Fronto had been embarrassed on his first evening here to be eating one of the very tasty cakes Balbus’ wife had made for the general when she had walked in on them. He had mumbled some excuses about deprivations around a mouthful of crumbs, and Corvinia had, surprisingly, immediately taken to the gruff legate. Apparently he reminded her of Balbus twenty years ago; a comment that had made the older legate wince. Since then, Corvinia had apparently given up any hope that Caesar might grace her household and had instead taken to looking after Fronto. He had not been allowed to return to the quarters in town, spending his nights instead in a spare room. She had fed him to within an inch of his life, and Fronto was convinced he would have to run the length of the wall twice just to wear off two days’ worth of eating. Finally, she had confided in Fronto that she didn’t like to see such a brave, handsome and intelligent man without a good wife, and had made sure that every time he needed anything, one of her two daughters was on hand. He had asked, foolishly, after the third daughter and been told that she had been married two years ago to a soldier of some importance.
Despite feeling as though he were trying to digest a signal tower, and having to avoid and frustrate the attentions of the two teenage girls and their insistent mother, Fronto was at the most relaxed he could remember being in many years.
A runner had arrived to inform the two legates that the legions were in position and that lookouts had been placed. Balventius, Velius and Tetricus had apparently taken good care of them and Fronto was surprised to realise that he had not spared a thought for the men during their travel and manning of the defences. That would change soon enough of course.
Today in fact. It was a little after dawn, and Caesar had informed all of the officers that they must be in position at the town’s north gate an hour after sunup. Balbus sat on the other side of the fireplace, one slave tying the ribbon around his cuirass, another lacing up his boots. Fronto eyed him up and down. Balbus looked every inch the hard bitten soldier. Much, he suspected, like he would look not long from now. Probably how he looked now, in fact.
Fronto had been all for taking a glass of watered wine with his morning repast, which his father had always claimed was good for the blood, though Corvinia had clucked over that decision and supplied the two legates with a glass of warm goat’s milk each.
Fronto sat in his military garb, with the red cloak folded and ready to don when he stood. He was profoundly grateful to Corvinia for having washed and dried his good red military cloak. Caesar had made it clear that full dress was required, but had grasped Fronto by the shoulder as he left and whispered into his ear “not that cloak though.”
He had made another attempt last night to unpick one of the cherubs from that cloak, and had accidentally torn a small hole by one leg. He sighed. The cloak would be with him until he died and, knowing his sister, he would be buried with it and would have to suffer it throughout eternity.
Balbus stood and dismissed the slave with a gesture.
“Alright, Marcus. Are you ready to face the barbarian?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, Quintus. It’s about time we moved anyway. A week here at the mercy of Corvinia and I’ll be a lazy, rotund man with as much energy as a sponge!”
Balbus laughed and slapped his colleague on the back.
“Come on. Let’s move before one of my harpy-like daughters corners you.”
On the way through the town, the streets were eerily quiet. Fronto had always assumed that civil townsfolk awoke at a more leisurely time than the army but had found, with the early morning noise of the last few days, that the military did not have the monopoly on early. However, today the normal tradesmen, craftsmen and hawkers were absent. No surprise really, as word of Caesar’s deadline with the Helvetii had leaked out almost immediately. Surely the townsfolk couldn’t be worried about the Helvetii. They must know that no tribe could walk through such defences, held by three legions. Indeed, the increase in the local military presence had heralded a boom time for many of the local merchants and shop-keepers. The problem was that the people of Geneva were aware of the distinct possibility that, once Caesar had his victory, he would take most of the army and head south, leaving Geneva open to revenge attacks. It was a reasonable assumption in the circumstances, and Fronto could quite understand the people not wanting to be seen to be a part of this.
At the north gate, Balbus and Fronto were the first to arrive. The two stood for a moment, enjoying the morning. The temperature had improved dramatically over the last two days, and spring appeared finally to have arrived. Perfect soldiering weather, Balbus had called it. Not cold enough to discomfort the troops, but not hot enough to exhaust them. The ground was hard, but dry, which looked good for military action.
They stood in silence for five minutes, watching the Eighth Legion moving around the near end of the defensive embankment, and admiring the beauty of the landscape beyond.
The sound of hoof beats brought them back to the task at hand. Caesar came at a trot along the main street of the town; Longinus and Sabinus, one of the staff officers, behind him among a knot of other staff. Fronto and Balbus saluted as the general arrived and then fell into step alongside the other officers.
The gathering of officers left the town with Caesar at the head on his white charger and the rest behind, a glimmer of red, burnished bronze and polished steel. The group passed down from the gate, along the shore of the lake and to the redoubt that had been constructed under Fronto’s guidance near the end of the bridge that had been dismantled.
Once at the fortification, the officers were admitted by the soldiers of the Eighth that were already in position. Balbus nodded at the centurion in charge, who replied with a bow.
Caesar made his way to the centre of the redoubt and dismounted, an optio of the Eighth rushing to help him. Climbing onto a raised stand, the general looked down at his officers.
“You are all aware that the Helvetii will likely be returning today. We have no way to tell when, and they may even be a day or two late. Thus the army will have to wait in position and we, gentlemen, will stay at this fortification for the duration. Scouts have been placed so we will have at least an hour’s warning of the enemy’s arrival.”
The general then turned to Longinus. “I want dispatch riders ready at this place to warn all the legions as soon as the Helvetii are on the move. I also want a horse brought for Fronto. Marcus, you’re going to need to be highly mobile during this action, present among all the legions and being my eyes and ears and controlling the strategy of the army.”
In a louder voice, so as to be heard by the officers and all the men of the Eighth stationed close to the lake, Caesar called “and now we wait. Look to your comrades and to your arms. Remember that you are Roman, and that Rome stands in need of you now. They are barbarians, and barbarians will never again trample the soil of our lands beneath their stinking boots. Jupiter and Mars protect the men of the Eighth and of the other great legions here today, serving Rome!”