“Felix? Good. He assuredly deserves it. I have the niggling feeling at times that he tries to protect me. It can be a touch unnerving. For when is the ceremony planned, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Fronto shrugged once more.
“Some time tomorrow. Can’t remember exactly. We’ll only be here a couple of days now and then it’ll be time for us all to piss off back to our families for a while.”
“I…”
Crispus’ voice trailed off and he stood suddenly and smartly at attention. Balbus hauled himself slowly to his feet and nodded respectfully. Fronto craned his head and slumped slightly further down. The door stood wide open in the warm late summer air and the General had entered unannounced. As he walked towards the table, Caesar gestured at the table for them to sit. He smiled sympathetically at Fronto.
“Is the heel still causing you trouble, Marcus? I thought you’d be sprinting by now.”
Fronto grunted and then turned his head again.
“Apologies, General. Please take a seat. The drinks are free at the moment and I suspect he’s got wine if he looks hard enough.”
Caesar squared his shoulders and then unfastened his red cloak, folding it neatly and placing it on a bench near the fireplace. Behind him, three men entered and made their way over. Sabinus and Labienus were no surprise, but the inclusion of Varus in the General’s entourage caused raised eyebrows around the table. Balbus was first to stand.
“Gentlemen. Please join us. I must say that I’m surprised to find you all frequenting a place like this.”
Sabinus laughed.
“Follow Fronto and you’ll always end up in one of the best local drinking pits; this I’ve learned over the last half a year! As it happens, Caesar wanted to speak to you, so I just looked for your primus pilus. He always knows where you are. What’s all the cash on the table?”
Fronto shoved the coins into a neater pile.
“It’s our drinking funds. Should cover us all for however long we want to drink.”
He drew their attention to the barman who was standing helpfully and expectantly next to the table, waiting for orders. He was slightly pale, since he knew who the tall man with the receding hairline and the prominent nose had to be, Fronto guessed. As Sabinus ordered the drinks for the newcomers, Caesar took a seat and gestured for the others to do so.
“Marcus, I’ve deliberated further on awards and I’ve a couple of thoughts. One of them’s really just a confirmation, but for the other I want your opinion and that of Varus.”
Fronto nodded and glanced at Varus, who just looked tired.
“Go on…”
“Well the second matter is that of young Ingenuus. I expect everyone is aware by now that I probably owe my life to his quick thinking and his selfless bravery.”
There were nods all round. The young prefect had been the subject of a great deal of conversation after the battle. Saving Caesar’s life, capturing a daughter of their enemy and rescuing Procillus, the young man had earned praise and respect from a great many sources. Fronto had wondered really whether even two phalerae were a gracious enough demonstration, when the lad probably deserved a corona. He looked up as Caesar continued.
“Varus, you’re a long-serving cavalry officer and a commander of note. I have it on good authority that Longinus favoured you a great deal and his opinion of cavalry always swayed me. What is your opinion of the prefect?”
Varus stretched and took a swig of his drink.
“General, the lad’s got the makings of a great commander. Possibly one of the best. I think another year of command in that position will be the telling point though. He has a tendency to leap into the fray both feet first and get himself into trouble and he’s very lucky he hasn’t fallen foul of his own bravery yet. Basically, I think the wound he received was unfortunate. He’ll never effectively wield a sword again in the saddle unless he has it strapped to his hand.”
Caesar nodded and turned to Fronto.
“You’ve served with him. What do you think?”
Fronto shrugged.
“He’s actually got his head screwed on a little better than I think Varus gives him credit for. He’s only got the same urge to do stupid things as the rest of us. And after this battle, he’s reached the status of ‘hero’ among the men, so any accolade you care to give him will go down well with the troops. What are you proposing? Corona? Appointment to the staff?”
Caesar smiled.
“Actually, I’m thinking of transferring him to my personal guard as their commander. I would say that’s a fairly high-status position.”
Fronto whistled through his teeth.
“I’d say so, yes. Probably a good man for the job, though.”
Varus nodded.
“I’d concur. It’s a position I suspect he’ll excel in.”
Caesar returned the nod.
“Very well. I’ll make that official after the post-ceremony briefing.”
Crispus stuck out his hand.
”General, I think it would be of great use if you could inform us for when the ceremony is planned?”
Caesar raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard. First thing tomorrow morning. Labienus has been passing the word around to the senior officers.”
He smiled slyly.
“Perhaps he hasn’t been round the bars yet, eh?”
Fronto grumbled.
“What was the other thing you meant to say; your confirmation?”
Caesar shuffled back a little in his seat.
“I’m sure you’ll all be pleased to know that after a little deliberation, I have decided to appoint Varus as commander of the cavalry, with Crassus returning to the Seventh. I do hope you’ll accept the position, Varus, as you come on the highest recommendation from the erstwhile commander Longinus who saw fit to request your appointment even in his will.”
Varus nodded, professionalism obviously overpowering his urge to smile and enthuse.
“I would very much appreciate the opportunity, General.”
Caesar smiled.
“Good, because I’ve already spoken to Crassus.”
