“Hey” called the other man from beside the body. “Don’t damage him. We’ve already lost one!”
“Screw ‘em. Brainless pricks!”
“Your problem, Carus, is that you don’t think ahead.”
The two men dissolved into a friendly argument as the body was cut free and hauled away from the line. Paetus smiled to himself. The man behind him clearly either hadn’t seen, or didn’t care, or he’d have spoken up.
He straightened, ready to proceed. Now he was unknown. A miscellaneous Belgic prisoner as far as anyone was aware. All he had to do was keep quiet and unnoticed and he would be taken in bondage all the way to Rome. Of course, when he got there, his life was effectively over, but he’d bought himself weeks of thinking time; likely a month or more. And most importantly, he’d be away from Belgica and Caesar’s army.
He would survive. He had to.
* * * * *
Labienus stood at the gates of the camp. As Caesar had requested, he’d made the fortress as impressive as possible and was pleased with the results. Fronto was right about his engineers; this Pomponius lad that was the chief engineer of the Tenth was really rather good at his job. Even Cornelius, the temporary camp prefect replacing Paetus, who had years of experience in fort construction from the Spanish campaigns, had nodded in satisfaction at the work, clearly impressed.
In the half day since they had arrived at Nemetocenna, the vexillation of legionaries had been hard at work and had just now, as the sun set, put up the last of the tents, posted the night guards and set the watchwords. They had watched the large, low oppidum that was the home of the Atrebates since they arrived but had not entered yet. Labienus would give them tonight to think about the huge presence beyond their walls and to be impressed. It was vital to his plans that the chieftains were impressed not only with the power of the Roman military, as Caesar had intended, but also with their efficiency, patience and, later, when time allowed, their leniency and pragmatism.
He was determined, since the chances were low that Caesar would attend, to put this in the best possible light and to suggest to the Belgic leaders that the greatest future for them all was to be part of the great Roman confederacy.
And now, as his eyes left the oppidum with its twinkling lights and low air of suspicion, he glanced briefly at the impressive triple ditch to either side of the causeway, turned and strode through the gate. The legionaries on duty saluted and, as soon as he had entered, closed the portal and dropped the bar.
With a nod to the men, he strode up the via praetoria to his headquarters at the centre. As he passed the lines of tents, he mused on the tasks ahead of them. While the leaders of the Belgae gradually arrived for this council, he would create a permanent fortress here, setting the men to work in the morning constructing wooden buildings throughout.
He smiled. But where Caesar had told him to impress the Roman law on them and had meant him to frighten them into submission with his military power, Labienus had other ideas. The Belgae had to come to see Rome as a protective brother, advising and supporting them in their transition to a Romanised culture, rather than an oppressive victor. It would be tough, particularly given the reputation Rome seemed to have built in the north, but it needed to be done.
He smiled as the plans fell into place in his mind, and that smile broadened as he spotted Pomponius poring over some chart or other on a trestle by the lamplight from the windows of the headquarters, the only timber construction so far within the camp.
“Good evening centurion. May I borrow you for a few minutes?”
Pomponius looked up from his work, blinking and, recognising the army’s commanding officer, saluted urgently.
“No need for that right now, lad. I need your somewhat massive brain, rather that your obedience.”
Pomponius grinned.
“With pleasure, sir. I’ve had just about all I can take of drainage diagrams for one evening.”
“Drainage diagrams?” Labienus raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t even aware there was such a thing.”
Pomponius laughed lightly.
“How else would we know where to put the pipes and what diameter of pipe to requisition from the smiths?”
“Pi…” Labienus shook his head. Time to give that up. Every question with this young man led to more and more unfathomable information.
“Walk with me.”
He turned and strode down the via principalis toward the west gate, the engineer falling in alongside him.
“You’ve seen enough now of Belgic and Gallic oppida to have formed an opinion of their own construction techniques?”
“Yes, sir.” The young man nodded.
“And?”
“Good grief, sir. How long have you got?”
“Just in brief, Pomponius.”
“Well, sir… they’re quite advanced for a so-called barbarian culture. They know about structural supports, drainage, load-bearing, and all sorts. Nowhere near our levels, but they have some intriguing ideas and certainly a grip on the basics.”
Labienus nodded. They were approaching the gate now.
“If they were willing to do so, do you think it would be possible for you and some of the more engineering-oriented men to teach these barbarians more than the rudimentary basics; how to produce an aqueduct, for example?”
Pomponius laughed.
“If they’re willing to learn, I see no reason why not, sir? May I ask why?”
Labienus smiled.
“Because it’s time we stopped concentrating on destruction and began with construction. I have spoken to Mettius and Procillus, and Caesar has given them instructions as to certain specific demands and concessions he expects from this council, but our remit is surprisingly flexible. Caesar was intending to be here, but will very likely not be, and so it’ll come down to us to decide how we deal with the Belgae. And I intend to start something here.”
“Sir?”
“A model community. I want to help the Belgae turn Nemetocenna into something resembling a Roman town; Belgic enough that it still feels like their own, but civilised enough to show them what peace with Rome has to offer. And the best way to do that is for Roman engineers to help, but for the Belgae to do much of the work themselves.”
Pomponius nodded.
“A civil engineering project, sir. I look forward to it.”
“Good,” Labienus nodded. “Then we…”
He halted in mid conversation as there was a call to alarm from the nearby gate. With Pomponius on his heels, Labienus ran down the last few yards to the gate where the duty centurion came to attention and saluted.
“What’s up?”
“Three riders sir. Romans, sir.”
Labienus raised his eyebrows again.
“Word from Caesar. I wonder what? Open the gates.”
The huge, wooden doors swung inwards, allowing the commander to see the three riders in the light cast by the torches around them. They were clearly regular Roman soldiers, and equally obviously exhausted. Their mounts steamed as they entered the fort.
Behind them, the gates were closed, and the riders dropped lightly and gratefully from their horses. One of them, wearing a harness that revealed him to be a centurion, strode forward, leaving the reins of his horse with his companions.
“Sir!”
He saluted smartly, his face running with sweat in the torchlight.
“Centurion? You come unexpected.”
The man smiled.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but you have no idea. We’re actually trying to find the general. Is he here? We’ve visited Noviodunum and Samarobriva. Wherever we go, Caesar has been and left.”
Labienus frowned.
“Caesar is carrying out what is hopefully the last stage of the war, out to the east. He will be returning here when that is complete. I presumed you came from him. Who are you then, centurion?”