“My dear Crassus, brutalising your men is hardly a shortcut to improving morale. Balbus is quite correct in his suggestion that the problem has to come down from the apex of the command structure. It is not to us that the troops look for potency, nor is it to the tribunes. The men look to their own commanders; to the centurions. The two most active and dedicated legions present are those whose primus pilus stands akin to a rock upon which the barbarian tide must break. I refer of course to the terrifying Balventius of the Eighth and the daunting Priscus of the Tenth. The path that we should be taking is that of a meeting of the centurions, just as Priscus has organised. If we can re-establish a dedicated chain of command, then the men will fall in readily."
Various of the officers began to talk at once and Priscus stood, still near the door, wondering how anything ever got done in command meetings. They just seemed to argue for the sake of it. Caesar’s voice cut through the cacophony.
“Quiet!”
The racket died down immediately, leaving Crassus and Balbus glaring at each other angrily. Before anyone could speak again Caesar, red faced and fuming, called a halt to the meeting.
“Get out. All of you. Priscus will let me know how things go with the Tenth this afternoon and I will then decide what course of action is to be taken by the rest of you. If any one of you dares defy me or open his mouth to object, I will send you back to Rome and replace you. A legate is not a permanent appointment, remember? Now go!”
Priscus turned to exit, and was quickly followed out by the others, mostly wearing a sheepish expression. He was amused to see Balbus and Crispus following Crassus out. The looks on their faces and poise of their bodies suggested that murder might be done soon. He gestured to the two of them.
“Gentlemen.”
Balbus had forbidden him from calling any of them sir over a week ago, since he was the effective commander of a legion. The two legates stepped out of the line of departing officers and joined Priscus in the courtyard.
“Gnaeus, what can we do for you?”
Priscus pointed down the street.
“There’s a tavern in a side street about half way down the hill that’s very used to me dropping in on my way back from these meetings. Care to join me?”
The other two looked doubtful, so Priscus waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Balbus laughed, a smile cracking his lined and weary face for the first time that day.
“Priscus, you have been too close to Fronto for too long. You’re both mad as March hares. Alright, I’ll leave Balventius sorting the Eighth and we’ll discuss your eyebrows.”
The three of them wandered down the main street between rows of houses and shops built in the local style, with a ground floor of stone and a timber upper. The street was dry and reasonably clean in the warm weather of late August and early September, but they could easily imagine how unpleasant it would be in bad weather, with muddy water flowing down the incline. Halfway down the hill, they turned a corner and made for a small tavern with an inviting open doorway. The inside was fairly dim and of dark oak. A heavy, roughly-hewn trestle served as a bar, behind which stood a fat man in a leather apron leaning on one of three huge casks.
Balbus and Crispus sauntered over to a table near a window, while Priscus approached the bar and purchased three jugs of the local ale. These Gaulish taverns were nothing like the ones within the Empire’s borders or even the ones among the Aedui. Here there was no Roman wine, just local beer, and, although Roman coinage was thoroughly acceptable, the change was given in low grade coins of strange denominations.
He carried the drinks to the table and sat. As he took a healthy swig, Balbus and Crispus stared at their jug, Balbus with a look of mistrust and Crispus with open nausea.
Priscus grinned.
“Bottoms up!”
Balbus took another look at the jug’s contents, a glance at Priscus and shrugged, upending the container and taking a large swig. His eye twitched slightly as he put the jug back down and said in a whispery, cracked voice “nice!”
Priscus and Balbus laughed again and both turned to look expectantly at Crispus. The young officer had been told before about barbarian drinking habits and his mother had made him promise to stay clear or any such indulgence. He smiled uneasily.
“I really ought not to. I do have a chest full of jars of excellent wine from southern Italy that my father had sent to me when we rested at Bibracte for a short time. Perhaps we…”
Priscus almost spat his beer across the table.
“Your father shipped a chest of wine outside the Empire’s borders for you? That must have cost a small fortune!”
Crispus smiled again.
“My family would not approve of my sampling barbarian brews.”
Balbus looked at the centurion who was trying very hard not to laugh and turned back to Crispus with a broad, beaming smile.
“Your family are a long way away at the moment, lad.”
Crispus nodded once more, gingerly. Leaning forward and holding his breath, he raised the jug and took a small sip.
Balbus and Priscus watched with bated breath, waiting for the young man to turn green or purple. Instead, Crispus swished the liquid around his mouth and gums with a speculative look on his face. He stopped swishing, swallowed, and then breathed in sharply.
“Tangy.”
He shrugged and took a much larger pull from the vessel as the other two stared at him.
Recovering his composure, Priscus leaned forward conspiratorially and huddled with the other officers.
“I’m worried about Fronto.”
Balbus smiled reassuringly.
“We’re all worried about Fronto, man, but you have to remember that that man has the luck of Fortuna herself. I can’t imagine he’s fallen foul of those Germans. He’s too bright for that. I do wonder why he hasn’t sent messengers, though.”
Crispus nodded, but Priscus lowered his voice and expressed his concerns.
“I think there’s something else going on here; something bigger. You remember that Gaul who tried to kill him. What if there’s more conspirators out there and they’ve actually got to him this time?”
Balbus’ brows narrowed.
“That’s actually a worrying thought. I hadn’t put those two together…” He sighed. “But I’m not sure that any kind of conspiracy would stretch over the Roman army, the confederation of Gaulish tribes and the German army. Fronto’s not that dangerous. The Germans are heading for this place, and I’m sure Fronto will be either well ahead or well behind them now.”
The other two nodded doubtfully as Balbus continued.
“My other main worry now that you’ve said that is for the problems we’ve got here. I’d not considered the effects of conspiracy among the army, but it does strike me as odd that some of our best troops and our best officers are falling foul of panic and low morale. I mean, the Eighth I’ve known for a long time. They’ve faced the Helvetii and bared their teeth. Same goes for your Tenth, Priscus. I know they’re holding together at the moment, but how long before they start to fall apart?”
Priscus frowned.
“You’re suggesting that the conspirators are spreading some king of panic among the men?”
Balbus nodded and Crispus put down his drink.
“I think I agree. This disaffection appears to be descending from the higher levels of command in the legions. If there were perhaps a few tribunes or even centurions who had a grudge against either Fronto or Caesar, or even both of them, it could be ridiculously easy in the face of a threat such as Ariovistus to spread rumour and disaffection among the men.”
Balbus nodded.
“I think that while you two attend to your legions, I’ll go back and see Caesar. He needs to be warned about this alarming possibility.”