“A pleasant establishment this, Balbus. Very nice indeed. Shame I hadn’t heard of it earlier.”
Balbus grinned.
“Needless to say, general, it was actually Fronto that found it.”
A number of the officers laughed as Fronto shrugged. “What can I say? It’s hard to find good wine when you’re on campaign. We’ve been in here most days when we’ve had free time.”
Balbus glanced toward the door whence the tavern keeper had returned and smiled.
“I expect he’s raking in the money. He’ll probably want to put a sign over the door saying ‘By appointment to the Roman Army’.”
Fronto frowned and spoke darkly.
“I don’t think that would be a very safe thing to do at the moment. Sentiment is not a hundred per cent pro Roman among these people.”
A cavalry trooper appeared at the gate of the inn and bowed. Sabinus, nearest to the entrance, raised a hand and beckoned him in. The young man was visibly nervous in the presence of the high command.
“Sir… Sirs…”
Caesar sighed.
“Yes trooper?”
“Legate Longinus sent me to warn you that he’s escorting ambassadors from the Helvetii and’ll be here in an hour or so.”
Caesar smiled and his shoulders slumped a little as he relaxed.
“Thank you, trooper. What of the rest of their tribe?”
“The cavalry’s escorting them all back here. They should be here tomorrow.”
Caesar’s smile widened.
“Excellent. Well done, man.”
The staff quartermaster, Cita, gestured at the trooper.
“Report to my adjutant in camp and draw yourself some extra rations and wine. You may take the rest of the day off.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The trooper stood to attention and saluted. Turning, he left the tavern, reached up to the reins of his horse and walked it off down the street.
Fronto relaxed, leaning back and stretching his feet out under the table. Today was really rather nice. The sun-dappled yard hummed with the sound of bees. Barely a cloud marred the sky where it could be seen between the trees. Even Caesar appeared happy and relaxed now.
“They’ll be panicking when they get back here and have to wait for you to finish the trial before you deal with them. Should give them a bit more time to live on their nerves.”
Caesar grinned, though only with his mouth. His eyes stayed hard and cold. The effect was thoroughly disconcerting.
“That would no doubt be the case Fronto, but they won’t have to wait. I shaln’t be dealing with them myself. The rest of us will be occupied with the Aedui, and I cannot afford to offend them. Moreover I intend to demean the Helvetii as much as I can. To that end, none of the general staff will be dealing with them. You will be dealing with them Marcus.”
Fronto coughed, spilling wine on the table.
“Me, sir?”
Caesar grinned that distressing grin once more.
“I can’t think of anyone better, can you? You’re a legionary legate with, and no insult intended here, little of the rigid bearing of a regular staff officer, which means that their surrender will be accepted by a ranking officer, not the high command. Not only that but, apart from myself, you are the man they hate most; the man who destroyed a quarter of their tribe. That will vex them further. Oh, and you seem incapable of even staying awake in court and so, frankly, I’d rather not have you back with us after the recess. Good luck in your new role, Marcus. I think you’d best get going. You’ll want to tidy your tent no doubt, and gather an appropriate retinue of officers.”
Fronto sat, his head turning and mouth open, trying to think of an excuse, but failing to find one.
“Fronto, you’re getting shorter on time.”
Grumbling, Fronto refilled his goblet and threw the wine down his throat before he left the table. As an afterthought, he reached back and swiped one of the smaller jugs of wine.
“I daresay you won’t need all of this if you have to go soon.”
* * * * *
Fronto felt stupid. He always did when he was dressed in full ceremonial uniform. He was fairly sure that Caesar had meant him to deal with the Helvetii looking as he normally did; scruffy and dirty and wearing the trappings of a veteran soldier. That would be the most insulting. Instead, Fronto had sent his cuirass and helmet to the legion’s smithy for a quarter of an hour and they had come back burnished and bright. His red plume had been brushed out and washed and now adorned his helm proudly. He had the red ribbon tied in the military knot around the shiny breastplate, clean boots, and clean red cloak. All in all he looked every inch the Roman general.
Sitting on a campaign chair in the centre of his command tent, he was backed by a number of officers. Wagering that the Helvetii would not know the uniform of one rank from another, Fronto had filled his tent with tribunes, centurions and optios, a dozen in all. Tetricus, Velius and Priscus stood behind him, all wearing the best clothing and armour available. Everyone below tribune rank had been forbidden from wearing helmets, so that the crests would not give away their ranks. Fronto held his own helm on his lap, with his officer’s vine staff laid across behind it.
In the last few minutes the camp had been manic as Fronto had given the order for the whole legion to stand to and clear away all the loose equipment. Legionaries had brought all the standards, eagles, flags and maps they could find and arranged them in an honour display at the rear of the tent. As an afterthought, Fronto had ordered the other officers to stand throughout the meeting. It would be uncomfortable, but imposing. With Fronto seated in a campaign chair, the effect would be impressive. He had arranged for one of the low log benches to be brought in for the Helvetii ambassadors. They must be made to feel as small as possible.
Now it was a matter of waiting. He nervously reached out to the goblet by his side and took a swig of the wine. Behind him Priscus cleared his throat and whispered.
“Sir, lay off the drink. It won’t look good if you slur at them.”
Muttering under his breath, Fronto put the goblet back.
Longinus had been spotted with a number of riders by a lookout a few minutes earlier, and would be here any time now. The sentries at the camps’ perimeters had all been given the instructions as to what Longinus should do with the ambassadors.
A sentry arrived at the door of the tent and bowed.
“Sir, Commander Longinus is here with a number of Gauls. Shall I admit them?”
Fronto nodded. “Yes soldier, show them in.”
Speaking out of the corner of his mouth, he addressed the assembled officers behind him.
“Stand straight and tall and keep quiet. I want to you interrupt only if I start drivelling and lose the thread entirely.”
Just as he closed his mouth, a weary and dirty Longinus entered the tent, a cavalry tribune at each shoulder. Behind him came three Gauls in a similar state. Finally, four more cavalry troopers brought up the rear. As they entered the tent, Longinus seemed to have immediately grasped the situation. He bowed deeply to Fronto and then stood to attention.
“Permission to dismiss guard, sir?”
Fronto raised two fingers in the gesture he had watched Caesar use time and time again to show consent.
Longinus turned to face the four troopers.
“Dismissed. Report to your camp.”
Addressing the Gauls, his voice took on a sharper tone.
“You three! Sit there.”
He gestured at the low log.
The three men hurriedly took a seat on the uncomfortable makeshift bench. They looked tired and frightened. Fronto couldn’t help but feel sorry for them. They were beaten and they knew it. The middle of the three had sat astride a horse on a hill not too far from here defiantly threatening the commanders of the army. He must feel broken now. Hardening his heart and steeling himself, Fronto pressed on, maintaining his façade of cold-hearted command.