“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 just 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 whilst Caesar prepares for war.”
Again, the grin.
Velius slung the wine down his throat and banged the goblet down on the table emphatically.
“Have you any idea how much trouble we could land ourselves in? How many men are you taking, and why not Priscus? He’s just being a miserable lazy fart and making our lives difficult anyway.”
“We’re taking the Second Cohort and a cavalry contingent. I don’t know how big that’ll be until Longinus gets here. I’ve asked for him and Brutus to join us. Labienus will be here in about forty five minutes too. You’re going to command the infantry while we’re there.”
Velius nodded.
“Do we know how long we’re to play hostage?”
Fronto’s’ brows knitted together.
“Until Caesar says otherwise. I get the feeling I just said the wrong thing at the wrong time and Caesar’s venting his irritation on me.”
“Nothing new then. I’ll get the Second Cohort formed up.”
“Wait a bit. I need you to be fully aware of what’s going on, so you’d better speak to the others too.”
The two sat and drank in silence for a few minutes until there was a tentative knock on the doorframe and, without waiting for an invitation, Longinus walked in. Fronto smiled.
“Lucky I’m not naked, eh?”
Longinus nodded.
“Yes, but who for?”
He took a seat opposite Fronto and nodded at the centurion.
“Velius.”
“Sir.”
“Sir? It’s a preciously rare moment I hear you call someone that!”
Velius smiled.
“Ah, but you’re a big nob now sir.”
Longinus sighed and raised his eyes skywards.
“What’s all this about then? I’m a little busy at the moment. I’ve had over a thousand cavalry turn up over the last few days, and they’re only from the local tribes. It’s a nightmare of organisation.”
Fronto smiled again.
“Well now you’ve got another job, Gaius. I’m accompanying Labienus on the next diplomatic mission to the Germans. Well, Velius and I and the Second Cohort. Caesar wants you to supply a cavalry contingent. He didn’t tell me how many, but I’d imagine an ala would fit nicely with a legionary cohort. What d’you think?”
Longinus frowned.
“One ala shouldn’t be a problem. You’ll want good men if you’re going into that kind of situation. If you’re taking a cohort, you’re expecting trouble, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well my time’s taken up quite seriously with the Auxilia, so I can spare some regulars. D’you remember Ingenuus?”
Fronto chewed a moment on his lower lip, and then brightened up.
“That was the cavalry decurion who charged in against the Helvetii to save his compatriots, wasn’t he. The one who went above and beyond? I haven’t thought about him for months.”
Longinus smiled.
“Then you’ve not been paying attention to the cavalry, Marcus. Aulus Ingenuus is now a full cavalry prefect, with a squadron of his own. He’s itching for action, and I think you could do worse. I’ll send him; he should do nicely.”
Fronto leaned forward and refilled his cup.
“Sounds good. I’ll feel better knowing I’ve got good men by my side. Labienus is a fair old talker, but I’m not sure about his ability to keep Ariovistus spinning until the general’s ready.”
The cavalry commander sighed and stood.
“Good. Well, I’d better be heading off. I’ll have Ingenuus drop by in the next hour to work things out with you.”
Fronto caught him as he turned.
“Hang on, Gaius. Caesar wants to see you straight away. He’s getting onto a war-footing and wants to be ready for campaign as soon as possible. Due warning: I don’t think you’re going to get the time you need to organise things properly.”
Longinus smiled.
“When did the general ever give people what they wanted? We’ll be ready, don’t you worry. You just keep your mind on your own problem. I’d rather be in my shoes than yours!”
Fronto frowned as he let go of the commander.
“One more thing Gaius. Caesar’s planning to send a messenger to us when he’s ready to go. Could you arrange a little private cavalry messenger service on top of that? I’d like to have a lot more warning than the general’s likely to give us. I don’t want Caesar to suddenly hove into view over the hill while we’re surrounde
d by thousands of startled Germans.”
Longinus chuckled.
“I think we can set something up. We’ll have a lot of semi-local auxiliaries who know the area. They’d be perfect. I’ll organise it.”
“Thanks Gaius.”
The cavalry commander turned and left the tent whistling a happy-sounding tune. Fronto was once again struck by the enormous change the last half-year had wrought on Longinus. He was brought back to the present by a further knock on the tent frame. Brutus walked in, still looking dreadful, without his armour, but still wearing the same worn and stained clothing he’s returned in.
