S. Turney - The conquest of Gaul

“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 suspect 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.