S. Turney - The Belgae

Fronto was mulling over the difference between his own patron general and the great Pompey as they arrived at the praetorium. Balventius nodded to the guards outside and one of them knocked on the wooden door before entering to announce their arrival. As the man returned and stepped to one side, the ageing legate of the Eighth appeared in the doorway, a broad grin splitting his face.

“It’s about time!”

The bald, round-faced commander disappeared back into the gloom of the building and the three men looked at each other, shrugged, and followed him in.

It took a few minutes to become accustomed to the dim interior, but slowly their eyes adjusted. Balbus took his seat behind a desk covered in unit strength assessments, supply requests and training reports. With a sigh of satisfaction, he leaned back in his chair and reached for the glass of water nearby.

“So what news of Hispania? Is it still standing?”

“Ha, bloody ha!” Fronto grumbled, rubbing his temple.

“I do not think it was the campaign break that Marcus anticipated,” Crispus smiled. “He had planned to visit Longinus’ estate to deliver the ashes and his goods and then move on to Tarraco and spend the winter carousing. Severa had different ideas, though.”

“Severa?”

Fronto looked at Balbus’ questioning expression, glared at Crispus and then sighed.

“Longinus’ wife. She… erm… took to me.”

“She wouldn’t let him stay in Tarraco,” Crispus laughed. “Insisted on looking after us personally. Sometimes very personally, I suspect, eh Marcus?”

“Anyway!” Fronto barked irritably, “Let’s get to the matter at hand. I gather there’ve been stirrings among the Gauls.”

The humour slid gently from Balbus’ face.

“I rather think something’s in the wind. The Belgae are getting themselves involved in Gaulish politics and, given their fearsome reputation, that can’t be a good thing. I just hope this discontent is limited. If it spreads among all the non-allied Gauls and Belgae, we could be in trouble. Six legions is a lot, but not when faced with a million angry Celts.”

“Then the staff’s going to have its work cut out.”

The other two looked questioningly at Fronto.

“Well… you know Caesar. He’s got something up his sleeve. He sent for us for a reason. Something’s about to happen, but it’s going to have to involve people like us stamping a heavy Roman boot on anyone who openly declares against us while people like Labienus and Procillus trying to persuade the rest of Gaul that we’re doing it for them . It’s that good old fine political line again.”

Crispus nodded.

“And I cannot help but wonder whether Caesar uncovered anything concerning that tribune Salonius and the conspiracies against him at Vesontio, too?”

“Indeed.” Everything went quiet for a moment as the four officers looked at each other.

“Jove, it’s good to see you boys again” beamed Balbus with a sigh of relief.

Fronto leaned back and ran his hands through his tangled hair once again.

“How are Corvinia and the girls? Good I hope?”

Balbus laughed.

“Disappointed. I’m sure they all expected you to come and visit.”

Balventius let out a low whistle.

“What is it with you and women, Fronto? It seems like they all want some of you.”

“I think it’s a mothering thing,” the scruffy legate replied. “They all want to look after me, ‘cause they think I can’t look after myself. I think they think I’m nicer than I am, too!”

Balventius chuckled and the tent fell quiet once more.

“So,” Crispus interjected tentatively, “what is the situation here? Fronto’s primus pilus intimated there were stirrings of unrest among the Gauls?”

Fronto nodded.

“We’re going to see Labienus after this to get the complete picture. I like to be well-prepared for all eventualities before the general shows up. In fact, I’d like to know everything I can.”

Balbus nodded. “I’ve only just returned myself.” He gestured to Balventius and the scarred veteran turned his good eye towards Fronto.

“It’s been happening for months. Labienus received a message by courier one day from Caesar. A few hours later he sent out a half dozen scouts; Gaulish auxiliaries, they were. I don’t know how many people noticed, but I was a bit surprised. None of them went out with their Roman auxiliary equipment. Just dressed up like plain old Gauls, they were.”

Fronto frowned.

“Think I can guess why, but go on…”

“Well,” Balventius continued, “since then they’ve been coming and going regularly. I stopped a few in the early days to find out what they were doing and they refused to tell me. Directed me to general Labienus, telling me they were under command of silence. I went to see the commander and he basically told me to mind my own business.”

He sighed.

“Since then, though, word’s started to leak out. No matter how much they’re told it’s a secret… well…” he smiled at Fronto. “Drink loosens tongues. A few beers and these Gaulish scouts are telling all their friends. They’ve been scouting out the Belgae and various other tribes.”

“I already knew that,” replied Fronto, leaning forward. “What don’t I know?”

“Well, I think you can safely say this isn’t just a bit of unrest. Not like a few Numidians shaking their spears and grumbling. It looks like this is getting organised.”

“Go on?”

“The Belgae are violent sons of whores, Fronto.”

“Yes…” snapped the dishevelled legate irritably. “And?”

“We’ve never really concerned ourselves with the Belgae because they just spend all their time kicking, biting and carving each other. I spoke to some of the native levies and they all agree that you’ve never seen any people eternally at war with themselves like the Belgae. The only time they’ve ever been know to stop it and actually turn their energy outwards was the odd time when the German tribes tried to cross the Rhine and have a go with them. Even the Germans are frightened of them!”

Fronto laughed.

“But?”

“But they’ve stopped fighting each other, Fronto. They’ve been swapping hostages and making blood pacts and all that other crap. They’re one people right now, and that’s a bit disturbing. That’s a whole new thing. They’ve banded together and it’s not for defence this time.”

The legate of the Tenth nodded.

“So they’re getting ready to face us.”

“But,” Crispus interrupted, “the big question is: have they done this because they have decided that Rome is a perilous neighbour, which would mean we have to face them, or have they done this because they’ve been begged or bribed by other tribes? If the latter’s the case, we may be facing half of Gaul shortly.”

Fronto sighed.

“I think you’re missing the third option there.”

“Pardon?” Crispus glanced across at him. Balventius and Balbus also leaned forward, their brows knitted.

“Well,” he continued, “it seems pretty obvious to me, but then I’ve known the general a long time; know how his mind works.”

A chorus of nonplussed looks. Fronto sighed.

“Caesar had to engineer a way to get us into Gaul last year. He needs conquest and booty. We’re not here because the Helvetii threatened Rome. We could have let them past, but no… they were just the excuse we needed to begin campaigning in Gaul. But it’s no use stopping there. We’d gained nothing except perhaps a little stronger alliance with the Aedui and instilled fear in our northern neighbour.”

Scanning the interior of the tent, Fronto’s eyes fell on a jug of wine. Without asking permission, he rose as he talked, crossed the tent, and poured himself a goblet.