“Pluto’s cock,” I swore, although onlyOcelus heard me. “Those fucking Thracians are following ourboys.”
Putting my horse into a trot, I hurried downthe slope, reaching Scribonius and the Evocati.
Seeing my expression, Scribonius asked,“What is it?”
I pointed back in the direction from wherethey had come, telling him what I had just seen. Without a wordfrom me, Scribonius snapped an order to the Evocati, who wheeledabout, and we all headed at the trot for the Cohorts andauxiliaries. They had obviously spotted the Thracians on theirtrail as well, now moving at a much quicker pace than before, theauxiliaries spreading out behind the Legionaries, their slings out,ready to employ. Drawing nearer, we could see that it was the mainbody of the Thracians, marching in the mob-like way of thebarbarian tribes, following the Cohorts, but maintaining a safedistance from the auxiliaries. They made no overtly offensivemoves, not even shouting or shaking their spears and swords at us,the normal sign that they intended to do battle, and that relievedme. Passing Palma’s Cohort first, I spotted Gaius running alongsidehis men, giving me a quick nod as they went by. We reached Capito,mounted and behind the auxiliaries, his eyes on the Thracians nowjust out of the range of our slingers. Meanwhile, his men continuedtaking a few steps, then turned about to face the Thracians to seeif they were making any overt move, repeating the process. It wasslow going, except the Cohorts were drawing away too quickly, and Iquickly recognized that this might tempt the Thracians into makinga rush for the auxiliaries. I had Scribonius go back at the gallopto order the Cohorts to stop and wait, which they did. Once the gapwas smaller, the retreat resumed, the camp drawing ever closer,albeit too slowly for the men, I was sure. Reaching the base of theslope, I again sent Scribonius ahead to alert the Cohorts on guardduty on this side of the camp to man the ramparts to provide cover,but it was needless, because the Thracians had drawn up, seeminglycontent to watch us reach the safety of the camp. We made it safelyinto the gate via the Porta Decumana, the men panting from theexertion and excitement, and I dismounted Ocelus to climb up to therampart to watch the Thracians. They had retreated a good distanceaway, giving every indication that they were settling down for thenight themselves. While I watched, a haphazard collection of tentsand other crude shelters were thrown up, men claiming patches ofground, yet without any discernible organization. This was a sightvery familiar to me, but the young Legionary next to me gaped inamazement at the sight.
“How do they ever get anything done?” hemused, and I had to chuckle.
It was indeed an extremely strange conceptto the highly ordered Roman mind, the way barbarian tribes seemedto operate where all men were more or less equal, at least amongthe lower classes. There was no hierarchy, no organization; traitsthat we Romans simply could not understand.
“Don’t underestimate them just because theydon’t know how to make a camp,” I warned the youngster. “They’restill dangerous. Remember that Spartacus was a Thracian.”
I instantly regretted my last words, a lookof fear flashing across the boy’s face. I had to kick myself,remembering that a whole generation of Romans had been kept in lineby their mothers by the use of the name of the gladiator slave wholed a revolt that shook Rome itself.
“Remember, they never found his body,”mothers would tell their recalcitrant children. “So he still may beout there, looking for more Romans to kill.”
I put a hand on the youngster’sshoulder.
“But I can tell that a man like you doesn’tneed to worry about Thracians, or anyone, for that matter.”
Not wanting to appear fearful, he turned togive me a brave smile. With a final reassuring pat, I left therampart, satisfied that the Thracians would not be trying anything.I knew that my presence made the men nervous, so I did not want totarry longer than I had to. Heading toward the Praetorium, Iconsidered that in one sense the Thracians had made the second partof our task easier by making camp nearby. We were going to have tocapture at least one of their sentries, preferably two or three, tofind out if we had stirred up a real hornet’s nest.
At the Praetorium, Marcus Primus wasinvolved in a clearly intense conversation with Masala when Ientered, stopping immediately when he spotted me. Walking up to thepair, I saluted Primus.
Speaking in a voice loud enough for theclerks, and probably anyone in the immediate area to hear, I askedthe Praetor, “Should we go ahead with the second part of your plan,sir?”
Primus gave me a blank stare, then Masalaleaned over, whispered in his ear, and his face cleared.
“Oh, right. Yes, Prefect. I want you to senda detail of men to capture some Thracians to determine what tribeit is that we're dealing with.”
He paused, making me think he was through. Isaluted, then turned to leave, but he was not done yet.
“Ten men should do, I believe.”
That was actually the number I had in mind,and I was secretly impressed that he had come up with the rightanswer. Suddenly, I was struck by a sudden thought. I stopped,looking back at him.
“Ten men for the detail, is that right?”
Primus shook his head, saying impatiently,“No, ten prisoners. To be safe. I want ten prisoners. No less, doyou understand, Prefect?”
He had raised his voice to ensure thateveryone could hear, his tone severe, the Praetor giving a commandto a subordinate. I bit back a groan, aimed more at myself than atPrimus for not just keeping my mouth shut. I thought
