“Quiet,” I heard someone hiss, although Idid not know who it was.
“It’s too late for that,” I said bitterly.Sure now that the sentry was dead, I straightened to look back atthe camp. My heart had been steadily hammering against my ribs; nowit picked up even faster once I saw men swarming out of theirtents, some of them peering out into the darkness. Fortunately,they weren’t organized, but I knew there was absolutely no timeleft to dawdle.
“Keep going,” I called to Columella and therest, who began to move, still carrying the other Thracian betweenthem. I turned to shuffle back in the direction I thought I haddropped my prisoner, until my foot hit something solid. Bendingdown, I gasped from the stab of pain in my side. I felt around,finding the man’s arms, then began to lift him over my shoulderagain when he gave a violent jerk, slipping from my grasp to fallon the ground with a gasp of pain. He had come back to at leastsemi-consciousness, and was struggling with his bonds, straining atthem to try to free himself.
“Pluto’s cock,” I muttered, wondering ifanything else could go wrong. I briefly considered leaving himbehind, counting on the man we had snatched, and Scribonius to havedone his job. However, since I did not know for sure, I decidedthat it would be better to take him along. Truthfully, my pride wasmaking this decision, since I was not willing to go back to campempty handed. In the light of day, it does not make much sense; wedid grab one prisoner like we had set out to do, yet that night, itseemed the natural choice. Not wanting to hit the man on the headagain and kill him, I took a chance that he spoke Greek.
“I swear by all the gods if you struggle, Iwill cut your balls off,” I told him, being rewarded by the mangoing instantly limp. Risking another glance behind me, I wasdismayed to see that small groups of men, most of them withtorches, were now moving in a somewhat organized line away from thecamp, calling out what I took to be a name. There was not a momentto lose; again, I stooped, gritting my teeth as I heaved the manover my shoulder, thankful that he remained still. If I had takenthe time to think about it, I probably would have been amused atthe thought that there is one threat that a man can make againstanother that transcends all nationalities or races, but I was justglad that it worked. Without another glance back, I started movingas quickly as I dared over the broken ground, trying to put as muchdistance between me and the Thracians that I could.
Scribonius and his team were waiting by thePorta Sinister like we had agreed, with two prisoners neatlytrussed up and gagged. One of them was still unconscious, the otherwas very much awake, glaring over his gag while fighting with hisbonds. I had caught up with Columella, and once we were clearly outof danger, we stopped to discover that the man they were carryingwas actually dead.
“I must have hit him harder than I thought,”Columella said with some surprise, which I shared. I had been surethat it was my man who was the most likely to expire. The flush ofyouthful energy I had felt the moment I stepped on the sleepingsentry had long since dissipated. Between the natural letdown thatcomes after a violent action and my wound, which had at leaststopped bleeding, I was almost out of my mind with exhaustion.Scribonius, seeing the darkened, matted tunic clinging to my side,gave a soft curse, coming closer to examine the wound.
“It’s not that bad,” I told him, but he wasnot impressed.
“We’ll let the doctor determine that.”
“We need to take the prisoners to thePraetorium first,” I insisted.
“I can do that. You need to get lookedat.”
I shook my head.
“No, it has to be me. Remember, our Legatecommanded that we produce ten prisoners. We’re only bringing four,but I’m hoping that the fact that it was me and not some poorbastards in the ranks will keep him from having a tempertantrum.”
Scribonius did not try to hide hisconcern.
“That’s a pretty thin hope,” he saidbleakly. “Besides, we only have three live prisoners.”
“I’m still bringing all four,” I saidgrimly, then pointed to my side. “And I’m hoping that the sight ofblood makes him squeamish.”
My friend opened his mouth to argue, butlooked at my face and saw I was set on this. He gave an abrupt nodinstead.
“I’ll go get the doctor and bring him toyour tent,” he told me, calling to some of the men of the guardCohort, ordering them to escort the prisoners to thePraetorium.
“We can do that,” Columella objected, butagain, I refused.
“No, you and the others go get cleaned up.If this goes badly, I don’t plan on telling the Legate that youwere involved.”
Seeing the sense in what I was saying,Columella and the others agreed, yet they were not happy about it.I understood how they felt; they had undertaken a dangerous job andshould have been recognized for it. However, until I got an ideahow Primus was going to react, I was not willing to risk gettingthem in trouble. I walked on wobbly legs to
