“I have had a report from the scouts that the remaining enemy cavalry were somehow informed of our victory over their tribe. Rather than come and face us in honourable battle or offer a sensible surrender, they fled across the Rhenus somewhere to the south and have allied with a Germanic tribe called the Sigambri, to whom they are in some way related. I am still hoping to find out how they crossed the river” he added with a hint of irritation. “There must have been a fleet of boats miraculously waiting for them, or someone on this side of the Rhenus gave them aid.”
He turned and paced back, waving his finger.
“Thus our enemies have fled our clutches and believe themselves safe across the river. They make the fig sign at us from their theoretical safety. At the same time, the Ubii, who control lands on both sides of the Rhenus, have sought an alliance with us and, while I had been set on refusing such alliances with these tribes, the line blurs a little with the Ubii, since they traditionally occupy both banks. They have offered us boats, manpower and gold if we will aid them in protecting their tribe’s territory across the river from these vicious Suevi that have been pushing the tribes west.”
Fronto rubbed his temple. It was everything the general had intended anyway, but the flight of the cavalry and the request of the Ubii had provided him with the excuses he’d needed to make the whole thing legitimate.
“So crossing the Rhenus is no longer a matter of discouraging those tribes on the other side from ever coming here again, but is now actively a campaign against the enemy cavalry and the Suevi? I hope you realise, Caesar, that this could be every bit as long, protracted and costly as Gaul has been?”
Caesar’s eyes flashed angrily for a second before control was reasserted.
“I do not intend to launch an invasion, Fronto. We will chastise the cavalry and the Sigambri for sheltering them, and we shall consolidate the frontier of Ubii lands, but go no further. We need to impose our strength on them just enough to make them aware that we are both capable of this and willing to do so at any future time we deem necessary.”
Fronto’s eyes slipped to Labienus and Cicero and their small group, including the two centurions who made his blood boil at their very presence. Labienus had the defeated look of a man who had argued until he was blue in the face and knew he’d lost. Suddenly Fronto was rather grateful that he’d not been here for the start of the meeting.
Caesar leaned back against his table, palms flat down on it.
“That’s all for most of you for now, I think. It might be prudent in the circumstances to draw this meeting to a close. I will require a few of you to stay behind and consult with me on the logistics of our move to the Rhenus – Labienus, Mamurra, Priscus, Sabinus and Cita, if you five would remain. The rest of you feel free to go about your business. Fronto? I would suggest you wash, get some sleep and then find Ingenuus and get to work on finding your tribune’s killer.”
Fronto watched the general as the men began to salute and file out. Once again, Caesar’s gaze flicked to the side for a fraction of a second and Fronto tried to follow it. Somehow he’d half expected it to rest on Labienus or Cicero, or Fabius and Furius. But no. Whatever or whoever he had looked at Fronto couldn’t tell, but it was not who he’d thought.
Something was definitely going on with the general, though: something strange and unsettling.
Chapter 9
(On the west bank of the Rhine)
Caesar scratched his chin.
“It truly is one of the greatest rivers in the world, as they say. I have rarely seen its like in width, depth or current. It is a matter of supreme amazement to me that a tribe of backward lunatics managed to cross and even to bring their worldly goods and their cavalry with them.”
Labienus pursed his lips. “I suspect it is that very lunacy of which you speak, Caesar, which is the only thing that would lead a man to try to cross it. It will take days to construct the boats and even then I’ll be making a very hefty offering to every God who listens this far north before I go out on those waters.”
“It may be an impressive one, but it’s still a river” muttered Fronto sullenly.
“You’re in good humour, Marcus.” The general turned back to the group of a dozen or more officers. “The Ubii have offered us a score of boats that they use to cross the Rhenus on a regular basis. It is small help, admittedly, but a useful gesture regardless. Fortunately, I do not believe that such use will be necessary.”
Mamurra, the renowned engineer, stepped a little closer to the bank and frowned. “The feasibility is still a matter for debate, general.”
