Final Campaign

noneto be had, these men being cut down, without exception, even thosewho looked like they were nobly born and might fetch a ransom.

Much of the remainder of the second line,along with the Second and Seventh of the 8^th hadsurrounded the Thracian baggage train, such as it was, a motleycollection of wagons and carts, many of them having been dumped ontheir sides to serve as a breastworks for those Thracians who hadmanaged to make it to this temporary haven. In short, the situationwas a mess, and I realized that I had to get matters under controlquickly. Looking around across the broken, churned ground, Ispotted Caldus, who was busy looting some of the Thracian dead,along with a number of other orderlies and stray Legionaries,another common sight in the closing moments of a battle.

“There’s enough time for that later,” Isnapped to Caldus, ordering him to sound the recall for theLegionaries.

I suspected that the cavalry was now out ofearshot, and I would have to send a rider to fetch them once it wassafe. First, the last bunch of Thracian infantry, still inching itsway toward the stream, had to be dealt with. At that moment. theywere surrounded by a random collection of Legionaries and a fewcavalry, most of them appearing to be Evocati, those men who hadgotten too old to be racing after some enemy all over the place. Itwas enough of a force that the Thracians could not simply brushthem aside, yet not strong enough to eliminate them. With Caldussounding the call repeatedly, I found Flaminius, one arm bound upby either his neckerchief or someone else’s. He was standing nextto his aquilifer as his First Cohort made their way fromtheir part of the battlefield to form up under their eagle. Whilehis manner was correct, it was easy to see that he was still angrywith me. Leaning down so that only he could hear, I spoke softly tohim.

“We will talk more later, but I want you toknow that I made a mistake, and it cost some of your men theirlives, and for that I apologize.”

“Thank you, Prefect.” Flaminius’ tone wasformal, his lips a thin white line when he replied. “Do you stillwant the names of those Centurions who fucked things up?”

I felt a pulse of anger, but I swallowed it,and did not reply. Turning Ocelus away to avoid an outburst, Ipretended to watch the Legionaries continuing to gather. I had sentorders to the two groups of our men, one watching the baggage trainto prevent any Thracians from escaping, and the other surroundingthe last group of infantry from reaching the stream that they wereto ignore the recall and remain in place. Even so, the number ofmen missing from the ranks of the 13^th was a soberingsight, reinforcing why Flaminius was so angry. I had to keep inmind that Flaminius was a new Primus Pilus, and this was his firstfull-scale engagement, meaning it was the first time he had seenhis Legion bloodied, and it had been at my command. I rememberedhow enraged I had felt with the 10^th, seeing men I hadtrained with, most of whom had been part of the samedilectus as I, die in battle. The Cohorts of the13^th that had been part of the first line, the Tenth inparticular, had been hit the hardest, yet it was still too earlyfor a full butcher’s bill. There was no denying that this had beena costly victory. Further complicating my feelings, deep in myheart, I did not know even whether it had been truly necessary,making the losses we suffered felt even more keenly. Such were thenature of my thoughts, sitting on Ocelus and brooding, when I heardmy name called. Looking down, I was surprised to see a Legionarystanding there, and I had the distinct feeling that he had calledme more than once.

Returning the boy’s salute, I asked, “Whatdo you want?”

“With Pilus Prior Palma’s compliments, sir,but he says to tell you that those Thracians at the baggage trainwant to surrender.”

“Tell him we’re not taking prisoners,” Isaid sternly. Despite my words, and the tone, the Legionary did notmove, looking distinctly like he wished the Earth could swallow himup.

“The Pilus Prior knows that, sir, but hesuggests that the Prefect and Praetor might want to make anexception. One of those Thracians claims to be some sort of princeof the Medi tribe, whoever they are. Sir,” he remembered to add,but I was no longer paying attention to him.

I trotted Ocelus over to where the men ofthe 8^th had arranged themselves in a rough circle aroundthe wagons of the Thracian baggage train. Peering out at us frombetween and over those wagons that had been dumped on their sides,the Thracians seemed content to try waiting us out. Hanging outabove one wagon was a white rag attached to a spear shaft, thesignal that someone in that circle of wagons wanted to talk. Ifound Palma standing next to Caelius, the two of them talkingquietly as they waited for me. Saluting me, Palma spoke up,presumably because he had been the one approached.

“Prefect, we have a man in there who claimsthat he’s the crown prince of the Medi tribe, and he insists thathis father will pay whatever ransom we demand for his release.”

I rubbed my chin, thinking about it.Deciding that there was no harm in listening to what the man had tosay, I pushed Ocelus forward into the cleared space between ourline of Legionaries and the wagons. Keeping my hands visible, Icalled out in Greek.

“I am Camp Prefect Titus Pullus, and amcommander of the army in the field.” I hoped that my prevaricationwas enough to entice this crown prince to come and talk.

A man stepped out from behind one of thewagons, and I squinted at him, thinking that he looked somewhatfamiliar. He did not come out any farther than the outer edge ofthe wagons, and I was somewhat surprised to see that he was mucholder than I had assumed him to be, looking in his mid-thirties.Unlike many of the other Thracians, he was clean-shaven, and whilehis armor and undertunic was begrimed and spattered with blood, itsquality was