Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (65 page)

Despite the
gloom, he was feeling unusually cheerful. He had called in this
morning for his daily visit to Priscus to find him partially-raised
up and practicing lifting things with his left arm. The doctors had
been impressed with his progress. Piously, they put it down to the
offerings and libations that Fronto habitually poured on the altar
of Aescapulus as he entered and left the hospital. Fronto, ever a
man of the world, put it down to the sheer indomitable
bloody-mindedness of the Tenth’s primus pilus.

Ingenuus’
guards saluted as he passed into the gloom once again. Inside,
Sabinus sat with Balbus opposite the general, who smiled.

“
Ah, Fronto, good.”

The legate
strode across the tent and dropped wearily into a spare seat.
Caesar frowned momentarily at the impropriety and then brushed it
aside.

“
How is your chief centurion today?”

Fronto sat
back and began to flex his arm as he habitually did these days.

“
He seems to be healing. I think he aims on being able to
resume his post next year.”

Caesar raised
his eyebrows.

“
The doctors told me his military career was over.”

Fronto
laughed.

“
Priscus? You know the centurionate, Caesar. They’re a hardy
breed. Look at Balventius; or Baculus. Baculus suffered over a
dozen wounds at the Selle, but refused to go in a cart when he left
with Labienus. The man actually marched off. You can’t keep them
down.” The smile faded slightly.

“
But I think you’re right about Gnaeus; his combat days are
over. Can’t have a centurion limping at the front of the lines with
a gammy leg.”

Caesar nodded
sagely.

“
But we must do something for him. The man deserves to be
recognised for what he did. He effectively save both the army and
my own life.”

Fronto
smiled.

“
He shouldn’t end up as a beggar in the streets of Rome,
certainly. Perhaps a sizeable pension, like you offered Balventius?
An estate in Cisalpine Gaul or Illyricum? A villa by the
Adriatic?”

Caesar
grinned; a cheeky and unexpected look that made Fronto frown
suspiciously.

“
What?”

“
I have a better suggestion, I believe. Priscus, like
Balventius, would not take to the life of a country
gentleman.”

“
Ye-e-e-s” Fronto said slowly and uncertainly. “So?”

“
I need a new camp prefect. A primus pilus needs to be fit and
active, but I think you’ll agree that previous evidence suggests
the camp prefect can be a fairly sedentary person.”

Fronto
frowned.

“
He won’t like the idea. He’ll hate the idea.”

“
More than retirement?”

Slowly, like a
sunrise, the smile spread across Fronto’s face.

“
D’you know, general? You might be onto something
there.”

Caesar
nodded.

“
There will, of course, have to be a great deal of
reorganisation this winter. We may even need to delay our campaigns
next year.”

“
Next year?”

“
Of course,” Caesar smiled. “The lands of the Gauls and the
Belgae are ours, but there’s bound to be trouble with the Germans;
or the Britons, or even the Aquitanii. We’ve stamped our presence
here, but we’re far from done.”

Fronto
nodded.

“
Then the legions will be wintering in Gaul?”

Caesar turned
to the great map of the northern lands on the wall of the tent
behind him.

“
Given the flighty nature of tribal politics and the newness of
accords between us, I intend to keep the army close to the areas of
activity this year. Labienus has concluded some solid treaties. I,
myself, would have given less on our side of the treaty and taken
more from theirs, but the result is not unsatisfactory. As part of
his work, he intends to leave a caretaker garrison of one cohort at
Nemetocenna.”

His hand
strayed west across the map.

“
Crassus claims to have pacified the northwest. Hopefully he
has been thorough and things are settled, but there is always the
possibility of reprisal attacks and uprisings, and I don’t like not
leaving Crassus entirely unmanaged. So, most of the army will be
picking up the stray cohorts at Nemetocenna and heading to the
west, to Vindunum in the land of the Carnutes, where Crassus’ force
will rejoin them.”

Fronto nodded,
frowning.

“
So you’re leaving only Labienus’ one cohort among the
Belgae?”

Caesar sighed
and an irritated look passed across his face.

“
One of the things Labienus has agreed with the Belgae is that
we will not station a large military force within their lands, only
the caretaker garrison there. However, a force at Vindunum can be
anywhere in northern or western Gaul, or in Belgae territory, in a
matter of weeks.”

He pinched the
bridge of his nose.

“
He has also arranged for a number of fairly beneficial trade
agreements with the Belgae but, if I am to make the best of this, I
will need to open a major trade route from Cisalpine Gaul across
the mountains and down to Vesontio. The current route that runs up
the Rhone is too slow and long.”

He tapped at
the southern edge of the map, where a deep pass was marked across
the Alps between Lake Geneva and Cisalpine Gaul.

“
The straightest route for trade would be through this pass,
starting at the oppidum of Octodurus, capital of the Veragri
tribe.”

Balbus
frowned.

“
That’s a bad area, general. Some of the braver merchants
already use that pass, but it’s rife with bandits and the Veragri
levy unreasonable tolls to cross through their lands. That’s why
everyone goes along the coast into Narbonensis and up the
Rhone.”

“
Indeed,” the general nodded. “That’s why I’m going to install
a garrison at Octodurus. I thought the Twelfth. They distinguished
themselves in battle this year.”

Fronto shook
his head.

“
General, there’s hardly anything left of the
Twelfth!”

“
Yes,” the general agreed, “but they should only have to keep
down banditry along the pass, and I’m intending to levy new troops
in Cisalpine Gaul as time and money allow. The Twelfth will be
close, so the reinforcements can join them in short
order.”

Fronto
continued to shake his head.

“
I don’t like it, Caesar. It’s dangerous. If anything goes
wrong and trouble flares up, the Twelfth will be undermanned and on
their own. The rest of the army will be several hundred miles
away.”

