S. Turney - The Belgae

The room fell into a thoughtful silence.

After a long pause, Crispus sat up with a deep frown.

“I…”

He was interrupted by a hammering at the door.

Labienus turned, irritably.

“Enter!”

The door swung open to reveal a legionary standing in the doorway at an approximation of attention, his face a plum colour and sweat pouring down from his hairline. The man had clearly run fast and hard.

“What is it?” Labienus asked the exhausted soldier.

“Sir…” the man managed, his breathing laboured. “The general is at the gate…” wheeze… “with his praetorians.” Another ragged breath. “He’s on his way now, sir.”

Labienus nodded.

“Thank you, soldier.”

As the legionary closed the door and disappeared, the interim commander pushed his seat back and stood with a sigh.

“Well, gentlemen. It appears things are about to start moving.”

The officers in the room shuffled as they stood, brushing the creases out of their tunics and cloaks and straightening their belts.

Out in the corridor, they heard heavy booted footsteps and soldiers crashing to attention. They stood smartly and waited. Moments later the door opened and the young moon-face of Aulus Ingenuus, commander of the general’s guards, appeared with a broad smile. Fronto stared. Ingenuus was still little more than two years under the eagles, yet he had, though bravery and a little luck, secured one of the most prestigious positions in the army. The change in him over a single winter was noticeable, though. While he still had his air of youthful innocence, his face had taken on a hard edge, defined slightly by an unfashionable but neatly-trimmed beard. Moreover, he had acquired a fine scar that ran down his cheek to his jaw; the reason, Fronto suspected, for his new beard.

Ingenuus’ grin widened as he took in the faces round the room. They had no time to exchange pleasantries, however, as he immediately stepped aside and jammed his plumed helmet under his arm, to make room for the general.

Caesar strode purposefully into the room, waving an arm in a vague fashion of greeting without letting his gaze settle on the men. Fronto eyed his commander as Labienus stood aside and vacated the chair and the general approached the desk. Caesar looked older somehow. His hair had receded a little further and thinned noticeably and his face looked slightly pale and drawn, as though sleep, never easy for the great man, was now coming rarely and sporadically. Politics was clearly causing the general a great deal more grief that Fronto had realised.

Without a word of greeting to any of them, Caesar dropped his helmet unceremoniously on the desk and appeared to pay attention to the miscellaneous papers on the table, leaning over them with his palms flat down.

“Is Crassus gone?”

Labienus straightened.

“The instructions have been delivered, Caesar, but only just. Pedius only arrived today with the new legions. I expect Crassus is making preparations to get underway. With respect, general, we weren’t expecting you yet?”

Caesar grunted.

“So we have seven legions at our disposal here and Crassus will be leaving today. That’s acceptable. What of Paetus?”

There was a pause.

“Come on!” barked the general.

Balbus cleared his throat.

“The prefect was detained and questioned, Caesar.”

“And?”

Balventius took a deep breath.

“And it is clear to me that he knows nothing of any conspiracy, Caesar. He is…”

The general’s arm shot out accusingly in the direction of the primus pilus of the eighth.

“Tell me you have him under arrest.”

“With respect general, I allowed him to retain his position while we…”

He was interrupted as Caesar swept his arm across the table, wiping his helmet onto the floor where it landed with a dull thud and rolled slowly back and forth.

“His head, or your head, centurion. It’s your choice!”

Fronto cleared his throat and deliberately stepped forward between Balventius and the general’s accusing finger.

“Caesar, he’s right. I agreed with him; we all did.”

The general fell quiet for a moment and his head dropped forward so that he faced the surface of the table. Fronto held his breath; this could go either way. He swallowed nervously as the general looked up. The remaining colour had drained from his face and his eyes burned with cold fury.

“Get out!”

Crispus reached the door first and almost threw himself out of it, closely followed by Balbus and then Labienus. Pedius and Balventius followed quickly, avoiding looking back at the furious commander. Fronto, however, remained perfectly still, his arms folded. From the doorway Balbus beckoned to him. Fronto shook his head and motioned for his peer to close the door. As Balbus, bearing a worried frown, pulled the portal to with a click, Fronto cleared his throat. Caesar had not taken his eyes off the legate before him; moreover, he’d not even blinked.

“Caesar, you need to hear me out.”

The general glared at him.

“You push me too far, Fronto. I am the commander of this army; the governor. We’re a long way from Rome and a long way from the senate. Out here, I am imperator. I gave out orders and they’ve been disobeyed by the entire cadre of my senior staff.”

Fronto shrugged and held the general’s stare, calmly.

“That’s not what’s bothering you, Caesar. You know we always act in your best interest. What’s happened?”

Caesar’s glare remained but, as Fronto watched, the heat slowly went out of it.

“The senate. A group of bickering old women, the lot of them. None of them will give me any room to manoeuvre. Clodius spins in the centre like an enraged bear; ripping at anyone he can get his paws near, seemingly at random. He’s trying to undo almost anything I try, but it’s not just me; he rakes at all the others. Then there’s Cato, who seems to want nothing more than to plunge a knife into my back. Even Cicero! A few years ago I invited the man to partner with Pompey, Crassus and myself, even though Crassus disapproved! I even gave his brother a position on my staff, and how does he repay me? By denouncing my every move to the senate as nothing more than self-promotion.”

He growled and hammered his index finger down onto the surface of the table so hard that he almost broke it.

“Mark my words: the days of the senate are slowly coming to an end.”

Fronto grimaced.

“I mean it, Marcus. We threw the kings out of Rome because they were corrupt and useless. But what are these meddling morons if not corrupt and useless. Rome will never accept a king again, but it has to find something better than this!”

He sighed and sank back into the chair.

“I apologise, Fronto. My whole winter has been spent fending off political attacks and I tire of it. I returned to Vesontio early because there’s an honesty in soldiering that the senate lacks.”

Fronto nodded earnestly. Caesar and he could disagree on many things, but with that point he could find no room to argue.

Caesar reached down and collected his helmet, brushing the dust from the plume.

“Very well. Tell me about Paetus.”

Fronto nodded and finally took the seat opposite the general.

“Paetus took on his father-in-law’s debt to Clodius. Now that arsehole thinks he owns the man. The problem is that while Paetus’ family are half a mile from Clodius but he’s here with us, the bastard pretty much does own him. Balventius is convinced of Paetus’ innocence and I tend to agree.”

Caesar nodded soberly.

“So?”

“Well,” Fronto went on, “that leaves us in an unusual and useful position.”

“Do tell” the general replied, steepling his fingers.