Caesar shifted slightly in his seat.
‘Longinus!’
The man jumped at the sound of his name and sidled into the centre of the tent.
‘Yes, general.’
The red hue was slowly draining from the general’s face and his breathing had subsided a little. When he spoke, his voice had returned to its even, politician’s tone.
‘Longinus, you’ve served well so far in this campaign, and your talents as a cavalry commander have not gone unnoticed.’
The legate bowed respectfully.
‘It has been my privilege to have served in such a capacity, Caesar.’
Caesar smiled at him and gestured to one of the staff officers’ seats.
‘Gaius…’
Longinus looked up in surprise at the use of his first name - an honour few men received from the general.
‘I have made a decision regarding your place in this army. I would like you to step down as legate of the Ninth. I’m sure you’re aware, as are we all, that the legion needs a more readily accessible commander. You simply do not have the time to devote to the duties of both a legate and a cavalry commander.’
Longinus nodded. He was, Fronto noticed, starting to look a little older; a little more worn. Indeed, he had lost a considerable amount of weight over the last few months, dividing all his waking hours between the legion and the cavalry. Fronto could sympathise to an extent, sharing his own time between the general and the Tenth. He shook his head and looked up once more as the general continued.
‘Longinus, there are going to be an increasing number of cavalry units in this army as we progress through our campaign. I want you to take the position of Master of the Horse, commander of all cavalry, both legionary and auxiliary. You may take a couple of the staff officers with you to help you organise what I’m sure will be a fairly massive undertaking, if you wish. However, from the moment you agree to step down from the Ninth, you will be placed on the staff in that role. Have you any objections or comments?’
Longinus stood, his finger pressed to his lip deep in thought.
‘I don’t think so at this time, Caesar. I’m quite happy with the idea, but I’ll have to run through the whole thing with a few of my fellow officers and iron out some problems. Then I’ll come and see you sir, after we’ve found out what the issues are. Can I ask who you’re considering as a replacement with the Ninth? Grattius has served well in the interim. You could do a lot worse than promoting him…’
Caesar waved a hand to one side to indicate a small knot of staff officers standing near the fabric wall of the tent.
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Longinus. Grattius will continue to serve in his current position. Publius Sulpicius Rufus will be taking the position.’
He turned to the staff.
‘Rufus, I presume you’d be happy to take the command?’
Rufus stepped out from the side of the tent. He was an average height, with pale, sandy blond hair and, very unfashionably, a neatly trimmed beard. Despite being visibly quite young, he put forth the impression of a hardened veteran in the way he moved. As his arm came out from under his military cloak to salute the general, Fronto noticed an old but livid scar running along his inner arm from the wrist to the elbow. He decided he would probably like the man.
Rufus bowed his head before Caesar.
‘I’d be glad to take any command, general. My sword arm’s atrophying!’
Balbus laughed.
‘I know how that feels. I nearly wasted away in Massilia. Think I was actually getting old.’
Caesar smiled at the two of them. This was why he tried to keep officers with units for as long as possible. They built up a rapport with their men and became hardened veterans. Political weasels were far too common in military command, and few politicians who took such a position had any tactical ability. Caesar liked to think that he followed an illustrious line of those with tried and tested ability, but he would sooner trust a career veteran to lead his men than another politician. Too many agendas and not enough talent. Things would change in time, when Caesar reached his long-sought after goals. He pulled himself from ambitious reverie and looked across at the two officers again, then back at Longinus.
‘Very well. Longinus, you are hereby promoted to the staff as Master of Horse. You’ve got two days to put together your plan and apprise me of it. Rufus, report to the Ninth and find their primus pilus, Grattius. He should be able to fill you in on anything specific you need to know and sort out your accommodation for you. Balbus, you may want to accompany Rufus and give him a hand.’
Balbus nodded.
‘Very well,’ the general went on, ‘we’ll be staying here for about a week, while the army is marshalled and the initial process of pre-war negotiation is carried out. Now that these damn Gauls are out of earshot, I presume you all realise that this campaign cannot be avoided and, even if diplomacy with this German were possible, I have no intention of carrying it through. We must have military supremacy here if we are to achieve anything.’
He turned to his other staff officers.
‘Brutus. Go into Bibracte and speak to Liscus. Find out exactly where this Ariovistus is currently based, somewhere in the lands of the Sequani.’
He then turned to Longinus again.
‘I want a small party of heavily armed cavalry dressed in full regalia. I’m going to send an ambassador to speak with this German. That’s your job, Brutus.’
Brutus nodded and squared his shoulders.
‘I take it you’re going to give me the details, general?’
Caesar smiled viciously.
‘Oh yes. When you’ve found out where he is, come back here and we’ll go through the conditions. I fully intend to make them unacceptable, even unbearable, for him. I won’t let him deal with this quietly.’
He squared his shoulders and stood.
‘Alright gentlemen, you’ve got your orders. Let’s start a war.’