“Alright Fronto. What do you want? I haven’t slept in three days of riding.”
Fronto nodded toward a spare seat.
“Sorry Brutus, but this really couldn’t wait. In a few hours, we’re going out to bridge the gap between embassy and war with the Germans, and I need to know everything you can tell me about their land, tribe and stronghold.”
Chapter 14
(Ariovistus’ fortress in Sequani lands close to the Rhine)
“Subarmalis: a leather garment worn under armour to prevent chafing and rust, to which the pteruges are attached.”
“Carnarium: a wooden frame covered in hooks for hanging sides of meat.”
Fronto sat sullenly in the doorway of the hut. After such a protracted stay at Bibracte, he had become far too used to a civilised town and the soft life. Even under the rule of the Sequani, this place would have been dour, dull and backwards. Under the rule of the German invaders, it was the nadir of culture to Fronto. He sighed and spat out into the muddy street. It hadn’t rained in these parts for many weeks and yet due to the lack of hygiene facilities the entire settlement swam in murky slurry and stank like a latrine.
The Sequani inhabitants of the settlement went about their business with a perpetual frown, trudging through the slick with their shoulders hunched and exchanging few, if any, words. The feeling of dejection and oppression in the town was tangible. The stockade gates stood permanently open. The Germans couldn’t care less if anything happened to their Sequani subjects, so long as they themselves were safe. Beyond the revolting huddle of huts stood the temporary camp of the German leader, Ariovistus.
On the rise beyond the far gate a new stockade had been erected, surrounding an area of greater size than the original town. Within, the German warriors lived in squalid leather tents that still stank of the tanning process.
Almost two weeks the Romans had been here now with no sign of a word from Caesar or Longinus. Things had been strained from the beginning, but Labienus had truly excelled in his task. He had managed to be offhand, insulting and outrageous enough to keep getting ejected from the Chieftain’s enclosure for days at a time, but never quite insulting enough to get them into serious trouble. The balance was perfect. If Labienus kept playing it this way, they could spend months teetering on the edge of talking with Ariovistus, but never quite achieving anything. It would have made Fronto laugh had he not spent those two weeks living in squalor here in the backside of Gaul. He and Labienus had each been given a hut, as had the cavalry prefect. The troops themselves were quartered in their tents outside the walls of the settlement. Fronto rather wished he was camped with them, away from the smell.
Rising from the doorway, he determined to get away again. Stretching and touching the lintel above the doorway with his good arm, he glanced around the hut and shuddered. His locked travel chest sat in the corner. He’d not taken it from the baggage train since early in the campaign, but now he’d decided it would be wise to keep things under lock and key. So close to a large, hostile force, he would have to keep his armour and gear stored in the hut, but away from prying eyes and thieving fingers. Labienus, having not been concerned with such matters, had left his armour and weapons with the Second Cohort outside the walls. As an afterthought, Fronto tried to reach up and grip the lintel with his right arm. The strain was painful and it felt like his arm was tearing to pieces, but for the first time in two and a half months, he could reach as high with both arms. Wincing, he gripped the wood and tried to pull his weight off the ground. A sudden pain like liquid fire ran the length of his arm several times and, letting go of the lintel, he collapsed in a heap inside the hut. Oh well, it was still improving faster than the medics had told him.
Fronto trudged and sloshed out into the street, grateful once again that he had brought two pairs of comfortable, enclosed leather boots with him from Aquileia. Trying not to meet the unhappy stares of the people, he made for the open gate and the legionary encampment beyond. Two German warriors stood guard (though Fronto could only apply the term loosely) at the gap. They looked a great deal like the Helvetii in Fronto’s opinion, though their speech was considerably harsher and their personal habits made him cringe. There was no denying their courage, on the other hand. Fronto had seen a crowd amassing in the square one night and had gone to investigate. He had been impressed to see a German warrior, unarmed and clad only in his trousers, fighting off three savage dogs. He had walked away before it reached serious unpleasantness, but had heard the snaps and squeals as the man had dispatched all three.
