Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 19
At first, I was sure I did not hear him correctly, my mind reeling as I tried to think this matter through. Oh, Scribonius, where are you when I need you? Finally, I voiced the first thing that came to my mind.
“You seem awfully sure that your father would die from the shock of hearing of your execution. What if he didn’t? What then?”
“You let me worry about that.”
It was then I understood why he had been so furtive and worried about being overheard by his comrades back at the wagons.
“I assure you, the announcement of my execution will be the end of my father as well. Then, after he is dead, and it was discovered a horrible mistake was made, my people will rejoice to learn that their rightful king is in fact alive. They would be so thankful that they will do whatever I bid them to do.”
I stared at Cleitos long and hard, a gaze he returned without wavering. I was swimming in dangerous waters from this moment forward, with as much to worry about from Marcus Primus as from this slippery Thracian. I fully recognized that we were being presented a golden opportunity to bolster our forces, and at the same time reducing the confederation of tribes facing us by one. It was just as likely I that was being played falsely, however, and a thought occurred to me.
“You say that you would join us?”
Cleitos nodded, saying nothing.
“With what army? We just crushed you and your men, along with the Bessi and Satrai. You don’t have an army left to help us.”
“These men were barely a tenth of our total strength,” Cleitos scoffed. “This was just a warband that happened to join up with the other two tribes who were already heading your way. Ours was an alliance of convenience.”
He gave me what I am sure he thought was a winning and convincing smile, yet there was something nagging at me that did not seem right about his story. I looked back over my shoulder, and I was dismayed to see the tiny figures of Marcus Primus and Masala, picking their way down the slope in our general direction. They would be here before long, and there was no telling what would happen then. For some reason I could not articulate, it was important to me that Cleitos and Primus not meet face to face, at least not yet. Trying to think what to do, another piece of the puzzle fell into place, and I turned back to Cleitos.
“Your father did not know about this foray against us,” I said in sudden recognition. I had spoken so quickly that Cleitos did not know what was coming, his look of guilt confirming this.
“My father is old and weak in many ways,” Cleitos said stiffly. “I love him, but he is no longer fit to lead.”
“So you want our help to depose him.”
Anger flashed in the Thracian’s eyes, every word he spoke in reply sounding like he was biting through nails.
“What I do is my business. You need to decide if Rome should profit, both in money and friendship. You are in unfriendly territory, Prefect,” he pointed out. “You need all the help you can get. There’s no harm if both sides profit in this arrangement. In fact, it guarantees my cooperation, doesn’t it? If I side with you, the Medi will be hated by the other tribes in the region.”
“Why?” I countered, knowing he would dismiss my words even as I spoke them. “We’re simply passing through…”
“Yes, yes. We heard. You are on your way to Dacia. We both know this is not true.”
Cleitos looked over my shoulder suddenly, squinting his eyes and gazing into the distance. Despite myself, I turned to look as well, seeing that Primus and Masala, while still a good way off, were definitely headed in this direction. I turned back to see Cleitos regarding me with narrowed eyes.
“I believe I am not the only one with something to hide, Prefect.”
He nodded in the direction of the Praetor.
“I assume you want to come to at least a tentative arrangement before whoever that is arrives. Am I correct?”
Now he had me on the defensive, and I answered with just a nod.
“Good,” he said briskly. “Then let’s make a decision, shall we?”
“Don’t you even want to know why we’re here?”
“I assume it has something to do with the Triballi?” he asked innocently. “For their regrettable attack on you a few years ago?”
I knew my face gave away too much and I cursed myself.
“That was a long time ago,” I said evasively.
“And Rome never forgets,” he shot back. “That is something the whole world knows. So that is why you are here, is it not?”
I thought briefly about telling Cleitos that while that had been the stated goal, matters had changed, meaning that now we were headed for the Serdi, but I decided that this was a piece of information he did not need to know right then. Better to get him to agree to help us, then at the last possible moment, let him know. I knew this was a huge gamble, but I was getting the feeling that Cleitos would not quibble about such things like which tribe we were going after, if it meant he ended up sitting on the throne of the Medi.
“Yes,” I said finally. “That is why we are here. Does that change anything from your viewpoint?”
“Why would it?” He shrugged. “No other tribe can defeat us in battle. And fighting alongside you and your Legions, we would be invincible together.”
I thought for a moment, but I could almost feel the presence of Marcus Primus coming up behind us.
“Very well,” I said finally. “You have an agreement in principle. We will arrange to have the word passed that you were executed, and you will remain out of sight for as long as it takes for your father to succumb to the news…one way or the other,” I added. “Once he does, you will arise from the dead, as it were, and become king of the Medi, whereby you will announce your alliance with Rome against our other Thracian enemies.”
“The Triballi,” he put in. I did not comment, knowing he would take my silence as agreement, whereas I would be able to point out later that I had not specifically agreed. I thought of something else.
“Of course, we will require hostages as surety of your conduct.”
“Naturally,” he replied.
