“Fetch these men to come to the tentimmediately.”
“You want us to do what?”
I could not blame Scribonius, or any of theothers for their incredulity, but it was set in my mind and was notgoing to change.
“I want you and the others to come with meto snatch at least two Thracians and bring them back to camp.”
Scribonius turned to the man next to him, alean Umbrian named Lucius Munatius, who, like me, was missing afinger, this one on his sword hand, but it did not stop him fromhandling it very well.
“I think he’s lost his mind.”
Munatius gave a short laugh, yet I could seehe shared Scribonius’ doubt.
“I may have, but I think we're the bestchoice to do what needs to be done tonight.”
“Snatching prisoners is a young man’s game,Titus. It always has been,” Scribonius argued.
“That’s true, but not in this case,” Ireplied. Going on, I countered, “Primus is expecting whoever goesout to bring ten prisoners back.”
This number drew a round of laughter, but itwas no joking matter, as I went on to describe.
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but Primusmade it very clear that he is expecting ten prisoners. Whoever wesend out had better come back with ten prisoners, or else they'reliable to be punished.”
That stopped the laughter immediately, as Iexpected it would.
“So you expect us to be the ones to be histarget?”
This came from Spurius Columella, a recentaddition to the Evocati, but a man I knew from his time in the 6thFerrata, where he had been an Optio in one of the two Cohorts thathad sided with Caesar after Pharsalus, having served under me inAlexandria.
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I'd muchrather it be us than some poor youngsters in the ranks. LikeScribonius said, this is normally a young man’s game, but when wehave a Legate with unrealistic expectations, and who’s itching tomake an example out of someone, I think our experience and, moreimportantly, our respective ranks will protect us.”
“So you hope,” Columella replied, and Icould not deny that what I had said was not a certainty.
“I’m risking as much or more as the rest ofyou,” I pointed out. “I’ve already crossed swords with Primus, andhe’s half-convinced that I plan on usurping his authority andleading a mutiny against him.”
Scribonius spoke next. “You’re risking morethan we are because you’re a big clumsy bastard. You’re just aslikely to hurt yourself tripping over your own feet than from aThracian.”
My friend’s barbed jest dispelled thetension that had been growing in the tent, the others laughing,which I was sure had been his intent.
Once things quieted down, I simply said,“This is strictly voluntary. Anyone who'd rather miss out on theexcitement should speak up now. I won’t hold it against anyone whodecides not to come.”
Somewhat to my surprise, two hands went up,but I was relieved to see that neither of them was Scribonius’.
One of them said apologetically, “I’m tooold and too out of shape to do something like that, Pullus. I'djust slow you all down, or worse.”
Nodding to him and the other man as a signthat I had seen them, I made a quick decision.
“All right, we'll go with eight men insteadof ten. That will actually be easier. Two teams of four men. I leadone, and Scribonius the other.”
“Of course,” he said sarcastically. “Itwould be nice to be asked.”
I grinned at him.
“That’s payback for the crack about me beingclumsy.”
Turning serious, I divided the men betweenthe two of us. Columella was going with me, while Munatius wasgoing with Scribonius. It was at times like these I wished Balbuswas still alive, because he moved like a cat in the dark, or evenour old comrade Vellusius, who had been with us the night wesnatched Iras, but he had finally slowed down to the point thateven he could recognize that it was time to retire, leaving hispost as my bodyguard the year before. However, such longing was awaste of time.
“Red tunics, belts with daggers, and onefrom each team will wear their sword, but strapped across theback,” I instructed.
“I wonder who’s going to be carrying thesword in our group,” was Columella’s comment.
“Rank does have some privileges,” I toldhim, releasing the men to go prepare, with instructions to meetnext to the Porta Principalis Sinister, the gate on the side of thecamp that was screened from view of the Thracian camp by the bulkof the camp itself.
Oiling my arms and face to enable thecharcoal to stick, I blackened every inch of exposed skin untilDiocles told me that only the whites of my eyes and teeth showed.Satisfied, I put on my belt and dagger, strapping my sword to myback so the handle stuck up just above my left shoulder. I had wornmy sword in this manner before, but it had been many years, and Ifound, to my surprise, that when I reached around to grab it thatit took me two tries before I could reach back that far.
“You're too old for this kind of thing,”Diocles chided me as he watched me struggle. For once, I did notargue or threaten him.
“You’re probably right, but I don’t want tosee some youngster get flogged because Primus is
