Iron Shaft: Sextus

By John Hulme

Before he can become the Greatest Roman of them All, Julius Caesar must fulfill the Druid prophecy and place his foot onto the lands of two more enemies; the Germans and the Britons. In Gaul the legions are gathering and Iron Shaft rejoins the Legio X only to find that he is already in trouble with the General. He is first given the task of sorting out the cavalry, a strange task for someone that horses hate, but in doing so he finds and rescues a new friend. After seducing the exotic daughter of a vicious enemy, a mysterious murder of an important Roman tribune and a brief invasion of Germany, Iron Shaft and his new friend are sent to Britain to prepare the way for a visit by Caesar. Once again sex, politics, Druids, horse races and even frogs complicate the life of Iron Shaft during Caesar’s “friendly visit” to the King of the Cantiaci across the Narrow Sea. Storms wreck the Roman ships, stranding them in a land growing more and more hostile to their presence, and the schemes of the black Druids threaten the life of the King and the safety of Caesar. What is Iron Shaft going to do? He uses a technique for which is is admirably equipped. He is not called Iron Shaft for nothing!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Hulme
• Release date: Jul 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311876171

John Hulme

John Hulme is a retired Professor, now living and writing in Florida. He was educated in England - a long time ago - and arrived on the shores of New York carrying a single suitcase and lots of ideas. He has written several hardcover science books and was an early user of the fledgling internet as a teaching tool. Before retirement he wrote a set of fictional science stories about Gregor Mendel - the person who discovered genetics, which he is now converting into ebooks. Since retirement he has started on a long-cherished writing project of historical fiction - which you may be seeing soon.

Book preview

Iron Shaft : Sextus

Being the Sixth Letter of a Roman soldier, Metilius Crispus Hispanus (also known as Iron Shaft) to his patron L. Cornelius Pusio written in the time of Julius Caesar.

Translated, edited and told to you

by

John Hulme

historian and scholar.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 John Hulme

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews..

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Map

About the Author

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Chapter One

Metilus Cripus Hispanus to his L. Cornelius Pusio, honored son of Lucius, greetings.

I pray that you and your gracious mother are enjoying the best of fortune, that Apollo and Jupiter favor you, and your lares bestow on you both the pinnacle of good health.

I ask that you accept my gratitude for the generous supply of tokens you sent to me. My place on the lesser seats of the Aedile games this season is now assured. I will be certain to use them and shout the name of your family during the second Equirria festival.

Despite my advanced age I still exercise daily at the ludus of Cerilis [gladiator training school - ed.] where I enjoy some celebrity and often soundly beat the strutting young wet-noses who think they can easily humble a poor old man. They are taught a valuable lesson at the end of a wooden practice sword.

You are right to appear daily at the baths in Rome. Be sure to take a quantity of second quality oil for the cleansing of your skin and two ligula [spoonfuls - ed.] of highest quality oil for the massaging of your body. In all my years, this formula has never failed me, and my body is still much admired by the women of my insula despite my scars and infirmities. They delight in my many attributes and often try to stiffen me for their pleasure.

Many have been the times that my naked body has transported me to the mound of Venus, but only once has it saved the life of a barbarian King. This took place on …

But, once again my reed [pen - ed.] has run ahead of my tale. You asked not for an account of my multiple triumphs on the furs, but about the bronze barbarian amulet you found among your father’s possessions. I know it well, but I am surprised your father had not thrown it into the Tiber River long ago. Perhaps it reminded him of the Tencteri prince who gave it to him as a reward for saving his life that day in Belgic-Gaul, so long ago, just before the mighty Caesar suffered two of his greatest achievements, and one of his most humiliating defeats.

I was there. I saw it all.

It was in the spring of the year that Pompey and Crassus finally became Consuls [55BC - ed.] that I returned to the Legio X as promised by Caesar. In the previous year of campaigning I had been of some service to the Hairy One [see Quintus - ed.] and helped him build and capture the ships he would need for his upcoming invasion of the island of Britannia. He had rewarded my assistance by a generous donative and confirmed my promotion to the rank of centurion. I was also ordered back to my old Legion - the Legio X - in preparation for the new season.

