Caesar narrowed his eyes, and Fronto continued.
“Look, I don’t know what the secrecy is about, but I can tell you that just wandering along as though you haven’t a care in the world, settling in behind fortifications while the population of the northern world gathers nearby is just going to make you look either indecisive or cowardly.”
Caesar’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“I’m not saying that’s what you are, general, but that’s what people are going to think. If, as I assume, you have a good reason for waiting here, you need to tell people what it is.”
The general shook his head.
“I cannot afford to have certain things become common knowledge ahead of time, Fronto. My army is riddled with treacherous Romans trying to undermine me and Gallic sympathisers who leak information to the Belgae. I trust most of my officers, but this incident with Paetus has just made me question how far that trust can really be extended.”
Caesar sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.
“You, Fronto, are the most insolent, arrogant and obstinate man in my army. And don’t think I haven’t contemplated sending you back, many times…”
He leaned forward.
“After all, no commander, no matter how clever he is, is worth the trouble we have to put up with from you. But that’s only half of it. There is hardly an officer in my army I can trust fully. All of them have some political game going on at some level… except you. And that’s why I can’t have you arguing with me and gainsaying me in front of the others. I need them to know you’re with me and to understand why I don’t send you home.”
Fronto shrugged.
“If that’s the case then at least confide in me. You know damn well I’m not going to go shouting your plans to the Belgae or sending letters to the senate.”
He laughed.
“Hell, I never even get round to sending a letter to my sister!”
Caesar sat back again, thoughtfully.
“The reason, Fronto, that I was getting so damned angry with you just now, is that you already know the answer to this! And you are the only person in the whole army that does already know. Focus, man. What could I be waiting for?”
Fronto blinked.
“What?”
“The Aedui” Caesar said with a sigh. “Divitiacus and his tribesmen are busy hacking and burning their way through the lands of the Bellovaci. They’re closing on our position as we speak.”
Fronto grinned.
“Caught between two armies. Now I see what’s happening. You want to hold off until the Aedui are close and you can pin them and crush them in one fell swoop!”
Caesar sighed.
“When will you realise that I’m not completely helpless, Fronto?”
* * * * *
Fronto stood on the causeway with Tetricus and Priscus, peering up and down the defensive trench that cut a line across the flat ground before the fort, just under a mile away. The shadow in the trench was dark and deep as the sun sank quickly now toward the western horizon.
“Are we really going to hole up here and wait for the Belgae to get stronger?” Priscus grumbled. “You may have had your fun at Bibrax, but my lads are itching to kick a few Belgae.”
Fronto smiled.
“I’m sure you’ll get the chance shortly. Caesar’s got something up his sleeve. Just be patient.”
Once more he shaded his eyes and examined Tetricus’ handiwork. The ditch was wide enough to roll a cart back and forth across the bottom and deep enough that a man could break his leg if he fell. It really was impressive for only a few hours work. Now, men were working on the inner side shaping a rampart from the excavated earth and planting a palisade atop it. On the berm between the mound and the ditch, men in small groups worked to dig and disguise lilia. At each end of the fortification, a small but heavily defensible fortlet protected artillery platforms onto which the ballistae and onagers were now being manoeuvred. All in all it was impressive. Probably unnecessary, given the approaching Aedui force, but then only he and Caesar knew that.
Priscus snorted.
“I hate defences and sieges. Give me a good open field and a sword any day.”
Fronto opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again when he saw, over Priscus’ shoulder, legate Balbus of the Eighth striding down to the causeway.
“Evening all. That’s looking very strong.”
The older legate nodded appreciatively as he looked up and down the defences. Fronto smiled.
“Afternoon stroll, Quintus?”
Balbus chuckled.
“Not quite. Now most of the work’s done, Caesar wants the legions moved forward to the new line and camped behind it. I think he’s worried that the Belgae think we’ve lost interest.”
Fronto nodded.
“He doesn’t want to commit to battle yet, but the last thing we want them to do is to leave. Are we dismantling the main camp?”
Balbus shook his head.
“The reserves are to stay in the camp.”
“Reserves? We have reserves?”
Balbus nodded wearily.
“You’ve been busy, so you’ve not seen what’s been happening. The two new legions have all but cut themselves off. None of the veterans will talk to them, because they’re Gaulish foederati who don’t speak Latin well. There have been fights and arguments; thefts and vandalism. It’s turning into an administrative nightmare. My officers are spending most of their time policing the men.”
He sighed.
“I spoke to Caesar about integration. I was seriously considering transferring some of the eighth out to them and taking some of them back in return, but Caesar won’t have it. He doesn’t think it’ll improve morale in general, so much as destroy the morale of the Eighth. It is entirely possible that he’s right as well.”
Fronto nodded and Balbus squared his shoulders.
“So essentially Caesar’s separating the forces. The Thirteenth and Fourteenth, as reserves, are going to stay in the camp while the other five legions move up to the new line.”
“I suppose it’s a solution for now. Things will have to change eventually though.”
With a nod to Tetricus and Priscus, Fronto joined Balbus and the two began to stroll back up the grass towards the camp.
They had walked less than fifty yards before they became aware of the sound of thundering hooves behind them. Stopping and turning, they saw half a dozen cavalry riding for the camp gate. Among them, Fronto noted the plume of a senior officer. Waving his arm, he stepped out towards them.
“Ho, Varus! What’s happening?”
The commander of the cavalry steered his horse toward the two legates with a deft twist of his knees.
“We’ve got trouble. Another big force of Belgae has turned up a few miles further out.”
Fronto narrowed his eyes.
“You sure they were Belgae?”
“What? Yes of course I’m sure.”
“They couldn’t be any other sort of Gauls?” Fronto probed gently.
Varus stared at him.
“What the hell have you been drinking, Fronto.”
Gritting his teeth, he dropped from the horse lightly to the grass.
“No, these are definitely Belgae. At least ten thousand of them; maybe fifteen. And they’ll be in camp with their friends in an hour or so.”
“Damn it!”
Fronto ground his teeth.
“Caesar’s plans are just going to have to change. At the very least we need to whittle their numbers down while we wait.”
He looked up at Varus.
“Balbus and I are coming with you to see Caesar.”
“We are?” the older legate said with mild surprise and then hurried to catch up with the other two, Fronto walking with his hands clasped behind his back and his head down, Varus leading his horse by the bridle as his troopers went to water and rest their steeds.