Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (8 page)

He became
aware that Galba and Rufus were staring at him in disbelief and
that Crispus had joined in the arm motions encouraging him to calm
down. For a moment, he wondered whether he’d had too much to drink,
but the drink-fuelled courage told him that was stupid and he had
an important point to make. Can’t back down now…

“
A waste though, don’t you think? Sacrificing a veteran legion
just to get an inconvenience out of the way?”

There was a
crunch and Fronto’s world went black.

Balbus rubbed
his balled fist and sank back down to his seat as the unconscious
form of his best friend slid gracelessly from the bench. Crispus
stared, his head snapping back and forth between the equally
startled Galba and Rufus, the heap that was Fronto, and finally to
the silent crowd in the street who had, to a man, stopped whatever
they were doing to stare into the tavern yard. Sighing, Crispus
stood and turned to look over the wall.

“
I am going to count to three!” he shouted. “And any man I can
still see when I get there is on latrine duty until they get
pensioned out!”

The street
burst into life as men ran this way and that to clear out of the
furious young legate’s gaze. Balbus looked up at him.

“
Thank you.”

Labienus
stared at Balbus and slowly began to smile.

“
No, Quintus. Thank you!”

“
He’s just had a little too much. No harm done, eh?”

Labienus gave
a pointed look to everyone round the table.

“
No… no harm done. Just jesting, eh?”

With a sigh,
Balbus stood and gestured toward the heap of legate opposite
him.

“
Crispus? Give me a hand getting him to his quarters would you?
I think I may have damaged my fist.”

As the two men
collected Fronto and dragged him up, draping him between them,
Balbus clenched and released his fist several times. Each time he
did, there was an unpleasant crunching sound and he winced with
pain.

“
Damn, that man has a hard jaw!”

Crispus tried
not to laugh.

“
I think you must have a pretty hard hand, Quintus. I hope you
haven’t broken him. His nose is a funny shape.”

Balbus
shrugged.

“
You know Fronto. I can’t believe this is the first broken nose
he’s ever had.”

Quietly they
lifted Fronto and, with a wave of acknowledgement to their
companions, left the tavern yard and walked out and down the street
toward the bridge and the military compounds beyond.

* * * * *

Fronto was
still unconscious as the two legates dumped him unceremoniously on
his bed, though whether through his injury or substantial
consumption of alcohol was a matter for debate. They had collared a
legionary at the entrance to the camp of the Tenth, telling the
guards that their legate had had an accident and to call for a
medic.

Crispus looked
up at Balbus from where he sat on the edge of the cot, his face
filled with concern.

“
Do you think he’s alright? I thought he would have woken by
now.”

Balbus
shrugged.

“
He’s still breathing. You can hear that from the nasty
bubbling sound!”

The younger
legate tried, unsuccessfully, not to smirk. They’d had to shut
Fronto up, clearly. His mouth had seriously run away with him in a
public place, but when it came right down to it, Crispus was
convinced the man was right. Moreover he was sure the same was true
of Balbus and the others and, indeed, every legionary that had been
in the street. Still, casting aspersions about the morals and the
ability of some of the highest members of the patrician class was a
career breaking move, guaranteed.

And Fronto,
while his rank indicated he was from a patrician family, from
everything else, it was just as clear that they were one of the
less noble and haughty families and even that Fronto held most of
his own class in particularly low esteem. That was one of the
things that truly fascinated Crispus about the unconscious bloody
mess snoring noisily next to him. Until he’d been appointed to the
Eleventh, he was ashamed to admit, he’d hardly ever even spared a
thought for anyone of a rank lower than equites. And now, a year of
friendship with this man had changed him so much that often he
found himself considering the results of any potential action on
the common people before his own. Such an un-Roman viewpoint, it
constantly amazed him.

His attention
was brought sharply back into focus by a knocking on the door.
Balbus, leaning against the tall cabinet by one wall and wiping his
forehead with his scarf, turned and called out.

“
Come!”

The door
opened. Crispus was surprised to see not a doctor, but a legionary
in his armour, without weapon, shield or helmet.

The young
capsarius bowed curtly.

“
Sirs.”

Balbus smiled
benignly at the young man.

“
Florus, yes? I remember you. I take it the medicus was
otherwise occupied?”

Florus smiled
weakly.

“
Errr… Sort of, sir.”

A raised
eyebrow.

“
He said he wasn’t going to treat the legate for another
drink-related injury and that I could handle it, sir!”

Balbus’ grin
widened.

“
What does he do to get this kind of reputation with the
medical service?”

Florus gabbled
hurriedly “It’s alright though, sir. I’m well trained. I almost
certainly can handle it, sir.”

“
I’m sure you can.”

Crispus had
been sitting frowning as he looked the young soldier up and down.
Young? Ha. There was probably only a couple of years between the
two of them. With a flash of memory, he suddenly remembered where
they’d met. After the battle against Ariovistus last year, when
Fronto’d had that bite wound on his heel. He joined Balbus in the
smiling.

“
I suspect your legate has a broken nose. Apart from that, he
should be fine, other than a nasty bump from where the bench hit
him in the back of the head…”

Florus
wandered over to the cot and knelt to examine his commander. The
nose was, indeed, distinctly misaligned.

His tongue
poking gently from the corner of his mouth, Florus reached down to
his belt and unfastened his small medical pack, which he dropped to
the floor beside him. Professionalism taking over, he looked across
to the young legate sitting next to him.

“
Could I ask that you hold the patient very steady?”

Crispus nodded
and reached across, holding Fronto down by the shoulders.

