* * * * *
Priscus strode into the camp of the Tenth purposefully and with a face like thunder. The camp itself lay on the far side of the river from the town, a few hundred yards from the road and the bridge. At the gate the guards saluted and it soothed the primus pilus a little to notice that order was still being maintained among his legion.
Heading for the praetorium, Priscus noticed one of the centurions from the Fourth Cohort standing leaning on his vine staff and watching two legionaries polishing armour. He marched up to the man and pointed at his command tent. The centurion saluted and, barking one last order at the men, made for the tent. Priscus called one of the legionaries over.
“You. Take your friend and go elsewhere. I don’t want anyone in the area of the praetorium for the next half an hour. If I see a soldier here, I shall hold you responsible.”
The legionary swallowed nervously.
“Yes sir.”
As he and his companion hurried away from the centre of the camp, Priscus listened carefully. There was a low murmur of conversation from within the command tent. Good; that meant that most of the officers were already there. Wasting no time, the primus pilus threw back the flap of the tent. The murmur faded as daylight fell across the faces of the assembled centurions and optios. Standing at the back in a small knot, separate from the rest of the officers, stood the six tribunes assigned to the Tenth. Of the six, only Tetricus was well turned out and standing easy; the others looked dishevelled and tired. Priscus stepped into the tent and let the flap fall back across the doorway.
“Officers of the Tenth. I could be proud of the fact that there are six legions at Vesontio and the Tenth are the only one in fighting readiness; that we have guards, pickets and all duties are being attended to.”
He paused a moment to let that register.
“I could be worried that there are rumblings now even in the Tenth; worried that there could be a collapse in order and discipline.”
Another moment for that.
“What I am, gentlemen, is disappointed. The Tenth have always been the stalwart. That there is even the possibility of a breakdown in discipline in this legion annoys me. I don’t blame the legionaries. The men would follow a good officer into the jaws of Cerberus himself, but a bad officer is worse than no officer. The morale problems we have at the moment are not because the Germans are ten feet tall, eat Romans and fart fire!”
A ripple of nervous laughter died as soon as it began. The look on Priscus’ face suggested that humour had not been his intention.
“The morale problems we have are because the officers have succumbed to rumour and panic spread by a few illegitimate sons of whores. How are the men expected to maintain discipline if the officers are flustered and uncertain?”
He became aware as he scanned the crowd that most of them had their eyes lowered, watching the floor intently, but Tetricus, the tribune they had recently acquired from the Seventh Legion, met his gaze levelly, nodding in agreement with everything he said. He realised that the tribunes theoretically outranked him and that they belonged invariably to the high-born families of Rome that would consider him scum. The Tenth were his legion though, and tribunes came and went. He was damned if he’d let a pretty-boy destroy his men. His eyes still on the tribunes, he continued.
“I will not have weak men ruining the Tenth. Order and discipline will be maintained, stronger than ever before. I want the guard doubled. All duties doubled. I want training sessions instituted on a daily basis. If you’re frightened of the Germans, then I don’t want you. Anyone who won’t stand next to the men and bare their arse at Ariovistus can piss off right now.”
He looked around the tent again.
“If you stay, it’s going to get nasty here. I know some of you here are going to break. I’m not going to let you break right when I need you, though, so get gone.”
No-one moved.
“Now!”
Priscus stood, breathing heavily, his face red and steaming. A number of centurions and optios shuffled toward the door in an embarrassed silence. Three of the tribunes made for the exit. The primus pilus didn’t even turn to watch them go. He scanned the men left.
“Anyone else?”
No one moved.
“Good. How many have gone.”
Tetricus, still standing at the back, piped up.
“I counted three tribunes, four centurions and six optios. Not too bad, all things considered.”
Priscus nodded.
“Right. You all need to get back to your units and sort the men out. We’ll show the other legions what they should be doing. Two last things, though. Caesar will supply us with our new tribunes, but I want recommendations from all of you for promotions. We’ll need to replace those centurions and optios we’ve just lost, and I need you to find them for me. Secondly, you all need to write a will, and you need to have your men do the same. It’s time we got this legion sorted. I don’t know where the legate is, but he’s still alive and he’ll be back. I don’t want him to come back and think we’ve gone soft without him. Dismissed.”
The officers saluted and filed out of the tent, grim, determined expressions on their faces.
As Tetricus approached the door, he stopped.
“Centurion, could you spare me a few minutes?”
Priscus nodded. The tribune was polite and appeared to have a surprising amount of sense for a commissioned nobleman. The two men waited for the last of the other officers to leave the tent and then took a seat.
“What can I do for you, tribune?”
Tetricus smiled.
“Nice speech. I daresay Fronto would have approved. Sounded a lot like him, really.”
Priscus sighed.
“I’ve been around him a long time now. He is the best commander we’ve ever had assigned to us. In fact he’s the only commander we’ve ever had for more than a month or two. Caesar seems to think it’s a good thing and I think I agree. He’s definitely done the Tenth good.”
Tetricus nodded.
“He’s a good man and I’m glad I serve with the Tenth now. I have some thoughts. I don’t want to step on your toes when it comes to command, but I thought you might want to hear them?”
Priscus shrugged.
“Always happy to listen.”
“It strikes me that you’ve got rid of the men who would have caused trouble, but we could do with trying to find out where these damned rumours came from in the first place. It’s useful to sort out the Tenth, but if we can staunch the panic at the top, it’ll help the other commanders get their legions in line.”
Priscus grinned.
“Bloody good point. Problem is, how do we trace it back now?”
Tetricus gazed out past Priscus’ shoulder, through the tent doorway and up at the city of Vesontio.
“I presume you can easily do without me here at the moment?”
Priscus nodded.
“What’ve you got in mind?”
“I thought I might do some investigation among the other tribunes.”
At the top of the hill, Balbus knocked on Caesar’s door and waited politely for an answer. When it came, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dark, most of the oil lamps having been extinguished. Caesar sat in the darkest corner, his head in his hands.
“Caesar? Are you alright? I can come back later…”
The General looked up at his visitor, squinting in the half-light.
“No, Balbus. It’s alright. Just a bad headache. Crassus has been back since the meeting requesting that I put you out to pasture. The arrogance of the man, just because he’s the son of the great Crassus. He doesn’t like you, or indeed any of the other commanders. I even get the feeling he doesn’t like me much, and I had to put him in his place just now. He left very deferentially, but not very happy. I’m going to have trouble with that one.”