Balbus frowned. “Legate of the Seventh eh? I’ve heard of him, of course. The son of one of Caesar’s most rich and influential friends, given a command through pure nepotism. I don’t like that much, but it’s the way of things.”
“He’s the one my sister likes to compare me with, because he actually cares about climbing the political ladder. He’s using his command to catapult himself into politics. Although he’s a competent enough officer, I suppose, I doubt he’ll ever make a great commander. Too indecisive.”
“Ah, a ditherer.” Balbus took a drink of wine and then looked up as a slave coughed politely on the threshold.
“Yes?”
“Centurion Helvius here to see you sir” the slave said, in good Latin, with a hint of a Greek accent.
“Show him in.”
Helvius was an impossibly tall and thin man, with a receding hairline and a nose that had been broken badly at some time in the distant past. He ducked as he crossed into the dining room and remained low for a moment in a bow. Standing, his eyes fell on Fronto. Balbus waved an arm expansively toward Fronto, a chicken leg in his grip.
“Helvius, this is Marcus Fronto, legate of the Tenth.”
“I suspected as much, sir.” The centurion turned and bowed to Fronto. “I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, legate.”
“Pleased to meet you too, Helvius.” He glanced at Balbus, who waved him on, taking another mouthful of bread.
“I don’t want to disrupt things too much for you, Helvius, but I’m afraid I need to take the best of your engineers and sappers for a time.”
Helvius’ brow creased. “Sir?”
“Here’s what I want...”
* * * * *
The morning was bright and crisp; chilly, but not quite freezing. Fronto stamped his feet and blew into his hands until a little colour returned to them. Standing where he was, on the end of the earth embankment that projected out into the lake, he could see down the almost perfectly straight line of ditch and rampart into the distance. He couldn’t see the other end, of course, not now, but he knew it was extending at a backbreaking pace. He had left Helvius in charge of that end now, and had come to trust the competent engineer of the Eighth enough to leave him be. He instead had returned to the length of defences near Geneva to oversee the next stage. The construction of the palisade formed from nine foot-tall sharpened logs was beginning. Fronto had split the remaining men at this end into four groups. One was spending most of its time on the hills behind Geneva to which Tetricus had directed him, cutting down trees and shaping them into useful timber. The second had begun the palisade. The third were taking shortened stakes, sharpening them to a vicious point and sinking them into the ditch. The final group were constructing a redoubt, the first of several, in the form of a small, square fort near the water’s edge. Fully supplied with ditch and mound and their own palisade, these forts would be focal points for the disposition of troops that Balbus had ordered. Indeed, the locations of the forts had been chosen by the Eighth’s legate in line with his plan.
Tetricus stood not far away, holding a map that threatened to escape, fluttering in the wind. He was explaining to en engineer from the Eighth Legion where the forts were to be constructed and to what size and composition. Fronto put his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.
“Gaius! Don’t forget the gate. I think it needs to be about a mile from the lake.”
Tetricus waved back, acknowledging him, exchanged a few more brief words with the engineer and then began to trudge up toward the embankment.
By the time he reached the legate, he was breathing hard, the plumes of air frosting in the morning chill.
“Word’s come down from Helvius sir. He’s almost in Sequani territory. Fourteen miles now, and he thinks only five to go before the territory doesn’t warrant ditch and ridge. Six days for fourteen miles so far, so he should be finished in two or three, then they’ll start palisading back this way until we meet. The majority of the work now is going to be palisading and fort building.”
Fronto grinned. “The old man’s going to be happy with us, Gaius. We’re ahead of schedule, and the defences are a step up on what he asked for. I think we need to take the wall down about a hundred yards into the lake, until it’s too deep for wading. Also, keep the palisade in sections and held down behind the embankment. That’s the last thing to put in place, and if it’s held in sections with troops nearby, they can be hoisted up and hammered in along the entire length in minutes.”
Tetricus nodded, glancing out into the lake, his hand sheltering his eyes from the bright, cold light. Scanning the horizon, as he had taken to doing for the last three days, his gaze settled on a century of men jogging round the end of the lake, coming their way and wearing full kit; new recruits freshly arrived with the Tenth’s training officer yesterday.
“Velius seems to be having fun sir.”
Fronto followed his gaze and spotted the exhausted trainees carrying their sacks full of rocks. The training centurion ran alongside them. To his credit, he was carrying nearly twice the weight they were.
“He takes everything so personally. Running recruits until they throw up is a job he could easily have delegated to one of the lesser training officers.”
Tetricus laughed. “I think he just likes to watch recruits vomit.”
“You may be right.” Fronto held up a hand and waved to Velius. The centurion saluted back, barked an order at the front row of victims and turned to run up the embankment.
“Morning, sir.” Velius was as red faced as if he had come straight out of the warm room of a bath house. He dropped the pack to the ground and hoisted his vine staff under his arm.
Fronto cast an appraising glance over the training officer. Velius was old enough to have received his honesta missio from the Tenth several times over, but the other officers generally held that the centurion would remain the legion’s training officer until he dropped dead on duty. A lot of people were unsure as to how to deal with Velius, though Fronto liked his gruff no-nonsense attitude.