All his legions were slowly gathering in the lands between the Loxovii in the west and the restless Menapii in the east [roughly northern France and Belgium - ed.]. I had left the Legio XII as the weather warmed, and hurried across a slowly thawing landscape to the camp of the Legio X, which was located in a good position about a day’s march south of the elbow of the Mosu River [Meuse River - ed.], in the lands of the Caemani, a weak Belgic tribe of no consequence.

Most of the army Caesar would need for the summer’s campaigns had moved north before the previous winter, but the Legio XIII was still camped beside the Liger River [Loire - ed.], guarding the fleet of ships we had built and collected during the previous year [see Quintus - ed.]. As soon as the winter storms ended they would board those ships and sail around the western shores of Amorica, past the dangers of the Veneti and Venelli fleets, and join us on the shores of the Morini [near Calais - ed.].

All we needed now was Gaius Julius Caesar.

While we waited I greeted all my old comrades in the Legio X - the legion that I had joined when it was first formed in Hispania [see Secundus - ed.]. It was good to be back among the men I had fought beside in so many battles and with whom I had shared so many dangers.

As I rode into camp that day I admit I was nervous. Of my contubernali antiquo [old tent mates - ed.] only four were left, the others of the eight having been killed in the battle with the Nervii. There had been many losses that disastrous day and our tent, our century, our cohort and our legion were well below nominal strength.

Would my old comrades welcome me? I had been gone from their fires for a whole season.

As a reward for my services during the year that we collected slaves from the Belgic tribes [56 BC - ed.], Caesar had made me a centurion in the ranks of the dubious Legio XII. It had been a hard transition, but I had served him well in the next campaigning season on the banks of the Liger River. There I had devised ways of capturing Gaulish ships and helped the Praefectus Classis build the invasion fleet Caesar needed. I also had a role in saving this fleet from the attacking ships of the treacherous Veneti, [see Quintus - ed.]. But now I was back among my first legion, the Bull-X, and rejoining my original and familiar contubernium. Would they greet me as an old companion, or would they treat me as a superior officer, and crash their fists against their chests while keeping their eyes focused above my head?

I need not have worried. As I stood before my old tent, giant Paullus kicked me to the dirt, Nerva, who had given me the second of my garmen decii [grass honors - see Secundus - ed.] butted me with his head, Brocchus pissed on my feet and Calvus, the new optio of the century, gave me one of his famous scowls and made me pay for the first-press wine of second quality that we shared with our evening meal. I could not have wished for a warmer welcome. I was truly home. Great was my relief - at least for now.

That night as we ate our puls, drank our wine and threw the tali [dice - ed.], I told them of my time in the Legio XII. My natural modesty prevented me from telling them how I had saved the life of Praefectus Classis Deciumus Junius Brutus Albinus - possibly a son of Caesar - and then devised ways of capturing the transport ships demanded by the Hairy One. But, from the way they took my coins and threw dirt in my bowl of puls, I could see that they were impressed.

Less impressed was the centurion of my old century, the I-III.

Known as Crabclaw, Decius Tanicius Protus and been promoted to this rank after the loss of Scarface, our original centurion who had died at my feet during our fight with the Nervii.

What are you doing here? he demanded, breaking into our meal.

Just following the orders of Caesar, I told him, getting to my feet. I am rejoining the legion. I was careful to show him the respect of his rank as I was not yet sure of my own. No one had yet told me what my new role would be in the Legio X. Clearly Crabclaw was worried that I would be ordered to replace him. Should he treat me as an equal or even his superior? We looked at each other.

Join us, share our meal, I offered, watching his eyes search my neck and tunic for signs of my rank. We have good wine and I have just been telling my tent what has happened to me.

He looked at me suspiciously, sensing a trick. I have much to do, he responded, dipping his finger in our mortari and judging the quality of our grain. We are expecting Caesar any day now, and the camp is not yet ready. Where do you sleep? He was testing me.

I handed him a crust of today’s bread soaked in juices of wild boar. "When I have finished reminding these sons of Jupiter’s Whore just how lucky they are to have me back among them, I am going to report to the Praefectus Castorum. I carry dispatches. Who is the Legatus?"