“The oldest sons of the twenty leading families of your tribe, along with a deposit of three talents of silver, one of which will be returned when we leave Thracian territory at the end of this campaign.”
“Three?” he squawked. “And you keep two? That’s outrageous!”
“Cleitos,” I replied coldly. “As I recall, you began this conversation with the promise of a great sum of money. Maintaining an army of Rome is an expensive proposition. If you are going to profit from our presence, and achieve your kingship by virtue of your agreement with us, then so should we.”
Now, he could have argued that we would be profiting by the use of his Medi warriors in helping to subdue Serdica, but Cleitos was clearly a man with an eye toward the larger prize, so he simply swallowed and nodded. With that done, I moved Ocelus close to him, then without dismounting, I reached down, offering my hand.
“We have a deal?” I asked.
He did not hesitate, grabbing my forearm in the Roman manner.
“Yes, we do.”
“Good. Now, let me go take care of my end. You return to the wagons, make yourselves comfortable, and wait. This could take a while.”
Even in the short ride to the wagons, Marcus Primus had grown weary of the saddle, and had instead chosen to find a spot at the edge of the forest to sit in the shade, having his slaves fetch him his curule chair and an awning. He ordered them to set it up sufficiently far away so that he would not have to be inconvenienced by the moans of the wounded or the sight of our men walking the field, dispatching wounded Thracians and looting the corpses. As I approached, I had to stifle a sigh, realizing that I would need to send a Century a short distance into the woods to ensure the safety of our Praetor, since he had chosen to shade in a spot not far from where dozens, if not hundreds of Thracians had fled. Although it would have made my life easier if one of them had dispatched the little turd. Still, I waited until the Century marched past to fan out into the woods before joining the Praetor and his ever-present shadow.
“Well?” Primus demanded, quaffing a cup of wine from one his more elaborate goblets.
“What’s the report or whatever it is you call it?”
“The report is that we have cleared the field, and crushed the enemy.”
I pointed where the small knot of Thracians was even now being assaulted by two Cohorts of Legionaries, content to stand at a distance to assail the unfortunate enemy with a hail of javelins, softening them up before going to the sword.
“We’re in the process of mopping up, and the cavalry is running down the last of the survivors and should be reporting shortly.”
I braced myself to give the loss report, now that I had at least a partial butcher’s bill for the Legions, but Primus displayed a complete lack of interest in this aspect.
“Well, I suppose that this is a great victory, then?”
It was a half-statement, half-question, and I caught his sidelong glance up at me, so I nodded wearily.
“Yes, Praetor, it is a complete and total victory.”
The Praetor instantly transformed, clapping his hands together in delight.
“That means a triumph!” he said excitedly to Masala, who smiled at his patron indulgently.
“Masala, you must begin planning immediately!”
Turning back to me, he waved a pudgy hand in the direction of the men.
“Shouldn’t they be declaring me imperator?”
Masala’s face took on a look of alarm, and I was just as surprised as he was. Instantly, Masala leaned over to whisper something in Primus’ ear, and I watched the Praetor’s face change.
“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “I forgot about that. I just got excited, that’s all.”
Feeling a little mischievous, I asked Primus innocently, “This is a great victory, Praetor. Would you like for me to arrange for the men to declare you imperator?”
Without waiting for an answer, I began to turn Ocelus like I was headed back to the men.
“No!” Primus screeched, and I was glad my back was turned so he could not see me smile. He had jumped to his feet, the same look of panic on his face that I had seen during the battle as he waved me back.
“No, Prefect. That won’t be necessary,” he tried to regain his composure, slumping back into his chair when I relented and turned back around. Deciding that this was as good a time as any, thinking that if he were rattled it might be easier to slip this by him, I told him of the conversation and offer made by Cleitos, along with my counterproposal, which the prince had accepted. Primus sat listening, his lips pursing outward, an expression that I recognized as his pouting.
“By whose authority did you make this agreement?” he demanded when I had finished.
“I have not made any agreement, Praetor. That is for you and you alone.”
“Exactly, because of my Proconsular imperium,” he reminded me, though I almost mouthed the words for him, knowing that they were coming. He said nothing for a moment, surprising me a bit, since I had expected some sort of fit of temper or at the least a showing of disdain for the very idea.
“So we would gain two talents of silver, and an alliance with the Medi, who would join us against the Serdi, or Triballi, or whoever we run into, just by letting this Cleitus fellow live,” he mused.
“Cleitos,” I corrected him. “And yes, essentially, that is correct.”
I was a bit bothered by his offhand comment about fighting whoever we ran into, because that decidedly was not part of what had been the plan, despite it having been so distorted by this point it was hard to remember what it had been.
“But if we kill him, and he is right and his father dies, then there will be great turmoil in not only his tribe, but undoubtedly the Medi’s neighbors,” he went on. While I did not like where this was going, I had to admit grudgingly that his reasoning was sound. It also showed a cunning turn of mind, but he was not through.
