“My Latin getting better, yes?”
Fronto nodded.
“It was never bad, but you’ll be fluent in no time. Long before I learn any of your tongue, anyway.”
Galronus laughed.
“Your language easy. My language hard.”
“No argument from me.” He sighed. “When the hell is Caesar going to move on, I wonder. A few weeks ago he was hopping from foot to foot, willing to throw away good men just to get moving and wade into the Belgae… no offense meant, Galronus… but now he’s spending all his time in talks with the king of the Suessiones and the legions are getting bored.”
The Remi nobleman grinned.
“I think your speech make him want to be friends with Belgae?”
Fronto shook his head.
“You don’t know the general. He’s about as sentimental as a sword-point. He only went along with what I said because it was advantageous to him and I made it clear. Besides,” he sighed, “I’ve noticed that the Belgae don’t generally seem interested in peace with Rome.”
He leaned forward, drawing close to Galronus.
“The strange thing is: we’ve had some hard fights so far, don’t get me wrong, but not what I was expecting from what people say of the Belgae. Half the northern world is frightened of you, yet we actually had a harder time fighting Ariovistus, or the Helvetii even.”
He noted the faintly offended look in the nobleman’s eyes.
“I mean no offence. It’s just that the massive army we fought by the Aisne could have pounded us into the ground but, the moment they lost the overwhelming advantage, they just ran and kept on running while we carved slices off their arse.”
Galronus nodded thoughtfully, so Fronto drew a breath and went on.
“And the Suessiones gave up without a fight, despite the fact that they were theoretically in charge of the whole affair.”
Another nod, and the Belgic warrior leaned back, taking a swig of frothy beer from his mug.
“The Suessiones unsure. Remember, Suessiones are our brothers. Many not wanted to fight Rome in first place. Amazing works of Tetricus tipped balance in council against ones who want war. This why we want mercy for Suessiones from Caesar.”
He shook his head.
“Big army running is different. You think they flee, but they not flee. They return to own lands. Belgae not used to fighting together in big army. All fight better as own tribes. You see?”
Fronto nodded.
“I see, but they’re wrong. The only way they could beat Caesar is if they all gather together. As smaller individual tribes, we will beat them. It’s a foregone conclusion. But one thing still worries me…”
“Yes?”
“Well even that huge army we fought by the Aisne that’s now dispersed was maybe half the army that had been reported building to Caesar. So where’s the other half? We’ve seen nothing of them yet.”
Galronus’ expression darkened.
“North. Many enemy wait to north. There the worst. Small tribes Rome meets here fight and lose, or ask Caesar for peace. Not in north though. Atrebates… Aduatuci…” his voice lowered menacingly. “Nervii…”
Fronto frowned.
“The Nervii are bad then?”
The nobleman nodded emphatically.
“Most dangerous tribe in world. Nervii are rabid dogs. They already threaten to skin leaders of Remi alive for friends with Rome, and they do it too if they get chance. Nervii skinned King of Menapii when he made deal with Germans, in front of wife and children. Nervii vicious… but Atrebates cunning. Nervii and Atrebates together is trouble for Rome. And with Aduatuci, who very German…”
Fronto sighed. He really had almost convinced himself that the Belgae were going to smile and turn to join Rome in light of recent events, but it now looked like this was the veritable calm before the storm.
The tent fell silent as the two men considered the future, until a minute later there came a knock at the door.
“Yes?”
The flap was pulled aside and Priscus and Balventius, the lead centurions of the Eighth and Tenth Legions strode in. Priscus looked unhappy, but Balventius’ face would have frightened Vulcan himself. Fronto looked up, worried.
“What’s happened?”
“We’ve had two riders arrive” Priscus announced, reaching for the jug of wine that habitually occupied the surface nearest the door of Fronto’s tent. “An Aedui scout went to see Caesar. He wasn’t absolutely knackered, so I assume the Aedui are close. And if the Aedui are close that means they’re dealing with the Bellovaci, which means that Caesar’s probably going to move us.”
“And?” prompted Fronto, still looking at Balventius’ glowering face dubiously.
“And another rider came in just now from the south” grumbled Balventius darkly, reaching for the wine and pouring himself a large mug.
Fronto frowned.
“If we’re likely to be moving shortly, I suggest that you two might want to water that down. Won’t look good if you have to call the muster and you’re swaying.”
Balventius growled and drank deep, pouring himself a second mug.
“The other rider was once of Varus’ men; one of the ones you sent to Rome, to your sister?”
Fronto stared.
“No. It’s been… what… just over three weeks? He’d have had to do sixty miles a day. He’d have killed his horse!”
Balventius nodded.
“They rode hard to get there, but sent one man on ahead on the way back. He’s been riding like the wind and changing horses at every mansio or Gaulish village. When he arrived, Varus told him to find me, because you’d be in with Caesar. I, of course, knew better.”
The primus pilus sat heavily in an empty chair and drank down a second mug of wine in one long gulp.
Fronto growled.
“For Dis’ sake, Titus, tell me what happened!”
“The riders delivered your message, and your sister gave them a reply and sent them off as fast as they could to get to you."
He held out a scroll, its wax seal neatly snapped in half.
“You opened a private sealed message from my sister to me?” Fronto stared, astounded.
“In the circumstances, it was likely to be important to me.”
Balventius shrugged.
“For Gods’ sake, Fronto, stop moaning and read it!”
The legate unrolled the scroll and ran his gaze down the message. As he did so, Galronus unfolded his legs and started to climb to his feet.
“This private…”
Fronto grasped the man’s wrist and pulled him back down.
“Oh, Nemesis!”
Balventius nodded and passed the mug of wine over to him.
“What the matter?” Galronus asked.
“Oh, shit.”
As he reached out and took a deep pull of the wine Balventius had handed him, the tent flap was thrown open and light streamed in. Fronto squinted into the bright sunshine.
“This is private…”
His voice tailed off as he recognised the bald, moon face of Balbus silhouetted in the doorway.
“Caesar’s calling the legions to order in a few hours, Marcus, but he wants you at the meeting now.”
Fronto growled.
“The cowardly, lying, shit-heeled bastard can damn well do without me.”
Balbus stared and let the flap drop into place behind him.
“What’s up?”
Fronto threw the scroll at him with some force.
“We were too late. Paetus’ family paid the price for being friends with the great Caesar.”
Balbus’ face fell. He started to unroll the scroll, but instead placed it on the cupboard top.
“What happened?”
“In detail? ‘Cause she’s given me plenty of detail? The kids were drowned in the Tiber, as was the old man. But as for his wife, Calida…”
Balbus held his hand up.
“I think I know all I want to, and I can guess the rest. This’ll destroy Paetus altogether. Do we tell him now?”
Balventius reached out for the wine again from Fronto and shook his head sadly.
“We’ll have to. Fronto’s rider almost killed himself trying to get here fast to give us the news before the official courier arrives to find Paetus. I think we’ll have a day or two at most. It’s not a nice job. Anyone want to take it on?”