He chewed on the crust. No one has replaced Publius Considius. Our tribunes rotated command last year while we were fighting the Veneti. He sniggered. My old Legion had spent a miserable previous season trying to bring the elusive tribes of the Veneti to a conclusive battle, but they had repeatedly escaped to fortified oppidia surrounded by water and then fled onto their ships when our soldiers attacked. Caesar had not been able to defeat them, not for the first time - or the last. My tent-mates had not spared their scorn while telling me this tale.

It is said that Caesar himself will take command, but at the moment we are honored by the presence of Titus Labienus, who never stops making inspections. Thinking he had said too much, he stopped talking and chewed on his crust.

Rough Chin! I exclaimed, he is in charge? This was Caesar’s Second-in-command, a fearful man who we all thought had been in disgrace. At the start of the previous fighting season he had been sent away from Caesar, into these lands of the Belgae, and took no further part in our campaigns. We thought he was finished, and rejoiced. He had the justifiable reputation of being the most hated man in the army. If he was to be in command of the Legio X, my life would not be an easy one.

Crabclaw nodded, then, seeing me sit down, took this as a sign I wanted him to leave. The rest of my contubernium remained standing until he was gone.

Don’t annoy him, the giant Paullus admonished me, he is not a bad centurion. He spares the vine-stick and is light on duties.

I did not hear him, I was thinking about Rough Chin and was not concerned about Crabclaw. For some strange reason, Titus Labienus did not like me. Perhaps he was jealous of all the favor the noble Julius had shown me in previous campaigns. If he was now commanding the Legio X, even for a short while, my path would be littered with thorns. It was time to report to the Praefectus Castorum and see if my fate had already been decided. I also needed to visit the legion signifer and get my name on the rolls. I was owed a lot of money.

I am bringing dispatches from S. Galba. I should deliver them at once. Which is what I did.

Iron Shaft, take a stool, snarled the camp prefect, M. Aurelis Poenius, as I reported to his tent. He knew me well by reputation and by deed, and I took the beaker of warm sour-wine he offered. I was cold. Spring was not yet shaking off winter.

I bring dispatches, I told him, handing over the rolls. This did not impress him.

Do you have news? he wanted to know. The whole legion was anxiously anticipating the arrival of Caesar and his orders for the new season.

I was in the strange position of knowing more than the camp prefect.

"Caesar will takes us across the Rhenus River [Rhine River - ed.] and into the land of the barbarian Germani. This is certain, I said carefully. One year ago [this is two years in Roman thinking - ed.] he was given a powerful prophecy that told him if he was to put his heel into the lands of three of his enemies, he would achieve a level of greatness never before seen in Rome. He wanted to do this last season, but was frustrated by the Amorican tribes in western Gaul who harassed his legions and sent their ships to destroy our fleet."

I have been told that you helped build that fleet, Poenius said, pouring more wine. This was indeed a mark of favor.

I had some role, I admitted reluctantly. I am not a boastful man and to tell him that I devised a way of capturing Gaulish trading ships, saved Caesar’s son, the Praefectus Classis, from being eaten by a bear, and saved our fleet from total destruction - would have been seen as excessively immodest.

Where are these ships now? I was asked.

"We left them safe in the estuary of the Liger River [Loire - ed.] guarded by the Legio XIII. As soon as the season of storms is over, they will sail out of the river, north along the shores of the Veneti and Venelli, then east along the northern shores of Gaul to the lands of the Morini, the narrowest point in the northern sea that separates us from the island of Britannia. They will wait for us there."

Until we get back from invading the Suebi Germans?

I shook my head. It would be very unwise of Caesar to cross the Rhenus River into lands controlled by the Suebi. There are better ways of avoiding death. We beat them once, but I would not like to try it again.

So, where?

What could I tell him? I suspected that Caesar had a more cunning plan. I had some small role in shaping his thinking, and I am sure that your father, noble Lucius, had also given him some advice. But what dare I say?

There are weaker German tribes, I said cautiously, What are the Tencteri and the Usipetes doing? These were small German tribes whose land, just north of the soggy Rhenus estuary had recently been attacked by some of the Suebi. Consequently they had crossed the river in force, joined up with some of their Belgic relatives, and were now camped in the lands of the Menapi, just east of the Ceutrones near the junction of the Lupia River [Lippe River - ed.].

