If he wasn’t so bloody likeable!
Fronto had ridden in silence all day, alone with his discomfort and at the rear of the staff, away from anyone he really knew who might try to engage him in conversation, and it had been with an immense sense of relief that Fronto had watched Caesar hold up his hand to halt the column at the position the advanced scouts and engineers had selected as the site for the night’s encampment.
While the legions, under the watchful eyes of their centurions and optios, had broken up into work parties, digging ditches and raising ramparts, excavating numerous deep latrine trenches at the edge that was currently downwind, gathering water from the river nearby, raising tents and lighting cooking fires, setting the watch, assigning pickets, and the myriad other tasks required and allocated by Priscus as camp prefect, the staff and the four legates had gathered on a low hill nearby to discuss the next stage of the march and to await their accommodation’s raising and furnishing — one of the first tasks of the workers.
The scouts had confirmed that the next day would bring them through Viromandui lands and into the territory of the Nervii. The former, smaller, tribe had no links to the latter’s treachery as far as the native levy were aware and had been nothing but obsequious and accommodating as the army had passed through. Things might change in Nervii lands, though.
‘From the morning, we slow the march a little, with cavalry scouting in a wide arc ahead and beside us,’ Caesar announced. ‘I want no chance of us blundering into a trap and we have no idea how long the Nervii have been plotting with our enemies. With the blessing of Fortuna we will have taken them by surprise and they will be totally unaware of our approach and thoroughly unprepared, but I will not rely upon the fact. When we move, the Eighth will play rear-guard, behind the baggage train. The Ninth will take the lead, and the Tenth and Eleventh will march side by side in two wide columns, with the officers, artillery, baggage and auxiliary infantry in the centre. If we are taken by surprise I want my veteran heavy infantry on all the edges to form shield walls.’
This was greeted by nods all around and Fronto looked out across the landscape. Much like the lands they had just left, the Viromandui’s territory was mostly flat and covered with a patchwork of fields, with occasional ripples of low hill to break up the monotony. A wide marching formation was no trouble in this land, and it would be exceedingly difficult to launch a sneak attack upon the legions until they reached a hillier, more forested area.
As Fronto pondered, wishing he could collapse into his bed and sleep instead of sitting on his horse in the chilling cold and the fading light, Caesar continued to give out commands and answer the questions of his officers, and Fronto was almost asleep in the saddle when the general clapped his hands in a business-like manner and dismissed them all.
‘You look like a drunk on a four-day session,’ Antonius grinned as he pulled his dappled grey alongside Fronto. ‘And you smell like my aunt Hybrida, which cannot be good as she suffered from a permanent and debilitating bowel complaint and had to have her own separate latrine.’
‘Thank you. Thank you very much. Particularly given that this is largely your fault.’
‘My mistake, Fronto. You see I had you pegged as a soldier, not as a flagging woman.’ He grinned, waiting for an outburst, but Fronto was too tired to play the offended victim.
‘Let’s just go find our tents so that I can fall over and not move again until the sun has gone and come back again.’
Antonius laughed and the pair rode on down the slope in the wake of the other officers, towards the already-half-constructed camp. The officers’ quarters were already in position, the tents raised and legionaries unloading the furnishings from the wagons at the camp’s edge, carrying cots, tables, chairs and more into the confines.
Fronto looked for his tent. It used to be easy, as it would be located with the Tenth, but these days his was one of the miscellaneous ones in the staff area near the general’s own accommodation. After scanning the area, he picked out an officer’s tent no different from the rest, but with a smaller legionary tent pitched close by. Masgava and Palmatus. That was the best way to identify his.
‘Care for a drink?’
Fronto turned a withering gaze on Antonius. ‘Do you never stop?’
‘One of the advantages of a strong constitution and a position in command is that I never really have to. Similar tales are told of you, you know?’
‘I can hold my own, but I do like to have a day off occasionally to rest. Anyway, the answer’s no. I want nothing more than to fall face down on my bunk and drool into my pillow. Find Priscus. He’ll want a drink after watching the men ruin his carefully laid camp plans, mark my words.’
Antonius gave a low chuckle as they passed the first groups of workmen, crossing the causeway that overlaid the already-excavated ditch.
‘Why do you hate Crassus?’ the man said suddenly. Fronto blinked.
‘What?’
‘Crassus. I’ve seen the way you look at him, as though you’d trodden in something distasteful.’
Fronto shrugged, too tired to maintain a civil fiction. ‘I don’t, really. I sort of resent him, is all. He’s young and pleasant and not half as vicious or grasping as the rest of his family, and there’s nothing about him to dislike. But he commands my legion.’
‘Your legion?’
‘The Tenth. I know, I know,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s the Proconsul’s prerogative to select his legates, but I commanded the Tenth long enough that they’re like my family. It’s like watching your children with another father.’ He frowned, wondering where that analogy had sprung from, given that he had no children. Well, not yet, at least. He fought down the rising image of a pregnant Lucilia with difficulty. ‘I keep waiting for Caesar to call me in so that we can talk but he seems to have no interest in speaking to me at all. And as long as I’m on the periphery, I’m just along for the ride. I’m no use to him without a legion. You know that.’
‘I know. Give it time. I keep speaking to him, but Gaius is stubborn; you know that. I will get you your command in time. Maybe even the Tenth, but be patient. Let me work on him.’
‘Thanks.’
He reined in Bucephalus as he rounded the tent of another officer and beheld his own small empire. The big black steed huffed in irritation and stepped high in place, itching to exercise more, having been restricted to a plod on the march. As well as Fronto’s tent and the smaller one that belonged to Masgava and Palmatus, another tent was busy rising in the lee of his own — a traditional legionary soldiers’ tent.
‘It appears your entourage grows,’ mused Antonius. Fronto frowned at the men hauling the leather sections into position and tying them into place. Though they all wore military-style tunics, they were plain off-white wool rather than the russet colour favoured by Caesar’s command. Some of the men were of Roman origins, as was obvious from their swarthy appearance and neatly-trimmed military haircuts, but three of them appeared to be Gauls stuffed into Roman uniform. Not drawn from the Gallic-blooded legions, though, since they had now all adopted the Roman model at their officers’ urging. So these three must be from the native auxiliary cavalry units.
‘Eight men. A contubernium of the most mixed variety,’ Antonius said with more than a hint of curiosity in his tone.
As they watched, Palmatus appeared from his tent, dressed in a similar colourless tunic, with a well-used but well-maintained mail shirt over the top. Fronto couldn’t help but wonder how the ex-legionary had managed to come by a good mail shirt here. He didn’t have that much money and now that Cita was back in charge of the quartermasters there was more hope of the outspoken Roman growing a second bumhole than persuading the supply officers to give out a freebie.