Fronto stared. “You did what? That’s a thoroughbred mare that I’ve had with me for years. And it’s an officer’s steed, not a bloody carthorse.”
Priscus grinned an evil grin and looked around to make sure that there was no one within earshot.
“Sir, in the last year, you’ve ridden that horse a grand total of three times, and two of those were when you had that hip wound last September. How the hell am I expected to know when you’re going to want it next? You’re quite lucky really. The cook wanted to serve it up at the last do we had.”
Fronto stood for a moment, his jaw opening and closing, but no words coming out. It was true. He hated riding. He was good at it, but it made him feel like an idiot trotting along gently on a horse, when five thousand others were walking. Truth be told, Fronto hadn’t actually laid eyes on the mare in weeks, and if Priscus hadn’t been keeping it fed and groomed, no one would have done.
“Gnaeus?”
“Yes sir?”
“I’ve missed you.”
Balbus rode proudly at the head of the Eighth. Throughout the journey, he had periodically ridden forward to join Fronto at the head of the Tenth, and once back to join Longinus and the Ninth. Caesar and his staff officers had ridden at the head of the column and Fronto was often called to join them. Balbus had laughed as his fellow legate had trotted off forward, muttering and grumbling under his breath. Fronto had even, apparently, tried to persuade Caesar that Balbus would make a better staff officer and strategist, though the general had remained adamant.
The legate of the Eighth was happier than he had been for a long time. Oh there were downsides of course, but they were outweighed by the positives. There had been the parting with his wife; tears and pride mixed, as she had set off in the carriage toward Massilia and the Mediterranean coast, to their villa close by the Eighth’s permanent installation. His two girls, the light of his life, had dealt with the news in their own way. The eldest had cried and refused to talk to her father until the carriage was ready to leave, but had rushed into his arms at the last minute. His youngest had saluted him and told him she was proud of him before kissing him and climbing into the carriage. She would be telling all her friends that her father was conquering the barbarians by now.
The only other irritation of joining Caesar’s army was the constant reminder of his advancing years. His joints ached with the morning dew, and his backside felt lashed raw every night after riding for a day. He was beginning to understand Fronto’s views on riding, though he had to admit it was better to be on horseback, with his head above the dust cloud created by the stamping feet of thousands of men.
Still, life was good. Here he was riding to glory with the Eighth at his back. The officers and men of the legion had been equally pleased to be moving out on campaign. Of course, a lot of that had to do with the potential for spoils of war and other personal gain at the whim of Caesar, though there was a genuine spirit of camaraderie and many of the traditional military marching songs had rung out in the dusty air on the journey.
The Eighth had been in a rut for a long time now. Their situation at Massilia and Geneva with no aggressive or dangerous enemies to face had made them a little soft. The legate had done what he could with them, instituting daily training, exercises in the mountains and valleys, mock gladiatorial combats and many other regular activities. And yet the legion had felt as though it were atrophying, wasting away through lack of use. The recent flurry of activity and the spirit of the men had confirmed Balbus’ suspicion that the sense of neglect was not through choice, but rather through lack of choice.
The battle at the lakeshore had done a lot to improve the spirit of the Eighth, and Fronto and Caesar had both commented on the strength and spirit of the unit, complimenting Balbus on keeping a legion in such good fighting order despite the many years of peaceful policing they had endured.
The morning after the battle, the Eighth had been in a fine mood. They had not returned to their camp at Geneva, but had gathered around the redoubt nearest the lakeshore gate. With their legate’s permission, a huge feast had subsequently taken place, nearly five thousand men eating in the open air and on the beach by the lake.
Balbus had never fought alongside any of these other officers, and yet he felt as though he had known both Caesar and Fronto all his life. Fronto was a man cast in much the same mould as himself, and the general was much like any of the great figures of Rome’s military history. He was gracious while being hard; supported his officers and troops as any man could, while nailing to the post anyone who crossed him or endangered the army. And yet, Balbus couldn’t shake the feeling that the general would sacrifice each and every one of them if it were required for his personal advancement. As long as the army was his willing and useful tool, they would be well positioned. He just wondered what would happen to the legions when Caesar no longer needed them.
Last night at their rest stop, Balbus had invited Fronto and Longinus to join him for a drink and a meal in his own tent. He had briefly considered inviting Crassus, but had decided against it, keeping the group to a veteran level. The night had started a little stiffly, with the other two legates polite and distant, but wine had brought them closer together and, by the end of the evening, the three of them had laughed so loud that the animals in their pens had woken and begun to bellow.
Longinus was an enigma. Balbus had heard of the Ninth’s legate a number of times before they had met, and the opinion the entire military seemed to share of him was uniformly unflattering. Furthermore, the man obviously had a history with Fronto. Still, he had distinguished himself on the field of combat and everyone had recognised it. The man was obviously a born cavalry commander, and would be forever wasted as a legionary legate. And yet he was unlikely to relinquish his control of the legion in favour of a less prestigious and less well-paid position as a cavalry prefect. Longinus had, in fact, confided with them on the matter of his strengths. He had always been a good cavalry man, and had been woefully unprepared for command of a legion, especially a legion who had just lost one of the great legionary commanders of the modern Roman military. There had been no way he was ever going to impress them with his abilities as a legate after Fronto, and so he had not really tried.
After the battle at the wall, Longinus had made a command decision and called his primus pilus to a private meeting. The legate would continue to make general command decisions for the legion and would take permanent command of a unit of cavalry formed from the Ninth and the auxiliary horsemen. Day to day control he would leave in the hands of Grattius, including full command during combat while the legate was with the cavalry. The primus pilus would then relinquish control whenever the legate returned to the legion. Grattius had agreed and would make all decisions in the name of Longinus. The legion had a newfound respect for their legate, and he would not allow that to fall away.
In fact, Balbus had come to find that he quite liked the man. He seemed to be different now somehow. Perhaps he had achieved a hitherto unknown degree of self-respect. Whatever the cause, he had lost a lot of the bluster that he had exhibited on his arrival at Geneva, replacing it with a much more level attitude. In return, Balbus had begun to treat Longinus like the equal he should be, and even Fronto had joked a little with the man. The long-standing antagonism between them seemed not to have disappeared, more to have changed into something else. Last night had made that clear. The two legates had hurled many of the same comments and insults at each other that they had before, though often through a smile. The insults had become more and more lewd and outlandish as the night wore on until Fronto’s comment comparing Longinus’ face with Crassus’ rear end had caused them both to collapse into hysterics.