I send out patrols daily, Poenius told me, but they have not moved far enough south to bother us - at least for now. I suspect that they are on the right bank of the Mosu River [Meuse - ed.]. Q. Titurius Sabinus is collecting three legions just west of their camps as a precaution and to keep a watch on their movements. He reports that they may be sending patrols into the lands of the Eburones, we are not sure. We run into a lot of Atrebates, however.

Crogwrenmor is doing this, I said without thinking.

Who?

You know him as Commius, a big ally of Caesar.

Oh, yes. The one with the blue-Gauls.

I did not correct him. Crogwrenmor would one day become the most hated enemy of Rome, but at this time he was still a friend and ally of the great Caesar. He had killed, betrayed and fought his way up to the rank of deeg-Blatenor of the Atrebates on both sides of the narrow sea, in Belgic-Gaul and in Britannia. As their supreme king, he was reaching out to increase his power and influence even more.

One of his methods was to attract other tribes to his side, or better yet - not oppose him. While we had been fighting the Venelli the previous year, Commius, as Caesar called him, was negotiating with Viridovix, chief of the Venelli to marry one of his daughters - Princess Fearsula.

I know this because I had captured the Venelli Princess as she was trying to elope with her lover, a Prince of the Tencteri [see Quintus - ed.] and given them both as hostages to Caesar. In a desperate hunt for allies, a deputation from the German Tencteri tribe had visited the Venelli in the hope that they could soften the fury of the Atrebates. Unfortunately Prince Neurigier of the Tencteri delegation had seduced the daughter of Viridovix, just as she was about to be given as wife to Commius.

To escape her father’s wrath, the Prince and Princess had taken to the sea and they were in the process of sailing back to the lands of the Tencteri when I had intercepted them, and made them hostages of Rome. Commius was furious and demanded the return of his bride-to-be, but the crafty Caesar had sent both of the young people back to Rome for the winter, and put them into noble families of high rank to turn them into little Romans. This was a common technique in those days.

Commius, I knew, was now camped outside the vallium of the Legio X with his blue-Celt body guards (not blue-Gaul as Poenius erroneously supposed - these ferocious warriors were from Britannia), waiting for Caesar to return, so he could continue his demands that his bride be returned to him.

I suspect that Caesar will cross the Rhenus River at a point as far away from the Subei as possible, I said to Poenius. Then, after he has put his heel into the soil of the Germans, we will march into the lands of the Morini, meet up with our fleet of ships, and cross the sea to the Isle of Dogs.

Do you know which legions he will take?

I shook my head. We lost a lot of our transport ships during a sea battle against the Veneti fleet, just before the winter. We still have enough for possibly two legions, but not enough to take a lot of cavalry and supplies. So, it will have to be a short, sharp invasion and a rapid retreat.

You have been to Britannia, have you not? Poenius was showing the usual curiosity I had come to expect. Many had been the stories spread about my going with Publius Crassus across to Britannia to find the moon pearls that Caesar needed to save his life, after he had been poisoned by one of his ambitious rivals in Rome.

I did once set foot in that country.

What was it like?

I saw very little. It was a short visit. But I would not like to fight the better tribes of Britannia. They are strong and they ride horses and chariots in ways we have not seen before. They would be hard to defeat, even if we took seven legions. I did not mention anything about the role of the Druids on this island. In the past I had suffered too many encounters with these men, and women, and knew much about their power and their influence. If the Druids and the charioteers both opposed us, we would never get off our ships.

And we will only be taking two legions, Poenius grunted, but one Roman is worth ten barbarians.

I was not convinced and I hoped that Caesar also had a subtle plan to avoid disaster as he put his heel into the sands of his last enemy. He always did - and I was not to be disappointed. But that is the tale I am about to tell you.

He read my thinking. Will we have allies in Britannia? Doesn’t this King Commius rule some of the tribes over there?

