“Roman, the chieftains of almost all of the tribes of Gaul have agreed to take an oath, though they want me to examine the oath before they take it to be sure they are not selling themselves and their lands. They also each agree to provide a small number of warriors to help you in this war.”
Caesar smiled at the Druid, who had not broken his impressive frown throughout the day so far. Fronto wondered if the man had even heard of humour.
“Very well. Sabinus, I would like you to speak with each of the tribes and work out roughly what numbers of men, both mounted and infantry, they can spare, totting up the amounts of each, and then come back to us with the figures. I’ll leave the details in your hands.”
Sabinus nodded and stepped toward the Gauls.
“Labienus, I want you to draft up a copy of the standard oath of allegiance that the Aedui took and speak to this man about it. Agree everything with him. I don’t mind a few alterations, so long as you deem them acceptable and appropriate.”
Labienus saluted and joined the knot in the centre of the tent.
Relaxing back in his chair, Caesar scratched his prominent nose reflectively.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I see no reason to protract this meeting any further. I realise that some of you feel bitter about this, but I would like to think of this whole situation as the start of a long and peaceful Gallo-Roman coalition. I want to ensure you all that my fight is with the enemies of Rome, and not with non-Romans. You are our allies and thus we will always protect you.”
The general sat back in his chair, looking far too smug for Fronto’s liking. His thoughts were echoed a moment later by a familiar voice speaking in relatively good Latin. He looked up in surprise to see the immense and impressive Druid addressing Caesar directly.
“Caesar. I must say one thing and then stop. I am, as Greeks say, barbaroi, that you Roman call barbarian. How can you say you distinguish between enemy of Rome and non-Roman, when to Rome we are all barbaroi?”
The interpreter seemed as surprised as Fronto had been. Glancing at his superior he realised, though only because he knew the man so well, that Caesar was equally surprised. He doubted the man had flinched as far as any other observer was concerned. Caesar cleared his throat.
“I am unused to dealing with so wily a political adversary. If I had known you spoke not only my language, but that of the Greeks, I would have rather addressed you directly as a spokesman. Still, I would answer you this way. The word we use, barbarian, is used to describe those who do not follow our ways. If you have heard the word from someone, then I am not surprised that you’d interpret it this way. If you truly have a knowledge of the Greek language and their history, you may realise that this is not a derogatory term. It is merely a catch-all term for non-Romans. I would welcome the chance to speak to you alone, if you would favour me, after this meeting.”
The Druid glared at Caesar.
“You are clever, and very quick. No. I will not meet with you. I do not believe we need you and I do not like you. I speak here only as spokesman for the tribes. I do not speak Greek or Latin not because I speak it badly, but because I dislike speaking the language of deception and wickedness. I speak my mother tongue, because that is true. We have made our deal, so we do not need to speak more. This is over. Goodbye.”
Turning, he made for the tent flap, the other Gauls following him as he went. Caesar glowered after him, and for moments after the Gauls left, Sabinus and Labienus stood tensely, expectantly, waiting for an outburst. Instead, the general cleared his throat and turned his thunderous expression on the two staff officers.
“Still here?”
Sabinus and Labienus saluted hurriedly and rushed from the tent to catch up with the Druid and his entourage. Fronto glanced sideways at the general, wondering whether the general would manage to contain himself until later. A dreadful feeling of foreboding stole over him.
Caesar shifted slightly in his seat.
“Longinus!”
The man jumped at the sound of his name and sidled into the centre of the tent.
“Yes, general.”
The red hue was slowly draining from the general’s face and his breathing had subsided a little. When he spoke, his voice had returned to its even, politician’s tone.
“Longinus, you’ve served well so far in this campaign, and your talents as a cavalry commander have not gone unnoticed.”
The legate bowed respectfully.
“It has been my privilege to have served in such a capacity, Caesar.”
Caesar smiled at him and gestured to one of the staff officers’ seats.
“Gaius…”
Longinus looked up in surprise at the use of his first name, an honour few men received from the general.
“I have made a decision regarding your place in this army. I would like you to step down as legate of the Ninth. I’m sure you’re aware, as are we all, that the legion needs a more readily accessible commander. You simply do not have the time to devote to the duties of both a legate and a cavalry commander.”
Longinus nodded. He was, Fronto noticed, starting to look a little older; a little more worn. Indeed, he had lost a considerable amount of weight over the last few months, dividing all his waking hours between the legion and the cavalry. Fronto could sympathise to an extent, sharing his own time between the general and the Tenth. He shook his head and looked up once more as the general continued.
“Longinus, there are going to be an increasing number of cavalry units in this army as we progress through our campaign. I want you to take the position of Master of the Horse, commander of all cavalry, both legionary and auxiliary. You may take a couple of the staff officers with you to help you organise what I’m sure will be a fairly massive undertaking, if you wish. However, from the moment you agree to step down from the Ninth, you will be placed on the staff in that role. Have you any objections or comments?”
Longinus stood, his finger pressed to his lip deep in thought.
“I don’t think so at this time, Caesar. I’m quite happy with the idea, but I’ll have to run through the whole thing with a few of my fellow officers and iron out some problems. Then I’ll come and see you sir, after we’ve found out what the issues are. Can I ask who you’re considering as a replacement with the Ninth? Grattius has served well in the interim. You could do a lot worse than promoting him…”
Caesar waved a hand to one side to indicate a small knot of staff officers standing near the fabric wall of the tent.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Longinus. Grattius will continue to serve in his current position. Publius Sulpicius Rufus will be taking the position.”
He turned to the staff.
“Rufus, I presume you’d be happy to take the command?”
Rufus stepped out from the side of the tent. He was an average height, with pale, sandy blond hair and, very unfashionably, a neatly trimmed beard. Despite being visibly quite young, he put forth the impression of a hardened veteran in the way he moved. As his arm came out from under his military cloak to salute the general, Fronto noticed an old but livid scar running along his inner arm from the wrist to the elbow. He decided he would probably like the man.
Rufus bowed his head before Caesar.
“I’d be glad to take any command, general. My sword arm’s atrophying!”
Balbus laughed.
“I know how that feels. I nearly wasted away in Massilia. Think I was actually getting old.”
Caesar smiled at the two of them. This was why he tried to keep officers with units for as long as possible. They built up a rapport with their men and became hardened veterans. Political weasels were far too common in military command, and few politicians who took such a position had any tactical ability. Caesar liked to think that he followed an illustrious line of those with tried and tested ability, but he would sooner trust a career veteran to lead his men than another politician. Too many agendas and not enough talent. Things would change in time, when Caesar reached his long-sought after goals. He pulled himself from ambitious reverie and looked across at the two officers again, then back at Longinus.