“Velius, how’s it going? Will they be capable of manning the wall in a week or two and frightening the Helvetii away?”
Velius made a sour face and spat on the ground.
“I reckon it’ll take a fortnight to teach them to walk in the same bloody direction. Did you see that run, sir? Two of them fell in the lake. In armour! Have you any idea how difficult it is to haul a fully armoured and equipped man out of four feet of water?”
“I thought you’d have them accurate on a ballista by now, Velius. You’ve trained more men than I’ve had dinners.”
“I don’t know about that, sir. You eat every meal like it was a condemned man’s last one. I’ve never tried training more than a cohort’s worth of men at a time, and now we’re talking twenty times that many, with half the training staff I normally have. And they’re all soft boys sir. Still, I reckon another week and we’ll see a bit of a change in them.”
Fronto glanced with subconscious unease toward the mountains on the other side of the earthworks.
“I hope so, Velius. I really hope so. I don’t like siege warfare in any conditions, but being trapped and forced to defend is a situation I would rather avoid.”
“I think…” Velius faltered as he realised Fronto was no longer listening to him and, sheltering his eyes, looked in the same direction as his commander. Tetricus followed suit immediately.
A single rider was charging full pelt down the hill towards the camps.
Fronto grimaced. “I feel I should be shouting ‘Open the Gate’, but we don’t have any gates yet!”
Tetricus began madly waving the horseman to the very eastern end of the embankment, to avoid a mad dash into the dangerous ditch. The horseman complied at the last minute, pushing his exhausted horse through the ankle deep water and dismounting on the beach behind the embankment. The horseman, one of the scouts Longinus had set in commanding positions around the lake end, staggered up to Fronto, as the hi
ghest ranking officer present.
“Sir, I have to report the Helvetii on the move sir.” With that, he collapsed to a seated position on the ground, breathing heavily and in bursts.
Fronto crouched opposite him.
“How many, man?”
The scout looked up at him, plumes of frosted breath momentarily obscuring his face.
“All of them, I would say sir.”
Tetricus called down from the top of the embankment, where he had remained.
“Sir, two more riders on the way. I’d say from the directions they’re coming, we can assume the Helvetii are less than an hour away.”
Fronto sprang into action.
“Tetricus, send someone over to Helvius. Let him know what’s happening and then form up all the units of the Eighth we’ve got working here. I’ll find Balbus and get him to send the Second Cohort over and give the engineers any protection they need. When you’re done, come and find me at Caesar’s headquarters.”
He turned to the training officer.
“Velius. Get both the new units into full dress and parade formation right where I’m standing. They don’t have to be veterans; they just have to look like them. Oh, and when these scouts and their horses have recovered for a minute, send them to Longinus with a message to form up.”
With that he was off at a run toward the town and the garrison fort of the Eighth Legion. As he approached the north gate of the fort, a legionary stepped out into the gateway, challenging Fronto.
Fighting to restrain his irritation, Fronto slowed to a stop and gave the password, identifying his name, rank and unit. The soldier immediately stepped aside, and he ran on toward the headquarters building at the centre of the fort.
Inside, the building had changed tremendously since Fronto and his men had had their briefing here less than a week ago. The rooms that had before been occupied by pay staff and accounts clerks had been cleared out, with all such mundane offices now located in the small annexe to the west of the fort. The rooms were now occupied by staff officers and the senior officers of the Eighth. Two large rooms had been devoted entirely to the officers of the newly raised Eleventh and Twelfth, there being a large amount of organisation and paperwork involved in such a task. The officers had been drawn from the centurionate of the current four legions or the general staff. Aquilius, the Eighth’s chief training officer (and Velius’ current second in command) occupied the same room, trying to organise the newly-raised officers into an effective command unit. From what Fronto had heard, Balbus himself had been giving advice and pointers to the new officers, which could only help, given the legate’s lengthy experience in command.
Maps and documents lined the walls as Fronto made his way through the busy, hectic and overcrowded headquarters to Caesar’s office.
A Greek-speaking slave attempted to arrest Fronto’s progress at the general’s door, but Fronto ignored him and banged loudly twice on the door.
“General?”
Caesar’s clear and commanding voice came from within.
“Fronto? Come in.”
Angrily pushing the Greek slave to one side, Fronto hammered the catch up and, swinging the door back, stepped in. Remembering his etiquette just in time, he skidded to a halt on the marble and came up straight, saluting. Caesar had not even looked up. From his campaign chair, with his eyes scanning a document, the general addressed his officer.
“Yes, legate?”
“The Helvetii sir. They’re approaching the lake. I would estimate less than an hour away. I’ve made all the arrangements I could on the way sir.”
A second voice asked “How are the new recruits looking, Marcus?”
Fronto swung around to see Balbus sitting in a dark corner.
“They’ll be useful enough, Quintus, never fear about that.”
Caesar finally looked up.
“Take a seat, man, for heavens’ sake. If they’re an hour away and you’ve informed everyone that needs to be organised, then we have a few minutes yet.” He turned to Balbus. “Do go on.”
