By the time he reached the legate, he was breathing hard, the plumes of air frosting in the morning chill.
“Word’s come down from Helvius sir. He’s almost in Sequani territory. Fourteen miles now, and he thinks only five to go before the territory doesn’t warrant ditch and ridge. Six days for fourteen miles so far, so he should be finished in two or three, then they’ll start palisading back this way until we meet. The majority of the work now is going to be palisading and fort building.”
Fronto grinned. “The old man’s going to be happy with us, Gaius. We’re ahead of schedule, and the defences are a step up on what he asked for. I think we need to take the wall down about a hundred yards into the lake, until it’s too deep for wading. Also, keep the palisade in sections and held down behind the embankment. That’s the last thing to put in place, and if it’s held in sections with troops nearby, they can be hoisted up and hammered in along the entire length in minutes.”
Tetricus nodded, glancing out into the lake, his hand sheltering his eyes from the bright, cold light. Scanning the horizon, as he had taken to doing for the last three days, his gaze settled on a century of men jogging round the end of the lake, coming their way and wearing full kit; new recruits freshly arrived with the Tenth’s training officer yesterday.
“Velius seems to be having fun sir.”
Fronto followed his gaze and spotted the exhausted trainees carrying their sacks full of rocks. The training centurion ran alongside them. To his credit, he was carrying nearly twice the weight they were.
“He takes everything so personally. Running recruits until they throw up is a job he could easily have delegated to one of the lesser training officers.”
Tetricus laughed. “I think he just likes to watch recruits vomit.”
“You may be right.” Fronto held up a hand and waved to Velius. The centurion saluted back, barked an order at the front row of victims and turned to run up the embankment.
“Morning, sir.” Velius was as red faced as if he had come straight out of the warm room of a bath house. He dropped the pack to the ground and hoisted his vine staff under his arm.
Fronto cast an appraising glance over the training officer. Velius was old enough to have received his honesta missio from the Tenth several times over, but the other officers generally held that the centurion would remain the legion’s training officer until he dropped dead on duty. A lot of people were unsure as to how to deal with Velius, though Fronto liked his gruff no-nonsense attitude.
“Velius, how’s it going? Will they be capable of manning the wall in a week or two and frightening the Helvetii away?”
Velius made a sour face and spat on the ground.
“I reckon it’ll take a fortnight to teach them to walk in the same bloody direction. Did you see that run, sir? Two of them fell in the lake. In armour! Have you any idea how difficult it is to haul a fully armoured and equipped man out of four feet of water?”
“I thought you’d have them accurate on a ballista by now, Velius. You’ve trained more men than I’ve had dinners.”
“I don’t know about that, sir. You eat every meal like it was a condemned man’s last one. I’ve never tried training more than a cohort’s worth of men at a time, and now we’re talking twenty times that many, with half the training staff I normally have. And they’re all soft boys sir. Still, I reckon another week and we’ll see a bit of a change in them.”
Fronto glanced with subconscious unease toward the mountains on the other side of the earthworks.
“I hope so, Velius. I really hope so. I don’t like siege warfare in any conditions, but being trapped and forced to defend is a situation I would rather avoid.”
“I think…” Velius faltered as he realised Fronto was no longer listening to him and, sheltering his eyes, looked in the same direction as his commander. Tetricus followed suit immediately.
A single rider was charging full pelt down the hill towards the camps.
Fronto grimaced. “I feel I should be shouting ‘Open the Gate’, but we don’t have any gates yet!”
Tetricus began madly waving the horseman to the very eastern end of the embankment, to avoid a mad dash into the dangerous ditch. The horseman complied at the last minute, pushing his exhausted horse through the ankle deep water and dismounting on the beach behind the embankment. The horseman, one of the scouts Longinus had set in commanding positions around the lake end, staggered up to Fronto, as the highest ranking officer present.
“Sir, I have to report the Helvetii on the move sir.” With that, he collapsed to a seated position on the ground, breathing heavily and in bursts.
Fronto crouched opposite him.
“How many, man?”
The scout looked up at him, plumes of frosted breath momentarily obscuring his face.
“All of them, I would say sir.”
Tetricus called down from the top of the embankment, where he had remained.
“Sir, two more riders on the way. I’d say from the directions they’re coming, we can assume the Helvetii are less than an hour away.”
Fronto sprang into action.
“Tetricus, send someone over to Helvius. Let him know what’s happening and then form up all the units of the Eighth we’ve got working here. I’ll find Balbus and get him to send the Second Cohort over and give the engineers any protection they need. When you’re done, come and find me at Caesar’s headquarters.”
He turned to the training officer.
“Velius. Get both the new units into full dress and parade formation right where I’m standing. They don’t have to be veterans; they just have to look like them. Oh, and when these scouts and their horses have recovered for a minute, send them to Longinus with a message to form up.”
With that he was off at a run toward the town and the garrison fort of the Eighth Legion. As he approached the north gate of the fort, a legionary stepped out into the gateway, challenging Fronto.
Fighting to restrain his irritation, Fronto slowed to a stop and gave the password, identifying his name, rank and unit. The soldier immediately stepped aside, and he ran on toward the headquarters building at the centre of the fort.
Inside, the building had changed tremendously since Fronto and his men had had their briefing here less than a week ago. The rooms that had before been occupied by pay staff and accounts clerks had been cleared out, with all such mundane offices now located in the small annexe to the west of the fort. The rooms were now occupied by staff officers and the senior officers of the Eighth. Two large rooms had been devoted entirely to the officers of the newly raised Eleventh and Twelfth, there being a large amount of organisation and paperwork involved in such a task. The officers had been drawn from the centurionate of the current four legions or the general staff. Aquilius, the Eighth’s chief training officer (and Velius’ current second in command) occupied the same room, trying to organise the newly-raised officers into an effective command unit. From what Fronto had heard, Balbus himself had been giving advice and pointers to the new officers, which could only help, given the legate’s lengthy experience in command.
Maps and documents lined the walls as Fronto made his way through the busy, hectic and overcrowded headquarters to Caesar’s office.
A Greek-speaking slave attempted to arrest Fronto’s progress at the general’s door, but Fronto ignored him and banged loudly twice on the door.
“General?”
Caesar’s clear and commanding voice came from within.
“Fronto? Come in.”
Angrily pushing the Greek slave to one side, Fronto hammered the catch up and, swinging the door back, stepped in. Remembering his etiquette just in time, he skidded to a halt on the marble and came up straight, saluting. Caesar had not even looked up. From his campaign chair, with his eyes scanning a document, the general addressed his officer.
“Yes, legate?”
“The Helvetii sir. They’re approaching the lake. I would estimate less than an hour away. I’ve made all the arrangements I could on the way sir.”