He ignored the glare he was receiving from the quartermaster and his grin widened.
‘But, on the other hand, since it’s costing so much each time, we’d best make it worth it. Have another five or six amphorae sent to my tent, will you?’
As Cita started to shake, slowly, Fronto tossed him a loose sestertius and turned with Crispus to wander back toward his headquarters area.
Several hours later, Fronto exploded with laughter and had to wipe the wine from his chin as Sabinus ended a tale of misspent youth with a sidesplitting punch line. The officers seated around the legate’s tent rocked with mirth.
Sabinus grinned at his companions. By the time Fronto’s tent had been put up and his gear set out inside, almost a dozen officers had gathered to relax in the notorious officer’s company. Crispus wheezed and took a deep breath but, as he opened his mouth to speak, there was a heavy knock at the door.
Fronto cleared his throat.
‘Yes?’
A legionary, ruddy-faced and out of breath, leaned in through the doorway.
‘Sir? We have movement at the gate of Noviodunum. The duty centurion asked me to find you…’
Fronto stood, wobbling gently, his legs unsteady after an hour cross-legged on the floor.
‘Thank you. We’ll be along presently.’
As the soldier retreated and let the tent flap fall shut, Fronto struggled into his boots and the men around him hurriedly replaced their drinks on the table and hauled themselves upright.
‘What do you suppose this is?’ Crispus queried. ‘They can’t be trying sorties against us, surely?’
Fronto shook his head.
‘No. Let’s go have a look.’
The officers finished suiting up, adjusted their accoutrements, and strode in a businesslike fashion out of the tent and through the newly completed camp. A moment later they arrived at the gate and gazed across the grass to the impressive oppidum. A small party of men, three of them on horseback, were slowly approaching the Roman force.
Squinting, Fronto spied the traditional animal standards and bronze equipment of Belgic noblemen and their guards. Likely these were top men among the Suessiones. Briefly his memory flashed back to Bibrax.
‘Gods, I hope someone there speaks Latin.’
The officers gathered around the open gate parted as the familiar voice of Labienus called out ‘make way for Caesar!’
The general strode out to the front to stand between Sabinus and Fronto.
‘Ambassadors. They perhaps hope to make terms?’
Fronto shrugged. He fervently hoped so. A siege was a messy way to make war, and they could do with the tribes in the south all being at peace with Rome. He looked up again as the Belgae closed and reined in. One of the three riders, an old man with white-grey braided hair raised his spear in a non-threatening fashion, holding it sideways and casting it to the floor in front of the group.
‘Roman. The Suessiones seek an end to this. Call off your war dogs and we will discuss peace.’
Caesar smiled his empty smile.
‘Why should we discuss peace with an enemy when we have the advantage? You seek peace only because you see our ramp, our towers and our determination. You know Noviodunum will fall soon and fear drives you to bargain.’
The old man’s brow furrowed.
‘You would keep fighting? So that the Suessiones are no more? Be sure that if you do, many Romans will not leave here. We are Belgae and brave. We offer peace, but if you insist on war we will make the price of our oppidum the highest Rome will ever pay.’
Caesar frowned.
‘My terms are simple, then: total and unconditional surrender of the entire tribe to the will of Rome. Then we call off our attack.’
The old nobleman sighed.
‘And our most beautiful women, our strongest men…’ he sneered unpleasantly ‘… and our prettiest boys will be sent to Rome as slaves. This is less acceptable than death. We will agree peaceful terms, but we will not sell ourselves, Roman.’
Caesar took a deep breath and gave a feral smile.
‘Equally, when we are in such a strong position, you would not expect us to clasp arms with you and forget our thousands of dead? I will retire to consider what I am willing to accept and return within the hour. You,’ he said arrogantly, ‘will wait here until I return. If you do not, then I will consider that to be a decision to fight on and we will recommence our siege.’
