He grinned at Fronto and the legate strode off, laughing, toward the western slopes, hundreds of men following him.
Three of the centurions led their units across to Decius, who smiled and examined his reinforcements. Two were Cretans and the other a Spaniard; probably not a word of Latin between them.
“Get into positions,” he told them, waving his hand and pointing vaguely up and down the line of the wall.
He kicked his heels absently on the defences and smiled down into the forest. It was looking increasingly like reinforcements would be unnecessary. Suddenly, he saw a movement in the trees. He strained his eyes peering ahead. Was that the Belgae?
Standing, he shaded his eyes and peered into the canopy of gloom.
No, that was another of his scouts. He sighed and sat down again. Slowly, the scout clambered up through the undergrowth and then climbed the wall close to his commander.
“Are we expecting them any time soon?”
The Cretan looked at him quizzically.
“Gods, I’ll be pleased to get back to camp where at least the occasional person understands a single word I say!”
Pointing down into the woods, he tried to mime Belgae warriors climbing the hill. The scout shook his head and said something unintelligible. Decius had never bothered mastering Greek. It was the language of thinkers, not doers; but even if he had, the strange dialect these Cretans spoke was an entirely different entity. He listened with an uncomprehending smile as he realised what the accompanying hand gestures meant.
The way he was waving his hand flat and gesturing to the plain…
“They’ve given up?”
He laughed.
“We loaded all these boulders on the wall and they never even got halfway up?”
Grinning, he slapped his thigh.
“Wait ‘til Fronto hears that!”
* * * * *
Fronto passed his wine skin to Decius, who took it gratefully and drank deep. Down on the plain, the last of Belgae tribal bands were striking camp and moving away to join the massive force leaving the valley.
“I’d say we have to call that a rousing success, wouldn’t you, gentlemen?”
Decius nodded wearily. To the other side Pansa and Galeo smiled.
“Think Caesar will give us any kind of reward, sir?”
The other three turned to stare at Galeo.
“Reward?” Fronto said in surprise. “The fact that the Remi have our back now is a pretty bloody good reward as far as I can see. Iccius over there…”
He pointed at the chieftain, who was grinning like an idiot. His reputation would be growing among the Remi now. Regardless of the help of Rome, his small oppidum with its few warriors had fought off a huge army of their countrymen and had lived, intact, to tell the tale. The role of Rome would, of course, be downplayed in the tales of the Remi, but Fronto couldn’t blame them for that. Whatever anyone could say, the Remi would now recognise their ally, Rome, and honour them. For the cost of remarkably few men, Fronto had given Caesar what he needed most. Not because of the general, but rather in spite of him.
Fronto sighed. He was in danger of getting very angry and bitter once again over Caesar’s lack of concern. One day he would snap. Admittedly, it would be Fronto who ended up being sent back to his sister in an urn if that was the case, but there were days when…
Decius nudged him.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re making people nervous with that grimace. And you didn’t finish your sentence.”
The legate shook his head.
“Sorry. Where was I? Ah yes, Iccius. Lack of sleep, you see.”
He sighed and squared his shoulders.
“Iccius will pass the word of what we’ve done for him among his people. And it might put a bit of fear into the enemy too. All in all, I think the benefits of what we did here today are tangible. And of course, most important of all, we lived to tell the tale!”
He sighed again.
“By rights we should get our gear stowed now and get underway back to camp.”
He noted with humour the tired and crestfallen expressions of his officers.
“But we can move a lot faster than an army that size. Besides, they’ve got to meet up with the rest of their people before they move on Caesar. We’ve got time and I, personally, need a rest.”
He smiled at Iccius and mimed drinking from a mug. The chieftain laughed and shouted something to one of his spear bearers.
“Besides… I believe Pansa spilled all their drinking water, so we’ll have to rely on their beer instead.”
He noted with genuine humour the look of distaste that crossed Pansa’s face.
“Yes,” Fronto smiled, “I’ve never acquired a taste for the stuff myself either, but Crispus, the legate of the Eleventh, is quite a fan. He can even work out where it’s been brewed by the taste, or so he says. To me it always tastes like it’s been brewed in a sock.”
Next to him, Decius laughed.
“Frankly, I don’t care,” added Galeo. “If it’s alcoholic, I’ll drink it.”
“Well said.”
The four Romans walked towards the beckoning leader of the oppidum.
The moon rose high over Bibrax, now partially denuded of trees, and over the plain below, littered with the refuse of an army long gone. Everything looked so peaceful, particularly through the thin veil of drunkenness. The other Roman officers had long since collapsed into a stupor and would regret their activity in the morning. Fronto had, for better or worse, a cast-iron stomach and the alcohol tolerance of a marble quarry, and was now nicely hazy after a solid six hours of celebrating. The only Roman who had stayed with him was Decius, something of a prodigious drinker himself, it appeared. The prefect yawned and dangled his bare feet off the wall’s edge.
“It might sound a bit weird, sir, but I think I might be a bit sorry to go back to the army.”
Fronto laughed drunkenly.
“For the sake of all that’s good, stop calling me sir. Even Galeo stopped eventually. We’re both officers and patricians. When there are no ‘miles’ around, I think you can safely use my name.”
A pause ensued.
“Anyway,” he said suddenly, startling his companion, “how come you ended up as a prefect of a minor auxiliary unit? Your family’s got to be better off than mine, and probably more popular, given that I’m as popular in political circles as a turd in a city bathhouse.”
Decius laughed.
“I have a nasty habit of speaking my mind. Get’s you in trouble, that kind of thing.”
Fronto’s turn to laugh.
“You have no idea…”
“Well the problem is that I served in the Seventh from the outset. It was good in the early days. But then early last year before all this started we got assigned Crassus as a legate. Now I know he’s one of the leading lights of Rome and all that, and I suppose I don’t really want to talk out of turn, but…”
“But the man is an arsehole of the highest order. Yes, I’ve noticed. But if you’re in the Seventh, why aren’t you out west with him getting massacred by angry Gauls?”
Decius chuckled.
“Well I inadvertently mentioned something about his ancestors having evolved from goats. He demanded I resign my commission in his legion and return to Rome. But legate Balbus was looking for men to take on his auxiliary units at the time. So I accepted a demotion. I left the Seventh and all my glory and honour to come live with a bunch of Greek hunters in the Eighth.”
Fronto frowned.
“That’s a hell of a pay cut.”
“As you mentioned, my family’s not poor. I just need to stay away from home at the moment. My wife’s just had her third baby and her mother’s living with us.”
Fronto laughed.
“Shouldn’t you be back bringing up your child, though?”
“I don’t think you heard me, Fronto. I’ve been in Gaul for a year and a half, and my wife’s having her third baby…”
“Oh.”
Fronto looked down at his feet.