Caesar nodded and Antonius cast a momentary irritated look at the prefect.
‘Very well…’ the general said, leaning on his desk. ‘There is a supply depot two days south of here at the Parisii capitaclass="underline" Lutetia. That’s on the border of both Carnute and Senone lands. I will move two legions there and reconvene the assembly. You,’ he pointed at Antonius, ‘will take three legions south immediately. Strip them of kit so that they can travel fast and move against these two tribes. Be quick and either bring them to the assembly or find out why they have not attended and chastise them appropriately. The rest of the army can stay here and wait for us to return.’
Antonius nodded his approval.
‘And you, Priscus… I shall put the camps in the hands of my lieutenants for the time being. You go with Antonius. He is new to Gaul, but you know the tribes and their ways well enough now. Antonius? You have a tendency to leap in with both feet before you test the water’s temperature. Priscus knows the Gauls. Listen to him, and if he advises you to do something, I strongly suggest you do it.’
The prefect saluted. He had attempted to slow things, but it seemed Caesar was set on putting things in order quickly before he moved on. At least with Priscus along for the ride and with Caesar’s given authority, he might be able to nudge Antonius’ hand and keep him on the right path. Caesar’s friend and senior officer gave Priscus a sour look and the prefect sighed. What Caesar saw as sensible advice, Antonius likely saw as emasculation.
Reaching out, Caesar drew his tablets and stylus across the table, ready to return to his work. He looked up at them briefly.
‘Are you still here? Go. You have your orders.’
Priscus and Antonius saluted and turned, striding from the tent. As soon as the flap had fallen back into place and they were past the protective cordon of Ingenuus’ guards, the younger — yet more senior — of the two men turned, grasping Priscus by the shoulder and jarring him to a halt.
‘What the fuck was that about?’
Priscus sighed.
‘What?’
‘You wanted to buy Fronto time. I bought him a whole damn campaign’s worth. Now we delay matters long enough to kick seven shades of shit out of the Carnutes and the Senones. Fronto will be grateful. And instead of giving me a hand, you start throwing around all this rubbish about waiting just in case and being sure they deserve a beating. I thought you were Fronto’s friend?’
The prefect bridled and turned, wrenching his shoulder from Antonius’ powerful grip.
‘The whole reason that Fronto is doing this is to prevent the unnecessary ravaging, enslaving and burning of whole tribes. We should be working on making allies and subjects out of them, not corpses and slaves. You really think the best way to aid Fronto is by further perpetrating exactly what he’s trying to stop? For the love of Mars, Antonius! What if the Senones and the Carnutes aren’t attending because they’re falling foul of other rebellious tribes? It’s happened before!’
‘Then we’ll find out while our nailed boots are poised over their throats,’ Antonius snapped. ‘Better to negotiate from a position of strength, I’d say.’
‘Well we’re set now’ Priscus sighed. ‘We lead three legions against them and deal with whatever we find. The big problem we have is timing. It would benefit Fronto if we took as long as possible in the task, but two things weigh against that.’
‘Caesar’s orders to move fast,’ agreed Antonius, nodding.
‘And the fact that, if these tribes are planning on rebelling, every extra day we give them allows them more time to prepare. Sadly for Fronto, I think we need to do as Caesar commanded and move as fast as possible.’
Antonius tapped his chin in thought. ‘We take the most veteran, trained and experienced legions. They’ll move faster and work better together.’
‘That would be the Seventh, Ninth and Tenth, I’d say,’ Priscus agreed. ‘The Eighth are as long-standing, but despite years under Plancus’ rotting command, the Seventh were posted in Carnute territory over winter, so they might be more use.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to pass the news to them. What’s our first move? You know these people, as Caesar says.’
‘The Senones, I’d say,’ Priscus replied. ‘They’re closer, smaller, and easily reached along the river valley. We move south. The nearest Senone oppidum of any size is Melodunon, but the bigger ones of Vellaunodunon and Agedincum are not far south of that. We take Melodunon and hopefully we’ll resolve what’s happening. If we need to move further, from there we can move to either of the larger settlements along the river, as the Sequana forks and each lies on one branch.’
‘You know the land that well?’ Antonius asked in surprise.
‘Never been there. But I’ve studied the maps and spoken to the officers who have. Come on. Let’s get things ready. Sooner we leave, sooner we can sort this mess out.’
* * * * *
Priscus reined in his horse as Antonius held up his hand to stop the advancing column.
‘Well?’
The prefect took a deep breath and glanced at the two scouts who had accompanied him as they moved back into position with the cavalry escort. ‘I think we’re in luck.’
‘Explain.’
‘Melodunon would be a nightmare to take unless we have naval support. There’s three islands strung out in the middle of the river, and the town’s on the big one in the middle. It’s connected to both banks by wooden bridges. Got good solid walls, too.’
‘Doesn’t sound that lucky to me.’
‘Lucky, because we’re not going to have to assault it. Looks like the place is undefended. Gates are open and no one on the walls. Hearth smoke and general noise says the town’s occupied, but not defended.’
‘So we intimidate them with numbers? No fight required?’
‘My thoughts precisely. Have the three legions move in full formation to the river bank near the bridge and look deadly. Then you and me — as well as the legates and tribunes — ride up to the gates and find out what we need to know.’
‘Fanfares and everything. Good.’ Antonius turned to the knot of officers following him.
‘Plancus, Trebonius and Crassus: have your senior centurions send the legions to the shore and form up facing the island, then bring your tribunes, eagles, standards and musicians forward to the bridge.’
The three legates saluted and returned to their legions, issuing the commands. Priscus and Antonius waited for the army to begin moving in concert, the Ninth and Tenth manoeuvring out to the sides to flank the Seventh and moving three legions abreast towards the low bump in the land and the woods around the edge of which the road to Melodunon passed.
By the time the army reached the treeline and approached the bend, the officers had all ridden forward to join the commanders and, accompanied by the pomp and fanfare of a Roman command unit, they rounded the bend and began the gentle descent to the river bank.
As Priscus had described, Melodunon was a long, narrow settlement, nestled on an island some half a mile long, yet only a hundred and fifty paces wide. Its heavy, high walls looked down on strong timber bridges that connected it to both banks, and onto the small, reed-swamped islands that sat at either end — a haven for birds and other wildlife.
Still no warriors stood watch on the ramparts, and dozens of tendrils of smoke wound up through the pale grey air into the sky. Melodunon seemed peaceful… passive. No hive of rebellion.
‘Doesn’t look like much of a prize,’ Antonius noted.
‘We’re not here for conquest,’ Priscus reminded him quietly. ‘Just for information, right now.’
As the legions moved into position at the river’s edge, a gleaming mass of silver and red, the officers walked their horses out onto the bridge. At Antonius’ cue the musicians began to intone a repetitive rising scale in harmony, which echoed out across the water and back from the walls of the small oppidum.