“
I think you will find that he’s fairly anaesthetised anyway;
in fact, he’s been anaesthetising himself for around five hours
now. You could probably amputate his leg without waking
him.”

Florus gave a
curious little half-smile.

“
I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Crispus
glanced sharply at the young man, who smiled widely.

“
Sorry, sir. I just mean that the legate’s nose has actually
been misaligned for years. A decade or more probably. Must have had
a nasty break some time. I’ve been dying for an excuse to
straighten it.”

Behind him
Balbus gave a deep belly-laugh.

“
Most of Fronto’s charm comes from his oddities,
doctor.”

“
On three?” said Florus. Crispus nodded.

“
One.” The young man settled over the legate and reached down
to his face.

“
Two.” Gritting his teeth, he grasped Fronto’s nose carefully
but firmly.

“
Three!”

As Crispus
held Fronto tightly down and Balbus looked on expectantly, the
legate’s nose returned to a perfectly straight position with a
crack and a small spatter of blood that caught Crispus across the
upper arm. Fronto never even flinched, though the pitch of his
snore changed instantly.

“
Apologies, sir.”

Crispus
laughed.

“
I’ve been covered in more than that in my time with the
Eleventh. And there’s more coming yet, soldier.”

Florus smile
faded slightly.

“
Of course, sir.”

As silence
fell, Florus carefully wiped up the blood from around the
break.

“
Is that it?” Crispus asked in surprise.

“
That’s it, sir. Set it back and wait.”

“
But do you not have to apply splints or pack the nose or
anything?”

Florus smiled
again.

“
It’ll heal on its own sir, in good time. Tomorrow it’ll swell
and the bruising will come. I’ll only start to worry about
complications if it’s not back to almost normal in a week. It’ll be
tender for a while though. And…” He looked up at the two legates in
the room. “And it’ll be obvious that he’s got a broken nose, sirs.
No one will believe he had an accident.”

He frowned as
he looked carefully at Balbus.

“
If it’s not an impertinent question, sir…”

Balbus
smiled.

“
Go on…”

“
Is it vaguely possible that during the legate’s… erm…
difficulty, he accidentally fell nose-first onto your
hand?”

Behind him it
was Crispus’ turn to laugh out loud.

Balbus
frowned.

“
Only,” the capsarius added quickly, “it looks like that was a
very heavy blow and if that was the case, I really ought to check
your hand over for fractures, sir?”

Balbus
sighed.

“
I’d rather it didn’t go racing round the camps that one of
their commanders had to break the nose of another, Florus, if you
get my drift?”

The young man
nodded.

“
Of course, sir. I am the very soul of discretion.”

Before he let
go of Fronto, however, he gently rolled him to one side and
examined the back of the legate’s head. There was a bloody patch
but, as he gently probed the wound, he found no sign of a break or
anything more serious than cuts and bruises.

“
Legate Fronto will be fine,” the young man said as he gently
lowered his patient back to the bed. “I’ll check on him from time
to time, though I suspect he’ll be out for a while yet.”

He walked over
to Balbus and gestured to the campaign chair nearby. The older
legate sat with a sigh of relief and held his hand out open, palm
down. Florus took it gently and started manipulating it, lifting
the fingers gently one by one and folding them back toward the
palm. As he reached the middle finger, he heard a gasp from his
patient and looked up to see Balbus’ eyes watering.

“
Sorry sir.”

“
Don’t be. I take it that’s broken.”

Florus
nodded.

“
Not badly, though, sir. I could bind and bandage your fingers
or your entire hand, but it would be fairly obvious to everyone how
the injuries had occurred.”

As Balbus
frowned, Florus smiled.

“
Or you could just be very, very careful sir and let it heal as
is. Without binding it to another finger, you run certain risks of
later troubles or diminished movement.”

Balbus grunted
unhappily.

“
How long will it take to mend?”

Florus
shrugged.

“
A week or two and it should be strong enough to use for
ordinary everyday purposes. There will be a little bruising, sir,
but with it being that finger, it shouldn’t be too bad. The medicus
has a paste, sir that seriously decreases bruising and dramatically
reduces healing time, but he doesn’t dole it out unless it’s
critical. It comes from some kind of tree and gets imported through
Arabia or Egypt from past the Parthian Empire, so it’s very hard to
get hold of and extremely expensive.”

Balbus’ jaw
took on a firm set.

“
I think I can persuade him to part with some of it. We may be
back in action in a couple of weeks and both Fronto and I need to
be at full fighting fitness before then.”

Florus stepped
back and stood up.

“
I had heard we were marching north, sir. Against someone
called the Belgae?”

Balbus
nodded.

“
I think so. Possibly even all of the Belgae.”

Florus
frowned.

“
Are they worse than the other Gaulish tribes, sir? People seem
to be frightened of them.”

Crispus
cleared his throat. In his mind he pictured the map of the
tribes.

“
Actually, they’re not Gauls at all, Florus. They’re separate,
like the Germans. And they’re split into their own tribes like the
Gauls and the Germans are. The Geographies I read always refer to
the Gauls, the Belgae, the Germans and the Aquitanii as ‘peoples’
and then the subdivisions as ‘tribes’.

He thought for
a moment.

“
Though I rather fancy that these are names that were given
them by our own geographers many years ago and that they use their
own names. The Gauls, for instance, call themselves ‘Celts’. It’s
all a little complex and jumbled really.”

Florus nodded
soberly.

“
But they are the worst of all, though, sir?”

“
That’s what they say, soldier. Whether they can withstand the
advance of Roman iron remains to be seen, I suppose.”

The young
capsarius nodded again.

“
Then I’d better make sure my kit is well prepared. Is there
anything else I can do, sirs?”