Without waiting for a reply, Caesar turned and strode off back to his headquarters, the senior officers hot on his heels as the duty centurion and his men fell in and closed the gate behind them, leaving the disgruntled Suessiones staring at a closed door.
* * * * *
Caesar shook his head.
‘After the damage they have done to us, and with our current position of strength, I refuse to smile and welcome these barbarians into the fold. By rights, they should be begging for their lives on their knees now and, instead, they have the audacity to make demands of us?’
Fronto glanced across at Galronus, the most senior of the Remi serving with the auxiliaries. The man, strong and tall and every bit as impressive as the son of a chieftain should be, was glowering at Caesar.
‘My father want Suessiones treat well. Friend with Rome!’
The general rumbled deep in his throat.
‘Your father, Galronus, does not dictate the policy of the Roman military. If the Suessiones wanted alliance with Rome, they should not have chosen to go to war against us. For Venus’ sake, it’s their leader who was elected to prosecute the war!’
Crispus cleared his throat.
‘Perhaps, Caesar, this is an opportunity to build bridges rather than walls?’
The general’s head snapped round to glare at the young legate.
‘Very pretty rhetoric, Crispus, but I am faced with two options. Firstly, I make peace with them and let them side with Rome, and to balance the thousands of dead they have caused, we draw a small number of auxiliary soldiers from them, and maybe a hostage or two. Secondly, we take Noviodunum, put the Remi in charge, and sell the Suessiones and all of their goods for an enormous war profit that may well pay for another year’s campaigning?’
The room went silent.
‘Yes, I think that’s a fairly clinching argument, gentlemen.’
Galronus stood angrily.
‘Rome want friends with Remi? Remi want Rome friends with Suessiones.’ He folded his arms and then spread them in a breaking motion. ‘Rome not friend with Suessiones? Rome not friend with Remi. Remi go home!’
Caesar’s face took on a dangerous hue and Fronto stood and strode across between them, turning to the Belgic nobleman.
‘Galronus? Your point is made. Please, go outside and calm down. Have a drink. Kick a horse or something. Just cool down.’
He jostled the resisting man to the tent’s entrance and heaved him bodily outside, pinning the flap closed. He turned to see mixed emotions on Caesar’s face.
‘Sorry, Caesar, but any moment you or he would have said something we’d all later regret!’
The general continued to glower. Fronto walked forward and took a central position. He had never been a great speaker, and his rhetoric teacher had given up in disgust, but when you had a great point to make, he knew the centre of the floor was where to make it.
‘Caesar, you can make money from them as slaves and from booty, but it’s a short term win. I can give you three reasons why you should choose to come to terms.’
He held up his hand and touched one index finger with the other.
‘One: terms are negotiable. You can gain auxiliaries who know the other tribes and the lands to the north; men who have been in the intimate council of the enemy; even taking the man who led their army on as an ally. The intelligence you can gain is phenomenal. If they feel you are treating them with fairness, they may be amenable to giving you booty willingly, and resupplying you. You may find the benefits that you can argue for outweigh what you can just t
ake.’
Caesar’s glower had faded to a vaguely thoughtful frown. He gestured to Fronto to continue.
‘Two,’ the legate said, touching his middle finger this time, ‘word of this will spread. If you show mercy and care, other tribes may be swayed to our side without a fight. Whereas, if you tear the Suessiones down and destroy them, you will remove for all time any hope of the other tribes seeking peace. I’ve fought these Belgae four times now this year already, and I don’t believe that they’ll react to violent treatment by becoming scared and meekly surrendering. If they see you take out vengeance on a defeated tribe, I think you’ll find they’ll react with ever greater violence.’
He waited and watched Caesar’s frown deepen.
‘Three.’
Here was the biggest gamble, as he touched a third finger. ‘The future. I don’t know whether we’ll be here next year fighting more Celts or whether, once the Belgae are with us, the whole land will settle, and we’ll be able to call the whole of Gaul Roman, but either way…’ he swallowed. ‘Either way, one day Gaul will be Roman and what we do now will either help hasten that or delay it. If we want Gaul a peaceful, contented province, we have to start dealing with them correctly even now.’