“The chief engineer and surveyor in the Eighth are both experienced in such matters and they inform me that it cannot be done. A ‘matter for debate’ is an advance on impossible. Talk to me.”
The engineer tapped his lips thoughtfully as his eyes roved across the surface, taking in the banks and the whole length of the river visible from this point.
“No bridge like it has ever been attempted.”
Fronto, his surly mood punctured by a dart of surprise, wheeled on Mamurra.
“A bridge? Are you mad?”
“May I point out, Marcus” the general said quietly “that the idea is mine.”
“I’ve seen near a hundred bridges thrown over a hundred rivers in the past two decades. Some have been simple and small and taken a few hours. Some have been grand affairs across wide flows that have taken days. No idiot in the history of bridge building has ever crossed something like that. It’s the reason boats exist.”
Mamurra gave a noncommittal shrug. “It will be difficult. There’s no denying that. But I don’t believe it to be impossible. I wish your engineer was here though. He was very good with bridges.”
The older engineer became aware too late of Caesar making shushing motions. Fronto’s expression darkened once again as the image of Tetricus splayed out bloody on a table smashed aside his thoughts. Despite Caesar’s vehemence that the matter be investigated and resolved immediately, Fronto and his associates had, unsurprisingly, been unable to glean anything beyond the obvious. Another brief conversation with Furius and Fabius had once again turned into a sour slanging match that had left no proof, only a bitter and angry legate. Fronto grunted.
Mamurra turned back to the river and immediately switched to a professional tone.
“The first thing to do is to tether a couple of boats and get out there with some long poles and a weighted line of knotted cord – and me with my stylus and tablet. We need to know how deep the water is across the whole section, and how malleable or supportive the river bed is. Given the length of the river and the dirt it carries out to the sea, I have the feeling that the bed will be unpleasantly soft and with a very thick layer of mud.”
“And that would make it impossible?” Labienus said hopefully.
“That would make it more difficult. With a good grounding in the sciences and the legions at our sides, impossible is not a word I like to use. Impossibility is a myth; only feasibility matters. The flow is fast on the surface. Given the size of the river, I fear that below the surface, the current will be a great deal stronger.”
His gaze wandered around the bank. “These trees will be of little use to us other than for lesser struts and decoration. For all supporting and structural beams we want tougher, taller, thicker and more seasoned wood: oak for preference. There was a forest some eight miles back that had the sort of trees that I would expect to use. We will have to set up a constant transport system from the work gangs there to deliver the cut boles here, where they can be shaped and treated.”
Fronto was shaking his head as he looked out across the flow. “I’ve seen bridges built across currents like that. Even across a narrow river, the pressure on the piles will be immense. Given the length of a bridge across this, the whole thing will just disappear like a pile of kindling before you can even get near the far bank.”
“I had no idea you had such a grasp of engineering, Fronto” Mamurra smiled.
“I don’t. I have a fear of bridges folding up underneath me and plunging me into deadly rivers. You surely can’t be considering this? I get seasick, you know.”
Mamurra had already turned his attention back to the water.
“It will require the piles to be driven in deeper than anything I’ve ever attempted, and they will have to be driven in at an angle to counteract the current. The structure will have to be built in sections, one trunk-length at a time, each section consolidated and completed before moving on to the next. We will slowly inch our way across the river.”
“Not slowly” Caesar said quietly.
“Turn of phrase, Caesar. Two weeks should be sufficient.”
“A week.”
“With respect, Caesar, remember my stand on feasibility? One week: unfeasible. Two weeks: feasible.”
“In a week I want to be on that far bank ravaging the enemy and earning the thanks of the Ubii. Bend your will to it and drive the legions as hard as you must.”
“The first time a drifting tree trunk comes down that flow from upriver and hits one of your piles, the whole damn thing is going to collapse” Fronto grumbled. “I don’t care how much you angle them, it won’t help.”