The General reached out and drained the small goblet of wine, trying hard to suppress the look of distaste at the sharp local beverage.
“Very well. I’ll leave you all to your carousing as I have a great deal to attend to. Varus and Sabinus, it’s up to you what you do this evening but Labienus, I’m afraid I’ll require your assistance.”
Caesar stood and, nodding, made his way out of the tavern, followed by Labienus, head held high. As he reached the door, the General stopped.
“I’ll just remind you all that you’ll be required for the ceremony tomorrow morning, so try not to get too inebriated.”
As the two left, Fronto turned back to Varus.
“Commander of the cavalry, eh? Well done man. I think we might as well stay here for the duration now. Everyone cough up. If we’re to stay out the evening, we’ll need to increase the size of our drinking fund.”
As the assembled officers dug deep in their search for money, a figure appeared at the door. They turned as one to the newcomer in surprise and anticipation.
Crassus strode in, slightly red faced and short of breath, looked around the dim interior until he saw the group round the table and then made straight for them.
Fronto drew breath to confront the man as Crispus and Varus both hauled themselves up. Crassus marched across the bar and to the table.
“I came to offer you my congratulations, Varus. I don’t believe in grudges and there are more important concerns than personal aggrandizement. Will you take my hand?”
He held out his hand as Fronto blinked in surprise. Crispus slumped back onto his stool, though Varus remained half-standing, frowning and unsure. After a moment, he reached out and took the hand.
“I don’t like your command style, Crassus, but then I suppose you probably don’t like mine. I’m a cavalry man at heart and I su
spect your talents lie with infantry strategy. Perhaps we’ll work better together like that.”
Crassus gave a curt nod.
“Just prove yourself right and don’t make me sorry I stood down. Here.”
He reached into his tunic and removed a small pouch. The leather clinked as he dropped it to the table.
“I have something to attend to currently, but have a drink to your success on me. Gentlemen, I will see you all at the ceremony tomorrow.”
And with that, he was gone. Fronto was still blinking in wonder.
“Do you think he’s drunk?”
Balbus shook his head.
“He’s trying to be professional. Hopefully that’ll stick and he’ll be different next year.”
Crispus looked up.
“Do you really think the General intends to recommence the campaign next year?”
Balbus smiled.
“Be sure of it. I expect Caesar will announce something tomorrow, perhaps at the ceremony; perhaps later at the command briefing. I’d lay my bet that the troops won’t be returning to Cisalpine Gaul, and I’d suspect that’s why Labienus and Crassus are rushing around like they are.”
Fronto nodded.
“I think we can safely say we’re not finished in Gaul yet. I’m just intrigued to see how Caesar’s going to engineer another reason to campaign. I do know one thing.”
Crispus turned to face him.
“What would that be?”
“I know I’m getting drunk tonight.”
Balbus smiled and nodded.
“Being the venerable old one here, I’ll stay and keep an eye on you all. Don’t be surprised if I drop off early though.”
With as laugh, Varus turned to face the innkeeper.
“Check and see how many amphorae of wine you have and bring the whole damn lot out.”
Crispus held his finger aloft.
“And the beer.”
* * * * *
Fronto couldn’t help thinking that the ceremony had gone remarkably well. The sky was already darkening when he approached Caesar’s command tent.
“Shit!”
Staggering to right himself as he tripped on a tuft of earth, he fell bodily against the leather, rolling for a moment before he picked himself up and tottered roughly in the direction of the door. On the third attempt he managed to open the tent flap and knocked on the wood behind.
“Come.”
Caesar’s voice had a calm and soothing sound. Fronto smiled and wandered in.
“Evening sir, m’I first?”
Caesar glanced over from his desk where he was deeply involved in something and raised an eyebrow.
“I presume you’ve been drinking again then. At least you were relatively sober for the ceremony.”
Fronto grinned.
“Frankly sir, I’s not that sober this M’ning. Moring. Morning.”
Caesar’s knowing smile took on a hard edge.
“Yes. It doesn’t look good during a major ceremony when several of the senior staff keep having to absent themselves to answer calls of nature. Still, I’m not about to discipline anyone when it’s the end of the campaigning season and I’m well aware of the fact that most of my army will be in a similar state tonight.”
He sighed.
“Never mind. So long as you can take in what we say tonight, you can go and sleep it off then.”
Fronto smiled at him.
“S’nice. Sleep. Off. Whatcha upta?”
Caesar closed up the wax tablet on which he had been writing and put away his paraphernalia.
“Finishing my diary.”
Fronto sniggered lewdly.
“S’nice.”
“Oh for the sake of Fortuna, sit down before you fall.”
Fronto sank gratefully into the seat, which rocked dangerously, threatening to pitch him face first onto the floor. He looked up at Caesar with a bemused expression and the general shook his head in benign resignation as the other senior staff began to file in.
Labienus and Crassus led the group of staff officers and senior centurions to the seats around the tent. Priscus made a point as he entered of treading fairly heavily on Fronto’s toes.
