Crispus scratched his unshaven chin.
‘So the other legates are all here then?’
Priscus nodded.
‘Balbus arrived early last week and has been in and out of the headquarters ever since. Rufus got here three days ago and went straight out to his men to the north. Not seen him since. And Galba came back in the middle of winter. Apparently he felt the Twelfth needed some winter training. Crassus has been lauding him up to Labienus, and I have to admit he’s really worked his men this winter.’
Fronto grumbled.
‘I expect that means the rest of us look lazy! Crassus’ll think we wasted winter, but Labienus is bright. I expect he’ll know otherwise.’
Priscus sighed.
‘I am capable of running things here. I did your job quite a lot last year, remember? Balventius, Felix and I kept up regular training and sorties throughout the winter. With all due respect, you’re legates… no one expects you to keep your men fit. That’s our job. You just make occasional decisions and look pretty.’
Crispus laughed.
‘He has us there, Marcus.’
As they approached the gate of the first camp, a small knot of guards by the strong palisade came sharply to attention. The three officers returned their salute and drew to a halt. Fronto turned to Crispus and raised an eyebrow.
‘You got a moment before you head to the Eleventh?’
The young legate nodded.
‘They’ve managed months without me. I doubt that another few moments will cause consternation.’
Grasping the reins of his companion’s horse, Fronto handed them and his own to a legionary.
‘Have them both fed and watered and brush them down. When you’ve finished with Bucephalus, have him stabled. The legate here will need his horse shortly to head back to the Eleventh, so make sure it’s ready.’
The soldier nodded, bowed hurriedly, and led the two beasts off in the direction of the Tenth’s cavalry section. As the rest of the legionaries stood aside, Fronto and his companions strode into camp and made for the praetorium at the centre. The men of the Tenth saluted as the three officers passed, and then immediately returned to their tasks. As they reached the command building at the centre, Fronto glanced sidelong at his chief centurion.
‘Alright, Priscus. You always know more about what’s going on than anyone else. Give us the lowdown. I want to be prepared when Caesar arrives.’
The primus pilus nodded at the guards by the door and gestured inside to his companions. Fronto and Crispus strolled into the main room and behind them Priscus addressed the various clerks in the headquarters.
‘Go about your work elsewhere and take the guards with you. Make sure we’re not disturbed.’
The actuarii gathered together their wax tablets and scrolls and hurried out, their arms full, bowing awkwardly as they left. Once they were alone, Priscus dropped his helmet and vine staff onto the low table near the door.
‘I can certainly make a healthy guess as to why the general sent for you all.’
Fronto dropped heavily onto a bench and reached out for a jug of water and a goblet, directing a questioning look to Crispus. The young man joined him on the bench, nodding, and, as Fronto poured two goblets of icy water, Priscus sighed.
‘We’re not popular out here.’
‘Nothing new there,’ muttered Fronto. ‘We spent last year fighting one bunch of Celts on behalf of another bunch of Celts and from their point of view I can see how they might think it’s none of our business.’
‘It’s not just that, Marcus’ the primus pilus continued. ‘If we’d stopped at that, I think there’d be peace now. But the Gauls all thought the legions would be going home. I think we’ve pissed a lot of people off by not just staying in Gaul, but so far outside our own territory. They think we’re here to stay.’
He reached out for the jar and a goblet.
‘And I think they’re right.’
Fronto nodded.
‘There’s no doubt in my mind that Caesar already sees an eagle planted in the middle of Gaul with all the tribes in its shadow.’
Crispus nodded sadly.
‘I do believe that the general intends to climb the cursus honorum until he can reach the very Gods themselves. And the first step to that is to attain a great conquest.’
A chorus of nods greeted that comment.
‘So what you’re saying,’ Fronto glanced at Priscus, ‘is that trouble’s brewing among the tribes?’
The centurion nodded.
‘You remember that assembly of the Gaulish chiefs we had at Bibracte last year?’
A nod.
