S. Turney - The conquest of Gaul

“Sir!” The soldier turned sharply and began pounding back down the hill, leaving an arcing trail of footprints on the whitened grass.

Tetricus watched him go and turned to the commander.

“I think we should send Velius on a tour round the Empire. Within a month we’d have several million well-trained men.”

Fronto smiled. “Yes, but who’d make the wine and ferry it to us if everyone was a soldier?”

Moments later, Velius came round the corner of the nearest redoubt. Following him were two detachments of troops, each with a centurion. One unit bore the standard of the Eleventh, and one the Twelfth. The units marched at double speed and in good formation to the embankment, where they drew up sharply. Velius addressed the two officers on the wall.

“Sir, request permission to demonstrate the techniques of Roman defensive engineering to these men, who have been selected as the first engineer units of the Eleventh and Twelfth.”

Fronto smiled at Tetricus and then turned, straight faced, to address the training officer.

“Go ahead centurion, we’re just leaving anyway.”

As the two began a gentle walk down the slope, Velius barked out a few orders to the new units, who fell into a more relaxed stance.

“You will notice the height of the bank, and the gradient that has been achieved…”

Velius’ voice faded into the distance as the two made their way back toward the Fort.

Fronto shaded his eyes and looked ahead to the camp.

“Are the Eighth nearly ready to move, I can’t see well in this light, but it looks like everything is still in position.”

Tetricus squinted in the same direction.

“They’re almost ready to move sir. Give them an hour and they’ll have all those tents down. Problem is: half the men who organise these things are still babysitting the Eleventh and Twelfth. I presume those men will be back with their unit as soon as all the legions are in position.”

Fronto made a low grumbling noise deep in his throat.

“I hope so, Gaius. Caesar hasn’t committed himself to anything yet, or at least isn’t admitting to it. Any time I ask him about the next move he just taps the side of that enormous nose and winks. He doesn’t like to be anticipated in anything.”

Passing through the gate into the camp, Fronto was pleased to see that he’d been mistaken at a distance. The tents were, indeed, all still up, but the weapons and equipment were all stowed ready for transport, and everything was maybe an hour away from departure. He saw the Eighth’s primus pilus gesturing with his vine staff near the Latrines.

“Good work, Balventius.”

The senior centurion nodded. “We’re basically ready. I’ve tried to get permission to strike the tents and get underway sir, but I can’t get to see our legate. He’s busy with the general.”

Fronto returned the nod. “Get it all prepared, tents struck and everything, but don’t actually get them underway until you get word from Balbus or myself. I have to go and see Caesar first.”

Fronto half-walked, half-ran off in the direction of the Headquarters. Tetricus watched him go, a smile plastered across his face. The commander was getting edgy, like most of the officers and men. It was the tenth of April today, and the Helvetii were due to return in the next two days. That meant the legions had to be in place by tomorrow morning at the latest, and Fronto hated having to wait in a defensive position. Tetricus smiled again. He hadn’t known the commander long, but he liked him a lot. By tonight, the Eighth would be in place, with two green legions in support, in a very defensible position on the wall. Tetricus had been assigned to Fronto as an aide, and the legate had immediately put him and Velius in command of the Eleventh and Twelfth. He was looking forward to it. He’d never commanded a full legion and, although he technically outranked Velius, he was happy to defer to the older man in terms of command. Velius had received his first battle scar before Tetricus was born. The men of the new legions were starting to get tense and argumentative, but a good fight always took that out of them.

“Ah well. A couple of hours and we’ll be ready to move.” Tetricus strode off in the direction of the camp of the Eleventh, who would be awaiting his orders.

Ten minutes later, Fronto strode into the Headquarters of the Eighth’s garrison fort. The building was bustling and busy. Despite the absence of the newly commissioned officers of the Eleventh and Twelfth, who were now at their own camps and preparing their legions for later in the day, a large number of officers, administrators and other personnel charged around the building, carrying piles of paper and lists. Caesar’s door stood open, people rushing in and out almost constantly. Fronto waited impatiently by the opposite wall for the line of incoming and outgoing scribes to thin out, tapping his fingers on his crossed arms and making a throaty harrumphing sound.

A hand on his shoulder made him start. He turned to see the worn but smiling countenance of Balbus.

“You look like a man who’s ready to charge the barbarians all by yourself. What’s got at you?”

Fronto sighed. “Just one of those days I suppose. I see the Eighth are ready to move. Balventius has been trying to get hold of you, but I gave him permission to strike tents and make ready. I assume that’s alright?”

“Yes indeed. Things have been a little hectic here and I’ve not had the chance to get away. I saw Longinus earlier. He’s already sent all my cavalry and the auxiliary riders off to the far end of the wall. I can’t decide whether he’s being tactical or just trying to stay out of the way of the action.”

Fronto nodded.

“Probably the latter.”

He gestured at the door, the traffic having fallen to a sensible level, and the two legates entered.

Caesar stood, his campaign chair folded against the back wall. He was, for a change, in full armour with a servant tying the ribbon around the cuirass. Fronto, who spent most of his life in full armour, could never see the attraction of the glamorous looking efforts that generals habitually wore. The whitened chest piece with the embossed decoration was very impressive, but impractical in a combat situation. Fronto had been given a very ornate cuirass after the Spanish campaign, though he had left that back in Puteoli in a chest. The armour he currently wore was a bronze-finished steel cuirass with the traditional soldier’s decoration of a Medusa head on the chest. Comfortable and practical.

Caesar glanced up at them as they entered.

“Ah, gentlemen. I assume manoeuvres are underway?”

Fronto and Balbus nodded. “The Eighth are striking tents and will be in position by sunset, fully encamped. The Eleventh and Twelfth have maybe an hour on us and will be in position in time for the men to eat lunch sir.”

“Good. Good. I want all available senior officers with me when the Helvetii arrive so, Balbus, you’ll have to leave your primus pilus in charge of the Eighth for now. On the bright side gentlemen, that means that the two of you and Longinus will get the next two days in luxurious quarters in Geneva with myself and the other staff officers.”

Balbus merely nodded, but Fronto’s fear that the day would turn nasty was gradually being borne out.

“Sir? The Eighth is still lacking its major training officers due to the inexperience of the two new legions. Balventius is good, but he could have trouble holding a widely-spread legion together without a solid command structure around him. To keep us here will not help. Balbus should be with the Eighth and I should be with the new legions, helping Tetricus and Velius when they need it. I’m not an ambassador, sir, I’m a soldier.”