The general turned to look at Sabinus and shook his head.
“No; it would be suicidally reckless to string out the army in the depths of the forest with the enemy already ensconced. It would be all too easy for them to decimate the legions that way. We need to meet them on open ground, which means forcing them out of there.”
Fronto frowned and gestured expansively at the forest’s edge.
“Easy enough to say, but there’s a hundred miles of woodland there. They could survive there almost indefinitely, especially with all their goods they’ve taken in. We could send in scouts?”
Again the general shook his head.
“These are their woods; they know them well. Our scouts would likely never return.”
“So what do we do?”
“Firstly we make camp, and we make well-defended camp at that.”
He turned and cast his gaze left and right along the tree line.
“Sabinus and Crispus? Take the Eleventh to the northwest and make camp within sight of the sea, close to the woodland; that’s about fifteen miles. As you travel, have signal stations set along the route. Rufus? You head east for twenty miles and do the same. Galba? You follow them and go a further twenty. We will create a cordon around these woods and keep them trapped and penned in while we work. Sooner or later they will have to show themselves.”
Fronto grumbled.
“We could be here for a year doing that. And what happens when they just move further and further east and then leave the woodlands and pass round the end of your cordon?”
The general smiled.
“Always so negative and pessimistic, Fronto. The lands to the east of that line are already being patrolled by Labienus’ cavalry and auxiliaries. The chances of the enemy fleeing the forests there are ridiculously small. And as for a timescale, I don’t think you need to worry too much. I have no intention of just sitting by and waiting for them to become bored enough to seek us out.”
He spread his arms to take in the whole forest before him.
“There is nowhere they can take ship across the sea, the Rhine delta is too dangerous to cross, and we hold the south. Once we’re encamped and the cordon is up, we will begin the task of deforestation. Some of the timber will be used to further fortify our positions around the woodland. As for the rest: I’m certain that Labienus could use the timber to build his ‘new Rome’ among the Belgae, and the rest will fetch a small profit back in Cisalpine Gaul. Let us see how long the Morini and the Menapii can last as the forest disappears around them.”
“Months” Fronto grumbled under his breath as he looked at the gloomy, looming eaves of the woodland.
Fronto mopped his brow and contemplated replacing the helmet on his head, but shrugged and let it hang by his side instead.
“Carbo?”
The primus pilus of the Tenth turned at hearing his name and saluted before striding over, his vine staff jammed beneath his arm.
“Sir?”
“I know this is going to sound petty, Carbo, but I was rather hoping the tents would go up first before you started chopping the forest down?”
The centurion smiled, the sweat running from beneath the brow of his helmet and trickling down his cheek to his chin. Thunder was coming; probably before nightfall, and the lack of air was almost unbearable.
“Camp prefect gave us all orders, legate, supported by the general. Caesar wants the palisade, mound and ditch up before anything else.”
Fronto rolled his eyes.
“I notice that doesn’t apply to him. His tent is up and furnished already.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, sir” Carbo grinned, “it isn’t seemly for a senior officer to be parading round like that in front of the men. If you’re not going to wear your armour, you should be all togate and patrician.”
Fronto stared at him.
“It’s as sweaty as a Numidian’s boot here. I’m having enough trouble breathing in this armpit of a country without slapping on layers of leather and steel too. I don’t know how you can stand it under all that equipment.”
“Practice, sir. Well…” he winked knowingly ”practice and a lack of underwear, anyway.”
“There are some things, Carbo, that you really don’t need to share with me. Are you sure you can’t spare just four men to help me get the command tent up. I could find a nice convincing military reason if you like.”
The centurion laughed.
“If you don’t tell the general, sir, I’ll spare the men.”
He turned to the group of four legionaries who were busy a few feet away, hacking away at the bole of an oak with their axes. He had opened his mouth to speak, but the smile slid from his face.
“To arms!” he bellowed, and, as the men turned to look at him, three arrows thudded into the timber, a fourth passing straight through a legionary’s neck and continuing merrily on its path as the surprised man grasped his throat with both hands, his eyes wide.
Fronto stared.
“Oh shit, shit, shit.”
Around them legionaries across the edge of the woods scrambled back to grab their weapons, helmets and shields that lay in bundles nearby. Here and there a screech announced that another arrow had found its target.
Carbo turned back to Fronto.
“Back to the camp, sir.”
“Sod off.”
The centurion glared at him.
“You’re unarmoured, a clear target, and being stupid, legate. Get back to camp.”
Fronto ignored the man and dived to the ground where a legionary had left his shield lying with his helmet, sword and other gear on it. Picking up the sword, he tipped the rest from the shield and slid his arm into the straps before jamming his helmet firmly back on his head.
“Sir” Carbo said again, his voice admonishing.
“Rally to me!” Fronto called.
As the men of the Tenth, along with a few stray workers from the Eighth and the Fourteenth, ran toward the officer’s call, Carbo glared at him and then collected his own shield.
Figures had appeared among the trees.
“What the hell does he think he’s doing?”
Fronto turned to see Atenos, the Tenth’s new training centurion, stomping across the grass toward him.
Carbo shrugged.
“He seems to think he’s invincible even without armour.”
“Form up!” the huge Gaulish centurion bellowed as he fell in to the other side of Fronto, his shoulder at the same height as the legate’s scalp. Soldiers began to form a line around them, raising their shields protectively as arrowed continued to whistle out of the woodland.
“Here they come” Fronto pointed.
Among the trees, the figures were clearer, more pronounced, as they neared the edge. The arrows stopped coming and suddenly warriors were pouring out of the forest, brandishing a variety of weapons and screaming guttural war cries as they bore down on the Romans, many of whom were still unarmoured, gathering their weapons or running to fall in.
“What’s going on?” Fronto barked as he was suddenly squeezed between the two centurions until he found himself pushed out past them and standing behind the defensive line.
“Stay back, sir.”
Fronto glared angrily at the men in front of him. He began to form a diatribe in his mind along the lines of how Priscus and Velius would never have dared to do such a thing, but realised with a strange fondness that this was exactly the sort of thing his old friends would have done. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. But just like those former veterans, these two had underestimated how headstrong their commander was.
Ducking to the side, avoiding the enormous looming bulk of Atenos, he gazed over Carbo’s shoulder. The enemy were almost on them. Legionaries were now falling in to either side of him, nodding respectfully as they took up their position in the second line. Fronto looked past them. Other soldiers had been less prepared or just less fortunate, and disappeared with a scream under the blows of axes and swords before they could reach their gear.