‘Well that’s some great big annual event. And it’s happened twice this year already. And the worrying thing is, from what I hear, that none of the tribes allied to Rome were invited to either of them. But the word is that it wasn’t just Gauls either; some German chiefs and the leaders of the Belgae were included.’
Crispus frowned.
‘Sounds awfully like the northern tribes are gearing up to protest the Roman presence, doesn’t it?’
Priscus nodded.
‘We’ve had a rash of desertions among the Gaulish levies too. Then there’s the native scouts. They’ve been riding in and out of the city for months, and they all have Labienus’ permission to go anywhere they like. They disappear into the headquarters in Vesontio for a few hours, then resupply and ride out again. Then the next day another one arrives. It’s even got me a bit jumpy, truth be told…’
‘Spies and scouts everywhere… that’s Caesar’s doing. He’ll have had Labienus keeping an extremely close eye on things while he was away.’
He frowned.
‘But the immediate question is: how prepared do we need to be? Has Caesar called us all back early in case the Gauls collectively decide its time to kick some Roman backside, or does he know something we don’t?’
Crispus shook his head.
‘It’s a problem, for certain. Perhaps we should enquire of Labienus?’
‘Shortly,’ Fronto agreed. ‘First you have to go show your face to your men. Then, I’d suggest we meet up in a couple of hours and go visit Balbus in his tent before we head into the city. Besides, I’m absolutely shattered. I think a half hour with my boots off and maybe a ‘hair of the dog’ is in order before I start running around and panicking about agitated Gauls.’
Crispus nodded.
‘You make a fair point, Marcus my good friend. I shall go and renew my acquaintance with my officers.’
Fronto smiled.
‘Your horse won’t be ready for you for quarter of an hour or so. Might as well join me for a ‘hair’ eh?’
Crispus grinned and reached across to the chest on which stood a small jar of wine, while Fronto removed his boots with a deep sigh.
Priscus rolled his eyes and picked up his vine staff.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll go and find something useful to do. Nice to see you both again, but if I spend quarter of an hour in the company of those feet I’ll never breathe clear again.’
Wafting his hand across his face, Priscus gripped his helmet and left the building, his eyes screwed up tightly.
‘What?’ demanded Fronto irritably as Crispus breathed in deep ragged gasps between bursts of laughter.
* * * * *
Crispus burst into a fresh bout of laughter. It had been over an hour since he had left Fronto’s camp, leading his freshly fed and groomed horse back to his own unit. Though he had not had time to visit the temporary bathhouse, he had taken a quick dip in a tub of cold water, shaved, and raked his hair straight. Dressed in clean clothes from his pack, he once more felt human, though there was an insistent, if gentle, thumping deep in his brain.
Which is why the sight of Fronto, still dishevelled and covered in dust with a hairstyle that… well ‘style’ was being excessively kind. Crispus covered his mouth and sniggered gently. His peer from the Tenth Legion smelled faintly like a dead bear.
‘I shall leap to
the assumption that you do not really care what Labienus thinks of you, Marcus? You look like you’ve had an accident with a quadriga and a midden.’
‘Shut up.’
Raking his fingers through his unruly hair, where they caught in a tangle, Fronto strode across to the gate of the Eighth Legion’s temporary fortress. Despite his travel-worn state, he still wore his cuirass and plumed helmet, along with the almost-red military cloak, clearly marking him out as an officer. The guards at the gate stood at attention and saluted, totally straight faced.
‘Shut up’ he said again, this time to the legionaries whose faces were so sombre that it was clear they were deliberately forcing themselves not to smile.
Accompanied by the grinning Crispus, Fronto strode up the decumana toward Balbus’ headquarters. As with his own camp, soldiers saluted as they passed and then went quickly about their business. He was starting to feel a little better-humoured, despite the horrible pounding behind his left eye, when a voice like a saw through marble called out from a side street.
‘You look like shit!’
As his head snapped angrily round, Titus Balventius, primus pilus of the Eighth Legion, fell into step alongside him. Fronto opened his mouth and then quickly bit back his acerbic retort. Getting into a battle of insults with Balventius would be a perilous thing indeed.
