“Gnaeus, we’ll be moving out any minute now. Pomponius is taking whatever he needs to build a bridge and Sabinus will be back in a minute to second a cohort. I’ll leave which one up to you. Oh, and Tetricus will require quite a few men to help with constructing a fort. Once they’ve separated off, take the rest of the legion with the others across the river and get into a defensive position. It’s going to be dark before all this is done and I don’t want any nasty Belgic surprises in the meantime.”
The primus pilus grunted.
“I’m sure with the dozen men I’ll have left in ten minutes we’ll be able to do a great deal!”
Fronto laughed.
“You wanted a fight and there’s one coming, so stop grumbling.”
Priscus gave him a sour glare and then started passing word down the line.
Fronto smiled and strode off back towards the command party, meeting Sabinus striding fast in his direction en route. The staff officer looked concerned.
“What’s up?”
Sabinus stopped and pointed back down the slope to the staff officers gathered around the general.
“Think we’ve got trouble, Marcus. Three scouts coming hell for leather on the other side of the river, but one of them’s wounded.”
The gentle comedy of dealing with determined engineers quickly forgotten, the seasoned campaigner in Fronto took over instantly.
“Get those cohorts sorted and fortify here. We need to get moving. Priscus knows you’re coming. When you see him, tell him to get across that river now.”
Sabinus nodded and jogged on toward the Tenth.
Heading in the other direction, Fronto picked up speed and sprinted down the slope towards Caesar and his men. Twice, on the uneven ground, he almost lost his footing as his leg threatened to buckle beneath him. Ever since that German bitch had bitten into his heel last summer, his running had been impaired.
As he slewed to a halt before the general, breathing heavily, he looked up and across the water.
The scouts had now reached the far bank. The three auxiliary riders ploughed into the water, the middle one supported in his saddle by the arms of his comrades as he wavered around and slumped periodically.
Fronto turned to Caesar.
“With respect general, whatever the news is, you need to get the army moving across and fortifying. We can’t afford to waste time.”
Caesar shook his head as it to shift a daze.
“You’re absolutely right, Fronto.”
He turned to Labienus.
“Get the army moving.”
As the staff officer marched off toward the group of tribunes gathered nearby to distribute the orders, Fronto looked down at the river. Pomponius and a few of his men were already at the waterline just downstream, taking measurements. The riders finally waded ashore on the near bank and two of them dismounted and led their horses up the slope to the officers, while the third remained in his saddle, clutching his neck, drenched in blood.
“Report!” commanded Caesar.
The two scouts saluted.
“Ave, Caesar.”
The general waved aside the niceties dismissively and with a little irritation.
“What happened?”
The smaller of the two men looked up at the general.
“The Belgae are close, sir. They seem to have split into two groups. The larger part is camped about twenty miles away, but a sizeable part of their army is besieging the Remi oppidum at Bibrax just downstream. The town won’t hold for long.”
“Damn it!” the general barked. “Bibrax is too far north, right on the Remi’s border. They haven’t been sent a garrison unit yet, have they?”
One of the officers in the crowd shook his head.
“No sir. The garrison’s still with us. They were supposed to be heading to Bibrax when we’re finished here.”
Fronto growled.
“Got to do something, Caesar. Break a promise of protection to the Remi and you risk losing the alliance.”
The general shook his head.
“The Remi can’t expect us to have supplied troops to somewhere we haven’t even reached yet. And in the grand scheme of things, it’s just one barbarian town.”
Fronto started to open his mouth and wave his hand angrily, but Caesar raised his voice and rode over the top of him.
“I can’t send anyone. We need the legions here to get these camps constructed, else we’ll be in the same state as Bibrax when the enemy get here. They’re only eight miles away, Fronto. We’ve barely got time to get sorted even with our full complement!”
Fronto growled dangerously.
“We have to help them. Spare me one cohort and I’ll go help them.”
“No.”
“One cohort” shouted Fronto jabbing a finger toward Caesar, spittle landing on the general’s cuirass. The rest of the senior officers melted away from the two of them, hardly appearing to move. Caesar’s face had gone purple. Behind him, Fronto could see Labienus making subtle, yet frantic motions to Fronto to stop.
“Alright, just two centuries” he bellowed. “For Juno’s sake, that’s less than a hundredth of your men. For just that, we might be able to save Bibrax, our alliance, and even your reputation!”
Caesar had begun to tremble slightly.
“Fronto, your mouth runs like a thoroughbred horse. One more word from you and you can take your vine staff, your reputation and any hope of Julii patronage, and run off home with it.”
The legate began to open his mouth again. He was clearly as angry as the general.
“Fronto, I put up with your breathtaking disobedience and insolence because you may very well be the best commander that Rome has to offer, but this is my army and I will not risk it. If you wish to go help the Remi and risk your own life, by all means do so, but you will not take my legions with you.”
Caesar had gone very pale now and the legate recognised the signs. The general had been pushed as far as he would go before he snapped, and Fronto had seen the results of that before in Spain. He shivered involuntarily and forced himself to calm down.
“Very well, Caesar. You cannot spare your legionaries. What about the auxiliaries? Will you allow me to take auxiliary units and try?”
The general glared at him for a long moment.
“The Gallic cavalry will be no use in a siege, Fronto.”
“We have other units, Caesar…”
There was a long, tense silence.
“Very well. Inform you primus pilus that he is in command of the Tenth in your absence and draw whatever non-legionary staff you require. I sincerely hope you succeed, though I still consider you foolish for trying.”
Fronto locked the general with his gaze for a moment and then nodded and turned to run off toward the legions. As he passed the silent and shocked gathering of staff officers, Labienus stepped out and grasped him by the arm.
“For the sake of Nemesis, Fronto, be very careful. We would miss you!”
The commander of the Tenth gave him a lopsided grin.
“Nemesis herself can’t shift me, Labienus. You know that!”
With a laugh he turned and ran on. The Eighth Legion was now in the lead, marching down to the water’s edge ready to cross. He grinned at Balbus.
“I’m going off on a little errand. Look after things here. Don’t let Caesar cock it up for the rest of us.”
Balbus raised an eyebrow.
“I know that look. Whatever you’re up to, do it carefully.”
Fronto gave a mad laugh and ran on.
* * * * *
The oppidum of Bibrax was considerably smaller than the one they had seen recently at Durocorteron. The population of this place could not be higher than a thousand or fifteen hundred folk at most. Situated on a wooded plateau rising above the Aisne River, it was in a reasonably defensive position, but could not surely muster more than seven or eight hundred warriors at most. For a moment, Fronto wondered whether Caesar had been right and considered turning with his force and heading back to camp.