As Fronto dropped back down the slope, he raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Let them be challenged by the guards as though they were nobodies,” the general smiled.
“Do we open the gate?”
“Most certainly not.”
Fronto frowned. As the officers waited behind the stockade, they heard someone address the legionaries on guard in the strange language of the Celts.
The guard, drawn tonight from the Ninth, answered in clear Latin.
“Approach and be recognised.”
There was a long pause and some heated discussion in that odd language again. The centurion at the gate took a deep breath.
“For the last time, advance and be recognised!”
As the squabble among the visitors intensified, the centurion called along the walls: “make ready!”
Two dozen men on the embankment turned sideways and raised their pila into the discharge position. The argument among the Remi intensified and finally a voice called out in intelligible Latin.
“Friends. Remi are friends of Rome. We must see your commander. Bring your commander.”
The centurion turned to look at Fronto and the officers nearby. Caesar made smoothing motions with his hand and put a finger to his lips. The centurion and his men stood silently.
“Roman?”
Caesar tapped Fronto on the shoulder and leaned close to whisper.
“Go tell him we’re too busy to see him tonight. We’ll visit him tomorrow when we have more time.”
Fronto stared, unsure whether to smile or not. It all seemed so childish, somehow.
Taking a deep breath, he climbed the embankment slowly. When he reached the top, he looked down at the assembled warriors and tried not to laugh. They looked very uncertain and, having lost the impetus of the parade, were now milling around aimlessly below the stockade.
“Greetings to the Remi” he called. “Unfortunately, we do not have time to consult with you at the moment. Please return to your village and we will call on you as and when the opportunity arises.”
The speaker on horseback seemed to inflate as though he’d explode. Fronto couldn’t quite see in the bad light, but would be willing to bet the man’s face had gone red with rage. The man raised his hand and pointed at Fronto, opening his mouth to speak, but the legate had already left the wall without waiting for a reply.
As he returned to the staff, Sabinus was rocking with silent laughter. Labienus bore a wide grin and even Caesar greeted him with an uncharacteristically genuine smile.
Patting Fronto on the shoulder, Caesar chuckled.
“Well I wanted to make them feel inferior, but that surpassed all my expectations. I hope you haven’t pushed them so far they get angry instead of frightened!”
Sabinus grinned, taking a deep breath.
“Village?”
Fronto shrugged.
“It hasn’t even got a stockade.”
“But village?” Sabinus laughed again. “It’s the capital city of their tribe, and you just called it a village. And turning your back on his answer? Good grief, man!”
Fronto shrugged again.
“To hell with them.”
Leaving the baffled and irritated Remi outside the gate, Caesar and his staff strode off toward the principia. Fronto smiled at the centurion.
“Let’s not be too mean. If they’re still there in an hour, take them out some cheese and bread.”
As he walked off to catch up with the general, he could hear the centurion chuckling behind him.
* * * * *
It was after lunch the next day when the messenger arrived at Fronto’s tent.
“Caesar calls his staff to the main gate, sir.”
Fronto nodded and grabbed his helmet and sword before striding out of his tent. He’d been dressed and equipped now for two hours in order to be ready when the general called. He strode outside to find Priscus standing irritably nearby, tapping his vine staff on his greaves.
“What’s up with you?”
The primus pilus grumbled.
“I’m getting sick of all this camp building and diplomacy crap. If our lads don’t get to kick some Gauls soon, they’re going to have forgotten which end of a sword goes into the enemy. They’re getting soft!”
Fronto laughed lightly and patted Priscus on the shoulder as he walked past.
“Only you, Gnaeus. Only you could stand in unknown territory, facing possibly ten to one odds in our very near future and be bored.”
“Pah!”
The centurion watched Fronto irritably as he walked off toward the camp’s north gate. The legate of the Tenth was hardly recognisable. Knowing the general’s desire to make an impression, Fronto had not only bathed, combed and shaved, but his armour was buffed to brilliance and his clothes freshly laundered. He looked every inch the Roman officer, an effect only slightly muted by the faint waft of stale wine that followed him.
Caesar was already at the gate as Fronto and Rufus converged from different directions. Most of the staff officers were present.
“Good afternoon, general,” Rufus addressed Caesar, nodding respectfully to Fronto.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Are you prepared?”
Fronto grumbled.
“Depends what for.”
“Are we not to be mounted, Caesar?” enquired the young legate.
The general shook his head.
“Firstly, I don’t want them to think we’re soft; secondly, I want to approach at a steady marching pace; and thirdly…” he gave a sly smile in the direction of the Tenth’s legate. “Thirdly, after Fronto’s performance last night, I don’t want to present too easy a target for any irritated assassin!”
The staff officers chuckled quietly, which caused Fronto to grind his teeth.
“Let’s just get this over with so we can go and kick someone” he grumbled. “Priscus is bloody right.”
Ignoring a number of questioning looks, he strode out of the gate. In front of the fort, Aulus Ingenuus had formed up Caesar’s bodyguard without their horses. In the distance, he could see Balbus and Plancus striding from one camp and Crispus, Galba and Varus from the other. So, all the senior commanders in the army in one place. He frowned and addressed Ingenuus as he reached the honour guard.
“I hope your men are alert! Caesar’s got every senior officer walking blindly into that place. If the Belgae really wanted, they could end this campaign in one fell swoop. It’d probably only take a couple of dozen men if they planned it right!”
Ingenuus laughed and held up his hand in salute, the remaining three fingers on his right hand spread wide.
“I’m very careful these days, Fronto!”
Fronto stood watching with his customary sour face and grumbles as the officers assembled. As usual, when he cast his eyes around his companions, he felt like the badly-dressed poor relation. Caesar arrived next to him, clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously.
“Bear in mind, everyone, that we have a fine line to walk today. I don’t want to actually insult the Remi any more after Fronto’s excellent display, but I do want to appear powerful enough that they feel as though we’d be doing a favour by letting them join us.”
He smiled benignly at them.
“Which, of course, we are.”
There was a chorus of laughs.
“Alright, Ingenuus. I think we’re all here. Lead us out.”
The young officer saluted and formed up his dismounted cavalry. The guard fell into a heavy step as they marched towards the bridge, the commanders striding along roughly in time in the centre of their protective unit.
At the bridge, the locals hurried out of the way of the iron, bronze and red linen column of men that shone and impressed in the early afternoon sun. Fishermen at the far end grabbed their lines and moved off the wide bridge and down to the adjacent river bank. Indeed, as the Roman party, some hundred strong with their guard, arrived on the far side, the road cleared ahead of them all the way up the oak-lined avenue to the centre.