“By killing him, we would at the very least throw the succession in doubt, if his father should survive.”
“He guaranteed that won’t happen,” I interrupted, and he flashed me an irritated look as he continued.
“Regardless, all that uncertainty is bound to get the tribes with land surrounding them involved, and would undoubtedly draw them away from pursuing us to go after the scraps from the Medi table.”
He looked up at me, clearly pleased with himself.
“In other words, if I make this agreement, I remove one tribe from the list of those who are marching against us. But if I kill him, I will remove more than one. So I think it’s clear what the right decision is.”
He sat back, looking at me with a triumphant grin, clearly expecting some sort of reaction from me. Primus did get a reaction, except I am fairly sure it was not the one he wanted.
“You mentioned that if you killed him, these things would happen,” I said with a straight face. “Does that mean that you’ll march across this field and plunge your sword into his guts yourself, Praetor?”
Because he was safely behind Primus, I saw the glimmer of a grin cross Masala’s face, but his patron had a decidedly different reaction.
“Don’t be absurd,” the Praetor snapped. “I was speaking figuratively. I will leave it to you the best way to dispatch the man, and the rest of those…” He fumbled for the right word, finally just giving a dismissive wave of his ringed hand, giving the order to kill several dozen men no more thought than if he was deciding whether to sit or stand.
“What about the three talents?” Masala suddenly put in. Primus turned to look at his aide in some surprise.
“I had forgotten you were there,” he exclaimed. “Yes, the money. That is a good point…” he seemed to think about it, but I do not believe he was seriously considering it, and that his mind was made up. After a moment, he gave another little wave.
“While it would certainly be nice to have that money, and it’s something to consider, we will undoubtedly take much more than that when we plunder Serdica. So my decision stands.”
I did not know how he could be so sure that would be the case; I had taken more than my share of towns that had supposedly been stuffed full of all types of plunder, only to find it containing barely a copper bracelet and a brass obol. And while I could see Primus’ reasoning about killing Cleitos, I thought he was making a huge leap of logic to think that the Thracians would fall onto the Medi like a pack of wolves. However, Primus was not going to be moved on this matter, and he glared at me as I stood there, not moving.
“I believe you have your orders, Prefect. I expect them to be carried out.”
The salute I gave was grudgingly given, yet it was rendered nonetheless, then I spun about, trying to think what to do. Before I had taken a few steps, as if reading my thoughts, Primus called out, but to Masala.
“Masala, I want you to accompany the Prefect to make sure that everything goes as I expect it to.”
I gave an angry look over my shoulder at the Praetor, who was regarding me with a smug smile. Masala, his face a mask giving nothing away, hurried to catch up with me, since I had hopped back on Ocelus and immediately put him into a trot. Masala pulled alongside me on his horse, a quick-stepping chestnut much smaller than Ocelus, meaning between that and my height, I towered over Primus’ protégé. From my vantage point, I looked down on his face, and while he was still expressionless, I had the distinct feeling that something was on the tip of his tongue. I was in no mood to talk, girding myself to either carry out the order, or to figure out a way to avoid doing so. We had gone a short distance when Masala suddenly jerked on the reins of his horse, slowing him to a walk.
“We can’t do this,” he said flatly. “And we’re not going to.”
“I’m listening,” was my only response, slowing down to match Masala’s pace.
“You know as well as I do that we should accept this agreement,” Masala said, keeping his eyes straight ahead, and I realized he knew that Primus was still watching us, so I did the same.
“Be that as it may, I have my orders.”
“Stupid orders, and ones that will end up doing Primus more harm than good, but he’s too thick to know it.” There was no missing the bitterness in Masala’s voice, and I wondered what had happened between the two to sour the younger man on the Praetor.
“So what are you suggesting?”
I was being extremely careful not to do anything more than ask questions, recognizing that it was entirely possible Primus had instructed Masala to try to entrap me in some way, although I had been standing right there.
“Let me think for a moment,” Masala replied and we rode a little farther along.
It was about then that another event took place, with the return of the rest of the cavalry from their pursuit of the Thracians. Most of the horses were being ridden, yet there were a few with what looked like shapeless lumps slung over the saddle being led by other men. This meant we had taken casualties, not that unusual, and there were not very many. It took my eyes a moment to find Scribonius, and I felt a surge of relief at the sight of him sitting straight and tall in the saddle. Then my gaze naturally looked past him, realizing that he was one of the men leading a horse. Once they were close enough, I scanned the faces of the Tribunes, seeing Libo, Lucullus, and finally, Silanus. Capito had remained with his auxiliaries, leaving one unaccounted for.
“Oh no,” I said softly, trotting over to meet Scribonius.
His face was gray from exhaustion, and there were lines of deep sorrow etched in his face.
“Titus, I’m so sorry. I failed you.”
I stared at the body slung over the saddle, the face turned away from me, but I could plainly see that it was the young Tribune, and I also saw the blood soaking the side of his tunic where his cuirass did not cover it.
