Varus glanced across at Brutus, who was calm and quiet, though his fingers were drumming nervously on the chair arm, and well they might. This was an assignment that could make a man's career or see him broken. It did not escape Varus' notice that the task had been entrusted to one of the general's own relations, perhaps the only man Caesar felt he could trust enough?
'Security, Caesar?' Brutus asked quietly.
'In addition to the Remi horse and the various smaller escorts that have accompanied each single convoy to the Agedincum meet, you will take the Twelfth Legion. They will travel the entire journey as dedicated guards for the convoy. Once you arrive at the port in Massilia, the fleet and their marines will take on the responsibility for escort, still under your command, and the Twelfth will move down to Matisco near the Narbonensis border, where they will take up the role of garrison to protect Roman provincial interests from any last throes of Gallic trouble.'
'And the destination of the convoy, Caesar?'
The general pursed his lips and Varus realised that the general had intended to reveal the intimate details of the task only in a quiet post-briefing manner to his cousin. A quick glance around the room seemed to satisfy Caesar that he was safe enough speaking in front of those present, though. After all, that was clearly why the bulk of the officer corps were not present.
'The fleet will convey the wagons to Ostia, where you will oversee the transfer to barges that have also been prepared in advance and should be waiting empty for you. You will take the entire convoy in one trip to the emporium of Rome and then through the city to the Quirinal hill and the house of Gaius Servilius Casca Longus near to the temple of Salus.'
Brutus frowned. 'Casca, general? Might I enquire about…'
'No,' Caesar cut him short with a sharp look. 'You may not. Curiosity is a favoured trait in a student, but it is oft-times a detriment to a good officer. Servilius Casca is expecting the arrival of the column. He will oversee the transfer of the slaves to the graecostadium and has made arrangements for the wagons and their contents.'
He leaned forwards as though speaking to Brutus alone, ignoring every other fascinated face.
'Bear in mind, Decimus Brutus, that this convoy has to reach Rome safe and intact. A great deal rides on its arrival, and if every man in the Remi cavalry, the Twelfth Legion and the fleet has to die to achieve that, then die they will. Do you understand me?'
Brutus nodded his agreement, silent still, chastened by Caesar's sharp words.
'Very well. The rest of you will remain with me and the remaining force. We still have a few tasks to complete in the north before we move south again, but at this point I will take the opportunity to assign specific duties to you all.'
The rest of the briefing went by without incident or interest to Varus, who spent much of the time studying his peers. Labienus, assigned to the Treveri. The only man in this army with a track record to rival Caesar's. It seemed entirely possible that in the absence of old Crassus, Labienus could take on the role of that leg of the tripod that seemed to support the republic these days. If the man had the chance to move out from under Caesar's shadow, he might be every bit as popular and successful as either the general or Pompey. Perhaps that was why his role was so often downplayed. Last autumn, Varus had finally found the time to read Caesar's commentaries on the war that had been circulated among the people of Rome for years. While they were largely accurate, barring some self-congratulation and narcissistic third-person praise, they did at times diminish the accomplishments of men such as Labienus in favour of the general.
His gaze moved on to his friend. Brutus was still young for such a role, his career owed entirely to Caesar's patronage. But his accomplishments spoke for themselves. He had commanded Caesar's fleets several times, including that glorious victory against the Veneti in the west – another likely reason for his selection to command the convoy that would have to take ship at Massilia.
Thoughts of Massilia inevitably brought a mental image of Fronto. Shame Varus was assigned to the western tribes and not the convoy. He would have enjoyed dropping in on the Tenth's former legate and sampling his wares.
Fabius was already looking twitchy, as though ready to be off to Noviodunum with all haste. Perhaps he had realised he was being given the chance to shine like Labienus and was hoping for a challenge in the west. Gods, Varus hoped not. He had had enough challenges in Gaul now. A peaceful transition from tribal land to Roman province seemed a glorious prospect to him. His own family name was known enough in the city and the senate even before Caesar's repeated references to him in those commentaries that had continued to make him the darling of the Roman people.
Rome.
He found himself considering the destination of the convoy.
The Serviliae Cascae. Long had they been allies of the Julii, and the current crop – the brothers Gaius and Publius – seemed to be holding to the same values. But while the Servilii had old patrician roots, the Casca branch was a dulled bronze to the ancient gold of the line, their crowning achievements being tribunes of the plebs and the occasional aedile. No real power or influence. Of course, there was all that gossip years back in Rome – rumour of Servilia Caepionis, a distant cousin of the Cascae, having been one of Caesar's mistresses, and even that Junius Brutus might be Caesar's secret son. Such things were said quietly, only by the careless, and even then far from the ears of Caesar's people. There were clearly connections there.
But regardless, the Serviliae Cascae were neither influential nor rich when compared to many of Caesar's clients. The fact that he might entrust a king's ransom to them was interesting.
As Caesar continued to ramble to his men on the subject of the suppression of tribes, Varus began to think ahead of what he might require for the coming journey.
The west beckoned.
* * * * *
Noviodunum was not the thriving military hub Varus had expected to find. For the base of two legions and associated support, it languished quiet and still. The Eighth and Ninth legions were still pouring across the plains behind them, the terrain here south of the Liger River flat and uninteresting. The seemingly endless fields lay dormant through lack of attention, full of unharvested crops from the previous year, rotting down into the earth.
The war had ruined this region of Gaul.
Noviodunum had been an oppidum. The army had fought a determined enemy here. Now that enemy was gone. Long gone. The oppidum lay devoid of Gauls, occupied instead by two legions, who had reused the ramparts and what buildings they found a use for. The few locals who remained now lived in makeshift hovels outside the walls, eking out a sad living by meeting the needs of the occupying force.
But even from here it was amply evident that said force was not currently in occupation.
'What do you make of that?' asked Fabius, astride his dappled grey as the two commanders sat ahead of the approaching army, peering at the ramparts beyond the stream.
'Empty. More or less. Certainly Caninius and his legions are not in residence.'
'And yet Caesar's last report places him here.'
Varus shrugged. 'Situations change and it takes time for missives to cross country. I wouldn't even be surprised if we crossed the path of a courier somewhere on the journey without realising it. What worries me is why two legions should have moved out of their base at once. Must be something fairly major, or the man would have sent a vexillation. A cohort or two would be sufficient for anything short of a war.'
Fabius looked less than convinced. 'Sometimes a legion or two is required to make Rome's point.'
'If that's happened, then we're probably looking at another fight anyway. I don't relish the possibility of a repeat of what happened with the Bellovaci.'