it
to a town. I come with you. You will protect me from your
men.”

Fronto
laughed.

“
I think not. I’ve got enough to do. Enjoy your
countryside.”

With one long
look at her, he sheathed his knife and shrugged into his tunic.

Slipping his
feet loosely into his boots, he tied the belt round his waist,
closed the chest, and, ignoring the woman standing, bewildered, by
the water, he turned and climbed the hill toward the fort.

He was half
way there before he became aware of the sounds of ragged breathing
close by. He stopped and turned angrily.

“
Look, lady… will you just piss off back to your own people.
I’m on a tight schedule.”

The woman
stopped in her tracks and stared at him. He let his gaze stay on
her for a moment and then turned his back and walked on, to the
crest and over the rampart where the palisade had been torn down.
The camp was in chaos, tents being torn down and men on the move
everywhere.

Wherever
Fronto passed, the legionaries halted in their work to stare. He
was not in his armour, though his fine tunic with the embroidered
edge marked him as an officer, but he was well aware of the reason
for their stares, since they were not directed at him, so much as
just behind him.

Across the
camp he strode, causing ripples of interest, until he reached the
gate. The guards came to attention and foundered for a while,
unsure of how to deal with the Belgae woman leaving their camp hot
on the heels of a senior officer.

Sure enough,
Priscus had the Tenth formed up and ready to move, while the Eighth
were falling in nearby under the shouted commands of Balventius. As
Fronto strode towards them, Priscus stepped out from the front of
the legion.

“
Sir?”

He waited
until he was out of earshot of the men.

“
What’s this?”

Fronto
shrugged.

“
She won’t stop following me. How ready is
everyone?”

Priscus
gestured to the camp behind him.

“
Here come the Ninth now. We’ll be ready to move in ten
minutes.”

Fronto
nodded.

“
I’ll be back by then.”

Striding back
into the camp, he made for his tent to finish getting ready. As he
passed the rows of tents being struck, he spotted a familiar face:
Felix, the primus pilus of the Eleventh Legion. With a sigh of
relief, he stopped.

“
Felix?”

“
Sir?”

“
I’ve a favour to ask of your commander. Could you take this
young lady to Crispus and ask him to look after her while the army
moves out?”

The woman
started to shake her head, but Fronto grabbed her arm.

“
Look. If you won’t leave, then do as I say. We’re marching
hard and fast into battle again. You need to stay with the baggage
where it’s safe. The commander of the Eleventh is a friend and an
exceptionally good man. He will look after you.”

She looked
unsure for a moment, but finally nodded, wearily. Fronto heaved a
sigh of relief and strode off toward his tent. Women!

* * * * *

Fronto watched
as a rider raced back towards him. The valley was peaceful and the
afternoon sun had burned off the mist of the morning and left an
exceedingly pleasant day to march through. During the journey,
Fronto had been disturbed to discover several times that he had
drifted off into his own private little dream world that often
involved the young lady from the river bank. He growled to
himself.

“
Must be going soft.”

He looked up
at the horseman as he thundered to a halt.

“
What is it, trooper?”

The man bowed
awkwardly on horseback as the legate stepped out to the side of the
column, which continued to march past at double speed.

“
Commander Varus begs to report that the Belgae are splitting
up. The front of the army seems to be making for an oppidum we can
see in the distance. Basically fleeing, sir. The back end is being
harried by us, sir, but the commander is going to break off and try
and intercept the vanguard before they can hole up in the town. He
asks if the legions can pick up pace and close on the rear of the
force to trap them?”

Fronto
nodded.

“
I think we can manage that. How far behind are we
now?”

The man
pointed at a low hill around half a mile distant.

“
Just beyond there sir. Shall I convey your acknowledgement to
Varus?”

Fronto nodded.
“Get going. We’ll be along in a few minutes.”

He turned to
one of the soldiers marching along closest to him.

“
Fall out of rank. Go find commander Labienus and tell him
we’re only half a mile away and Varus needs us to close in on the
rear now.”

The legionary
saluted and ran off. Fronto jogged back to the front of the Tenth,
the vanguard of the army, and found the primus pilus staring
rigidly ahead.

“
Priscus? We’ve half a mile to cover in a few minutes. Get the
men into a run, but keep it together. I’m going to warn Balbus and
Rufus and get them to catch up.”

The primus
pilus nodded and turned to his men.

“
Time to engage lads. Triple time, now. No dawdling! We’ve got
Belgae to flatten!”

The Tenth
broke into an accelerated pace, racing now toward the hill that
obscured the force of Belgae. Fronto jogged back along the lines of
his men to the head of the Eighth Legion. Balbus waved as he
approached. The Eighth were already moving apace.

“
We saw your lads pick up, so thought we’d best join in. Just
ahead then, yes?”

Fronto nodded.
“Past that hill. Can you drop a message back to Rufus?”

“
Already done it,” the older legate grinned. “Let’s get a
battle line formed.”

Turning from
Fronto, he addressed his men.

“
Pull out to the left, alongside the tenth! Quadruple
time!”

Fronto grinned
as he watched the Eighth peel out to double the line. Balbus
smiled.

”
I’ll drop word to Rufus and get him to pull right. Let’s be
ready, eh?”

Ten minutes
later, the legions finally caught their prey. By the time ranks had
closed and formations made, the Belgae had fled as fast as they
could. Varus and his cavalry were out of sight in the distance,
harrying the Belgic vanguard, but the bulk of their army, almost a
hundred-thousand strong ran for their lives toward the high walls
of the distant oppidum.

Fronto turned
to Priscus as they jogged.

“
Shield wall time. Let’s run over them like a cart over a
rabbit.”

Priscus
grinned.

“
Form up as you run… Ad aciem!”

With the
practiced ease of a veteran legion, the Tenth, having marched fast
for half a day with no rest, and still at a run, rearranged into
solid battle lines. The command was echoed to left and right, and
the Ninth and Eighth joined the line.

Taking
advantage of the tiny gap left for them, Fronto and Priscus fell
into the line and formed up with the rest. The Belgae were fleeing,
but in a disordered rabble, which slowed and confused their
ranks.

With a roar,
the lines of legionaries, Shields locked and swords ready, barged
into the retreating lines of Belgae. Those few who resisted the
panic and realised the sudden added threat turned to face their
pursuers, wielding their heavy Celtic blades, but to no real
avail.

The charge was
immense. Swords jabbed and slashed as the shield wall suddenly met
resistance but continued to move, regardless. The legionaries did
not delay to check whether their opponents were finished as they
fell to an initial blow, but rather marched over the fallen bodies
and on to the next warrior they found, leaving the wounded Belgae
to be trampled to death by the stomping feet of fifteen thousand
men.