“Let’s move on and pick up our new allies. They are, after all, solid Roman stock of Narbonensis who have had a long journey to join us.”
Galronus glared at the legate as he turned his back, wheeled his horse and threw up an arm to signal the army forward. ‘Solid Roman stock’ indeed… the men of Narbo were almost as Gallic as the Remi; had been less than a century ago.
As the legion and its auxiliary support moved off, the senior officers moving ahead with Crassus, Galronus walked his horse out to the side, deliberately detaching from the column.
He was surprised when, a moment later, one of the five remaining tribunes of the Seventh trotted out to join him. As the army marched on, Galronus looked the man up and down.
He had seen the tribune, as he had seen them all during the journey, usually with their heads up the legate’s backside. This one, one of the juniors, was surprisingly elderly to be filling such a post. From what Galronus understood, the tribunate was almost exclusively filled with young politicians climbing their ladder to success, alongside just a few clever veterans who stayed in the position in the hope of securing the command of a legion when the previous legate moved on.
This man, however, would be perhaps fifty years old or more. His hair was peppered black and white, his face lined and displaying a weariness that had little to do with physical exertion. The officer gave him a sad smile and pulled alongside.
“Can I help you, tribune?”
The man glanced ahead, but the command party had picked up the pace to meet the new troops and was clearly out of audible distance, even if they had been listening.
“Watch yourself carefully, commander.”
Galronus frowned.
“I already was, tribune.”
“More carefully. Young Crassus has taken a very personal dislike to you and you may find yourself in a great deal of danger unless you tread lightly.”
Galronus sighed.
“I am used to dealing with prejudice, tribune. The officers of Caesar’s army mostly see me as an barbarian warrior given too much authority for my own good.”
“Not like Crassus. He despises your cavalry and even their commander, Varus. He would never move against Varus, for the man is of noble Roman blood, but you…?”
The Remi commander nodded sadly.
“Do you know, tribune, that I spent the winter in Rome? I had only a loose command of Latin before my time there, and much the same even when I first arrived. And yet, in the city itself, no one treated me as anything other than another face in the street. No prejudice. The distrust of the Gallic peoples seems to be the province of the military alone.”
The tribune chuckled.
“Give them a little room there. They’ve spent the last two years fighting Gauls, so there’s bound to be a certain uneasiness. Things will change in time, but not until the army stops campaigning here. In the meantime, mark my words and watch your back. I will do what I can to help, but I will not, you understand, defy the legate for you.”
Galronus nodded.
“I would not expect it. I am surprised to find a tribune in the Seventh who would lower himself enough to speak to an auxiliary commander, let alone one of your… experience.”
The man laughed.
“’Age’, you mean. Yes, I’m no young hopeful, I’m aware.”
He held out a hand.
“Publius Tertullus. I have the esteemed honour of being young master Crassus’ uncle, through marriage.”
Galronus raised his brow.
“And you serve as a tribune?”
Tertullus laughed.
“I am not the most popular man of my line. I fear the lad’s father keeps me close to look after him.”
The Remi officer smiled and took the proffered hand.
“It is good to know that someone of apparently good honest sense has a commanding role in this campaign. This role is not one of my choosing. I would have been back among my own people serving under Labienus if commander Varus had been willing to take this command instead.”
Again, the older tribune gave a light laugh.
“I must return to the others. I may be required when we meet up with these new reinforcements. Remember my words, though, Galronus of the Remi.”
The cavalry officer smiled and nodded.
He would remember.
The army had been travelling through the lands of the Sotiates for a day now and Galronus had begun to feel distinctly tense, jumping at each unexpected sound. The officers in their accustomed position in the vanguard seemed to be treating the whole expedition as some sort of jaunt through the country, laughing and joking, pausing the army’s march to take a meal on a hill with a particularly splendid view and riding out on small forays to hunt as the army travelled.
The Remi commander had met a number of men like this in his winter sojourn in Rome with Fronto, men more interested in themselves than their assigned task. Men who were heading for a fall.
The scenery here was stunning, though, he had to admit. As a man from the largely low and flat lands of the Remi, Galronus had little experience of terrain like this. Aquitania seemed to consist largely of deep valleys and gorges, thick woodland and high waterfalls, separated by high rock formations and bald moorlands. The landscape reminded him of the folds and dips in a cloak cast uncaringly to the floor.
Also, since leaving Vindunum and separating from Caesar’s army, the weather had been improving the further south they travelled, leading to blue skies and warm sun among the Aquitanian hills, the buzz and hum of bees and the twitter of birds a constant companion.
But no amount of breathtaking scenery or stunning weather could shake the mood from the cavalry commander.
Three days into what was considered to be Aquitania and no sign of anything but a few small hamlets and lonely woodcutters’ huts. One full day into the lands of the Sotiates, the largest tribe of this land, and nothing to show for it but a tanned face and the smell of summer flowers.
Galronus had approached the legate and suggested a number of measures, almost all of which had been ignored out of hand.
Crassus did not deem these woodcutters worth interrogating, though Galronus had seen the look in their eyes as they’d watched the legion pass. They knew something and each gaze he met set his nerves a notch higher. The legate refused to reorganise the army’s marching order so as to be less predictable; the Seventh were apparently invincible in Crassus’ eyes. Even the suggestion that they change their route and make for some of the smaller tribes first to gain more of an idea of what they were facing fell on deaf ears. Finally the two men had agreed on roving scouts provided by the Gallic auxiliary cavalry, but even that seemed but a tiny measure to the Remi commander.
A noise cleared the cobwebs from his head.
He was relieved, as usual, to hear the double blast on the Gallic horn that announced the return of the scouts. To his left, the hillside sloped away sharply, becoming a gradient far too steep for horses as it plunged down to a narrow river valley. Ahead, a more gentle and civilised slope led down the valley side, their route to the river they would be following to its confluence.
The scouts appeared to the right flank of the column, where the hillside continued to rise to a lush, grassy moor, punctuated by white rocks that created unusual and fascinating formations on the crest.
From among those white rocks the riders returned, scattered rather that in formation, and at a casual pace. The two blasts on the horn indicated that they were rejoining the column to report, and that the land hereabouts was still clear.
Despite the news, Galronus’ heart still pounded; something was going to happen. He could feel it in his bones and in his blood… something was up. He turned to the cavalry officers trotting along behind him at the head of their units.