Maybe, I admitted. Among Gauls and Celts alliances change as suddenly as the weather. One morning you awake as the sword-locked blood-brother of a Suesessiones chief and by the seventh hour, after you have smiled at his daughter and offered her a beaker of wine, you find yourself his sworn enemy and in a raging battle, with all his forces determined to kill you. I have seen Gauls fight to the death over a haunch of venison at a feast to celebrate their undying friendship. They are a strange and fickle people. You should never trust them, and never believe a word that they say or any oath that they have signed in blood. In some ways they are worse than the Egyptians.

So won’t he help us?

Caesar may use him, I reluctantly agreed, but do not sleep far from your spear when he is around, and never turn your back on him.

I had finished my second beaker of his diluted wine, and I shook my vessel in anticipation of a third as Poenius changed the subject of our conversation.

What am I going to do with you? he said, not unkindly. I have no orders from Caesar.

I too was worried. Caesar had long ago promised me a role in the invasion of Britannia, but he had not told me, or anyone else, what that role would be. Perhaps he did not know himself. I had played so many parts in the plans of the great man that he might be confused, or waiting for the right opportunity to arise.

"Draw a centurion’s pay while we wait for orders. Take this token to the signifer and get on the rolls. We should not have to wait long, there is much to do this season and an early start would be to our advantage."

He was right about one thing, but sadly wrong about the other. All I wanted was a simple life buried back in the ranks of the men I trusted and far away from Caesar’s plans, the scheming of Commius and the plots of the Druids. I had come too close to death in the past as a result of their devices and desires, and wanted to get back to the simple life of killing the enemy in front of you, with companions to guard your side. I did not want more enemies plotting behind my back.

I was going to be grievously disappointed.

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Chapter Two

I didn’t have to wait long for the first disaster to strike. Helping Poecius finish his flagon of wine had warmed me after my journey, but it had also dulled the edge of my wits. I took the centurion-token he offered me, and together we opened the flaps of his tent and stepped outside. We were in the center of the camp and surrounded by the tents of the tribunes and other officers. I would now report to the signifer and get my name on the legion rolls, and collect some of the coins owed to me.

Report to me daily, the Praefectus castorum told me, we’ll see that you don’t get bored. We both grinned. Life in a camp waiting for an enemy and a leader was never boring. Even this late in the day the via prinicipia and the via praetoria [two main streets in all legion camps - ed.] were bustling with men, tab-legs [orderlies - ed.], guards, messengers, slaves and patrols. There was a sense of urgency and anticipation in all their actions that banished any sign of boredom.

Through the gathering darkness we could see three riders rapidly approaching the praetorium [commander’s tent - ed.]. One of them was riding fast, ignoring the others in the street, and the flickering light of the torches sharply reflected off his highly polished breast plate. I felt Poecius stiffen to attention beside me, and moments later saw why - the rider was our Legatus - Titus Labienus.

We both came rapidly to attention and slammed our fists against our chests in salute. Rough Chin appeared to be in a hurry and would normally have ignored us completely, which would have been very agreeable to me. Unfortunately his horse saw me, and snatched its head away. Horses don’t like me. This sudden movement of his steed caused the rider to look in our direction, and seeing his camp prefect giving a correct salute, he raised his vine-stick in response.

That was when he saw me.

Who’s that? he snapped, pulling his horse to a halt just before us. He peered at my face and I watched recognition dawn.

Iron Shaft, he almost hissed, is that really you?

"Legatus," I answered, slamming my fist even harder into my chest and staring at his stomach.

It is Iron Shaft! What are you doing here? Are there no more women in Gaul left to seduced, and are you now back wearing our sword? Amazing!

"Caesar’s orders, Legatus," was all I could think to say.

"Are they indeed, how lucky for us that you are back. I heard very strange stories about your time in the Legio XII. Most of it was silly camp gossip. None of it could be true. But you certainly have a way of attracting trouble. Make sure that you keep your famous shaft under your tunic while you are in this legion. Understand?"

"Yes, Legatus," I hammered my chest again, hoping that was all. Indeed, he started to turn his horse away from me, but suddenly looked back at his camp prefect. He pointed his vine-stick at me.

Poecius, what rank does he have?

"Centurion, Legatus," was the answer.

And what do you have him doing? Ice gripped my heart.