Balbus cleared his throat. “Not much left to say, Caesar. The first two cohorts of the Eighth will continue to occupy this site until we are faced with immediate confrontation, at which point they can be through the north gate and at the wall in about five minutes, where they will spread out and occupy the three miles closest to the lake. The Third Cohort will play rearguard, covering the eastern end of the settled area, from the lakeshore up to the mountain road. The Fourth to Seventh Cohorts will be given the six miles of defences at the far end, near Mount Jura, and the Eighth to Tenth will take the central section. The Eleventh and Twelfth Legions will be positioned to overlap. They will be split by cohort, but never too far from the rest of their legion and close to a more experienced unit. This defence may be eighteen miles or so, but that way we’ll have fifteen thousand men covering it. If all else fails, the Third Cohort will be within an hour’s march of the defences, should we need them. I cannot foresee a circumstance in which the Helvetii, even if they come full force, can break such a defence. And, by the way sir, Fronto’s excelled himself with the quality of the defences.”
“Has he indeed?” Caesar smiled. “I know how much you hate taking a defensive position, Fronto. I also know that that means you will put together the best possible system. Why on earth do you think I assigned an engineer’s job to you otherwise? You know what you want and Tetricus knows how to put it together for you.”
Fronto blinked and Caesar continued.
“If I’d given it to Longinus, who loves standing high in a fortified position and looking down on assailants, the defences would have been average at best, if not substandard.”
Balbus laughed out loud.
“Caesar, all this aside, my disposition reports can wait. We should head to the lake and prepare to meet the Helvetii.”
“Indeed, legate; indeed. Very well, Fronto? Lead us to your magnificent defences.” With that the other two officers rose and followed Fronto from the room.
Word of the messenger must have spread quickly for, as Fronto and his two companions passed through the Headquarters and the fort, various high-ranking officers came out to join them, falling in behind Caesar and the two legates.
Fronto was impressed to note that Balventius had assembled the Eighth’s officers and given out the call to fall in before Balbus had even left the headquarters building. Here, he thought, was a legion who could actually give the Tenth a run for their money.
Once they had left the fort’s gate and were moving down toward the defences, he was equally pleased to see that Tetricus had managed to get the engineers from the Eighth back into their units and in position near the lake and that the still slightly disorganised Eleventh and Twelfth were forming up on either side of the Eighth under the direction of Velius. The four short lengths of palisade that had been constructed lay in place on the slope, ready to be hoisted into position at short notice. To all intents and purpose the defences looked to be a mere ditch and embankment. The mass of troops forming in the area of the ridge, on the other hand, suggested differently.
Another scout had arrived shortly before the officers reached the wall, confirming that the Helvetii were around twenty minutes away.
Caesar smiled and looked around at the army massing.
“Splendid. All our forces will be marshalled and in formation by the time they get here. Fronto, have all the senior officers report to me. Let’s show these barbarians who they’re up against.”
Fronto jogged down to Balbus, positioned with the standard bearers of the Eighth, and had a word with him before running back up to join the general. Moments later, a horn call rang out in the still air.
* * * * *
When the Helvetii came, they came in their thousands, pouring through the valley mouth at the other side of the river, and flooding onto the plain before the defences. With many an indrawn breath, the three legions stood firm and in formation, themselves covering a vast area between the lake, the defensiv
e bank and the town itself. In front, on top of the embankment stood the great general himself, Julius Caesar, with his echelons of command.
The Helvetii spread out as they came to more level ground. Their movement was slow and steady and made no suggestion of an attack or, indeed, a provocative move of any sort. As the remnants at the back of the tribe began the descent toward the lake, the front ranks opened up and two men came forward, backed by a small group of high ranking tribesmen.
The two men were very well dressed for barbarians, Fronto thought. Their clothes were not dissimilar to those worn by the people of Cisalpine or Transalpine Gaul, within the Empire. Their tunics, that were of an obviously Roman cut, their cloaks, and much of their jewellery had obviously been purchased from Roman merchants. The man on the left wore a gladius, the Roman short sword, and a pugio dagger at his other hip, in the manner of a legionary. The chain mail shirts they wore were of high quality manufacture, probably again from within the Empire. While their breeches were of a Gaulish cut and pattern, the overall effect was far more disturbingly civilised than Fronto had expected. From the low mumbling among the ranks, others had drawn similar conclusions. Balbus turned his head slightly and made a cut-throat motion at Balventius, standing in command position of the Eighth.
Balventius turned to face the men and raised his voice only slightly above the unavoidable noise of armour and cold men.
“Be quiet lads. Can’t you see there are officers present?”
Balbus turned his head back to face the advancing embassy. The two men ran to the highest piece of land available close to the Romans, a slight rise on the shore of the lake, where a tree overhung the water. They stepped as high as possible, though they were still forced to look up at the Roman officers. Their ‘honour guard’, presuming that is what they were, stopped just short of the raised ground.
The man on the left called out in a clear and powerful voice. Fronto was surprised to hear reasonably well spoken Latin, though he should have expected it really. He couldn’t think what they would have hoped to achieve if they spoke only barbarian tongues.
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