One of the guards pointed at Fronto and said something guttural. The other laughed. He wondered for a moment whether breaking arms or legs would cause an incident and, coming to the conclusion that Labienus would disapprove, smiled sweetly at the two guards while he told them in Latin to piss off.
The camp of the accompanying Roman force was guarded by members of the Second Cohort. Ariovistus had forbidden them from fortifying the location so Velius had, in his usual efficient way, set up a rota that kept an extremely strong and alert guard around the camp. He had also refused to allow the cavalry to take their turn. He considered the cavalry to be ‘faeries’ as he had put it the other night. They ‘needed looking after’ and ‘couldn’t tie their bootstraps without the help of the infantry’. Fronto smiled. Nothing made him laugh like Velius.
He was gratified to note that despite his close ties with the Tenth, he was stopped and the password requested by the guard. Velius would probably be in line for a position as primus pilus before too long. Fronto suspected one of the other legions would require a primus pilus in the near future, and he could see Caesar allocating Velius in the place.
Nodding in recognition and giving the password, the legate passed by the guards and made for the praetorium where Velius would be camped.
The centurion stood in full armour by the standards in front of his tent. His vine staff jammed tightly beneath his arm, he surveyed the soldiers wandering around the camp with a professional eye. Velius took his job very seriously.
Smiling with relief and breathing deeply to sample the fresher air of the Roman encampment, Fronto nodded to Velius, who saluted smartly and then took up his position again.
“Morning, sir.”
Fronto wandered up to the centurion and stood at ease beside him, rubbing his sore arm.
“What in the Gods are you watching so intently?”
Velius smiled.
“We’re not allowed to fortify, but this position makes me very nervous, so I’m hedging my bets. Arm bothering you again?”
Fronto raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
“Tried to exercise it and I think I’ve torn something again. What do you mean hedging your bets?”
The centurion sighed and gestured around him.
“I’ve had weapons and shields stashed at appropriate positions around the camp, out of sight of the town. No soldier has been allowed out of his armour except during sleep, and you see that large tent nearest the town gate?”
Fronto nodded.
“That’s a rather large tent.”
“Yes, I got it from the cavalry. I’ve been sneaking timber in there now for about four days. We’ve got a lot of defensive stakes ready, faggots of brushwood and twigs ready to light with flint and tinder. If we get more than a couple of minutes notice, we can be on a defensive footing.”
Fronto gr
inned.
“Nice thinking. I don’t like this much either. I wish Longinus would send us some kind of word. The army must be ready to move by now. I might have a quiet word with Ingenuus and send a courier back to Bibracte. I need to know the full picture.”
The centurion nodded unhappily.
“I just hate being so tied up with arse-wipe bureaucracy that I can’t carry out a professional action. By now we should be settled into a well-fortified marching camp, not pissing about like children. Hello, here comes Labienus.”
The staff officer strode through the camp in just his tunic and subarmalis. He wore only his dagger, hanging from his belt, his sword kept in the camp armoury with the rest of his gear. The look on his face spoke of an anger and a frustration that Fronto was sure would be shared by every Roman here.
“Morning Titus. Nothing changed then, I take it?”
Labienus grimaced.
“I think we’re going backwards. Ariovistus is running out of patience. I swear I hadn’t even finished speaking this morning when his guards hustled me out. I’d love to give the man a sound thrashing. I’m not used to being treated like that.”
Fronto frowned.
“That German irritates me beyond compare. I’m seriously tempted to give the order to fortify just to spite him. I’ve had trouble at times dealing with war against the Gauls, as some of them seem so civilised and, after all, we’re in their land carrying out campaigns, so you can see it from their side. These Germans though, they’re invaders. They deserve everything we can throw at them. Look what they’ve done to the Sequani.”
Velius nodded emphatically and tapped his vine staff on his leg.
“They’re only barbarians. With a full cohort, we could probably rush that camp and take them before they knew we were there.”
“Don’t be stupid, centurion.”
Labienus turned angrily to face Velius.
“You haven’t been up there; you’ve just seen it from a distance. There’s around a thousand of us down here. There are at least ten times as many up there, maybe more. And don’t forget how many other smaller forces that madman’s got stashed in other locations around the Sequani land. They don’t need to equip before battle. If you attack them, they’re already prepared. They live for it. Think before you open your mouth!”
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