‘There are reports coming in from a number of my scouts concerning minor unrest and isolated incidents across a number of Gaulish tribes. I have considered calling the assembly of Gaul earlier this year, but I fear that once we make our fears and intentions known we will lose any edge upon which we can currently rely. It is still winter and all Gaul knows that Romans do not campaign in winter.’
‘Respectfully, General,’ Plancus gestured, ‘there are good reasons for that. Rotten feet in icy swamp water. Mildewed and stinking tents. Snowdrifts. Floods. The list goes on…’
Priscus’ fingers stopped drumming. What could possibly be happening to the world when Plancus of all people became a font of common sense?
‘Sometimes hardships must be endured and risks taken to achieve grander goals.’
‘And,’ Priscus added ‘we’re still waiting on your new officers and replacement troops.’
‘Regardless,’ Caesar replied, casting a cold glance at Priscus, ‘I am planning on campaigning before the spring thaw, while the Gauls think themselves secure. Tell the officers what you know,’ he said, gesturing to three native scouts standing by the map at the room’s rear.’
‘Ambiorix has all-but vanished,’ the taller of the three said in good Latin but with an accent everyone was beginning to recognise as Remi. ‘After the battle in the winter, he went to ground with his personal band of warriors. There have been reports of his being seen at the court of his brother King, Cativolcus, though it is common knowledge that there is no love between the two rulers, and none of the reports can be substantiated. Equally uncertain reports have placed him in Nervii lands and in Menapii territory.’
‘Cativolcus,’ the second scout cut in, ‘has made it known that he is not willing to join any rising against Rome in the wake of what happened in the winter. He sits on his throne in the near-empty Eburones lands and trembles.’
Caesar nodded. ‘Then he is no current threat.’
‘There have been rumblings among the Nervii and the Menapii recently,’ the tall scout said, pointing to those lands on the map. ‘There is no overt sign of a rising, but there is the very real possibility that Ambiorix’s anti-Roman venom has spread wide through their lands, and that might give us a hint as to his current location.’
‘And what of the Treveri?’ Caesar asked.
‘The Treveri are involved in their own private war against your legate Labienus, General,’ the third scout, a short and wiry man in a Roman-style tunic and native trousers replied in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘There is a rumour that they have suffered a sound defeat at the hands of the legion in their territory, but I am waiting for confirmation from my own people of that. As yet there is no record of Ambiorix treating with the Treveri, but given the latter’s current activity, if he has not yet been in contact with them, rest assured that he will be.’
Caesar nodded.
‘You see, gentlemen? Unrest in the Belgic tribes and open warfare from the Treveri. And all linked by rumour to Ambiorix, despite there being no solid evidence as to his location or current activity. This supports my ongoing suspicion that Ambiorix is the man behind all the trouble we have faced these past few years. His tendrils snake among the Belgic peoples, inciting them against us while he flits around in the shadows like a ghost, hidden and untouchable.’
Priscus’ fingers began to tap again.
‘Ambiorix is an agent of chaos,’ the general went on, ‘stirring up rebellion wherever his oily hide slithers. He has destroyed one of my legions and killed two of my most trusted and most senior officers, and he almost did the same for another legion and for Cicero, leaving me short many men and officers. He has clearly spent the last month rebuilding his web of power and influence since we stopped his advance. I will not, under any circumstances, allow him to repeat his treacherous successes into the spring.’
‘And what of these rumours of which you speak, of minor unrest coming in from other parts of Gaul?’ Priscus asked pointedly.
‘The rest of Gaul can wait. Minor unrest is trouble, of course, but when weighed against the danger posed by that madman Ambiorix? I think it is clear where our primary concern should lie. If small fires break out here and there, we will contain them as required. Our two new legions that should be here soon will give us ample manpower to deal with small unrest here and there while still concentrating a major force on Ambiorix.’
‘But what of this Esus?’
‘Your mythical rebel, Priscus?’ Caesar asked quietly. ‘If he exists, what makes you think that he is not Ambiorix himself?’
‘Gut feeling, General.’
‘I will not risk our entire presence in Gaul on your gut, Priscus. Ambiorix is my concern now. I have vowed his death to Rome — the senate and the people — and to Venus herself, and that vow I will not break. Ambiorix must…’
The general’s voice trailed off as his eyes rose from Priscus to the rear of the room. The gathered officers turned and followed his gaze to see Fronto standing in the doorway. Priscus could swear Caesar was actually growling as he stepped back to his campaign table and folded his arms.
‘Marcus Falerius Fronto reporting, Caesar.’
Priscus squinted. Fronto was silhouetted by the pale watery light from outside the door, and the gentle drizzle pattered down around and behind him. Something about the man was odd. As his eyes adjusted, Priscus sucked his teeth in surprise. Fronto had apparently been on a fitness regime. The trim, muscular figure standing in the doorway looked like the Fronto who had served under the searing sun of Hispania all those years ago, not the older, overweight officer he had been recently. The difference was quite startling.
Caesar narrowed his eyes dangerously and Priscus realised that the general was fighting for control of his anger. When he did say something it would likely be highly acidic and might drive an ever-greater wedge between them. In a moment of fuddlement, he tried to think of something to say that would defuse the situation and calm the atmosphere without rubbing either man up the wrong way. The words would not come.
‘Fronto!’ announced a pleasant, warbling voice. ‘You took your time. Did you manage to get lost even with a Gaulish guide by your side?’
Marcus Antonius stood and beckoned to Fronto, gesturing to a chair beside him. Caesar looked for a moment as though he might explode when the newly arrived officer, still in his travelling clothes, strode across to the proffered chair and bowed momentarily before sinking into it.
‘You smell like a dead bear,’ Antonius laughed. Noticing the silent form of Caesar, Antonius fixed his commander and old friend with a look that conveyed far more steel than Priscus had realised he was capable of, and then smiled easily. ‘Do go on, General.’
Caesar stood silent for a long moment — trying to recall what he was saying, Priscus suspected.
‘If I might venture some new information for your consideration, General?’ Fronto said quietly and with a surprisingly calm and controlled voice. ‘I overheard the tail-end of your conversation. Seven days ago, my companions and I stopped off at Bibracte — I’m assuming everyone here is familiar with the place — and there are signs there of unrest or uncertainty. I wouldn’t necessarily put it down to the Aedui themselves, but it seems they were playing host to a bunch of warriors from the Arverni, with a nobleman of that tribe in command.’
Curiosity seemed to slowly wash the initial anger from the general’s face, and he tapped his chin in thought. ‘The Arverni are virtually part of Narbonensis. They have no nobles and no power without Rome’s authority. Are you sure they were Arverni, Fronto?’
‘Galronus was, and he knows the tribes better than any Roman. I think we can safely say that’s who they were. I suspect they were a mercenary band serving under an exile of the tribe, but they elicited fear and respect in equal measures from the Aedui, and their leader engaged us in conversation. It seems he is in cahoots with the druid class and knows a lot about the troubles we’ve had.’