He frowned as he sniffed. Rose petals and camphor? It was a cloying scent. He wondered for a moment why the two men stood together wearing scents that combined to such appalling effect until he realised that, in fact, both men wore the combination individually. His eyes watering, he stepped back and faced them.
“Tell me about your journey.”
The two tribunes exchanged a slightly baffled look, and then Hortius smiled.
“I had a piebald mare. I called her Aphrodite, because she was so sleek and beautiful. I used to have a horse like her on the estate at Alba Fucens, only I called her Hector, because I was initially confused about sex, and…”
Fronto pinched the bridge of his nose and held up his hand to stop the tribune, who may well still be a little confused about sex as far as Fronto was concerned.
“Too much background detail, Hortius. Tell me about Massilia to Divoduron.”
Menenius smiled. “He cannot help it, legate. He likes horses. We were rather swift actually. I went into Massilia, but not to the military staging post. You see my uncle, who was a praetor two years ago, retired to a villa above Massilia and he has enormous influence with both the Greek council there and the local officials at Arelate. I managed to secure us a constant change of horses at the courier stations until we passed Vienna, where we purchased several fast horses and just gave the tired ones to some poor sad-looking local each time we changed mounts thereafter. It’s amazing what a little money and influence can achieve.”
Fronto held his tongue, his own opinion of nepotistic and monied influence being unlikely to sit well with these two.
“So you were here before any of us.”
“I would imagine so.”
“And you travelled alone, through Gaul? With no escort?”
Menenius frowned in incomprehension. “Yes. Gaul is conquered, and no uneducated barbarian would interfere with a Roman officer on official duty. You took an escort?”
Fronto blinked. “Well, no. But I had a Gaul with me, and anyway, we’re more…” his voice tailed off as he could find no way of saying what sprang to mind without levelling an insult or two at the pair. “Fair enough. What of Publius Pinarius Posca?”
Hortius’ brow furrowed. “Pinarius? Did he not travel with those two burly brutes of centurions? He stayed in Massilia to see the sights; wouldn’t accept our offer of relay horses. I think, to be quite honest, that he’s not quite the man we all are, eh, legate? Cannot imagine young Pinarius riding a horse. Probably had a silk-lined wagon.”
The two men burst into an annoying cacophony of snorts and giggles at the idea of Caesar’s wet nephew riding a courier horse. Fronto rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to complain about being lumped in with them as ‘men’ almost as heavily as the urge to try and beat some sense of military decorum into them..
“Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.”
The two men slowly recovered from their humour and shrugged.
“Any time, legate, my lovely.”
Fronto managed to leave the tent somehow, miraculously, without laying a hand on either of them. He found himself simply grateful that they were not assigned to the Tenth, else he would have buried them both up to their necks in a latrine trench before they ever got as far as war.
The two men exited behind him and moved across the camp, giggling like idiots while Fronto, still breathing deeply in annoyance, strolled back towards his tent.
Throwing the flap aside, he found Labienus and his friend sitting in camp chairs beside his table, with cups of wine, a third poured ready for him. With a nod of thanks, he sank gratefully onto his bunk, undoing his boots and letting them drop to the floor. Labienus shuffled his chair a few feet further away, his eyes quickly beginning to water.
“New boots, Marcus?”
“Bloody women” was his sole reply as he let the other fall, peeled off the now-greyed woollen socks and wiggled his toes, releasing a fresh waft of four-day stink.
“There’s a bath tub in a bathing tent in the command section for senior officers, Marcus, and there’s always heated water ready.”
“How nice.”
“So if you’d like to scrub off your journey first…?”
“No, you’re alright, Titus. I need to rest and have a few cups first.”
Labienus glanced across at his friend, who had also moved his chair a few feet further away.
“I’d like you to meet Piso, Marcus. He’s a chieftain among the Aquitani and now one of the senior cavalry commanders along with Varus and Galronus. They’ll command a wing each, with Varus in overall charge, of course.”
Fronto nodded his greeting, scratching his toes and rubbing his feet with a free hand while consuming the prepared wine with the other, noting with distaste how Labienus had already watered it for him.
“I thought I’d best introduce you. There are still a great number of blinkered officers in this army who will not consider a non-Roman officer worthy of their attention, but I know you’re not one of them. Galronus, after all…”
Fronto nodded as he placed the cup on the table and stretched back on his bunk.
“Pleased to meet you, Piso. You seem, like Galronus, to be a man fond of our custom?”
Piso shrugged. “In weaponry, art and devotion to the Gods, the Aquitani will always be paramount, but I am not beyond being able to see the advantage of a comfortable tunic and a clean-shaven neck. It is my staunch belief that both Roman and Gaul have much to learn from one another.”
Fronto smiled appreciatively and nodded toward Labienus.
“A seductive viewpoint that our officer friend here has propounded to me before.”
“Marcus, there’s a particular reason I wanted you to meet Piso. Beyond being an embodiment of what I see for the future of Gaul.”
Something in Labienus’ tone made Fronto sit up straight. The staff officer looked nervous; pensive.
“What is it, Titus?”
“Did you know that Caesar continues to draw more levies from the tribes of Gaul, Marcus?”
“Well, yes. He needs them to push the Germanic tribes back out.”
“Fronto, Caesar could deal with those invaders with two legions and a single cavalry wing. Do you not think it’s time to put the future of Gaul back in the hands of the Gauls?”
Fronto frowned. “That’s what he’s doing. He’s summoned the Gallic council so they can decide whether to ask for our help.”
“Marcus, don’t be so blind. Listen to yourself. Caesar has ‘summoned’ the kings of Gaul. Only a despot can do that. Caesar places himself above those kings. He only panders to them because he is not yet strong enough to oppose the senate!”
Fronto’s stomach knotted and he felt a sudden cold shiver run down his spine. This conversation was starting to sound disturbingly familiar.
“Have you been listening to Cicero and his brother? This is a dangerous path to walk, Titus, and I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”
Labienus shook his head and poured Fronto another cup of wine. “I’m not advocating mutiny or anything like that, Marcus, but I think we need to start questioning the general on his motives and actions and perhaps try to persuade him toward the path of reason. We need to bring him back into concord with the senate before things turn ugly.”
“Enough, Titus. You’re one of the general’s most senior lieutenants. Don’t say anything else you might learn to regret.”
“But Marcus…”
“Enough, Titus! I think the pair of you had best leave now before the others get here.”
Labienus rose slowly from his chair, alongside Piso. Before exiting the tent, he paused and turned back, pointing a finger at Fronto. “Think on it, Marcus.”