The camp of the accompanying Roman force was guarded by members of the Second Cohort. Ariovistus had forbidden them from fortifying the location so Velius had, in his usual efficient way, set up a rota that kept an extremely strong and alert guard around the camp. He had also refused to allow the cavalry to take their turn. He considered the cavalry to be ‘faeries’ as he had put it the other night. They ‘needed looking after’ and ‘couldn’t tie their bootstraps without the help of the infantry’. Fronto smiled. Nothing made him laugh like Velius.
He was gratified to note that despite his close ties with the Tenth, he was stopped and the password requested by the guard. Velius would probably be in line for a position as primus pilus before too long. Fronto suspected one of the other legions would require a primus pilus in the near future, and he could see Caesar allocating Velius in the place.
Nodding in recognition and giving the password, the legate passed by the guards and made for the praetorium where Velius would be camped.
The centurion stood in full armour by the standards in front of his tent. His vine staff jammed tightly beneath his arm, he surveyed the soldiers wandering around the camp with a professional eye. Velius took his job very seriously.
Smiling with relief and breathing deeply to sample the fresher air of the Roman encampment, Fronto nodded to Velius, who saluted smartly and then took up his position again.
“Morning, sir.”
Fronto wandered up to the centurion and stood at ease beside him, rubbing his sore arm.
“What in the Gods are you watching so intently?”
Velius smiled.
“We’re not allowed to fortify, but this position makes me very nervous, so I’m hedging my bets. Arm bothering you again?”
Fronto raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
“Tried to exercise it and I think I’ve torn something again. What do you mean hedging your bets?”
The centurion sighed and gestured around him.
“I’ve had weapons and shields stashed at appropriate positions around the camp, out of sight of the town. No soldier has been allowed out of his armour except during sleep, and you see that large tent nearest the town gate?”
Fronto nodded.
“That’s a rather large tent.”
“Yes, I got it from the cavalry. I’ve been sneaking timber in there now for about four days. We’ve got a lot of defensive stakes ready, faggots of brushwood and twigs ready to light with flint and tinder. If we get more than a couple of minutes notice, we can be on a defensive footing.”
Fronto grinned.
“Nice thinking. I don’t like this much either. I wish Longinus would send us some kind of word. The army must be ready to move by now. I might have a quiet word with Ingenuus and send a courier back to Bibracte. I need to know the full picture.”
The centurion nodded unhappily.
“I just hate being so tied up with arse-wipe bureaucracy that I can’t carry out a professional action. By now we should be settled into a well-fortified marching camp, not pissing about like children. Hello, here comes Labienus.”
The staff officer strode through the camp in just his tunic and subarmalis. He wore only his dagger, hanging from his belt, his sword kept in the camp armoury with the rest of his gear. The look on his face spoke of an anger and a frustration that Fronto was sure would be shared by every Roman here.
“Morning Titus. Nothing changed then, I take it?”
Labienus grimaced.
“I think we’re going backwards. Ariovistus is running out of patience. I swear I hadn’t even finished speaking this morning when his guards hustled me out. I’d love to give the man a sound thrashing. I’m not used to being treated like that.”
Fronto frowned.
“That German irritates me beyond compare. I’m seriously tempted to give the order to fortify just to spite him. I’ve had trouble at times dealing with war against the Gauls, as some of them seem so civilised and, after all, we’re in their land carrying out campaigns, so you can see it from their side. These Germans though, they’re invaders. They deserve everything we can throw at them. Look what they’ve done to the Sequani.”
Velius nodded emphatically and tapped his vine staff on his leg.
“They’re only barbarians. With a full cohort, we could probably rush that camp and take them before they knew we were there.”
“Don’t be stupid, centurion.”
Labienus turned angrily to face Velius.
“You haven’t been up there; you’ve just seen it from a distance. There’s around a thousand of us down here. There are at least ten times as many up there, maybe more. And don’t forget how many other smaller forces that madman’s got stashed in other locations around the Sequani land. They don’t need to equip before battle. If you attack them, they’re already prepared. They live for it. Think before you open your mouth!”
Fronto stared at Velius, who was beginning to turn a faint purple colour. He knew that look, and dragged Labienus to one side before Velius could get himself into deep trouble.
“Titus, that was a little harsh and unfair. He only said what we’re all thinking. He’s not that stupid; he’s just venting his anger and frustration. I know the man and, believe me, if he thinks you’re insulting him, he’ll flatten you no matter what rank you hold.”
Labienus sighed and glanced sideways at Velius. He could swear the man was actually steaming.
“I’m sorry centurion. I’m just so bloody frustrated with all the shit I’m having to wade through and I can’t take it out on the Germans, which is what I’d really like to do.”
Velius cleared his throat.
“Permission to do my rounds, sir?”
Fronto nodded.
Labienus watched the centurion make his way toward the barracks with a slightly relieved look.
“I hear such great things about that man, but I’d not realised he was such a hothead. I’m surprised he’s made it that high in the legion.”
Fronto grinned.
“Maybe, but he’s one of the best centurions I’ve ever met, and I’ve known quite a few. He trained some of the others too. Just think. If he scares our troops like that, what kind of fear does he put in the enemy?”
He turned quickly, becoming aware that someone was shouting his name. Labienus followed his lead and they saw a cavalry officer running up the path from the town toward them. Fronto shaded his eyes from the sun and could make out the features of Ingenuus, the cavalry prefect. Labienus shook his head in disapproval.
As Ingenuus came to a stop, panting heavily and red faced, Fronto glared at him.
“Prefect, in front of the men you call me sir or legate, and you certainly don’t shout it across the camp like a fishwife.”
Ingenuus tried to catch his breath.
“I… I know sir… But I had… I had to get your attention as quickly as… I could.”
Alert suddenly, Fronto reached and supported the weary prefect.
“What is it, prefect?”
After a couple of deep breaths, the officer straightened.
“I was over near their military stockade sir.”
Labienus reached for his other shoulder.
“Why? I thought I’d made it clear the army should stay away from there.”
“Yes sir, but I went off-duty and I’ve been going to see their stables. They’ve got some lovely horses.”
Fronto tutted.
“Never mind that. What’s up?”
“They’re on the move sir.”
Labienus interrupted as Fronto opened his mouth to speak.
“What do you mean?”
Ingenuus pointed over his shoulder towards the town.
“All of them. They’re gathering in the centre of their camp. They’ve got all their travelling gear there and someone came to take the horses. I think we’re in the shit, begging your pardon, sir.”
Labienus looked at Fronto.
“You’re the commander here. What’s the best course of action?”
Fronto frowned in frustration.