It was two days later that Gaius finally had an idea, and he drafted a second message that he had sent to Claudius. Word of this got back to Plautius, who immediately requested Gaius' presence.
"And what, exactly, did you have to say?" Plautius asked angrily.
"A suggestion as to how to get the troops to board," Gaius replied. "From Claudius' point of view, this invasion has to proceed, or he is dead."
"Why did you go behind my back?"
"I didn't think about it until your request had gone," Gaius said coldly. "Worse, there's no guarantee Claudius will prevail, so it's imperative the troops don't have time to work out a reason to say no, which means no staff officers knowing." Here was a direct challenge. Plautius would inevitably discuss the issue with his staff officers, and from then on, information would leak.
Plautius was less than happy, but he realized that if it came to a choice between him and his Legate, it was not clear what the outcome would be. As Gaius was about to leave, the same thought struck him, so he turned back towards Plautius, and said, "I apologize if you think I was going behind your back. I was not. You have my full support, and I have told that to Claudius." This was not exactly true, but it seemed the right thing to say.
"Well, thank you," Plautius said in a voice laden with sarcasm.
"The problem is," Gaius continued, "that having brought Claudius into this, it is imperative that the men board. If you wish, sir, I shall persuade the twentieth to board and lead the invasion."
"That will not be necessary," Plautius scowled.
In retrospect, Gaius conceded, that had not gone well. But why should he have to worry about the feelings of those who had failed to carry out the Princeps' orders? The short answer was, he did not need to, as long as he had Claudius' support, so he should focus on the real problem: how to get the men to board?
* * *
"The second seems too afraid to set sail," Gaius addressed a century from the eighth cohort of his legion, a century particularly rich in younger and inexperienced soldiers, and he was addressing them without the presence of a Centurion or any NCOs, "but I'm sure that when it is time for the twentieth to sail, there will be no problems, will there?"
"No sir," came the unenthusiastic response. Sailing last had its advantages, but the sailing order was hardly immutable.
"I offered to have the twentieth lead," Gaius continued, "but Vespasian thinks his legion is made of better stuff."
That generated some growls.
"If we have to go first," Gaius said firmly, "I expect you men to board. I shall be on the first ship, and I promise you, I have no intention of falling off the edge of the world."
"You mightn't intend to. ." one started.
"That," Gaius said calmly, "is because there's no edge of the world."
"There has to be! Everything has an end," one of the soldiers said.
"Want a bet? How many denarii?" Gaius challenged.
"Just because I'm out of money doesn't mean. ."
"You can pay with a week's fatigues. Want to bet?"
There was a dull silence. The man knew he would be on fatigues right then. The only question was, doing what for how long.
"Here," Gaius said, throwing a small leaden ball made for the sling. "Since you're so sure everything has an end, show me where the surface of the ball ends."
There were a few laughs at the man's discomfort.
"The great Aristotle," Gaius said as a challenge, "proved that the world is a ball, rounder than that, so I promise, there's no edge."
There were murmurs. People had heard of Aristotle, but none of the men knew or cared what he had written. Still, his reputation was such that. .
"Julius Caesar's troops gave no problem," Gaius continued. "I trust you men are not less than Caesar's."
There was no response.
"I would hope there's no less discipline than with Caesar's men," Gaius continued coldly.
There was even less response. Caesar was known not to have been particularly forgiving, and word had started to spread about their new Legate. Stories were making the rounds that he had ordered many crucifixions without any particular authorization before he became a Legate. Also, irrespective of the stories, discipline in the twentieth had been very much more ruthlessly imposed since he had arrived.
"What I was thinking," Gaius continued slowly, "is that a local boat is going over to pick up some friendly Celts tomorrow and I think the Gallic sailors would be grateful for some men to protect them. I want some volunteers." He paused, then added, "Volunteers will get an extra cask of wine, they will immediately become immunes, and they will get a favour from me when they request it. If nobody volunteers, this century is all cleaning stables, and one in ten will wish they were cleaning stables."
A chill ran through the men. The implication was clear.
"I volunteer, sir," one man stepped forward, "if you can help me."
"You want?" Gaius asked impassively. This was the risk of his strategy.
"My brother has a farm near Ravenna, but there is a rich neighbour trying to. ."
Gaius stared. Even this long after Gracchus. . "Give me the details and I think you'll find your farm is secure," Gaius said coldly. "I give you my word as a Claudian." He would write to Claudius; if the success of Claudius' invasion depended on stopping some rich landowner extorting the poorer family of a soldier, on a good day the rich landowner could expect to join the poor.
There were more volunteers. A Legate who would go out of his way to help one of his men with problems back home was worth supporting.
"Good," Gaius nodded. "Now, one more thing. Don't tell the other legions you're going, and even more importantly, don't tell them it's safe after you get back."
The men nodded, and grinned. It was always good to show up the others.
It was later that day that Gaius met a distraught Vespasian.
"You seem quite satisfied with yourself," Vespasian growled. "Almost as if you don't wish to embark!"
"Actually," Gaius said flatly, "as long as we eventually embark, the current situation is remarkably fortunate." He had to restrain his sense of satisfaction.
"Oh?" Vespasian queried in an icy tone. "Why is sitting on your arse here fortunate?"
"Imagine the Britons?" Gaius smiled. "What will they be thinking?"
"They'll be laughing their heads off at the mighty Roman army, scared shitless by a channel of water," Vespasian growled bitterly. "Trouble is, they might be right."
"They'll probably think we'll end up collecting seashells, like we did a few years ago," Gaius added.
"So why's that so encouraging?"
"Because the Celts are not professional soldiers," Gaius reminded Vespasian. "The next thing they'll do is think of their crops. If we can delay sailing until harvest starts, most of their troops'll have gone home to bring in the harvest. That'll make things easier when we get there," Gaius nodded.
"So, the young Claudius doesn't want to fight?" Vespasian laughed.
"I want to win," Gaius responded coldly. "If the opposition want to be absent, so much the better. The object is to conquer Britain, and I have no particular desire to spill unnecessary blood."
"Neither do I," Vespasian agreed, although Gaius considered him to be not altogether convincing. As he departed he slapped Gaius on the shoulder, a gesture that annoyed Gaius for a moment. Vespasian was trying to be friendly, but not a friend. Vespasian had his own agenda and would go out of is way to see that agenda got done. But then, Gaius had to admit, both of them wanted this invasion to go well. While they had a common goal, they had to work together, and suddenly Gaius realized that he too had been overly aloof.