It seemed such a short distance. A few minutes later, he spotted the cavalry spear that marked the limit of German missile capability. With a signal to both Crispus and Longinus, he drew closer and closer to the spear and called a halt six feet behind it.
The figures of the German army were clearly visible moving around behind the defences of their camp. As the legions came to a halt, Fronto craned his head and looked along the line. One of the legionaries hefted his javelin and stared off into the distance. Fronto could understand how he felt, weighing up the distance to the Germans and wondering how strong his arm was. Unfortunately, even if they wanted to unleash a volley or bring up the archers, it was extremely unlikely that a single shot would pass beyond the defences. If they had kept the Ballistae on the carts and trundled them forward, they could most certainly have landed a number of heavy bolts within. Still, he had his orders, and they were to occupy the field and offer battle, not to run harrying attacks on the enemy position.
He could see, even from this distance, the unhappy and bored look on the face of Aulus Crispus; a look that was reflected all along the Roman lines. No one liked standing here at attention for four hours on the offchance that the Germans might feel like leaving their rat hole today. They would be feeling complacent due to the repeated failures in drawing Ariovistus out to fight. Fronto was torn between giving orders to stand at ease and remove helmets and maintaining discipline. If they were more relaxed now, they would fight better later, when the Germans did come against them. On the other hand, if they let the troops relax and Ariovistus changed his mind and took advantage of the opportunity, then they could be in worse trouble. Damn Caesar for this ridiculous show of military power. Having spent much more time among the lower ranks in the less savoury areas of cities, and among the Gauls and Germans out here, Fronto knew much better ways of starting a fight.
Ridiculous. Turning, Fronto shouted to the equisio who held the reins of his horse toward the back of the legion. The soldier brought the horse forward and Fronto mounted. Looking to the side, he saw Priscus looking up at him, eyebrow raised.
“Going to check something out.”
“Don’t get into trouble this time sir.”
“Trouble? Me?”
Grinning, Fronto trotted off along the front of the army. Reaching the Eleventh, he reined in beside Crispus.
“Fancy a little ride?”
The young legate smiled.
“I’d rather like to ride into that infernal pit of Germanic excrescence and lay about me with a sword. I would presume, however, that this is not the ride to which you refer?”
Fronto shrugged.
“I want to take a look round the other side and see what’s happening with Caesar’s force. I don’t like this being out of touch. And I might be tempted to do something a little stupid and reckless, yes.”
Crispus smiled happily and waved his equisio over. Once he had mounted, he joined Fronto and looked back at his primus pilus.
“Felix, I’m just going for a little jaunt with the good legate here. We shall return forthwith.”
The two officers trotted off past the cavalry and up the hill among the scattered trees.
“Wish I had a man called Felix in my legion.” Fronto muttered. “Could do with a bit of luck!”
Crispus smiled.
“Perhaps not. Despite having carefully pored over all of the records of my officers, I can never recall the man’s real name. Everyone calls him Felix, though I rather get the impression that it is sarcasm. I don’t believe in luck anyway, Marcus. The centurion is first-rate at his job, and I hold that it is fate and choice that make or break.”
He glanced sideways at Fronto and smiled.
“Although it is men like you that make me doubt my creed on occasion!”
Fronto grinned back at him.
“Look at me. Do I really look lucky?”
“Everyone to whom I speak believes that you may be the luckiest man in the Roman military!”
“Huh!”
“Or do you make your own luck, Marcus?”
Fronto growled.
“Aulus, I’m not very wealthy. I’m not very talented in anything but killing. I’ve not got enough patience for the Cursus Honorum and position in Rome. My sister and my mother think that I’m a waste of family blood and that the line will die with me. Indeed, the line probably will die with me, as the closest I’ve been to a good woman in years are ladies of low morals in Tarraco or Aquileia. I’ll most likely die in a fountain of blood on a field hundreds of miles outside Roman territory.”
He realised he was starting to feel angry and that Crispus might get the impression it was aimed at him, but the ball was rolling downhill now.
“You and Balbus and the others have a chance. Balbus has his family back in Massilia. You are a very educated man and will go a long way in Rome. Longinus will retire some time to Spain or Umbria and live with his horses; his one passion. Galba will probably own a gladiator Ludus in the end. Crassus will probably rule the Empire unless Caesar beats him to it. Me? I’ll be up to my elbows in blood and guts and drunk every night.”
He was worried for a moment that he’d gone too far. Crispus’ face was mortified. The young legate looked as though one of the Gods had died in front of him. Then he smiled slowly.
“I’m stuck for words to describe adequately how I feel about that, Marcus, so let me borrow some from one of your men: Shit! Absolute unadulterated drivel. I know you better than you think I do, Marcus Falerius Fronto. You may not be from a ludicrously wealthy family like Crassus, but your family are not poor. After this campaign is over, you will return to Italy a very wealthy man. You have enough reputation that you could secure a very nice post by then. You could be a Governor. Perhaps Spain, since you know it well. Balbus has told me several times what his daughters thought of you. You can have any future you choose Marcus, and I won’t listen to any more self-deluded rubbish.”
Fronto blinked. For a long moment, he stared, and then he laughed; laughed so hard he almost unhorsed himself.
“Well I can see the other legions from here and they’re just standing there. Let’s get back to our units and let them stand at ease for now. Ariovistus isn’t coming until after lunch.”
* * * * *
The early afternoon sun beat down on the defences where Tetricus chewed on a strip of pork, leaning on one of the ballistae. Squinting across the field he stopped chewing, the pork forgotten for a moment. His eyes strained, unsure whether there was anything out there or whether heat haze and bright sun were playing tricks with his mind and his eyes. Swallowing the mouthful, he leaned across the firing mechanism to the optio who controlled the ballista.
“Optio, look over towards the Germans. Can you see anything?”
The soldier leaned forward and strained his eyes, raising his hand to ward off the sunlight.
“Don’t think there’s… Wait. Cavalry.”
Tetricus followed suit to confirm the soldier’s report.
“Shit.”
Thousands of cavalry were hurtling across the grass. They had left their camp and marshalled their force before their charge, all unknown to the Roman defenders due to the hazy conditions. Now they would reach the defences in minutes. Tetricus ran to the cornicen.
“Sound the alert.”
As the notes trumpeted out across the camp, the sudden sound of thousands of heavy infantry falling in filled the air. The Tenth and Eleventh would be very lucky to have a reasonable force in position to defend the camp. Glancing to the far left, Tetricus heaved a sigh of relief as Longinus and the cavalry swept around and forwards towards the enemy. All they had to do was buy enough time.