Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (11 page)

“
Roman?”

Caesar tapped
Fronto on the shoulder and leaned close to whisper.

“
Go tell him we’re too busy to see him tonight. We’ll visit him
tomorrow when we have more time.”

Fronto stared,
unsure whether to smile or not. It all seemed so childish,
somehow.

Taking a deep
breath, he climbed the embankment slowly. When he reached the top,
he looked down at the assembled warriors and tried not to laugh.
They looked very uncertain and, having lost the impetus of the
parade, were now milling around aimlessly below the stockade.

“
Greetings to the Remi” he called. “Unfortunately, we do not
have time to consult with you at the moment. Please return to your
village and we will call on you as and when the opportunity
arises.”

The speaker on
horseback seemed to inflate as though he’d explode. Fronto couldn’t
quite see in the bad light, but would be willing to bet the man’s
face had gone red with rage. The man raised his hand and pointed at
Fronto, opening his mouth to speak, but the legate had already left
the wall without waiting for a reply.

As he returned
to the staff, Sabinus was rocking with silent laughter. Labienus
bore a wide grin and even Caesar greeted him with an
uncharacteristically genuine smile.

Patting Fronto
on the shoulder, Caesar chuckled.

“
Well I wanted to make them feel inferior, but that surpassed
all my expectations. I hope you haven’t pushed them so far they get
angry instead of frightened!”

Sabinus
grinned, taking a deep breath.

“
Village?”

Fronto
shrugged.

“
It hasn’t even got a stockade.”

“
But village?” Sabinus laughed again. “It’s the capital city of
their tribe, and you just called it a village. And turning your
back on his answer? Good grief, man!”

Fronto
shrugged again.

“
To hell with them.”

Leaving the
baffled and irritated Remi outside the gate, Caesar and his staff
strode off toward the principia. Fronto smiled at the
centurion.

“
Let’s not be too mean. If they’re still there in an hour, take
them out some cheese and bread.”

As he walked
off to catch up with the general, he could hear the centurion
chuckling behind him.

* * * * *

It was after
lunch the next day when the messenger arrived at Fronto’s tent.

“
Caesar calls his staff to the main gate, sir.”

Fronto nodded
and grabbed his helmet and sword before striding out of his tent.
He’d been dressed and equipped now for two hours in order to be
ready when the general called. He strode outside to find Priscus
standing irritably nearby, tapping his vine staff on his
greaves.

“
What’s up with you?”

The primus
pilus grumbled.

“
I’m getting sick of all this camp building and diplomacy crap.
If our lads don’t get to kick some Gauls soon, they’re going to
have forgotten which end of a sword goes into the enemy. They’re
getting soft!”

Fronto laughed
lightly and patted Priscus on the shoulder as he walked past.

“
Only you, Gnaeus. Only you could stand in unknown territory,
facing possibly ten to one odds in our very near future and be
bored.”

“
Pah!”

The centurion
watched Fronto irritably as he walked off toward the camp’s north
gate. The legate of the Tenth was hardly recognisable. Knowing the
general’s desire to make an impression, Fronto had not only bathed,
combed and shaved, but his armour was buffed to brilliance and his
clothes freshly laundered. He looked every inch the Roman officer,
an effect only slightly muted by the faint waft of stale wine that
followed him.

Caesar was
already at the gate as Fronto and Rufus converged from different
directions. Most of the staff officers were present.

“
Good afternoon, general,” Rufus addressed Caesar, nodding
respectfully to Fronto.

“
Good afternoon, gentlemen. Are you prepared?”

Fronto
grumbled.

“
Depends what for.”

“
Are we not to be mounted, Caesar?” enquired the young
legate.

The general
shook his head.

“
Firstly, I don’t want them to think we’re soft; secondly, I
want to approach at a steady marching pace; and thirdly…” he gave a
sly smile in the direction of the Tenth’s legate. “Thirdly, after
Fronto’s performance last night, I don’t want to present too easy a
target for any irritated assassin!”