He finished his little speech with a dramatic sweep of his arm and looked around at the assembled faces, pleased to note the nods here and there among the officers, the thoughtful looks on almost every upturned face, and the sheer pride in Crispus’ young eyes. He dropped his arms to his sides and gazed levelly at Caesar.
For a long moment, the general sat silently, staring at him, and then suddenly burst into genuine and noisy laughter.
There were nervous laughs scattered around the tent from those who did not see the joke but feared for their careers if they were not seen to follow Caesar. Fronto almost smiled as he watched Plancus wrestling with himself, laughing madly while he frowned, unsure why he was doing so.
Finally, Caesar slapped his hand down on the arm of his chair and wiped his eyes.
‘Fronto, you are absolutely priceless. I can see why you never went into politics. A magnificent collection of points you made, but you deliver great ideas in common language, while gesturing like a hawker of meats in the forum. And you’re sweating so much your tunic’s actually changed colour!’
More laughter. Fronto sighed and merely waited for it to finish.
‘Fine!’ Caesar smiled. ‘You win me over. I can be as merciful as I can harsh. Let’s go see the Suessiones and see what they can offer.’
Fronto’s shoulders dropped with relief and, as the general left the tent, the other officers filing out behind him, a number of them slapped him on the back or grasped his arm as they left. Lastly, Crispus and Balbus joined him, and the three left the tent.
‘Magnificent, Marcus’ Crispus grinned. ‘You had the general convinced by the end of your first point. That last one though… worthy of Scaevola himself.’
‘Who the hell is Scaevola? You’re in danger of slipping back into rhetoric yourself!’
Balbus laughed.
‘He’s right, though. That was very good. I didn’t realise you thought that far ahead. I never assumed you thought beyond the next drink or the next fight!’
Fronto frowned.
‘I just hope he doesn’t demand too much and push the Suessiones into a fight anyway. Do we really want to go and watch negotiations?’
Balbus shook his head.
‘I don’t, but I think Caesar might expect you to be there, given the role you just played.’
‘Oh, he doesn’t need me. And I have a jug in my tent that’s still half full. Cita would moan at me if he thought I was wasting his precious wine.’
Almost an hour had passed with Fronto, Balbus and Crispus lounging in the tent, working through Fronto’s now copious stock of wine. The mood had been light and frivolous since the meeting at Caesar’s tent.
Crispus grinned at Fronto.
‘So… about your woman, Marcus?’
Fronto grimaced.
‘What about her?’
‘Well I can’t devote the senior officers of the Eleventh for the rest of the campaign to babysitting a girl for you. You need to decide what to do. Are you going to leave her here?’
Fronto shrugged.
‘Can you have your tribunes deliver her to the elders in Noviodunum? She’ll be safe there, once the treaty’s been ratified.’
Crispus frowned.
‘We can do that, certainly, but she trusts you, Marcus. It should be you who takes her if she’s to go.’
Fronto shook his head.
‘I think not. The bloody woman attaches herself to me like a limpet. If your tribunes take her, she might stay there. Not with me though.’
Crispus smiled.
‘Very well. I shall arrange it for the morning. But you may regret it on the cold nights in the hills…’
Balbus laughed.
‘What is it with you, Marcus? Women just want you.’
The three were still laughing when there was a knock at the door. Before Fronto could call out, however, the familiar voice of Sabinus from outside addressed another man.
‘It’s Fronto’s tent. Don’t stand on ceremony.’
Fronto grinned as the staff officer flung the leather aside and stepped in.
‘Are you still sober, man of the hour?’
Behind Sabinus came Tetricus, with the tall figure of Galronus of the Remi stooping to enter and bringing up the rear.