‘Balventius. Did you leave at all during the winter? Did you go and check out your new estate?’
The grizzled veteran rolled his one good eye, the milky white one fixed firmly, if disconcertingly, ahead.
‘I went back for a month or so. It’s nice, I suppose. Lots of room. Spent a couple of weeks building a fence, bought some horses and put ‘em in there. Then a bear came bumbling out of the woods and the horses smashed my fence to pieces and bolted. I wrote half of the property over to my brother and left him to sort out the mess while I came back here.’
Crispus smiled uncertainly.
‘I have no idea know why, Titus, but I’m having a little difficulty picturing your brother.’
Balventius glanced across at him and then turned to Fronto.
‘He sounds less posh? I’m not having to concentrate so hard to follow him.’
Fronto nodded.
‘I’ve been trying to drive out the orator in him and lower his brow a bit, but I don’t think it worked. I think it’s all that Gaulish beer that’s rotting his brain. That’s what’s done it!’
Balventius smiled. The effect was fairly frightening through his crisscrossed network of scars.
‘My brother’s a lot like me,’ he said, turning to Crispus. ‘But less handsome. He’d still be serving under Pompey’s legions, but he got hamstrung about five years ago. He’s been living off his honesta missio, but Pompey’s not as generous as Caesar. Half my grant’s more than all of his.’
Fronto was mulling over the difference between his own patron general and the great Pompey as they arrived at the praetorium. Balventius nodded to the guards outside, and one of them knocked on the wooden door before entering to announce their arrival. As the man returned and stepped to one side, the ageing legate of the Eighth appeared in the doorway, a broad grin splitting his face.
‘It’s about time!’
The bald, round-faced commander disappeared back into the gloom of the building, and the three men looked at each other, shrugged, and followed him in.
It took a few moments to become accustomed to the dim interior, but slowly their eyes adjusted. Balbus took his seat behind a desk covered in unit strength assessments, supply requests and training reports. With a sigh of satisfaction, he leaned back in his chair and reached for the glass of water nearby.
‘So what news of Hispania? Is it still standing?’
‘Ha, bloody ha!’ Fronto grumbled, rubbing his temple.
‘I do not think it was the campaign break that Marcus anticipated,’ Crispus smiled. ‘He had planned to visit Longinus’ estate to deliver the ashes and his goods and then move on to Tarraco and spend the winter carousing. Severa had different ideas, though.’
‘Severa?’
Fronto looked at Balbus’ questioning expression, glared at Crispus and then sighed.
‘Longinus’ wife. She… erm… took to me.’
‘She wouldn’t let him stay in Tarraco,’ Crispus laughed. ‘Insisted on looking after us personally. Sometimes frightfully personally, I suspect, eh Marcus?’
‘Anyway!’ Fronto barked irritably, ‘Let’s get to the matter at hand. I gather there’ve been stirrings among the Gauls.’
The humour slid gently from Balbus’ face.
‘I rather think something’s in the wind. The Belgae are getting themselves involved in Gaulish politics and, given their fearsome reputation, that can’t be a good thing. I just hope this discontent is limited. If it spreads among all the non-allied Gauls and Belgae, we could be in trouble. Six legions is a lot, but not when faced with a million angry Celts.’
‘Then the staff’s going to have its work cut out.’
The other two looked questioningly at Fronto.
‘Well… you know Caesar. He’s got something up his sleeve. He sent for us for a reason. Something’s about to happen, but it’s going to have to involve people like us stamping a heavy Roman boot on anyone who openly declares against us while people like Labienus and Procillus trying to persuade the rest of Gaul that we’re doing it for them. It’s that good old fine political line again.’
Crispus nodded.
‘And I cannot help but wonder whether Caesar uncovered anything concerning that tribune Salonius and the conspiracies against him at Vesontio, too?’
‘Indeed.’ Everything went quiet for a moment as the four officers looked at each other.
‘Jove, it’s good to see you boys again’ beamed Balbus with a sigh of relief.