At the end of the queue came the menagerie. Crispus tottered in with a slightly glazed and happy smile. He was bare-headed and the sword on his belt had been replaced with a small wine amphora. Behind him Varus and Sabinus moved in concert trying as best they could to prop each other up. At the rear came Balbus, looking slightly the worse for wear and rubbing his sore head. Crispus bowed deeply and halted for a moment, letting the world steady itself before he attempted to stand upright once more.
“Felicitations, fellow off’cers.”
Caesar sighed.
“It’s a fine example of Roman civilised behaviour that my senior officers make to the local populace! I hope none of you have done anything to offend the Sequani?”
For a moment, Fronto and Crispus looked at each other blankly and shrugged. Balbus, the only one who had not now taken a seat, turned to the General.
“It’s fine, sir. I’ve been keeping an eye on them. I think we’ve made rather a hit in Vesontio. Three innkeepers will be spending a very financially comfortable winter this year.”
Caesar nodded.
“Very good, Balbus. Do take a seat.”
With a piercing glance around the room to make sure that the more inebriated officers were awake and attentive, the General addressed his senior officers.
“Very well, now that we’re all here, I am ready to call the season at an end. However, in order to protect our interests with our old allies and our new, I intend to winter the legions here at Vesontio, pending possible further activity during the next year.”
Fronto looked over at Crispus and nodded knowingly and with great exaggeration. Caesar gave the legate a sharp look and then continued.
“I have appointed Titus Labienus as commander of the army during the winter season while I and most of the officers return to Rome and our homes. Crassus has agreed to stay for at least some of the off-season as his lieutenant. I will be thankful for any volunteers to remain with the legions, and you can report to me at the end of this briefing.”
He gestured at Varus.
“As several of you are probably aware by now, Quintus Atius Varus has been assigned as commander of the cavalry for the next season. Crassus will continue in his role as commander of the Seventh Legion, but will also take on a more staff and strategy-oriented role.”
Crassus nodded as the General went on.
“Furthermore, is Aulus Ingenuus here? Prefect of the Eighth? I’m sure I asked you to bring him, Balbus.”
Balbus pointed over to one side where Ingenuus sat, holding his maimed hand high. Caesar smiled.
“Ingenuus. I have given great consideration to your future with the cavalry and I feel that the position of cavalry prefect may no longer be suitable for you.”
Ingenuus’ face fell and his arm wavered as he lowered it.
“Sir?”
The General smiled benignly.
“No need to panic, young prefect. This is not your medical dismissal, man, this is your promotion, on the assumption you accept.”
The prefect continued to look nonplussed.
“Sir?”
“I would like you to take command of my Praetorian Cohort. They are a mixture of Romans and some Gauls of differing tribes, all of whom have a reasonable command of Latin and a deal of experience and training in the ways of cavalry. I’d like you to take them in hand and train them in the ways of Roman tactics. You’ll have to return with me to Italy over the winter, of course, and you can carry out your training on the fields of Latium. Do you accept?”
Ingenuus’ mouth continued to open and close. He had gone quite pale.
Labienus, sitting slightly in front of the prefect, reached round and grasped his shoulder. The young man came out of a seeming daze instantly and blinked. Labienus chuckled and turned back to Caesar.
“I th
ink he accepts, General.”
A snore and then a cough drew everyone’s attention as Fronto blinked and hauled himself back upright.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
Caesar sighed and turned the other way.
“Still with the Eighth… Titus Balventius!”
The scarred and battered primus pilus of the Eighth shuffled in his chair. He sat stiffly and painfully, trying not to let his back touch the leather of the tent. He had spent over an hour in close consort with a medicus this afternoon following yet another reopening of his wound during the ceremony.
“General?”
Caesar smiled and held out a small tablet.
“Your honesta missio. You’re due it, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
Balventius stared at the tablet. He’d seen many in his time. Money. Land. Probably, given his status and years of service, a reasonable plot. Perhaps even an estate. He mused for a moment. Titus Balventius: Farmer. Trying not to laugh, he held his hand out, palm facing the tablet.
“Sorry sir. I’m reenlisting for another term in the Eighth. Always meant to, just haven’t had time to do the paperwork.”
Caesar glanced quickly at Balbus.
“I’m afraid that that will not be an option. I have discussed the matter with Balbus and he feels, as do I, that you have served your time on the field and should be offered the position of camp prefect. I have reassigned Cita and the position is now open”
Balventius grunted.
“Problem is: I don’t want to be the camp prefect.”
Caesar sighed.
“I’m afraid it comes down to a choice, centurion. Camp prefect, or retirement. I can assure you that the terms of your honesta missio are very favourable.”
Balventius looked from the General to his commander and back again.
“Frankly, sir, I’m younger than the legate, for all my scars. I’m also, though he might disagree, fitter than him. My wounds are not severe enough to prevent me doing my job well, and this one will heal well before next spring.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Without wanting to get your back up, sir, but I’d suspect I’m both younger and fitter than you as well. Both Balbus and yourself will be back next year and yet you ask me not to? No, sir. I don’t accept there are only two options.”
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