He was comfortable in charge of a legion, in or out of a combat situation.
What he was not used to, or comfortable with, was the awesome responsibility of being given a ‘carte-blanche’ command. Not only did he have responsibility for the Ninth now, but also for the wellbeing and safety of the Morini tribe in and around Gesoriacum, the port — to which Caesar would return, and the supply base upon which the entire army depended…
It was a mind-boggling nightmare of organisation. Cita, the army’s chief quartermaster, was if anything an impediment to the smooth running of the command and, while Priscus had remained here as camp prefect, he seemed to spend most of his time stomping around and complaining or arguing with Cita.
“Alright gentlemen. We cannot afford to go on like this. Tribune Acilius: I want you to take the third cohort, along with prefect Casco and half his cavalry. Follow the river road towards Nemetocenna and find that supply train. Caesar is still unconvinced of the absolute loyalty of some of the local tribes. It is possible that they’ve waylaid our supplies, and I’m not willing to risk a small cavalry scout unit out among them without solid infantry support.”
Taking his eyes from the senior tribune, he regarded the other five junior ones. All of them, unlike the competent Acilius, were hungry young politicians fresh from Rome, hoping to win Caesar’s praise before returning to the city in the winter. Not one of them could be trusted to do much more than tie his boots.
“Nautius and Rubellius: I want you to take the fourth and fifth cohorts and start constructing some defences around Gesoriacum itself and its harbour. You can link them up with this fort to save time. Something smells wrong to me. The supplies not turning up worries me, so let’s be prepared for any eventuality. When Caesar returns, I want him to be able to land safely in the harbour, even if the whole Belgae nation is hammering at the door.”
He breathed deeply. The pair would have no clue as to how to set up effective defences, but the legion’s chief engineer was in the fourth cohort and many of the best veterans in the fifth. A placebo command to keep the tribunes busy. He smiled in satisfaction as he pondered the remaining three tribunes and his eyes fell on a young, serious looking man with sandy hair, whose family had risen to prominence through their shrewdness as traders and negotiators.
“Cilo: I want you to take just a small bodyguard and head into the native settlement. Speak to every merchant you can find and secure us whatever supplies you can for the best price you can, in case our own train never arrives. We don’t have the funds here and now, though, so you’ll have to work it all on promises.”
The young man nodded, smiling at his assigned task.
“That leaves Murgus and Purpurio. You’ll be staying in camp with me. Murgus, I want you to get on to the readiness of the men. Make sure their centurions are on task. I want all drill and training doubled. Exercises and marches, though, are to be limited to a one mile radius. I don’t want a whole column of men out there in the wilds right now. Purpurio: Get on to manufacturing. I want the workshops turning out arms and armour, not pots and pans. I want extra scorpions constructed and then positioned on the defences.”
He leaned back.
“I think that covers everything.”
“Sir, do you really expect that much trouble? Isn’t it possible that the wagons have just been delayed by weather?”
Rufus’ eyes flicked to Murgus. “It is possible, but it’s also worth noting that at no time this year has a supply train been more than twenty four hours late. Three days is therefore a bit of an anomaly, especially given that we’re currently rooted in one very easy-to-find place. I’ll be happier when I hear from Sabinus or Cotta and we know they’ve encountered no trouble, but until we have an indication that everything is normal, we’re on a war footing just in case.”
He glanced once more around the camp. “Is that it? No more questions?”
Murgus opened his mouth again, but was interrupted by a respectful rap on the tent’s door frame.
“Come!”
One of the praetorian legionaries on guard outside stepped in and saluted. “Sir. Word from the south gate. A huge cavalry force is on the way in.”
Rufus frowned and, nodding, waved the legionary out.
“Get to work, gentlemen.”
The tribunes saluted, filed out of the tent and disappeared into the camp as Rufus fastened his cloak about his shoulders with the Mars Victor brooch his brother had given him last name-day and then strode out into the chilly morning air. Catching sight of Priscus hurrying across the open space before the command quarters, he made a course to intercept, falling in beside him.
“You heard, then?”
“Cavalry. Let’s just hope they’re allied ones. It’s bloody hard to tell the difference when they’re all Gauls anyway.”
Rufus smiled as the pair bore down on the south gate. The portals were firmly closed, a detachment of legionaries on guard above and beside it. The dust cloud and black massed shapes of an exceedingly large cavalry force were plainly visible on the flat grassy land only five or six hundred yards away. Rufus sagged with relief as he spotted a Roman cavalry flag amongst them.
“It’s Varus. What the hell is he doing here? I thought he was in Britannia with the general.”
The two officers stood pensively, watching the senior cavalry commander and his entire wing of cavalry approach, filling the open grassland. “Open the gate” Rufus shouted as the force closed on them. The veteran officer was riding out front, the reins of his horse gripped tightly in his good arm, the other still splinted and bound tightly to his torso.
As the column neared the gate, Varus gave a number of commands and the cavalry split into three groups, heading to the west and east gates, and the last, with the commander himself, slowing as they approached the south.
“What in the name of Juno’s flabby arse are you doing here?” Priscus demanded as Varus came to a stop and slid awkwardly down from the saddle, his slung arm and wounded hip more than a small hindrance. His men continued to ride past him and into camp.
“Bit of a change of plan, lads, I’m afraid. Looks like you’ve had reasonable weather here, but it’s been appalling down the coast. Time and again I gave the order to embark and the sailors told me the weather was too dangerous for any attempt at crossing. In their defence, it’s been stormy as all hell down there. But that’s not why we’re here. I think you might have trouble.”
Rufus felt a knot form in his stomach. “I’ve been suspecting as much. The supply train’s three days late. What else, then?”
“This morning the weather had cleared and we went down to the harbour in the hope that we might actually be able to board, but all the ships had gone. Rather than try and find out what was going on, I thought it prudent to return here and consolidate the forces.”
“I’m glad you did. Something is definitely wrong.”
Varus nodded and patted his horse’s sweaty flank. “Let’s get in the warm and you can tell me what’s happening here.”
The three men turned and strode back into the camp as a heavy black cloud rolled over from the east, threatening further storms.
Chapter 16
(Roman beachhead, south east coast of Britannia)
“So you’re all pally with the pair of them now?”
“Don’t make it sound so stupid, Galronus.”
“But you are on good terms with them?”