S. Turney - The conquest of Gaul

A slightly peeved look passed across Caesar’s face. The servant tying the ribbon finished and stepped back abruptly.

“Legate, tell the Eighth’s primus pilus to call his training officers back in. They can aid the Eleventh from where they’ll be on the wall. I’m sure he can manage.” With a sigh, Caesar sat down on the corner of a large table.

“Fronto, I know you hate this, but you need to be aware that an officer has a number of tasks above and beyond fighting and commanding a unit. We need to present these barbarians with a united and terrifying front, and all the legions, in the day or two to come, will need officers who are fully informed of the situation. You will come with me to the meeting, and you will allow the more junior officers the chance to do their jobs. Tetricus will be moved to the staff in a year or two and he will need command experience in case he has to command a legion then. Velius and Balventius have over a hundred years of command experience between them. I’m sure they can handle anything that’s thrown at them.” He saw Fronto open his mouth and draw breath to speak, so he gestured pointedly.

“Don’t make me argue, Marcus, just do as you’re told!”

Fronto sat by the warming fire of Balbus’ quarters. He was once again profoundly grateful to the legate of the Eighth for the hospitality he had shown during the last two days. Longinus and many of the staff had, in the way of insecure officers everywhere, spent their entire time hanging around Caesar’s feet like lapdogs and attempting to get themselves into his good books. Fronto had known Caesar long enough, and Balbus was secure enough, to know that the best way to get on the general’s good side was to be there just before he realised he needed you, and be conspicuously absent the rest of the time. Thus the legates of the Eighth and Tenth had been prompt at all four of Caesar’s dinners and strategy meetings, and had spent the rest of the time at Balbus’ house, talking over old campaigns and discussing the generalities and the specifics of life in the military.

Fronto had been embarrassed on his first evening here to be eating one of the very tasty cakes Balbus’ wife had made for the general when she had walked in on them. He had mumbled some excuses about deprivations around a mouthful of crumbs, and Corvinia had, surprisingly, immediately taken to the gruff legate. Apparently he reminded her of Balbus twenty years ago; a comment that had made the older legate wince. Since then, Corvinia had apparently given up any hope that Caesar might grace her household and had instead taken to looking after Fronto. He had not been allowed to return to the quarters in town, spending his nights instead in a spare room. She had fed him to within an inch of his life, and Fronto was convinced he would have to run the length of the wall twice just to wear off two days’ worth of eating. Finally, she had confided in Fronto that she didn’t like to see such a brave, handsome and intelligent man without a good wife, and had made sure that every time he needed anything, one of her two daughters was on hand. He had asked, foolishly, after the third daughter and been told that she had been married two years ago to a soldier of some importance.

Despite feeling as though he were trying to digest a signal tower, and having to avoid and frustrate the attentions of the two teenage girls and their insistent mother, Fronto was at the most relaxed he could remember being in many years.

A runner had arrived to inform the two legates that the legions were in position and that lookouts had been placed. Balventius, Velius and Tetricus had apparently taken good care of them and Fronto was surprised to realise that he had not spared a thought for the men during their travel and manning of the defences. That would change soon enough of course.

Today in fact. It was a little after dawn, and Caesar had informed all of the officers that they must be in position at the town’s north gate an hour after sunup. Balbus sat on the other side of the fireplace, one slave tying the ribbon around his cuirass, another lacing up his boots. Fronto eyed him up and down. Balbus looked every inch the hard bitten soldier. Much, he suspected, like he would look not long from now. Probably how he looked now, in fact.

Fronto had been all for taking a glass of watered wine with his morning repast, which his father had always claimed was good for the blood, though Corvinia had clucked over that decision and supplied the two legates with a glass of warm goat’s milk each.

Fronto sat in his military garb, with the red cloak folded and ready to don when he stood. He was profoundly grateful to Corvinia for having washed and dried his good red military cloak. Caesar had made it clear that full dress was required, but had grasped Fronto by the shoulder as he left and whispered into his ear “not that cloak though.”

He had made another attempt last night to unpick one of the cherubs from that cloak, and had accidentally torn a small hole by one leg. He sighed. The cloak would be with him until he died and, knowing his sister, he would be buried with it and would have to suffer it throughout eternity.

Balbus stood and dismissed the slave with a gesture.

“Alright, Marcus. Are you ready to face the barbarian?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Quintus. It’s about time we moved anyway. A week here at the mercy of Corvinia and I’ll be a lazy, rotund man with as much energy as a sponge!”

Balbus laughed and slapped his colleague on the back.

“Come on. Let’s move before one of my harpy-like daughters corners you.”

On the way through the town, the streets were eerily quiet. Fronto had always assumed that civil townsfolk awoke at a more leisurely time than the army but had found, with the early morning noise of the last few days, that the military did not have the monopoly on early. However, today the normal tradesmen, craftsmen and hawkers were absent. No surprise really, as word of Caesar’s deadline with the Helvetii had leaked out almost immediately. Surely the townsfolk couldn’t be worried about the Helvetii. They must know that no tribe could walk through such defences, held by three legions. Indeed, the increase in the local military presence had heralded a boom time for many of the local merchants and shop-keepers. The problem was that the people of Geneva were aware of the distinct possibility that, once Caesar had his victory, he would take most of the army and head south, leaving Geneva open to revenge attacks. It was a reasonable assumption in the circumstances, and Fronto could quite understand the people not wanting to be seen to be a part of this.

At the north gate, Balbus and Fronto were the first to arrive. The two stood for a moment, enjoying the morning. The temperature had improved dramatically over the last two days, and spring appeared finally to have arrived. Perfect soldiering weather, Balbus had called it. Not cold enough to discomfort the troops, but not hot enough to exhaust them. The ground was hard, but dry, which looked good for military action.

They stood in silence for five minutes, watching the Eighth Legion moving around the near end of the defensive embankment, and admiring the beauty of the landscape beyond.

The sound of hoof beats brought them back to the task at hand. Caesar came at a trot along the main street of the town; Longinus and Sabinus, one of the staff officers, behind him among a knot of other staff. Fronto and Balbus saluted as the general arrived and then fell into step alongside the other officers.

The gathering of officers left the town with Caesar at the head on his white charger and the rest behind, a glimmer of red, burnished bronze and polished steel. The group passed down from the gate, along the shore of the lake and to the redoubt that had been constructed under Fronto’s guidance near the end of the bridge that had been dismantled.