"He has only just arrived today, Legatus, he brought us dispatches from the Legio XII, where he commanded a century. I - er - I have duties for him," his voice faded as he could think of nothing more to say.

Do you? Do you? We cannot let a talent like this one go to waste, can we? He is a born leader of men. We must find him an appropriate station, I could see a slow smile, an evil smile, spread across his face. Make him the centurion of the I-VI, Poecius. Those are my direct orders, do you understand?

"Yes, Legatus," answered Poecius and I could tell he wanted to say more, but wisely refrained. He was also very unhappy about receiving this last order.

Good, put him into rank tonight, he can take up his token tomorrow morning at first parade.

"As you so order, Legatus."

"Oh. I do so order, Praefectus. Welcome back to the Legio X, Iron Shaft, enjoy your new command." He snatched at his bridle and rode off laughing. I should have been overjoyed that I had just been given command of an elite century in the First Cohort of the best Legion in Caesar’s army, a rank I had longed for but never thought I would attain, but the strange reaction of Poecius made me suddenly very worried.

We must celebrate, I said to him, I’ll get us some more wine. He would not look at me. First press, if you like, I know where a decent vintage is stored. He still would not look at me.

What is wrong? I asked, not really wanting the answer.

"Iron Shaft, I’m sorry about this. You heard the Legatus. Take your token to the signifer and give him the orders you have just received. Remember, I did not do this to you!" He started to turn away, but I took him by the shoulder.

What is wrong? I demanded of my Praefectus. I am now a centurion in the First Cohort, am I not?

Yes you are, he replied softly, still not looking into my face.

And I will be on parade with the Cohort tomorrow, as ordered?

"Yes, you will, as ordered by the Legatus," he kept reminding me.

So where is the problem? I could not see why he was behaving this way. Are the men ready?

He did not answer immediately and he tried to pull away from my grasp. There are no men, he said, at last, and almost choked.

What! What do you mean? No men? How can that be? Questions flooded out but no answers came. Tell me!

"Iron Shaft, there are no men in the I-VI, the century was badly decimated during the battle with the Nervii, Caesar personally redistributed the remaining men to the other centuries in the First Cohort. There are only five centuries in the First Cohort now. The Legatus has just given you empty command. You have no men in your century."

It took me a moment for the reality to sink in. Rough Chin, my old enemy, had taken his revenge. Tomorrow at the parade, when all the other centurions would be standing before their centuries of 80 men, I would be standing before them all, with no one standing behind me. I would look a total fool and become the laughing stock of the whole Legion. My reputation would be shredded and the hard-won respect of all the men would vanish in the morning mist. Titus Labienus could not have devised a more cunning and devastating punishment.

I was finished in the Legio X. What could I do?

What can I do? I demanded of Poecius, who, to give him credit, looked as embarrassed as it is possible for an officer of higher rank.

Report as ordered, he gave the only correct answer.

It will be the end of me, I almost shouted. "If I go on parade without a century behind me, the story will be all over the camp before the fourth hour, and by the fifth hour I will not be able to sit at any fire or respond to any mano fuco [rude hand/finger gesture - ed.]. He has killed me more cruelly than any Gaul."

Perhaps when Caesar arrives, he will change your orders, was all Poecius could stutter.

That will be too late, I groaned, seeing my future sink into the quicksand of despair. There must be something we can do. I have served Caesar and Rome faithfully in the past, I do not deserve this.

"I agree, but I cannot disobey the Legatus, even if he was not Labienus. He has too much power and has the ear of Caesar. He could throw both our lives into the pit of Hades if we don’t obey him."

This was indeed true. Two men controlled the army and the legions in Gaul. Caesar was feared and respected; Labienus was just hated - for good reason. He was the officer responsible for keeping strict discipline in all the legions, a task he did very well indeed. He was good at it. Too good, and he seemed to enjoy his work and the reputation it gave him. We had all cheered last season when Rough Chin appeared to be out of favor with the Hairy One, and was sent away from the side of Caesar for no apparent reason. But his reappearance seemed to suggest that Caesar had use for him once more. And I was his first victim.

A tab-leg ran up to Poecius as we stood in shock before his tent.

