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 minute 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’d 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 take.”
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 not 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 didn’t see the joke but feared for their careers if they weren’t 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 baby-sitting 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.
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“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? Woman 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 had 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 offense 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.”
He leaned forward, drawing close to Galronus.
“The strange thing is: we’ve had some hard fights so far, don’t get me wrong, but not what I was expecting from what people say of the Belgae. Half the northern world is frightened of you, yet we actually had a harder time fighting Ariovistus, or the Helvetii even.”
He noted the faintly offended look in the nobleman’s eyes.
“I mean no offence. It’s just that the massive army we fought by the Aisne could have pounded us into the ground but, the moment they lost the overwhelming advantage, they just ran and kept on running while we carved slices off their arse.”
Galronus nodded thoughtfully, so Fronto drew a breath and went on.
“And the Suessiones gave up without a fight, despite the fact that they were theoretically in charge of the whole affair.”
Another nod, and the Belgic warrior leaned back, taking a swig of frothy beer from his mug.
“The Suessiones unsure. Remember, Suessiones are our brothers. Many not wanted to fight Rome in first place. Amazing works of Tetricus tipped balance in council against ones who want war. This why we want mercy for Suessiones from Caesar.”
He shook his head.
“Big army running is different. You think they flee, but they not flee. They return to own lands. Belgae not used to fighting together in big army. All fight better as own tribes. You see?”
Fronto nodded.
“I see, but they’re wrong. The only way they could beat Caesar is if they all gather together. As smaller individual tribes, we will beat them. It’s a foregone conclusion. But one thing still worries me…”
“Yes?”
“Well even that huge army we fought by the Aisne that’s now dispersed was maybe half the army that had been reported building to Caesar. So where’s the other half? We’ve seen nothing of them yet.”
Galronus’ expression darkened.
“North. Many enemy wait to north. There the worst. Small tribes Rome meets here fight and lose, or ask Caesar for peace. Not in north though. Atrebates… Aduatuci…” his voice lowered menacingly. “Nervii…”
Fronto frowned.
“The Nervii are bad then?”
The nobleman nodded emphatically.
“Most dangerous tribe in world. Nervii are rabid dogs. They already threaten to skin leaders of Remi alive for friends with Rome, and t
hey do it too if they get chance. Nervii skinned King of Menapii when he made deal with Germans, in front of wife and children. Nervii vicious… but Atrebates cunning. Nervii and Atrebates together is trouble for Rome. And with Aduatuci, who very German…”
Fronto sighed. He really had almost convinced himself that the Belgae were going to smile and turn to join Rome in light of recent events, but it now looked like this was the veritable calm before the storm.
The tent fell silent as the two men considered the future, until a minute later there came a knock at the door.
“Yes?”
The flap was pulled aside and Priscus and Balventius, the lead centurions of the Eighth and Tenth Legions strode in. Priscus looked unhappy, but Balventius’ face would have frightened Vulcan himself. Fronto looked up, worried.
“What’s happened?”
“We’ve had two riders arrive” Priscus announced, reaching for the jug of wine that habitually occupied the surface nearest the door of Fronto’s tent. “An Aedui scout went to see Caesar. He wasn’t absolutely knackered, so I assume the Aedui are close. And if the Aedui are close that means they’re dealing with the Bellovaci, which means that Caesar’s probably going to move us.”
“And?” prompted Fronto, still looking at Balventius’ glowering face dubiously.
“And another rider came in just now from the south” grumbled Balventius darkly, reaching for the wine and pouring himself a large mug.
Fronto frowned.
“If we’re likely to be moving shortly, I suggest that you two might want to water that down. Won’t look good if you have to call the muster and you’re swaying.”
Balventius growled and drank deep, pouring himself a second mug.
“The other rider was once of Varus’ men; one of the ones you sent to Rome, to your sister?”
The Belgae Page 24