He strode from the room, through the curtain-covered doorway and into his personal chambers. At this cue, the other officers exited the tent. Fronto stood by the entrance, waiting as the staff and senior officers exited. Balbus and Rufus left together, heading for the ranks of the Ninth. Longinus and Brutus left in the direction of the cavalry enclosure and Bibracte. Fronto sighed. It was a rarity when one of Caesar’s meetings ended and he did not have some task to attend to.
Wandering down the hill, he caught sight of Priscus and a couple of the junior centurions from the Tenth. As he approached, he broke into a smile as his ears caught the familiar sound of a dressing-down. The two juniors stood, red faced, their helmets and vine staves under their arms. Fronto waited respectfully until Priscus had finished shouting and the two men had left, sheepishly but in a great hurry.
‘Gnaeus, I do believe you were born with a centurion’s crest. Have you finished shouting? I’m looking for someone to join me for a quiet drink, or possibly even a raucous one.’
Priscus smiled.
‘I think I’m about done here. Are you thinking of that nice little tavern in town, ‘cos I just saw Crispus and Galba heading that way too.’
‘Good. Let’s go see them and get drunk. We’ve got nothing to do, and we might never see the place again after this week.’
* * * * *
Fronto tagged along with the small party of officers striding to the main gate of the camp. At a word from Sabinus, the soldiers that had gathered at the gate pulled themselves out of the way of the officers, coming to attention with a snap. Fronto stood next to the others, watching the slight rise on the other side of the valley. The sun hung pale and watery over the grass, casting an eerie half-light over the early morning landscape. It all looked slightly unreal to Fronto’s tired eyes. After a moment, he caught the distant jingle of armour and equestrian equipment and then, over the saddle he saw the standards appear and sagged with relief. Though the scouts had reported Brutus and his escort returning when they were still two miles distant, they had
not been close enough to give too many details.
Fronto had worried. It was not unknown for Roman ambassadors to be ill-treated by barbarians, and the sight of legionary standards protected by only a few cavalry could have proved too tempting for them. Fortunately, despite the fearsome reputation of the Germans, Ariovistus had apparently dealt with them in the manner of a civilised leader. The cavalry looked tired and travel-worn but intact and fully equipped, with all standards accounted for.
Brutus was clearly exhausted. Though still in good health he looked weary, pale and drawn as the party reined in outside the gate. He slid with little grace and decorum from the saddle to the grass, his cloak billowing slightly in the breeze.
The common soldiery saluted smartly, while Sabinus reached forward to grasp the reins of Brutus’ horse. Brutus barely acknowledged the salutes of the men, waving a hand dismissively. He turned his pale face and watery eyes on Sabinus and Fronto.
‘Let’s get to the command tent, so I can get this over with and get some rest.’
Nodding, the staff officers fell into step alongside Brutus as he wearily trudged up the Via Decumana toward Caesar’s command post. They passed through the guard at the praetorium without a word and made straight for Caesar’s tent. The general would have been informed of the ambassador’s arrival by now. The guard by the entrance of the command tent took one look at Brutus and wisely decided that, since Caesar was expecting them, challenging the travel-beaten officer would hardly be a positive career move. He stepped to the side of the doorway and snapped to attention, the horsehair crest on his helmet brushing the leather flap of the tent. Again, Brutus barely noticed him as he shuffled inside. Sabinus followed and Fronto gave the poor soldier a sympathetic look. He could imagine how hard it must be for the common soldiery to deal with the irrational actions of the staff.
Caesar stood to one side of the tent, pouring his own goblet of watered wine. He turned and gestured to the half dozen campaign chairs in the room.
‘Brutus, do sit down please before you fall down.’
Brutus sank gratefully into a chair. The other officers remained standing until Caesar noticed and irritably waved them to the other chairs before taking his own seat and nodding at his ambassador.
‘A quick report, Decius, and then you can go and catch up on sleep.’
Brutus sighed.
‘As you commanded, Caesar, we rode hard and met with Ariovistus. I demanded, fairly imperiously, that he name some patch of neutral ground where he could meet with you and discuss affairs of state.’
Caesar frowned.
‘And? You’re back so fast. Don’t tell me he agreed? You went armed with the most unreasonable and insulting terms. Don’t tell me he just rolled over and said yes?’
Brutus shook his head wearily.
‘No, Caesar. I didn’t get time to dig into him and get him fired up. He all but threw us out of their camp. As soon as I’d got the first sentence out, his guards were around us and shoving us toward the gate.’
Caesar’s eyes widened.
‘Who in the name of Minerva is this man? Does he have any idea who he’s dealing with? Is that it, they just threw you out?’
‘Not quite Caesar. He gave me a few words for you. He said that if he’d wanted anything, he’d have come to you, and if you want anything, you should go to him. He said that he wouldn’t come into the lands you occupy without his army, and asks what you’re doing in his Gaul anyway, since he’s the one conquering it, not you.’
Fronto winced. Caesar was unlikely to take this kind of answer well, not being noted for his patience. Gritting his teeth, waiting for the outburst, he turned and looked at the general.
Much of the colour had drained from Caesar’s face, a sign well-known to Fronto that the man was reaching the end of his tether.
Caesar gripped the arms of his campaign chair so tightly his knuckles went white.
‘Brutus, go and get some rest.’