‘Others will be along shortly’ Sabinus stated. ‘Your man Priscus is busy arguing with Cita over wine and beer…’
‘Oh, good…’ smiled Crispus vaguely.
‘But I thought you’d like to know that we are now officially allied with the Suessiones. They’re supplying us with troops, gold and provisions and lots of information. Their leader’s gone to consult with Caesar.’
Fronto smiled.
‘Good sense does sometimes win out, then.’
Sabinus nodded.
‘So, I think we’ll be here for a few days now and, since you and I might be called on at any time to go deal with official matters, let’s make the most of this evening.’
He sat down and grabbed three mugs from the table, passing one to Tetricus and one to Galronus. The engineer watched happily as the staff officer filled the mug.
‘Hadn’t even got a third of the way out into the ditch with my ramp, let alone got the towers built. Caesar reckons that as soon as they saw what we were doing, they gave in. Says he’s going to give me a phalera for my efforts. It’s rare that an engineer gets decorated!’
Sabinus nodded.
‘Certainly is. Well deserved though. That ramp idea of yours gave us the Suessiones without a fight.’
‘Thank you’ a voice said.
Fronto turned to look in surprise at the Remi nobleman, who raised his mug in salute.
‘Remi and Suessiones thank legatus Fronto.’
Taking a deep swig from the mug, the man reached up and unfastened the finely-crafted golden torc that hung around his neck. With a smile, he held it out to Fronto. The legate stared at it for a moment, so Galronus nodded and gestured with it.
‘Fronto says thank you’ interjected Sabinus, passing the torc on. ‘Now that’s enough giving of presents. Tomorrow we’ll probably be ironing out treaties and training Belgae, so for now, let’s get good and drunk before your primus pilus gets here with his dice and takes me for everything I own.’
PART TWO: PRIDE OF THE BELGAE
Chapter 12
(Roman camp outside the fortified oppidum of Noviodunum)
‘Duplicarius: A soldier on double the basic pay.’
The early afternoon sun glinted off the standards and equipment piles of the Tenth Legion. The camp had settled into that limbo during a campaign when there was currently no direction or action, but the constant threat of it.
Despite Caesar’s earlier desire to press on with the campaign, he seemed to have changed his mind, and over two weeks ha
d passed since the deal had been struck between them and the Suessiones, during which time the senior officers had been closeted away, leaving the legions and the auxiliary units to their own devices.
Fronto had been called regularly to staff meetings, though his input had been minimal, he being entirely uninterested in facts, figures and agreements regarding supply, levying of new auxiliaries and the terms and conditions of the alliance. Fronto had taken every possible opportunity to slip away and relax, though most of the people he would generally relax with were also required to attend those meetings.
He had tried to get into the oppidum to make use of the local taverns as the lower ranks were doing when off-duty, but had spotted that Bellovaci woman again in the square with a face like thunder and had hurriedly left without a drink.
And so he had been forced to turn elsewhere for a drinking companion, and had been pleasantly surprised at the good company he had found entirely by accident.
Galronus of the Remi smiled at Fronto as he shook the dice.
‘My Latin getting better, yes?’
Fronto nodded.
‘It was never bad, but you’ll be fluent in no time. Long before I learn any of your tongue, anyway.’
Galronus laughed.
‘Your language easy. My language hard.’
‘No argument from me.’ He sighed. ‘When the hell is Caesar going to move on, I wonder. A few weeks ago he was hopping from foot to foot, willing to throw away good men just to get moving and wade into the Belgae… no offence meant, Galronus… but now he’s spending all his time in talks with the king of the Suessiones and the legions are getting bored.’
The Remi nobleman grinned.
‘I think your speech make him want to be friends with Belgae?’
Fronto shook his head.
‘You don’t know the general. He’s about as sentimental as a sword-point. He only went along with what I said because it was advantageous to him and I made it clear. Besides,’ he sighed, ‘I’ve noticed that the Belgae don’t generally seem interested in peace with Rome.’
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 76