The staff
officers chuckled quietly, which caused Fronto to grind his
teeth.

“
Let’s just get this over with so we can go and kick someone”
he grumbled. “Priscus is bloody right.”

Ignoring a
number of questioning looks, he strode out of the gate. In front of
the fort, Aulus Ingenuus had formed up Caesar’s bodyguard without
their horses. In the distance, he could see Balbus and Plancus
striding from one camp and Crispus, Galba and Varus from the other.
So, all the senior commanders in the army in one place. He frowned
and addressed Ingenuus as he reached the honour guard.

“
I hope your men are alert! Caesar’s got every senior officer
walking blindly into that place. If the Belgae really wanted, they
could end this campaign in one fell swoop. It’d probably only take
a couple of dozen men if they planned it right!”

Ingenuus
laughed and held up his hand in salute, the remaining three fingers
on his right hand spread wide.

“
I’m very careful these days, Fronto!”

Fronto stood
watching with his customary sour face and grumbles as the officers
assembled. As usual, when he cast his eyes around his companions,
he felt like the badly-dressed poor relation. Caesar arrived next
to him, clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously.

“
Bear in mind, everyone, that we have a fine line to walk
today. I don’t want to actually insult the Remi any more after
Fronto’s excellent display, but I do want to appear powerful enough
that they feel as though we’d be doing a favour by letting them
join us.”

He smiled
benignly at them.

“
Which, of course, we are.”

There was a
chorus of laughs.

“
Alright, Ingenuus. I think we’re all here. Lead us
out.”

The young
officer saluted and formed up his dismounted cavalry. The guard
fell into a heavy step as they marched towards the bridge, the
commanders striding along roughly in time in the centre of their
protective unit.

At the bridge,
the locals hurried out of the way of the iron, bronze and red linen
column of men that shone and impressed in the early afternoon sun.
Fishermen at the far end grabbed their lines and moved off the wide
bridge and down to the adjacent river bank. Indeed, as the Roman
party, some hundred strong with their guard, arrived on the far
side, the road cleared ahead of them all the way up the oak-lined
avenue to the centre.

Fronto
examined the Remi and their town of Durocorteron. While Caesar and
most of his staff officers marched on, their eyes straight ahead
and their sight locked on a future of Roman domination with their
own arses firmly planted in the curia in Rome, Fronto could see
past his own career progression. For Caesar and his cronies to
secure their future, all they required was a conquest, but Fronto’s
thoughts went deeper than that.

He doubted the
general had devoted a moment’s thought to what would happen to Gaul
once he’d had his triumph and climbed to the top of the ladder. If
Caesar could actually pacify Gaul, would he set about its
Romanisation? Would he care? And, of course, would it work?
Cisalpine Gaul has been a province of Rome for a century and a half
and was, in truth, as Roman as his homeland around Puteoli. Africa,
on the other hand, had never truly settled since the days of
Carthage, with occasional uprisings that kept the governor on his
toes.

No matter how
much the Belgae might think of themselves as a separate people to
the Gauls, Fronto could see just how similar they were as he met
the defiant gazes of the men and women in the gardens and doorways
of the houses they passed.

Their clothing
and armour appeared to be the same, their hair braided the same
way; the language in which they exchanged comments about their
visitors was, to Fronto’s ear, identical to those of the Helvetii
and the Aedui, and very similar even to the Ariovistus’ Germans, if
less guttural. As his gaze swept across Durocorteron itself, he
realised that even their towns were the same; their oppida. The
houses were constructed in the same fashion, the lower courses of
heavy local stone, with a timber upper. The towns were organised in
much the same layout.

He smiled to
himself. If there was one thing that Rome could learn from the
Gauls it was trees. Roman cities were well organised and efficient.
Everything was built to a pattern that kept the streets clean and
clear of traffic. Paved roads and gutters; side streets, kerbs and
rings for tying horses; the front doors of blocks of housing
opening onto the roads. But there were no trees. Flowers and trees
were planned in Roman cities, restricted to parks and gardens in
set and usually private enclosures.

