“Very well. Longinus, you are hereby promoted to the staff as Master of Horse. You’ve got two days to put together your plan and apprise me of it. Rufus, report to the Ninth and find their primus pilus, Grattius. He should be able to fill you in on anything specific you need to know and sort out your accommodation for you. Balbus, you may want to accompany Rufus and give him a hand.”
Balbus nodded.
“Very well,” the General went on, “we’ll be staying here for about a week, while the army is marshalled and the initial process of pre-war negotiation is carried out. Now that these damn Gauls are out of earshot, I presume you all realise that this campaign cannot be avoided and, even if diplomacy with this German were possible, I have no intention of carrying it through. We must have military supremacy here if we are to achieve anything.”
He turned to his other staff officers.
“Brutus. Go into Bibracte and speak to Liscus. Find out exactly where this Ariovistus is currently based, somewhere in the lands of the Sequani.”
He then turned to Longinus again.
“I want a small party of heavily armed cavalry dressed in full regalia. I’m going to send an ambassador to speak with this German. That’s your job, Brutus.”
Brutus nodded and squared his shoulders.
“I take it you’re going to give me the details, general?”
Caesar smiled viciously.
“Oh yes. When you’ve found out where he is, come back here and we’ll go through the conditions. I fully intend to make them unacceptable, even unbearable, for him. I won’t let him deal with this quietly.”
He squared his shoulders and stood.
“Alright gentlemen, you’ve got your orders. Let’s start a war.”
He strode from the room, through the curtain-covered doorway and into his personal chambers. At this cue, the other officers exited the tent. Fronto stood by the entrance, waiting as the staff and senior officers exited. Balbus and Rufus left together, heading for the ranks of the Ninth. Longinus and Brutus left in the direction of the cavalry enclosure and Bibracte. Fronto sighed. It was a rarity when one of Caesar’s meetings ended and he didn’t have some task to attend to.
Wandering down the hill, he caught sight of Priscus and a couple of the junior centurions from the Tenth. As he approached, he broke into a smile as his ears caught the familiar sound of a dressing-down. The two juniors stood, red faced, their helmets and vine staves under their arms. Fronto waited respectfully until Priscus had finished shouting and the two men had left, sheepishly but in a great hurry.
“Gnaeus, I do believe you were born with a centurion’s crest. Have you finished shouting? I’m looking for someone to join me for a quiet drink, or possibly even a raucous one.”
Priscus smiled.
“I think I’m about done here. Are you thinking of that nice little tavern in town, ‘cos I just saw Crispus and Galba heading that way too.”
“Good. Let’s go see them and get drunk. We’ve got nothing to do, and we might never see the place again after this week.”
* * * * *
Fronto tagged along with the small party of officers striding to the main gate of the camp. At a word from Sabinus, the soldiers that had gathered at the gate pulled themselves out of the way of the officers, coming to attention with a snap. Fronto stood next to the others, watching the slight rise on the other side of the valley. The sun hung pale and watery over the grass, casting an eerie half-light over the early morning landscape. It all looked slightly unreal to Fronto’s tired eyes. After a moment, he caught the distant jingle of armour and equestrian equipment and then, over the saddle he saw the standards appear and sagged with relief. Though the scouts had reported Brutus and his escort returning when they were still two miles distant, they had not been close enough to give too many details.
Fronto had worried. It was not unknown for Roman ambassadors to be ill-treated by barbarians, and the sight of legionary standards protected by only a few cavalry could have proved too tempting for them. Fortunately, despite the fearsome reputation of the Germans, Ariovistus had apparently dealt with them in the manner of a civilised leader. The cavalry looked tired and travel-worn but intact and fully equipped, with all standards accounted for.
Brutus was clearly exhausted. Though still in good health he looked weary, pale and drawn as the party reined in outside the gate. He slid with little grace and decorum from the saddle to the grass, his cloak billowing slightly in the breeze.
The common soldiery saluted smartly, while Sabinus reached forward to grasp the reins of Brutus’ horse. Brutus barely acknowledged the salutes of the men, waving a hand dismissively. He turned his pale face and watery eyes on Sabinus and Fronto.
“Let’s get to the command tent, so I can get this over with and get some rest.”
Nodding, the staff officers fell into step alongside Brutus as he wearily trudged up the Via Decumana toward Caesar’s command post. They passed through the guard at the praetorium without a word and made straight for Caesar’s tent. The general would have been informed of the ambassador’s arrival by now. The guard by the entrance of the command tent took one look at Brutus and wisely decided that, since Caesar was expecting them, challenging the travel-beaten officer would hardly be a positive career move. He stepped to the side of the doorway and snapped to attention, the horsehair crest on his helmet brushing the leather flap of the tent. Again, Brutus barely noticed him as he shuffled inside. Sabinus followed and Fronto gave the poor soldier a sympathetic look. He could imagine how hard it must be for the common soldiery to deal with the irrational actions of the staff.
Caesar stood to one side of the tent, pouring his own goblet of watered wine. He turned and gestured to the half dozen campaign chairs in the room.
“Brutus, do sit down please before you fall down.”
Brutus sank gratefully into a chair. The other officers remained standing until Caesar noticed and irritably waved them to the other chairs before taking his own seat and nodding at his ambassador.
“A quick report, Decius, and then you can go and catch up on sleep.”
Brutus sighed.
“As you commanded, Caesar, we rode hard and met with Ariovistus. I demanded, fairly imperiously, that he name some patch of neutral ground where he could meet with you and discuss affairs of state.”
Caesar frowned.
“And? You’re back so fast. Don’t tell me he agreed? You went armed with the most unreasonable and insulting terms. Don’t tell me he just rolled over and said yes?”
Brutus shook his head wearily.
“No, Caesar. I didn’t get time to dig into him and get him fired up. He all but threw us out of their camp. As soon as I’d got the first sentence out, his guards were around us and shoving us towards the gate.”
Caesar’s eyes widened.
“Who in the name of Minerva is this man? Does he have any idea who he’s dealing with? Is that it, they just threw you out?”
“Not quite Caesar. He gave me a few words for you. He said that if he’d wanted anything, he’d have come to you, and if you want anything, you should go to him. He said that he wouldn’t come into the lands you occupy without his army, and asks what you’re doing in his Gaul anyway, since he’s the one conquering it, not you.”
Fronto winced. Caesar was unlikely to take this kind of answer well, not being noted for his patience. Gritting his teeth, waiting for the outburst, he turned and looked at the general.
Much of the colour had drained from Caesar’s face, a sign well-known to Fronto that the man was reaching the end of his tether.