The captured Helvetian walked with his hands bound and a defiant look, though fear slipped out with every step. He muttered words in his own tongue, and when Titus tried to question him, he got only grunts and broken phrases.
"He doesn't speak Latin well," Sextus said, keeping a watchful eye.
"He understands enough to know I'd rip out his tongue," Titus growled.
Beside them, the rescued tribune rode Titus's horse, wrapped in a military cloak, his face still swollen but his voice rough and firm.
"I won't forget what you've done. Nor your name, Sextus."
"Nor mine," added Titus with a crooked smile.
The officer smiled faintly.
"You either. Certainly not."
When the Roman camp appeared through the trees, there was no need to announce themselves. One of the sentries at the palisade immediately recognized the tribune and shouted out, sparking a wave of attention.
"Tribune Fonteius! Fonteius has returned!"
The camp burst into motion. Legionaries, auxiliaries, and officers rushed to meet them. Seeing the captured Helvetian leader and the wounded but alive officer, the cheers rose like a thunderous roar.
"Honor to the rescuers! Honor to the Thirteenth!"
Scaeva appeared among the first. He looked at Sextus, then at the tribune, then at the prisoner.
"You did it," he said quietly, a mix of pride and disbelief in his voice.
"We did it," Sextus corrected, glancing at Titus.
The prisoner was dragged off amid jeers. The tribune dismounted with help and was taken to be treated, but not before stopping in front of Sextus.
"I'll write a full report. Everyone will know what you did out there. Especially you."
Sextus nodded, exhausted but standing tall. Titus, beside him, whispered:
"See? Wasn't so suicidal after all."
"We haven't rested yet," Sextus replied. "And you still owe me that horse."
Titus laughed. But didn't deny it.