“Priscus! Get Pomponius out here.”
There was a brief ruckus in the ranks of the tenth, and the young centurion and chief engineer of Fronto’s legion strode out to meet him.
“Sir?”
“Just on the offchance that the Belgae come back for more, I want the fort defences on this side of the river extended to form a long boundary. I’ll leave the details to you. Take as many men as you need.”
Frowning at the assembled legions, standing quietly, he cleared his throat.
“I want the Tenth to remain on this side of the river with the Thirteenth and Fourteenth and make camp once the bodies have been moved and the new defences built. While that’s happening, those of you who aren’t needed can go and break camp near Tetricus’ ditch and haul the gear back here. Priscus? When I’m not around, you come under Sabinus’ command.”
The primus pilus nodded, eying the battle-worn Gaulish legions warily.
Fronto turned and waved his arm at the assembled work parties.
“Oh, and if you find a posh and probably dented officer’s helmet in the river, have it sent to legate Balbus!”
There was a ripple of laughter and Fronto turned to his counterpart from the Eighth Legion.
“Let’s go see if we can console the general. Our victory seems to have pissed him off a little.”
Balbus nodded, but before turning to leave, he glanced across to see the Tenth legion going about their business, while Rufus and Crispus started moving the Ninth and Eleventh back toward the river crossings.
“Balventius?”
The primus pilus of the Eighth stepped out of the mass of officers.
“Sir?”
“Get the men back to camp. I have a feeling we’ll need to be rested shortly.”
The scarred veteran barked out a harsh laugh.
“I bloody hope so, sir. All this action and the veterans haven’t seen an inch of it yet!”
Balbus grinned at his friend and second-in-command, before turning to leave the field with Fronto. As they approached the sturdy bridge, so recently a scene of such carnage, they spotted Sabinus leaning over the parapet and staring down into the water.
“Mortal thoughts or some such?”
The senior officer looked up in surprise.
“Oh, hello, Fronto… Balbus. Just taking a moment to relax and breathe the air. Above the water’s the only place around here that doesn’t smell like dead meat. I don’t suppose either of you has a stock of wine with you?”
Fronto grinned.
“I can always find wine.”
“It’s true,” Balbus laughed. “He can feel when it’s nearby!”
Fronto turned for a moment.
“Hmm. I told Priscus he was under your command while I’m not there.” He shrugged. “Ah well. He knows what to do without us interfering.”
He smiled at Sabinus.
“When you roll down the hill later tonight back to your quarters, you’ll find I’ve left the Tenth, Thirteenth and Fourteenth all assigned to you. Don’t want a repeat performance, eh?”
As the three men continued on along the bridge, Fronto spotted the Gaulish engineer, directing a small party of men strengthening the slung bridge supports.
“Biorix?”
The legionary saluted as he saw the three senior officers. Fronto fished in his pocket and placed half a dozen silver coins on the flat top of the end bridge pile.
“When you’re done, use this to get wine for you and your lads. Well done.”
Sabinus raised an eyebrow.
“A Gaul? What did he do?”
Fronto laughed.
“He’s the one that managed to get us across the river in time to save your arse!”
Sabinus smiled and, fishing in his own pocket, added another pile of coins to the top.
“And when you’ve got drunk on Fronto,” he called out, “get drunk on me, my friend!”
Biorix grinned and saluted once more before getting back to work. The officers strode on up the hill toward the camp.
“At least you’ve given us an easy rear entrance now!” Sabinus laughed, pointing at the demolished camp rampart.
The three men reached the top of the hill, climbed across the rampart amid the torn chunks of palisade and walked through the camp towards the officer’s section. Fronto patted Sabinus on the shoulder.
“Go find my tent. There’s a jar in there and some of that bloody awful beer that Crispus likes. I’ve got to go and see Caesar, and then I’ll find more wine and join you.”
Balbus frowned.
“Want some moral support?”
Fronto shook his head.
“I’ll be fine. See you shortly.”
The other two officers waved at him and disappeared off through the ranks of tents, but Fronto made for the large headquarters in the centre. For a moment he dithered, unsure whether to knock or just stride inside confidently, but his plans disintegrated at the call from within.
“Come in Fronto, and close the flap.”
He stepped inside to see Caesar lying on his bed in the shade, no lamp lit to banish the dark.
“Caesar?”
“Headache” the general said, by way of explanation. Fronto stared into the dark as he let the leather flap drop into place, plunging them into stygian gloom. He blinked a couple of times and then slowly felt his way round the tent until he found the seat he knew to be there and sat down.
“You do know that this is actually a lot less of a problem than you made out, Caesar, yes?”
There was a moment of silence and then a tired voice said “go on…”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about the geography of this. Divitiacus and his Aedui are wading through Bellovaci territory, so they’re actually more to the west than the north. In actual fact, the Belgae are now more directly between the forces than they would have been near the marsh. In fact, if the Bellovaci learn about the Aedui, they’ll likely abandon the army to go home and defend their lands.”
There was a sigh.
“I suppose so. I was just looking forward to a single definitive victory.”
Fronto smiled in the dark.
“That was never going to happen among the Belgae, Caesar, and you know that. Everyone says that when they’ve no common enemy they fight each other. That sort of people aren’t going to give up in one big force. We’ll probably be fighting them tribe by tribe long after the big boys are under our heels. The way to do it is not in one big battle, but to put them down one tribe at a time and, if possible, to turn them into allies as we do it.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course.”
“Caesar?”
Fronto’s voice took on a worried tone. A headache was one thing, even one strong enough to make the general delegate all duties and retreat to his tent, but for him to meekly accept Fronto’s advice without an argument, a quip, or a little pomposity was truly unheard of.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, Fronto!” Slightly irritable now. “Of course. Now, what else?”
Good. That was more like Caesar.
“I’ve seen to everything here, but I’m assuming that we’ll probably be moving on shortly, and I doubt we’ll be back here, no?”
Another sigh.
“Would you like me to handle your scouts and spies while you recover?”
“That would be good, yes. Thank you, Fronto. Now I think I should sleep.”
Fronto stood in the darkness and turned, using the tiny sliver of grey to navigate his way to the door once again.
“Be well, Caesar.”
Trying not to open the flap wide and admit too much light, Fronto left the room and spied the dozen Gallic-dressed horsemen standing respectfully a distance away, beyond Ingenuus’ men who guarded the tent.
“You speak Latin, yes?”
“Yes,” confirmed the nearest man.
“I don’t know what Caesar usually asks you to do, but the general is sleeping, and I’m to brief you. We need you to get back among the fleeing Belgae. Spend a few hours among them and find out their plans. Then get back here as soon as you can and report to Caesar or myself. Be subtle and careful. Clear?”