A frown.
“Paetus…” Fronto said, tapping his finger on the table.
“Paetus can send a message to Pompeia, imploring her to speak to Clodius and intervene with the matter of his debt.”
Caesar shrugged.
“It’s very likely Pompeia has no connection at all with Clodius now. If she does, she’ll certainly have no leverage.”
Fronto slapped his hand flat on the table.
“But you’ll know. You’ll know whether any of this involves Pompeia.”
Another unpleasant feral smile crossed the general’s face.
“I think we can go one step better than that.”
Fronto raised a suspicious eyebrow.
“We can have Paetus send that message, but imploring her to speak to Clodius’ patron and intervene instead! We can discover in one move what connections the man has.”
Fronto nodded, but his frown deepened.
“That’s true, but I have to point out, given what I’ve heard about Clodius, the amount of danger that will put Pompeia in.”
“Yes, yes,” Caesar said dismissively, waving an arm, “but think of what we could learn. Go and find Paetus. Speak to him about…”
His voice tailed off as there was a knock at the doorframe.
“Yes?”
The duty guard centurion stepped inside and saluted.
“Apologies for interrupting, Caesar, but some of our scouts have just returned at high speed.”
Fronto turned, interested.
“They report a large force of Belgae moving south through the lands of the Nervii towards us.”
Caesar smiled.
“Sounds like it’s time to move, Fronto. Time to put away all this intrigue and deal with plain old war. We’ll speak to Paetus later.”
He turned back to the centurion.
“Sound the general muster. I want officers to me and all the legions to begin decamping. And send me three riders.”
He stood and squared his shoulders.
“Time to get the Aedui advancing too.”
Fronto smiled with relief. Thank the Gods for that. His head was getting tied up in all this political crap. The more he delved, the more he remembered why he stayed away from Rome. Life was so much more simple when it came down to just putting the boot into a few barbarians.
Chapter 5
(By the Aisne river, around fifteen miles from Durocorteron)
“ Groma: the chief surveying instrument of a Roman military engineer, used for marking out straight lines and calculating angles.”
Fronto strode forward to the command party. Caesar and half a dozen of his staff officers were standing at the head of the halted column, gazing down the slope and across the river to the far bank. Here, the grassy hill dipped down to a small copse by the water. The river was perhaps thirty or forty feet across and deep by the look of it. On the other side, a little off to the side a small hillock rose with an impressive command of the valley.
Caesar smiled.
“We cannot be more than ten miles at most from the Belgae here and, given their numbers, I want a well protected position to work from.”
There were nods of assent around him.
“Clearly that’s the place for the camp” said Labienus, pointing at the hill opposite.”
Fronto cleared his throat.
“Absolutely. But you’re going to have to leave a force on this side too.”
The officers all turned to look at him.
“Why?” enquired the general, his brow knitted.
“Well if we’re going to spend more than a day or so here, then you can’t rely on rafts for crossing. You’re going to have to build a bridge. The supply line to feed an army this size is just too big and busy to rely on boats. The engineers can have a solid bridge here by nightfall. I’d suggest directly below the camp for protection. And then, because you can’t leave such a vital crossing unguarded, you’re going to have to put some sort of garrison at this end.”
He shrugged.
“Unless you’re intending to move on in the morning, of course.”
Caesar smiled.
“There are times I’m extremely grateful for your pragmatism, Fronto. Good thinking.”
He turned back to the other officers, who were all nodding their approval.
“Sabinus? Take one cohort from each legion and start constructing a camp on this side of the river.”
Turning once more to Fronto, he frowned.
“Who’s that tribune in the Tenth? You remember? The one who fortified Geneva for us?”
Fronto smiled.
“Tetricus, Caesar.”
“He’s a good engineer, yes?”
Fronto nodded.
“Probably the best in the army, general, yes.”
“Good. I shall take the rest of the legions across and start the construction of the fortress. Get Tetricus to gather whoever he needs and set him to building the bridge. There should be plenty of timber for him here in this copse.”
Fronto shook his head.
“With respect, Caesar, you want Tetricus with you constructing the camp. If we end up fighting off a few million barbarians, I’d like Tetricus’ talents behind the defences. He’s a tactical engineering genius.”
He gestured at the river.
“Pomponius is my chief engineer. He’s the man who built that impressive bridge overnight last year when we were chasing the Helvetii. He’s the one you want for this.”
Caesar waved an arm dismissively.
“Whatever you think, Fronto. Just get me my bridge.”
Fronto nodded and turned to head back to the Tenth.
Tetricus was with the other tribunes at the head of the legion, chatting to Priscus, who wore his usual disgruntled look. The officers all turned as their legate approached.
“Tetricus? I need you to go see Caesar. He’s building a camp for the entire army on that bluff across the river. I want you to make sure he does it well enough to withstand an attack by the Belgae.”
Tetricus nodded and squinted across the river.
“The location’s a good start. But we’ll want at least a triple ditch.”
Fronto patted him on the shoulder as he stood marking out lines in the air with his fingers and muttering under his breath.
“That’s the sort of thing, yes. Go on.”
Tetricus looked up as though he’d forgotten momentarily where he was.
“Mmph? Oh yes.”
He turned to the nearest group of soldiers, the legionaries of the First Cohort, standing at attention behind Priscus.
“You!” he pointed at a random legionary. “Find a groma and follow me.”
Fronto smiled. Engineers were all the same; they drifted along in a daze until you prodded them and gave them a project, and then nothing short of an earthquake would distract them. His smile widened as he turned and wandered down the line of men.
“Pomponius?” He called out as he reached the Third Cohort.
One of the centurions, a young, fresh faced man, stepped out of the column and saluted.
“Sir?”
“How’d you like a task?”
“A fun one, sir?”
Fronto let out a light laugh.
“Only an engineer would get to the end of a long march and look forward to building something!”
“With respect, sir, marching doesn’t exactly tax the brain. I like to keep mentally limber too.”
Another laugh.
“Good. Get your kit together and get down to the waterline. Caesar wants a bridge wide enough and strong enough to carry the entire supply column built below that hill. You can draw what men you need from any of the legions.”
Pomponius shrugged.
“Got everyone we need in the Tenth, sir. Happier if we keep this party in our own house, eh?”
Fronto shook his head in amusement.
“You engineers are weird, you know that?”
Leaving the centurion, he strode back to the head of the column to find Priscus tapping his foot impatiently.