“He’s going to kill his horse doing that,”Scribonius commented once, after the Praetor passed by us for whatseemed like the hundredth time.
“Maybe if he does, it will fall on him andkill him,” I said, only half-joking.
“We can hope.”
About midday, Libo, ranging ahead with asquadron of his cavalry, sent a man back with word that they hadspotted a large force of Thracians, again blocking our path.
“So it starts,” Scribonius said grimly.
“I just hope these bastards are Triballi orSerdi and not even more Thracian tribes,” I said, because this wasmy real worry. So far, the three tribes trailing us had beencontent to just watch us, but I had to assume that they were incommunication with whoever was ahead of us. Libo had been unable todetermine the size of the Thracian army awaiting us, yet if it wasat least the size of the one following us, or worse, larger, wecould be in serious trouble. With this new development, Primus’nervousness increased, all of his martial ardor seeminglyevaporating like a drop of water on a hot oven. It was not longafter the report from Libo that Primus sidled up to me, waiting fora moment when Scribonius had pulled aside to answer a call ofnature.
“Prefect, what should we do?”
I tried to hide my astonishment, not onlythat Primus would debase himself to ask my opinion, but that heseemed to have no idea of his own. I took it as a sign of how badlyshaken he was by having Thracians to the front and rear. His suddenvulnerability and anxiety in turn shook me, causing me to blurtout, “Praetor, did you not know this would happen?”
I winced as the words came out of my mouth,but Primus was too distracted even to take offense, answering in avery small voice with only a single-word response, “No.”
Biting my lip, knowing that this was not atime to berate the man, I considered the question. Finally, all Icould think to say was, “Hope that they don’t join together beforewe face one or the other.”
“Are you suggesting that we attack themnow?” Primus gasped.
In fact, I wasn’t, at that point, so I saidas much.
“Then why did you bring it up?” he grumbled,forcing me to again control my emotions. “It would teach them alesson not to skulk about us like a pack of hyenas.”
Still, I had inadvertently planted a seed inhis mind, and truth be told, in mine as well. Seeing thatScribonius was returning, the Praetor quickly turned away, trottingback to Masala’s side, while Scribonius rejoined me. I told him ofthe exchange before broaching the idea that had come up.
“What if we go ahead and cut the proverbialGordian knot and attack these bastards now instead of waiting forthem to join with whoever’s waiting up ahead for us?”
If he was shocked, he did not show it,considering my question silently, instantly understanding I wasdeadly serious. Waiting has never been my strong point, somethingScribonius knew perhaps better than anyone. I had to keep thistrait in mind while I deliberated about this idea, yet the more Ithought about it, I began to think that it was perhaps the bestsolution for a bad situation.
“I think it’s a bad idea,” Scriboniusfinally said, his words acting like a bucket of cold water on afire.
“Why?”
“Because we’re not equipped to fight everyThracian in the country,” Scribonius said, and I detected a note ofimpatience in his voice. “You’re counting on being able to whipthem easily, and I don’t know if that’s possible. What if we takeheavy losses? You know that the wounded will slow us down more thanthe dead. What if we engage in a battle that lasts long enough forthis other force to come and hit us from the rear?”
That was absolutely true on all counts, noneof which I could argue with. Scribonius had given me very good andsound reasons why the idea was not a good one. And yet, sometimesboldness overpowers reason. This was perhaps one of the mostimportant lessons I had learned marching for Caesar. I could notcount the times we had been outnumbered, or in an otherwiseuntenable position, where common and tactical sense dictated thatthe best option was to go on the defensive, but instead we would beformed up in the acies triplex, carrying out an attackbefore those realities ever had a chance to sink in. This was in mymind at that moment, as I listened to Scribonius, knowing that forperhaps the only time, I was not going to take my best friend’sadvice.
“We’re going to attack those bastardsfollowing us,” I announced to the assembled command group when wetook our afternoon rest break. There was a split reaction among theother men; Capito, Silanus, and, somewhat to my surprise, Lucullus,looked apprehensive, which I put down to their nervousness aboutgoing into battle for the first time. However, I was most concernedabout the two Primi Pili, and I was heartened to see both of themsmiling broadly.
“It’s about time. I’m tired of looking overmy shoulder,” was Flaminius’ comment. While Macrinus clearly feltthe same way, he had a more practical concern.
“How are we going to do it?” he asked. “We’dhave to get past the baggage train, which will take so much timethat we will lose the element of surprise.”
Macrinus was right, and it was something Iworried about. I turned to Flaminius, asking him bluntly, “Can yourboys take those bastards by themselves?”
I knew I was putting him on the spot infront of the others, and I was taking a huge risk, since Flaminiuswas still relatively new as Primus Pilus, especially when it cameto fighting his whole Legion. But I needed to know his honestopinion about the fighting abilities of his Legion and whether ornot they could tackle the Thracians unaided, pinning my hopes tothe belief that he would tell me what he thought, not what hethought I wanted to hear or felt pressured to say in front of theothers. His face reflected his