“A fair point, Fronto. So we need a separate set of piles a few yards upstream, driven in just as heavily, but only just protruding from the surface. They will be more secure and solid and should stop any drifting debris from striking the piles of the bridge.”
The engineer’s face took on a happy glow.
“Such a structure will be the envy of the civilised world. I wish we had the time and facilities to add concrete supports. But even in timber, if well-tended, it could stand for several lifetimes.”
“It will be torn down before winter” Caesar said quietly. Mamurra stared at him.
“Caesar?”
“We are on a punitive mission. I want a safe, secure, and speedy way of transporting the army across the Rhenus and back, and a simple route for resupply while we campaign on the far bank. But this is a temporary advance and I have no intention of leaving behind us a simple method for the enemy to cross the river and repeat their occupation. Once we have given them something to think about we will be tearing down the bridge.”
In other circumstances, Fronto would have laughed at the struggle and conflict in Mamurra’s expression; faced with the opportunity to build something unique and astounding, and the knowledge that it would later be torn down and vanish from history. Tetricus’ face would have been just the same.
“All things being equal, I think I’ll let a few dozen wagons and an ala of cavalry cross the finished work before I test it with my own weight” Fronto grunted, seeing the emphatic nods from Labienus.
“The far bank” Caesar noted, gesturing with an extended finger, “is Ubii land. Theoretically their alliance with us should protect us from aggression by other more dangerous tribes until the army is fully marshalled on the eastern side. Theoretically.”
He turned to Labienus.
“Titus, I want you to take command of the Seventh and Fourteenth once the final section of the bridge is underway. Despite the Ubii’s alliance, we will take no chances. As soon as the last section is crossable, even before all the boards are in place, you will lead your two legions across, along with two alae of cavalry and two of the auxiliary missile units. You will set up a bridgehead and send out patrols while the rest of the army is marshalled.”
Labienus’ face fell and Fronto couldn’t help but notice how Caesar had saddled him with the ‘bad egg’ Seventh and the disfavoured Fourteenth.
“We will, of course, have to set up a general guard over the bridge to maintain security for our supply lines while we work on the far side. I think…”
He stopped mid-sentence and the rest of the officers turned to follow his gaze. A rider was cantering down the slope towards them, dust kicking up in clouds behind him.
Fronto watched as the man approached and slowed before reining in his horse. Despite the state of the rider, he looked oddly familiar. The man wore the broad-striped tunic of a senior tribune and the leather smock with the pteruges normally seen beneath a cuirass. A career soldier, then, and a senior officer.
“Pleuratus?” Caesar said in surprise as the man swung himself down from the beast’s back and stamped his feet for a moment, allowing his circulation to return. Fronto shuffled a few steps to his left to where Priscus was standing gazing out over the water with a thoughtful look.
“Pleuratus?” he whispered, leaning close.
Priscus looked round in surprise. “Senior tribune of the Ninth last year. Reassigned over the winter outside my jurisdiction.”
Fronto frowned for a moment, his mind furnishing him with a different picture of the dusty, tired-looking tribune. Neat and clean, well-shaven and clad in a toga. He was entirely unsurprised when the man spoke and his words carried the twang of a Greek-speaker.
“Apologies for my appearance, Caesar. I bear a missive from Rome for you.”
Caesar narrowed his eyes as Pleuratus proffered a sealed tablet. Taking it, he snapped the seal and opened the letter, his eyes running down the text as the tribune stood, breathing heavily and shaking slightly from what appeared to have been a long and fast ride.
An expert at reading Caesar’s moods, Fronto saw the tiny flicker of annoyance pass across the general’s eyes, while his countenance remained stony. Without a word, Fronto stepped behind Mamurra and Priscus, out of Caesar’s direct view.
“A Taurus emblem?” Caesar said, quietly and with cold anger. “A damn bull? Is the man an idiot? I should employ donkeys instead of men.”
