Longinus frowned.
“One ala shouldn’t be a problem. You’ll want good men if you’re going into that kind of situation. If you’re taking a cohort, you’re expecting trouble, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well my time’s taken up quite seriously with the Auxilia, so I can spare some regulars. D’you remember Ingenuus?”
Fronto chewed a moment on his lower lip, and then brightened up.
“That was the cavalry decurion who charged in against the Helvetii to save his compatriots, wasn’t he. The one who went above and beyond? I haven’t thought about him for months.”
Longinus smiled.
“Then you’ve not been paying attention to the cavalry, Marcus. Aulus Ingenuus is now a full cavalry prefect, with a squadron of his own. He’s itching for action, and I think you could do worse. I’ll send him; he should do nicely.”
Fronto leaned forward and refilled his cup.
“Sounds good. I’ll feel better knowing I’ve got good men by my side. Labienus is a fair old talker, but I’m not sure about his ability to keep Ariovistus spinning until the general’s ready.”
The cavalry commander sighed and stood.
“Good. Well, I’d better be heading off. I’ll have Ingenuus drop by in the next hour to work things out with you.”
Fronto caught him as he turned.
“Hang on, Gaius. Caesar wants to see you straight away. He’s getting onto a war-footing and wants to be ready for campaign as soon as possible. Due warning: I don’t think you’re going to get the time you need to organise things properly.”
Longinus smiled.
“When did the general ever give people what they wanted? We’ll be ready, don’t you worry. You just keep your mind on your own problem. I’d rather be in my shoes than yours!”
Fronto frowned as he let go of the commander.
“One more thing Gaius. Caesar’s planning to send a messenger to us when he’s ready to go. Could you arrange a little private cavalry messenger service on top of that? I’d like to have a lot more warning than the general’s likely to give us. I don’t want Caesar to suddenly hove into view over the hill while we’re surrounded by thousands of startled Germans.”
Longinus chuckled.
“I think we can set something up. We’ll have a lot of semi-local auxiliaries who know the area. They’d be perfect. I’ll organise it.”
“Thanks Gaius.”
The cavalry commander turned and left the tent whistling a happy-sounding tune. Fronto was once again struck by the enormous change the last half-year had wrought on Longinus. He was brought back to the present by a further knock on the tent frame. Brutus walked in, still looking dreadful, without his armour, but still wearing the same worn and stained clothing he’s returned in.
“Alright Fronto. What do you want? I haven’t slept in three days of riding.”
Fronto nodded toward a spare seat.
“Sorry Brutus, but this really couldn’t wait. In a few hours, we’re going out to bridge the gap between embassy and war with the Germans, and I need to know everything you can tell me about their land, tribe and stronghold.”
Chapter 14
(Ariovistus’ fortress in Sequani lands close to the Rhine)
“ Subarmalis: a leather garment worn under armour to prevent chafing and rust, to which the pteruges are attached.”
“ C arnarium: a wooden frame covered in hooks for hanging sides of meat.”
Fronto sat sullenly in the doorway of the hut. After such a protracted stay at Bibracte, he had become far too used to a civilised town and the soft life. Even under the rule of the Sequani, this place would have been dour, dull and backwards. Under the rule of the German invaders, it was the nadir of culture to Fronto. He sighed and spat out into the muddy street. It hadn’t rained in these parts for many weeks and yet due to the lack of hygiene facilities the entire settlement swam in murky slurry and stank like a latrine.
The Sequani inhabitants of the settlement went about their business with a perpetual frown, trudging through the slick with their shoulders hunched and exchanging few, if any, words. The feeling of dejection and oppression in the town was tangible. The stockade gates stood permanently open. The Germans couldn’t care less if anything happened to their Sequani subjects, so long as they themselves were safe. Beyond the revolting huddle of huts stood the temporary camp of the German leader, Ariovistus.
On the rise beyond the far gate a new stockade had been erected, surrounding an area of greater size than the original town. Within, the German warriors lived in squalid leather tents that still stank of the tanning process.
Almost two weeks the Romans had been here now with no sign of a word from Caesar or Longinus. Things had been strained from the beginning, but Labienus had truly excelled in his task. He had managed to be offhand, insulting and outrageous enough to keep getting ejected from the Chieftain’s enclosure for days at a time, but never quite insulting enough to get them into serious trouble. The balance was perfect. If Labienus kept playing it this way, they could spend months teetering on the edge of talking with Ariovistus, but never quite achieving anything. It would have made Fronto laugh had he not spent those two weeks living in squalor here in the backside of Gaul. He and Labienus had each been given a hut, as had the cavalry prefect. The troops themselves were quartered in their tents outside the walls of the settlement. Fronto rather wished he was camped with them, away from the smell.
Rising from the doorway, he determined to get away again. Stretching and touching the lintel above the doorway with his good arm, he glanced around the hut and shuddered. His locked travel chest sat in the corner. He’d not taken it from the baggage train since early in the campaign, but now he’d decided it would be wise to keep things under lock and key. So close to a large, hostile force, he would have to keep his armour and gear stored in the hut, but away from prying eyes and thieving fingers. Labienus, having not been concerned with such matters, had left his armour and weapons with the Second Cohort outside the walls. As an afterthought, Fronto tried to reach up and grip the lintel with his right arm. The strain was painful and it felt like his arm was tearing to pieces, but for the first time in two and a half months, he could reach as high with both arms. Wincing, he gripped the wood and tried to pull his weight off the ground. A sudden pain like liquid fire ran the length of his arm several times and, letting go of the lintel, he collapsed in a heap inside the hut. Oh well, it was still improving faster than the medics had told him.
Fronto trudged and sloshed out into the street, grateful once again that he had brought two pairs of comfortable, enclosed leather boots with him from Aquileia. Trying not to meet the unhappy stares of the people, he made for the open gate and the legionary encampment beyond. Two German warriors stood guard (though Fronto could only apply the term loosely) at the gap. They looked a great deal like the Helvetii in Fronto’s opinion, though their speech was considerably harsher and their personal habits made him cringe. There was no denying their courage, on the other hand. Fronto had seen a crowd amassing in the square one night and had gone to investigate. He had been impressed to see a German warrior, unarmed and clad only in his trousers, fighting off three savage dogs. He had walked away before it reached serious unpleasantness, but had heard the snaps and squeals as the man had dispatched all three.
One of the guards pointed at Fronto and said something guttural. The other laughed. He wondered for a moment whether breaking arms or legs would cause an incident and, coming to the conclusion that Labienus would disapprove, smiled sweetly at the two guards while he told them in Latin to piss off.