Labienus and Crassus led the group of staff officers and senior centurions to the seats around the tent. Priscus made a point as he entered of treading fairly heavily on Fronto’s toes.
At the end of the queue came the menagerie. Crispus tottered in with a slightly glazed and happy smile. He was bare-headed and the sword on his belt had been replaced with a small wine amphora. Behind him Varus and Sabinus moved in concert trying as best they could to prop each other up. At the rear came Balbus, looking slightly the worse for wear and rubbing his sore head. Crispus bowed deeply and halted for a moment, letting the world steady itself before he attempted to stand upright once more.
“Felicitations, fellow off’cers.”
Caesar sighed.
“It’s a fine example of Roman civilised behaviour that my senior officers make to the local populace! I hope none of you have done anything to offend the Sequani?”
For a moment, Fronto and Crispus looked at each other blankly and shrugged. Balbus, the only one who had not now taken a seat, turned to the General.
“It’s fine, sir. I’ve been keeping an eye on them. I think we’ve made rather a hit in Vesontio. Three innkeepers will be spending a very financially comfortable winter this year.”
Caesar nodded.
“Very good, Balbus. Do take a seat.”
With a piercing glance around the room to make sure that the more inebriated officers were awake and attentive, the General addressed his senior officers.
“Very well, now that we’re all here, I am ready to call the season at an end. However, in order to protect our interests with our old allies and our new, I intend to winter the legions here at Vesontio, pending possible further activity during the next year.”
Fronto looked over at Crispus and nodded knowingly and with great exaggeration. Caesar gave the legate a sharp look and then continued.
“I have appointed Titus Labienus as commander of the army during the winter season while I and most of the officers return to Rome and our homes. Crassus has agreed to stay for at least some of the off-season as his lieutenant. I will be thankful for any volunteers to remain with the legions, and you can report to me at the end of this briefing.”
He gestured at Varus.
“As several of you are probably aware by now, Quintus Atius Varus has been assigned as commander of the cavalry for the next season. Crassus will continue in his role as commander of the Seventh Legion, but will also take on a more staff and strategy-oriented role.”
Crassus nodded as the General went on.
“Furthermore, is Aulus Ingenuus here? Prefect of the Eighth? I’m sure I asked you to bring him, Balbus.”
Balbus pointed over to one side where Ingenuus sat, holding his maimed hand high. Caesar smiled.
“Ingenuus. I have given great consideration to your future with the cavalry and I feel that the position of cavalry prefect may no longer be suitable for you.”
Ingenuus’ face fell and his arm wavered as he lowered it.
“Sir?”
The General smiled benignly.
“No need to panic, young prefect. This is not your medical dismissal, man, this is your promotion, on the assumption you accept.”
The prefect continued to look nonplussed.
“Sir?”
“I would like you to take command of my Praetorian Cohort. They are a mixture of Romans and some Gauls of differing tribes, all of whom have a reasonable command of Latin and a deal of experience and training in the ways of cavalry. I’d like you to take them in hand and train them in the ways of Roman tactics. You’ll have to return with me to Italy over the winter, of course, and you can carry out your training on the fields of Latium. Do you accept?”
Ingenuus’ mouth continued to open and close. He had gone quite pale.
Labienus, sitting slightly in front of the prefect, reached round and grasped his shoulder. The young man came out of a seeming daze instantly and blinked. Labienus chuckled and turned back to Caesar.
“I think he accepts, General.”
A snore and then a cough drew everyone’s attention as Fronto blinked and hauled himself back upright.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
Caesar sighed and turned the other way.
“Still with the Eighth… Titus Balventius!”
The scarred and battered primus pilus of the Eighth shuffled in his chair. He sat stiffly and painfully, trying not to let his back touch the leather of the tent. He had spent over an hour in close consort with a medicus this afternoon following yet another reopening of his wound during the ceremony.
“General?”
Caesar smiled and held out a small tablet.
“Your honesta missio. You’re due it, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
Balventius stared at the tablet. He’d seen many in his time. Money. Land. Probably, given his status and years of service, a reasonable plot. Perhaps even an estate. He mused for a moment. Titus Balventius: Farmer. Trying not to laugh, he held his hand out, palm facing the tablet.
“Sorry sir. I’m reenlisting for another term in the Eighth. Always meant to, just haven’t had time to do the paperwork.”
Caesar glanced quickly at Balbus.
“I’m afraid that that will not be an option. I have discussed the matter with Balbus and he feels, as do I, that you have served your time on the field and should be offered the position of camp prefect. I have reassigned Cita and the position is now open”
Balventius grunted.
“Problem is: I don’t want to be the camp prefect.”
Caesar sighed.
“I’m afraid it comes down to a choice, centurion. Camp prefect, or retirement. I can assure you that the terms of your honesta missio are very favourable.”
Balventius looked from the General to his commander and back again.
“Frankly, sir, I’m younger than the legate, for all my scars. I’m also, though he might disagree, fitter than him. My wounds are not severe enough to prevent me doing my job well, and this one will heal well before next spring.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Without wanting to get your back up, sir, but I’d suspect I’m both younger and fitter than you as well. Both Balbus and yourself will be back next year and yet you ask me not to? No, sir. I don’t accept there are only two options.”
Caesar frowned.
“Then what do you expect to do?”
Balventius grinned and shrugged, wincing only slightly at the new stitches.
“If you take this position away from me, I’ll take my honesta missio, give it to my brother and then head off for the nearest centre of recruitment and sign up with someone else!”
Caesar’s eyes widened and he stared at the man. To one side, Balbus burst out laughing.
“He’ll do it too, Caesar. Fine, I withdraw my request.”
The beginnings of a smile began to creep across Caesar’s face.
“Very well, Titus Balventius. You may return to the Eighth as their primus pilus and I’ll have the papers seen to. They’ll be only one-year papers though, and this tablet is yours for the keeping. I would suggest that you go to your new estate over the winter and put it in order. Let your wound heal properly and then come to Vesontio when called next spring.”
The veteran centurion frowned and then nodded, accepting the tablet the General had continued to proffer. He sat, sighing with contentment.
Fronto leaned to Balbus and whispered loud enough to be heard across the camp.
“I’ll bet he stays here anyway. S’a bet?”
Balbus nodded and shoved Fronto into a more upright position. Caesar drew a deep breath and then turned to other matters.
“As of tomorrow, the legions are being stood down for the winter, unless or until Labienus and Crassus require them. Anyone who intends to spend the winter in Rome, I will be leaving after lunch tomorrow and I would suggest we travel together with our appropriate entourages.”
A number of the officers nodded, smiling.