Suddenly aware that his officers were standing in a half circle, silently waiting, Caesar took a deep breath. “Thank you, Pleuratus. Make your way back into camp and get yourself cleaned up and fed. I will have to ponder on my reply for some time before sending it.”
Pleuratus nodded, saluted, and reached up to the reins of his tired, placid steed that had been calmly munching on the rich grass. Turning the beast, he walked slowly and gratefully away towards the camp. Caesar frowned for a moment and then lowered his gaze and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I fear I have a headache coming on. Gentlemen, we will reconvene when Mamurra has all his measurements and plans. For now: dismissed.”
The officers began to scatter, going about their business, and Fronto watched for a moment before striding up the slope, passing the others and catching up with the tribune and his weary steed.
As he approached, the man looked round at the noise and, spotting Fronto, nodded a greeting. The legate fell in beside him and matched his tired pace.
“Pleuratus. I remember you. You came to my house last year from Illyricum with Caesar.”
“Yes. It was not the most friendly of meetings, if memory serves. I fear that we were over-haughty and unused to your ways, while you were not prepared for our uninvited intrusion.”
Fronto shrugged.
“I was probably having a bad day.”
“You were hung over. But then, after a year in Gaul, I have to admit to waking with a thumping head more often than used to be the case.”
Fronto paused for a moment, trying to work out whether he should be taking offence at the words. Deciding it was probably a gesture of equality rather than an insult, he smiled.
“You were assigned to the Ninth last year” Fronto said. “But not this year? Strikes me as a bit demeaning? A tribune on courier duty, I mean.”
Pleuratus nodded, his face slightly sour.
“It does not sit well with me, I must admit. I agreed to act as a courier for personal missives with the general’s family, not to carry messages for thugs and lowlifes.”
The tribune glanced up at Fronto as if suddenly realising that he had said something he shouldn’t. “Still, at least I won’t have to traipse into the forests of Germania and share a sponge stick with anyone, and that has to be a bonus.”
Fronto nodded and plastered a smile across his face as, behind it, his mi
nd raced back and forth between the general and his ‘special’ courier, Clodius in Rome following senators around, and his sister, his sort-of-betrothed, and his old friend in the depths of the city’s intrigues. His spine began to itch at the thought.
“Can you do me a favour, Pleuratus?”
“What would that be?”
“When you get back to Rome, find the house of Quintus Lucilius Balbus on the Cispian hill and deliver a message for me?”
“Of course, Fronto. I’ll come and see you to collect it before I leave. It may be a few days yet, hopefully.”
Fronto nodded absently. Something about the way Caesar had reacted to the letter suggested strongly that Clodius had once again overstepped the mark. The very thought that Faleria, Lucilia and Balbus were caught up in the affair make the hair stand proud on his arms.
* * * * *
Fronto stood on the ramp and took a deep breath.
The earth embankment rose from the downward-sloping turf near the bank to a full height of some ten feet, where it gave onto the first sections of the bridge.
Four days of construction and the beast of a structure now spanned some twelve yards of the water. For four days Fronto had managed to avoid having to set a single foot on the thing. In the selfish corners of his soul he was grateful that Caesar had given the bulk of the construction work to the Seventh and not the trusted Tenth.
No matter the numerous and high-quality libations and offerings the officers and men of the legions made to every Roman and native God they could name, progress was slow and dreadfully dangerous.
Each of the last three evenings, the reports had come in with fresh and wearying results: legionaries crushed by falling timbers, tipped into the swift flow and carried away screaming toward the sea, succumbing to a myriad of insane accidents. It was almost as though the construction was cursed.
Fronto eyed the timber with suspicion and nervousness.
What was already built certainly looked solid enough, but the thing still put the shits up him beyond all thought and reason. He had the horrible feeling that something nasty was lined up by the fates to happen to him today.
Marius' Mules IV: Conspiracy of Eagles Page 20