The general
smiled.

“
Fortunately, Fronto, I do not require your permission to do
these things. That is the disposition of the legions then: the
Twelfth at Octodurus, one cohort at Nemetocenna, and the rest in
the west at Vindunum. As new troops are levied, they will be sent
to the legions, starting with the Twelfth, to bring the numbers
back up, hopefully to paper strength, though I will set one of my
lieutenants to the task, for I shall be needed in Rome.”

Fronto caught
the look on Sabinus’ face. The staff officer clearly knew the task
was destined for him. He suddenly realised Caesar was watching him
intently.

“
General?”

“
Are you bound for Rome for the winter, Fronto, or to some
drinking and whoring pit on the edge of the civilised
world?”

Fronto
grinned.

“
There are plenty of uncivilised drinking and whoring pits at
Rome, general. Yes, I think it’s time to visit the
family.”

“
Good. Then we shall travel together.”

Fronto
continued to look at the general, the smile plastered across his
face, nodding jovially while, inside, the prospect of travelling
the best part of a thousand miles with the general and his
entourage made his very soul cry out.

“
That would be nice, sir.”

Willing his
smile to stay there, he turned to Balbus and Sabinus, both straight
faced and avoiding his gaze.

“
I take it we’re not leaving immediately?”

Caesar shook
his head.

“
A few days. Very well, gentlemen. I think we’re done
here.”

The three
officers stood, saluted, and left the tent, heaving sighs of relief
as they stepped out into the air. Fronto stretched.

“
You two coming for a drink? I need a drink.”

Balbus
laughed.

“
I’ll bet you do. Get the amphora open. I’ll be along very
shortly.”

Sabinus
nodded.

“
Since we’re going to be departing shortly, perhaps we ought to
get all the officers together for a send off?”

Fronto
grinned.

“
I’ll get the wine. You get the company.”

As Balbus and
Sabinus strode off about their business, Fronto called in quickly
to see Cita. He couldn’t be bothered to argue with the
quartermaster and simply paid him above the odds for a large
quantity of wine to be delivered to the legate’s tent.

“
You know you never invite me to these sessions,
Fronto?”

The legate
grinned.

“
Maybe if you stopped complaining at me…Half an hour. My tent.
Bring money and be prepared to lose it.”

Leaving the
man with his wagons, he strode across to his own encampment, the
guards saluting him as he passed through the gateway. More salutes
and polite greetings met him as he walked up the decumana to his
tent. The atmosphere in the camp had improved no end since news had
spread of Priscus’ rapid recovery.

Smiling at the
guards around the principia of the Tenth as he approached, Fronto
frowned. A centurion he vaguely recognised was standing by the tent
flap.

“
Can I help you, centurion?”

The man,
middle aged and surprisingly rosy and large for a combat officer,
saluted.

“
May I speak to you, legate?”

Fronto
shrugged and, throwing aside the tent flap, made his way inside.
The centurion waited for a moment for a command and, receiving
none, also shrugged and made his own way in. Fronto, in no mood to
stand on ceremony, collapsed to his bunk, where he sat, removing
his boots and sighing with relief.

“
So. I know your face, centurion. First cohort,
yes?”

The man
grinned. His smile was infectious, like a happy puppy, and Fronto
realised that he was smiling himself without intending to. Idiot.
He forced a straight face. In front of him, the centurion unbuckled
his helmet and placed it beneath his arm. Removing the padded cap
that protected him from chafing exposed his pink, shiny head; not a
hair to be seen. Fronto struggled to keep his face straight.

“
I am Servius Fabricius Carbo, centurion of the First Cohort,
Second Century.”

Fronto sighed
and fell back on his bunk.

“
Ah… this is about promotion. I see.”

Carbo smiled.
It was, Fronto noted, a confident and knowing smile. There was
apparently more to this shiny, pink, chubby officer than at first
there seemed.

“
In a manner of speaking, sir. Essentially, I have taken the
liberty of promoting myself.”

“
What?” Fronto gripped the bunk and turned his head.

“
Sir, the primus pilus has been out of action for a long time
now. The legion has to have a chief centurion. I am the second most
senior man in the legion and the obvious choice for the position. I
am quite capable of the job and, frankly, since you and Priscus
were such good friends, it’s going to be very unpleasant for you
trying to organise his replacement, which is, I assume, why it’s
taking so long.”

Fronto stared
at the man.

“
What if Priscus can retain his position?”

Carbo shook
his head.

“
You know that’s not going to happen, sir. You’re in denial.
That’s why I have to take charge.”

“
What?”

Fronto’s voice
had gone up an octave and yet, inside, he realised this was not so
much through anger, but more a mixture of shock and regret.

“
Legate, you’ve lost two senior centurions this year. More than
that, I’m very well aware that they were two of your best friends.
The reason the Tenth works so well and functions beyond all
expectations is that the officers know each other well and work
well together. You need people like Priscus and Velius who will
talk straight to you…” he smiled that infectious smile again “… and
even down to you, when necessary. You need that as much as the
Tenth needs you.”

As Fronto
watched, his mouth hanging open, Carbo jabbed his vine staff into
the ground, hung his helmet on it, strolled over to the cabinet
where the last of Fronto’s current wine store was, and poured two
cups.

“
Drink.”

Fronto stared
at the cup and then took it, dumfounded.

“
You presume a great deal, Centurion Carbo.”

The shiny pink
face split into that wide grin again.

“
Servius if you prefer sir, when we’re alone, but Carbo’s fine
if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

Fronto took a
deep quaff from the cup and stared over the rim at this incredibly
insolent man. His face split into a smile.

“
I think we’ll get on just fine, Servius. But there’s a
condition attached to the position.”