Crispus looked down at the unconscious patient and then up at Balbus with a smile.
“He’s not going to be able to do much about that but admit to it.”
Balbus nodded.
“But the soldiers wouldn’t dare mention it, and those of us that are close enough to do so know him well enough we know exactly what to expect. He’ll just have to come up with some convincing and exciting lie.”
He sighed and stood.
“Come on. We need to go get some of that stuff from the doctor before my hand starts to blossom.”
“What about him?”
Balbus smiled like an indulgent father.
“He’ll sleep for hours yet.”
* * * * *
“Enter!”
The three men at the door to Caesar’s office looked at one another. Fronto entered first, followed by Balbus, with Balventius bringing up the rear and closing the door. The general sat behind his desk scribbling on a tablet. Without looking up, he swept his arm, indicating the three seats across the table from him.
Wordlessly, the men took their seats and waited patiently for Caesar to finish his administrative tasks. After a moment, the tablet snapped shut and the general placed his stylus neatly alongside it, pushed them off to his left and then, in a moment of obsession, lined them up neatly with the edge of the table. After that he sat back, raised his head, took a deep breath, laid his hands on the table before him and tapped rhythmically.
“Your face is a mess, Fronto.”
“Yeth, thir.”
“Any point in me asking?”
Fronto swallowed noisily.
“Twipped on a wabbit hole, thir.”
Caesar stared at him.
“Stop that. You sound like an idiot.”
“Thir?”
“People always resort to slurring and impedimented speech when they have a nasal injury or a heavy cold. It’s all psychosomatic, just like limping. Force yourself to talk properly, man.”
“Yes, general.”
The look of startled realization on Fronto’s face threatened to make Balbus laugh. Caesar pulled himself straighter.
“Alright, gentlemen. Time for action.”
The three men blinked and Caesar nodded, as if in answer to an internal question.
“Firstly, tell me about my two new legions.”
“Well…” Balventius leaned forward. “I think we’re narrowly avoiding serious trouble, particularly with the Fourteenth. It’s ridiculous, general. They’re encamped between all the other legions, but none of them will even exchange a greeting with the new men. Everyone looks down on them. And it’s not helped by the fact that the new legions are staying firmly in their own camp and not even trying to interact. Hell, sir… they don’t even speak Latin when they’re amongst their own.”
Caesar frowned.
“That’s not good at all. I’ll have to do something about this. Or rather, perhaps I should say ‘I’ll have to have something done about it.’”
The other officers’ turn to frown.
“Caesar?”
“First let me explain the two legions to you. I know you’re aware of their origin. However, you won’t have the details. Neither of them currently has a legate assigned. I was, unfortunately, a little tied with potential recruits. I would have preferred all Latin speaking recruits and to have filled every centurion and optio role with a veteran from Aquileia or Cremona.”
He sighed.
“Unfortunately, I couldn't find enough suitable men. So, what I have done is given preference to one of them: the Thirteenth has all Latin-speaking legionaries, and each officer is a Roman veteran. I don't want to assign any of my current staff to them, as most would take the assignment as a demotion, given the Gaulish nature of the Thirteenth.”
He smiled and shifted his gaze between the two legates.
“So, for the time being, I want you two, Balbus and Fronto, to maintain command of the Thirteenth between you, as well as your own. You have the patience to work with them. I want them fully Romanised, integrated into my army and proud of their eagle. You two can give them that. Once they're settled and proved, I'll look at assigning them a legate of their own.”
Fronto and Balbus looked at one another. The older legate raised an eyebrow and Fronto shrugged, immediately wincing at a number of bruises and pulled muscles from his ‘fall’.
“We can do that, Caesar,” Balbus nodded. “And what of the Fourteenth, then?”
The general’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“Sadly, the Fourteenth will take considerably more effort. Only around a half of them speak Latin with more than a few words. Less than a quarter of the centurionate are Roman veterans; the rest are minor chieftains among the Aedui. In all, while they’re trained as legionaries, they still think and act like Gauls. The chief trainer at Cremona says he’d trust them to keep formation in battle, but that’s about as far as it goes.”
“So…” Fronto grunted, “basically they’re useless?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Caesar smiled. “They shall be kept in reserve. I’m going to give standing orders that they remain as camp guards or take rearguard in battles to protect the artillery and baggage trains… that sort of thing.”
Fronto nodded.
“I suppose it’s possible that that way they’ll learn gradually.”
Balventius laughed; a harsh bark.
“And they can’t get themselves or the rest of us into too much trouble that way.”
Fronto nodded again.
“So what poor sod are you going to put in charge of them? If none of your staff will lower themselves to lead your top-notch Gaulish legion, who’s going to agree to command the dregs?”
Caesar’s smile widened.
“Lucius Munatius Plancus.”
“Plancus?” Fronto almost spat out the name. “But he’s a prat! He…” Light dawned on him slowly.
Caesar nodded.
“Yes. A legion of unintelligible Gauls in the hands of an unimaginative and inexperienced commander. Sounds perfect for guarding the engineers and baggage. And another problem I’d had was that I owe Plancus’ father a favour and I’ve been wondering what to do with him. Now I can make him a legate. His father will be pleased and after a while I can send him back to Rome where he can climb the ladder and be a burden to the senate instead.”
Fronto smiled.
“Very nice, though I’d warn you, Caesar, that we may have to call on the Fourteenth along with everyone else if we land in deep shit up north, especially without Crassus’ Seventh here.”
“I’m aware of that.”
The general sighed and stood, wandering over to a large map of Gaul and its surroundings.
”I don’t know whether you’re aware… I expect you are, since Fronto always seems to know about things before even I do… that the scouts have now all returned?”
The three men before him nodded.
“We’re going to be moving very soon. I intend to call a general staff meeting shortly and pass out the orders to my officers, but, to assuage your curiosity, this is the situation in a nutshell…”
He jabbed his finger into the centre of Belgic lands on the map, where the legend ‘NERVII’ was just visible in the low interior light.
“Deep in their territory, most of the Belgae have combined to create one large army. And when I say large, I do mean large. I have been unable to ascertain numbers no matter how many spies and scouts I send out, but I have heard words like ‘sea’ and ‘carpet’ used to describe the assembled mass, so I’m going to assume we’re talking about a very large group. And some of them are Germans who’ve crossed the Rhine to join in. Most of my other legates are young and lack the experience that you two have. I’m going to rely more and more in the coming weeks on the pair of you, along with Labienus and Sabinus.”
Fronto rubbed his nose reflectively without thinking and gave a slight yelp.
“I assume then, Caesar, that you fully intend to take us against the Belgae, whatever their strength?”
The general nodded.
“Frankly, Fronto, I cannot back down now. I’m sure you understand. The Belgae have the greatest reputation of the northern barbarians. If we can defeat them, our allies will be safe; no other tribe will dare move against us. If we run back to Narbonensis with our tail tucked between our legs, however, we will lose the respect of the tribes, our allies will likely desert us and side with the Belgae; we will lose our foothold in Gaul and with it any hope of loot for the men and a triumphal return to Rome. The officers will be ridiculed by the senate and the men will be pensioned with little booty to show for the two years of activity.”