“Go home!”
He dropped from the wagon to the rear of the legionaries and shrugged as Carbo frowned at him.
“Get the men formed up and take them back to the camp. Hopefully the other century will turn up some time soon. If they appear at the enemy camp and attack, we could be in the shit, so we’d best send the rest of the scouts out to find them. In the meantime, I fear I have to go and explain a few things to the general.”
The centurion laughed.
“I’m not sure what he’ll say about this, sir.”
“Neither am I, Carbo. Neither am I.”
“He did what?”
Brutus stared over the rim of his goblet, choking.
Carbo grinned.
“He told them to go home. It was like watching a parent telling off their boisterous children.”
Brutus shook his head.
“He never ceases to amaze me.”
“What amazed me was the way they actually listened to him and did what he said. I swear that as I looked across at them, even big hairy bastards with an axe that could split a tree down the middle managed to look uncomfortable and embarrassed. It was a sight to behold.”
Brutus laughed and sat back, taking another swig of his wine. Across the tent, Crispus smiled as he poured himself a drink.
“People think Fronto is simple and straightforward, but the longer I know him, the more I come to realise that you just cannot predict what he will do next. He is not a simple man.”
“It was just funny. I had trouble not laughing, but that would have sent them the wrong message.”
Brutus nodded.
“Might have detracted from the message a little.”
The centurion was about to reply when the tent flap was thrown back and the Tenth’s legate strode in and collapsed onto his cot, immediately beginning to unlace his boots.
“Drink?” Crispus prompted.
Fronto stopped his work for a moment and looked up.
“An amphora full if you have it.”
As he took off the first boot and rubbed his foot, Crispus poured him a drink and, leaning over, placed it on the chest next to the cot. Brutus frowned.
“What did he say, then? You’ve been hours.”
“He took some convincing at first, but he was surprisingly open to the possibilities. He’s as eager to finish this and go home as most of us, and I think he’s almost at the point where he’d pay a lot of good money just to keep this land calm. We’ll be staying here for the next week or so, pending the next move of the Morini and Menapii. If they show up in peace at the edge of the forest anywhere along the line, Caesar’s given the order that they should be allowed to pass and return to their lands. The scouts report that they’ve located the other century of men, about three miles north of where they should have been. I’d have a go at them, but to be honest I’m just too tired and relieved that it seems to be over.”
He let his second boot drop and gave that foot a quick rub before reaching for the goblet, draining it in one large mouthful and pushing it back meaningfully toward Crispus.
“So we should be going home in a week or two then?”
Fronto nodded.
“If all is well, we should, yes. I can’t see these lot causing any more trouble. We’ve battered them a bit and hopefully made them see the futility of it all. When we head south, we’ll have to stop in at Nemetocenna and make sure Labienus is aware of the situation, so that he can keep an eye on them, but the man is a born diplomat. The Belgae are rapidly becoming allies largely because of the way he’s treating them.”
Brutus nodded.
“And then we head back to Rome. Not the legions, though. Where will they go?”
Fronto finished undoing his cuirass and let it fall unceremoniously to the floor with a clank.
“They’ll be posted somewhere in the north. Probably not around here though, or it would work against our potential peaceful relations. Maybe back towards Armorica, or towards the Rhine.”
Brutus smiled and leaned back.
“And then we go south to Italia and the warmth of home.”
Fronto turned a wicked grin on him.
“Not you, I fear. You still have a fleet to attend to. Caesar was talking about them, wondering whether to leave them anchored in the west, or bring them up to the north coast, or even take them back to the Mare Nostrum. You could have the fun of leading them through the pillars of Hercules!”
Brutus glared at him.
“That’s not funny.”
“Not meant to be. But it is.”
He ignored the dark look on the man’s face and reached for his refilled goblet.
“I, on the other hand, along probably with the general and any senior officers returning to Rome by land, will head for Massilia and check in on Balbus. I can’t wait to see the old sod again and make sure he’s alright.”
Carbo shook his head sadly.
“It’s been a very long time since I saw Rome.”
“You must be due leave?” Fronto frowned. “I could always arrange it for you? Your second can keep the legion in order while you’re away.”
The primus pilus laughed.
“It would be nice, but not right now. When the campaign’s definitely over and the legions are pulled south I’ll take the time. For now I need to stay with the Tenth.”
Fronto smiled.
“Ever the professional.”
“One of us has to be!” Carbo grinned.
Crispus leaned back and sighed.
“Do you think that’s it? Is Gaul finally pacified?”
“For now” Fronto replied with a shrug. “We can just hope it stays this way. Rome could do with these people, you know? I’ve watched the Thirteenth and Fourteenth legions, with all their Gaulish legionaries, and Galronus’ cavalry, and they bring a certain something to the army that it was lacking. I don’t know what you’d call it? Inventiveness? Freshness? Spirit? I don’t know, but whatever it is, we needed it.”
Brutus nodded and raised his cup.
“To Gaul and Rome… to Roman Gaul.”
Chapter 20
(October: the hills above Massilia.)
Fronto reined in and took a deep breath, half in relief and half in nervous anticipation. He almost jumped in the saddle as the general’s hand fell gently on his shoulder.
“You go on first, Fronto. I doubt it would be conducive to good health to have the entire sweaty, travel-worn officer corps follow you in. We will stay here and break our fast until you are ready for company.”
Fronto looked around into the general’s serious, sympathetic gaze and nodded quietly. He wasn’t at all sure about this, now. It had been months since Balbus had left the army and been taken south, pale and gaunt.
After Fronto’s escapade in the Belgic forests, the northeast had settled remarkably swiftly. From the rumours he had heard that next week in camp, the Menapii and Morini had returned to their lands in triumph, considering their resistance a success and claiming to have held off the might of Rome, yet they had notably resumed their peaceful life and trade with the garrison at Nemetocenna while conveniently forgetting about the large Roman army camped in the centre of their territory. Caesar had been irritated by the locals’ attitude, but had been relieved enough that the last resistance in Gaul had finally settled that he had overlooked the situation and allowed them to claim their petty victory, while he prepared to end the season’s campaign.
Early the next week, the army had been sent along the coast to winter there under the steady and stable command of Sabinus, while many of the senior officers prepared to travel back to Rome or to their estates in Cisalpine Gaul, Illyricum or Italy.
The two week journey across the length of Gaul had been swift and purposeful, every member of the group itching to return to their homes, supported by Caesar’s cavalry guard under Aulus Ingenuus, while the baggage train trundled along many days behind under heavy guard. All the way, Fronto had been almost twitching with the need to see his old friend and confirm for himself that everything was truly alright and yet now, as he sat ahorse on the hill above Balbus’ rural villa, the churning waters of the Mare Nostrum and the hectic bustle of Massilia below and beyond, he finally had pause to worry.