The officer nodded and, standing slowly and painfully, turned to leave.
Caesar drummed his fingers on the chair arms irritably. Fronto tried to shuffle out of the general’s line of sight. A number of times he had seen Caesar planning something like this and had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, resulting in his being landed with an unpleasant or arduous task. He was determined this time not to be Caesar’s victim.
In the event, when Caesar did look up, his eyes locked only momentarily on Fronto before slipping sideways to Labienus.
‘Very well. Labienus, you’ve represented Rome in general and me in particular on a number of occasions. You’ve a good command of rhetoric and are not easily fazed.’
Labienus bowed, respectfully, though hesitantly.
‘Thank you, general.’
Caesar smiled his most predatory smile.
‘Don’t thank me, Titus. You’ve just volunteered to be my next ambassador. I haven’t the time to develop diplomatic frippery with you, so I want you to go and keep him busy. Improvise. Just be rhetorical and act the part of the ambassador, but do not play humble to him. I need you to buy us time.’
Fronto raised himself a little from the chair and gestured to Caesar.
‘That’s a little dangerous, general. You heard how he reacted to Brutus. If we keep pushing him, he might break. You’re talking about a very warlike and proud man here.’
Instant regret. Caesar’s eyes alighted upon him.
‘You are, of course, absolutely correct, Marcus. Take an entire cohort of the Tenth. Speak to Longinus to arrange cavalry support. Go in force, and make sure the entire unit is in full ceremonial uniform, including crests. Don’t take the First Cohort though, as I’ll need your primus pilus here.’
Fronto nodded miserably. There was no point in arguing. He had done this to himself.
‘What will Priscus be required for, Caesar?’
The general smiled the same, tight, wolfish smile as before.
‘Obviously Fronto, while you’re keeping this arrogant German occupied, we’ll be marshalling our forces and preparing for war. After you’ve spoken to him, have Longinus sent to me. He’s going to need to put his auxilia in order sharply. You can all go about your business now. I need to think for a while.’
The officer rose and made to leave, but Fronto stood and confronted the general.
‘Caesar, how long do you need? When are we to come back? Will there be a signal? We’ll need to know these things.’
Caesar shook his head irritably.
‘You’ll stay there until I send a dispatch rider to you. Then you’ll know we’re ready. Now go and get things underway.’
As the officers piled out of the tent, Labienus caught Fronto, grumbling audibly, by the elbow.
‘Marcus, feel free to go back in and persuade Caesar otherwise. I can get by with a small ceremonial guard.’
Fronto shook his head resignedly.
‘No point. There’s no way he’s going to change his mind now, and I was right anyway. This could go very wrong and you could need support. Can I suggest we meet at my tent in around an hour? I have to see a few people beforehand.’
Labienus nodded.
‘I’ve got some planning to do myself.’
As the other staff officer strode off in the direction of his own quarters, Fronto made for the praetorium of the Tenth and found one of the duty centurions overseeing the polishing of the standards.
‘Centurion. Leave those for now. Find Lucius Velius and get him to come to my tent as fast as you can.’
The centurion saluted and jogged off in the direction of the temporary mess tent.
He looked down at the two soldiers polishing the standards.
‘You two. Get into kit as fast as is humanly possible. Go to the staff quarters and find Gaius Longinus and Decius Brutus. I don’t care whether they’re sleeping, just wake them and tell them I need to see them urgently.’
Fronto smiled. Whatever happened, he was always proud of the Tenth. He reached his tent and had ju
st managed to remove his cloak and unstrap his cuirass before a familiar cough outside announced the presence of Velius. He smiled again. He imagined he was something of a novelty among the command. His was the only tent of a senior officer with no guards outside and no servants within. There were better uses for the men of the Tenth than challenging visitors to their commanding officer, and servants meant clutter and constant company. Fronto preferred a little peace and quiet and was quite happy to pour his own drinks and don his own armour. Velius would cough three times and then make a suitably sarcastic remark just loud enough for him to hear.
Tempted though he was to wait and see what Velius would call him, time was getting a little short.
‘Come in Lucius. Don’t stand on ceremony.’
Velius entered with his customary scowl.
‘Sir, I’ve got a lot to do. Without wanting to sound insulting, why don’t you get Gnaeus to drink with you? He’s only wandering around finding people to shout at anyway.’
Fronto smiled again.
‘It’s not a social matter, Lucius, though you might want to pour yourself a drink anyway.’
Velius’ eyes narrowed and one eyebrow rose in an inquiring manner.
‘Why are you being agreeable with me? What are you planning?’
Fronto finished removing his armour and sank onto a couch, reaching out for the wine.
‘I sort of accidentally volunteered myself for something stupid. And I can’t think of anyone better to go on a stupid mission with.’
He grinned a mad grin and he handed a mug of wine to the centurion and poured another for himself.
Velius sighed.
‘What’s the job?’
‘We’re going to see the Germans, Lucius. We’re going to be the military escort and guard for Labienus as he spins out enough bullshit to keep Ariovistus busy while Caesar prepares for war.’
Again, the grin.
Velius slung the wine down his throat and banged the goblet down on the table emphatically.
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 30