"Praefectus. Lucius Aemilius sends you this," he said, handing over a small scroll. The message came from the commander of the Gallic cavalry troop that guarded our flanks in battle and scouted ahead of us when we marched. Caesar made great use of the alae to protect and serve his legions. Romans do not make good horsemen and almost all our cavalry consisted of allies and other barbarians.

At the start of this campaigning season most of our cavalry alae [‘wings’ - ed.] were Gauls from the Aedui tribe further south organized roughly into two Alae Quingenaria, with about sixteen turmae each [about 32 men to each of the turmae - ed.], all commanded by non-Romans. Caesar trusted them and used them extensively in his marches, battles and more dubious activities.

Lucius Aemilius was a half-Gaul half-Roman who had risen through the ranks to the position of Praefectus Equitum largely by merit and by various military successes when and where necessary.

Poecius opened the scroll and read it with a snort. "He reports activity among the blue-Gauls just west of our camp. They appear to be raiding some of the native villages. Aemilius asks for permission to move his men closer to a stream that has been blessed by Epona, whoever that is, and away from a ‘bestius’ site that is cursed-of-Lug, whatever that is. I don’t understand these barbarians." He said this almost to himself and grunted in disgust. Romans are normally very tolerant of other gods, but Poecius was not of their number.

Lug is their supreme god, a bit like Jupiter, I told him almost by reflex. I was still thinking about my own fate and was not interested in this latest development.

You know about these things, don’t you? he said, turning to me and looking me in the face for the first time since the Legatus left. What’s this ‘Epona’ business? Why would the Gauls need a sanctified stream to drink from?

Epona is one of their important gods. She is female and protects horsemen in battle, among other things. All cavalrymen pay her tribute and drink of her waters before any major battle. She is supposed to keep them safe. I knew a lot more about Epona, but did not enlighten him.

You understand these people, don’t you? he asked, looking at me speculatively.

I shrugged. A bit, I suppose. I have spent some time among them.

And speak their language, I was told.

Yes, I understand the major Gaulish dialect, but every tribe has its own variation, and none of them sound very civilized to the Roman ear. They don’t write anything down and the Druids have to remember everything - all their sacred texts and histories.

Then I think we both have an answer to our problem, he said, tapping his teeth with the end of the scroll. Lucius Aemilius sends me three scrolls a day giving me strange information and asking for orders. I think he is afraid of doing something wrong, and even more afraid of Caesar. I cannot be bothered with him, I have a legion to get ready.

How does that help me - or you?

"I’m going to send you to him as a sort of Centurio Exercitator, with special responsibilities for coordinating the infantry and the cavalry in the upcoming campaigns. I will give you broad responsibilities and tell Aemilius he has to listen to your advice and follow your orders."

I know nothing about training the cavalry, I protested, and horses hate me. Even my father’s horses on our own farm used to try and kick and bite me. Can’t you think of something else that won’t get me killed by a domestic animal?

"Listen, Iron Shaft, we have to get you out of camp before parade tomorrow morning and as far away from the Legatus as possible. When he asks me where you are, I want to be able to tell him that an emergency arose in the alae, and that I had to send you to sort it out. You were the only one available and without other responsibilities - and you were standing here when the trouble arrived. He will not be able to punish me, or you, if there is a good reason for sending you on detached duties. And it will save you from ridicule."

Of course he was right and as reluctant as I was to go on this assignment, I could see how it might save me from a lot of other problems - and get me away from Labienus.

"Get your pole and take the best horse from the lines, not that old nag you rode in on. You have to look the part of a Centurio with some class. The alae are camped about a mile north of us, or at least they were this morning. Find them, and sort out this Epona business for me. Get going."

I saluted smartly and did not question him any more. It looked as if my return to the ranks of the Legio X were going to have to wait for a bit longer.

Despite the urgency of getting out of camp before the First Cohort went on morning parade, I still had a lot to accomplish. My tent was waiting for me around the cooking fires so I could share their evening meal. We had been apart for a whole season and had a lot of catching up to do.

I hurried over to the tent of the signifer, and found him sitting at a table surrounded by messengers, tab-legs and a long line of other century signiferii trying to collect