But there was
something about striding up this packed-earth street. It was
probably horrible in rainy winter time, but the houses were all set
back with a well maintained garden fronting the road and a small
path. Trees gave the road shelter and kept him cool.

If Gaul could
be Romanised, he mused, it might be a nice province to retire to
one day.

He became
aware that Crispus was staring at him with his eyebrow raised.

“
Just taking it all in. Know your enemy, eh?”

The young
legate gave him a light, unconvinced, smile.

“
Whatever you say, Marcus. Pretty gardens though, aren’t
they?”

Fronto rolled
his eyes and shifted his gaze to the front once more. They were
almost at the top of the hill; the long, sloping road stretching
back behind them to the bridge and the Roman camps, now obscured by
the branches of the trees.

As Caesar’s
guard reached the open space at the centre of the oppidum, Ingenuus
gave orders and they fanned out into a protective cordon. Caesar
and the staff strode into the centre and came to a halt. Clearly,
the arrival of the Roman party at the bridge and their march up the
street had been enough to draw the leaders of the Remi from their
houses. Two men, whom Fronto would be willing to bet were the two
riders from last night, stood with their arms folded opposite the
Romans, their warriors armed and armoured behind and beside them.
For a moment, Fronto wondered whether he’d gone too far last night
and turned the Remi against them. He briefly considered trying to
become less visible in case of reprisals, but quickly chastised
himself. These people had no idea who he was and they certainly
wouldn’t recognise him, given the low torch light last night.

His fears were
allayed as the two men bowed deeply and Caesar nodded respectfully
in return.

“
My apologies for being unable to find time to greet you
yesterday. I’m sure you understand that an army this size requires
a great deal of control and administration.”

Masterful,
Fronto smiled to himself. In one stroke he just made a conciliatory
gesture, while reminding them of the enormous power of Rome and the
very present danger of a huge Roman army across the river.

The two men
exchanged words briefly before one of them stepped to the side and
gestured to a large building. Essentially a long single-floored
hall, constructed in the same manner as the other structures with a
thatched roof and several windows, the building was clearly
important. Perhaps the house of a chieftain, or some Belgic version
of the curia?

Caesar nodded.
Before he could step forward and enter, however, Ingenuus and two
of his men strode ahead and walked in, giving the interior a quick
check before the general arrived. The other senior officers
followed on.

The interior
of the hall was quite dim, though the windows let in enough light
that the eyes would soon adjust. In the centre, a sizeable fire
burned in a carefully-constructed stone-lined pit, while the column
of smoke rose up and disappeared through a small round hole in the
roof. At one end of the hall stood a large and impressive chair,
carved from oak with dragons and wolves and boars. Behind it, the
wall was covered with cured animal pelts, weapons and shields.
Warriors stood around the periphery, armed, but with weapons
sheathed. Fronto experienced a moment of doubt. Even with Ingenuus’
men at the ready, it would be reasonably easy to murder the entire
Roman command here.

Fronto found
that he had his jaw clamped tightly shut and was carefully
examining every warrior. He forced himself to relax. The truth was
that they could have been killed just as easily in the main square.
Caesar was sure of the Remi; if he hadn’t been, they wouldn’t have
come and, whatever misgivings he might have about the general, lack
of forethought was not one of his greater flaws.

Ignoring the
chieftain’s seat, the two Belgae leaders walked across to the fire
and warmed their hands over the flames while servants brought
benches in and placed them centrally in the hall around the fire
pit. Fronto nodded to himself. The Remi chieftains were being very
careful to show their deference to Caesar, even abandoning the
symbol of their tribal power, the throne, in order to meet the
general on a level. Without a word, the two men sat on one of the
benches and gestured to Caesar, who nodded and turned to his
companions.