“Perfectly.” I saluted, inwardly cursingbitterly, knowing that Marcus Primus would have no idea how abattle was going and would probably panic at the first drop ofblood spilled. That was something I would just have to deal withwhen it happened. Primus eased his mount away, returning toMasala’s side. Masala eyed me suspiciously, undoubtedly wonderingwhat I was up to. I believe that the conversation I had with Masalaearlier was working on his mind now, the Tribune realizing that hewas not the only man who could manipulate Marcus Primus. It waswith a certain grim satisfaction that I saw Masala whisper urgentlyto Primus. Now see how you like it, I thought. Turning my attentionback to the men, I saw that they were not quite through making thechanges I had directed, meaning there would be a further delaybefore the resumption of the march. Just like we did witheverything else, the rest stop period was precisely controlled,rarely deviating from the same amount of time. Depending on howlong the delay was going to be, it could alert the Thracians thatsomething was amiss, and put them on their guard. I desperatelywanted to avoid this from happening, since every moment that passedwith the bucina remaining silent increased the possibilityof detection.
“Hurry up, boy. The whole army’s waiting foryou,” I snapped at one hapless youngster that was weaving throughthe baggage train. Compounding our difficulties, the draft animalswere getting decidedly nervous, not being accustomed to the flurryof activity as men went streaming past them, either on their way tothe rear or front of the column. Finally, after what seemed liketwo full rest periods, I saw that all was ready, and I ordered thebucinator to sound the call to resume the march, immediatelyechoed by the shouts of the Centurions and the wagon drivers. Thecolumn lurched back into motion again, a multi-sectioned beastslowly but surely chewing up the ground. I pulled aside to lookback, watching the Thracian reaction. Despite having gotten totheir respective feet to resume their own pursuit, I could not seeanything that indicated suspicion. Of course, I did not knowexactly what I was looking for, counting instead on my many yearsof experience to warn me that something was amiss. Rejoining thecommand group, Scribonius pulled alongside me, saying nothing. Wepassed a couple of furlongs like this before I finally relentedwith a sigh.
“What is it?”
“I didn’t say anything,” his reply camequickly, too quickly.
“Yes, I know. And you’re not saying anythingvery loudly, so you might as well spit it out.”
When nothing was forthcoming, I turned tolook at him, seeing a strange expression on his face, one that Icould not recall ever seeing before. Finally, he said, “It’s justthat you’ve never not taken my advice before.”
“That’s not true,” I protested, yet secretlyI knew exactly what he meant. “I ignore your advice all thetime.”
My friend gave me a direct gaze, one that Iswore looked into my very heart.
“Not about things like this, and you knowit.”
“That is true,” I relented, but I did notknow what else to say. We both stared straight ahead for some time,lost in our own thoughts.
“I guess it’s just…strange, that’s all.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Iconfessed. “It feels strange to me too.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything.” I jerked my thumbback towards the men at the rear of the column. “They are.”
Scribonius gave a derisive snort.
“As if you would just sit here on Ocelus’back and watch,” he retorted, and I had to grin at that. He wasright; my side still hurt from the sentry’s sword slash, but I hadsuffered far worse wounds and continued fighting. Realizing that Iat least owed my friend an answer, I tried to put it intowords.
“I don’t know. It’s just a…feeling I havethat this is the right thing to do. I know that it doesn’t make anysense, and I wish I could explain it, but I can’t.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Scriboniussighed. “Because if you’re not, we will be in a world oftrouble.”
I had instructed Flaminius to wait for mysignal, along with the other men who would be involved. It wasgrowing close to the moment when I would have the cornicen,the horn that we use for relaying signals in the field, sound thecall to go from column to line, when poor young Scipio trotted up.Seeing him, I felt a pang of sympathy, because he had been largelyforgotten during the march to this point, being in charge of thebaggage train as he was. I knew that he would take little comfortin being told that this was actually a good sign. Not having toworry about the baggage train and whether or not the wagons werekept in good repair with the animals properly cared for was a hugerelief from the list of worries that preyed on my mind every day,but it’s not the sort of accolades a young nobleman hungering forglory wants to hear. That was why, as I watched him approach, Imade up my mind that I would try to accommodate whatever he wasabout to request, although I was fairly sure I knew what it wouldbe. Stopping before me, he rendered a salute, which I returned, andI could see the nervousness on his face in the form of sweatbeading on his upper lip when he spoke.
“Prefect, I would like to make a formalrequest, if I might. I know that I am the most junior Tribune,but…..”
Before he could continue, I waved him to astop.
“If you are going to ask to be part of thisattack, I am granting your request, Tribune.”
Clearly shocked by the easy victory, hismouth hung open for a moment before his face creased into a broadsmile.
“Don’t get so excited, young Scipio,” Icautioned him. “After you see this battle, you might wish I haddenied your request.”
The boy was much too excited to pay anyattention to the maundering of an old man, at least I