Fronto leaned back and ran his hands through his tangled hair once again.
‘How are Corvinia and the girls? Good I hope?’
Balbus laughed.
‘Disappointed. I’m sure they all expected you to come and visit.’
Balventius let out a low whistle.
‘What is it with you and women, Fronto? It seems like they all want some of you.’
‘I think it’s a mothering thing,’ the scruffy legate replied. ‘They all want to look after me, ‘cause they think I can’t look after myself. I think they think I’m nicer than I am, too!’
Balventius chuckled and the tent fell quiet once more.
‘So,’ Crispus interjected tentatively, ‘what is the situation here? Fronto’s primus pilus intimated there were stirrings of unrest among the Gauls?’
Fronto nodded.
‘We’re going to see Labienus after this to get the complete picture. I like to be well prepared for all eventualities before the general shows up. In fact, I’d like to know everything I can.’
Balbus nodded. ‘I’ve only just returned myself.’ He gestured to Balventius, and the scarred veteran turned his good eye toward Fronto.
‘It’s been happening for months. Labienus received a message by courier one day from Caesar. A few hours later he sent out a half dozen scouts; Gaulish auxiliaries, they were. I don’t know how many people noticed, but I was a bit surprised. None of them went out with their Roman auxiliary equipment. Just dressed up like plain old Gauls, they were.’
Fronto frowned.
‘Think I can guess why, but go on…’
‘Well,’ Balventius continued, ‘since then they’ve been coming and going regularly. I stopped a few in the early days to find out what they were doing, and they refused to tell me; directed me to general Labienus, telling me they were under orders of silence. I went to see the commander and he basically told me to mind my own business.’
He sighed.
‘Since then, though, word’s started to leak out. No matter how much they’re told it’s a secret… well…’ he smiled at Fronto. ‘Drink loosens tongues. A few beers and these Gaulish scouts are telling all their friends. They’ve been s
couting out the Belgae and various other tribes.’
‘I already knew that,’ replied Fronto, leaning forward. ‘What don’t I know?’
‘Well, I think you can safely say this isn’t just a bit of unrest. Not like a few Numidians shaking their spears and grumbling. It looks like this is getting organised.’
‘Go on?’
‘The Belgae are violent sons of whores, Fronto.’
‘Yes…’ snapped the dishevelled legate irritably. ‘And?’
‘We’ve never really concerned ourselves with the Belgae because they just spend all their time kicking, biting and carving each other. I spoke to some of the native levies, and they all agree that you’ve never seen any people eternally at war with themselves like the Belgae. The only time they’ve ever been know to stop it and actually turn their energy outwards was the odd time when the German tribes tried to cross the Rhine and have a go with them. Even the Germans are frightened of them!’
Fronto laughed.
‘But?’
‘But they’ve stopped fighting each other, Fronto. They’ve been swapping hostages and making blood pacts and all that other crap. They’re one people right now, and that’s a bit disturbing. That’s a whole new thing. They’ve banded together, and it’s not for defence this time.’
The legate of the Tenth nodded.
‘So they’re getting ready to face us.’
‘But,’ Crispus interrupted, ‘the crucial question is: have they done this because they have decided that Rome is a perilous neighbour, which would mean we have to face them, or have they done this because they’ve been begged or bribed by other tribes? If the latter’s the case, we may be facing half of Gaul shortly.’
Fronto sighed.
‘I think you’re missing the third option there.’
‘Pardon?’ Crispus glanced across at him. Balventius and Balbus also leaned forward, their brows knitted.
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘it seems pretty obvious to me, but then I’ve known the general a long time; know how his mind works.’
A chorus of nonplussed looks. Fronto sighed.
‘Caesar had to engineer a way to get us into Gaul last year. He needs conquest and booty. We’re not here because the Helvetii threatened Rome. We could have let them past, but no… they were just the excuse we needed to begin campaigning in Gaul. But it’s no use stopping there. We’d gained nothing except perhaps a little stronger alliance with the Aedui and instilled fear in our northern neighbour.’
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 54