Fronto shook his head.
“I’m intending no insult Caesar, but I’m a plain speaking man, and if I can foresee a problem, I have to question it. Considius served well under Sulla and Crassus, but that was twenty years ago. He’s seen no active duty since then, and he’s had precious little involvement so far with any of this Gaulish campaign. He’s going to be very rusty and out of touch with tactics. I would very much have advised against that choice sir.”
Caesar put his hands to his forehead in deep thought.
“You can be a trifle inelegant at times, Marcus, but you do talk some sense. However, what’s done is done, and we’ll have to hope he doesn’t get himself into any trouble. At least he should have Labienus ahead to look after him, and Longinus supporting him from the rear.”
Fronto nodded unhappily.
“Is there anything else, sir, or should I find my horse and get ready to ride.”
“You do that Fronto. Be here in twenty minutes. And warn your officers: we march through the night”
* * * * *
Fronto reached out with his good arm, steering the horse with his thighs, and tapped Sabinus on the arm.
“Yes?”
“I presume that’s where we’re headed?”
He pointed into the distance where about a mile and a half away a large peak stood high above the surrounding hills, glowing in the dawn light.
Sabinus nodded and grunted an affirmative.
“Labienus is up there somewhere. Let’s hope he’s managed to avoid any major confrontation with the Helvetii. Otherwise we could be in a world of trouble. What’s that?”
A column of dust rose up from the hillside a little ahead.
“Horsemen,” replied Fronto, shading his eyes from the glare on the white peak ahead. “Looks like irregular cavalry.”
Caesar pulled the vanguard to a halt. The legions ceased their steady tramping as they came to a stop in perfect unison. The staff officers pulled forward into a horseshoe, waiting for the half-dozen riders.
A number of cavalry officers reined their horses in, raising a cloud of dust, with Publius Considius between them. Beyond them, in the distance, Fronto could see the rest of the cavalry heading for the column, Longinus among them.
Considius bowed to Caesar as deeply as his saddle would allow. Caesar brushed the formalities aside with a wave of his hand. Out of breath and sweating, Considius made his report.
“Caesar, I’ve recalled the cavalry and made my way back here. I beg to report that the high ground is in the hands of the Gauls. I can see no sign of Labienus and his legions.”
Fronto’s eyes opened wide.
“How in the name of all the gods did he fail to take the peak?”
Caesar nodded.
“How indeed.”
Considius, breathing deeply, gestured in the direction of the mountain.
“I don’t know sir. All I know is that there are Gaulish standards flying above the peak, and no sign of a Roman force.”
Caesar pondered a moment.
“Longinus. Get your cavalry back here. Have them patrol at a distance of half a mile from the column. Considius, unless you’ve anything else to report, go and change your horse; you’ve ridden that one into the ground and it needs to rest. Gentlemen?”
The staff who had to a man been watching the distant hill, turned to look expectantly at Caesar as Considius and the scouts rode away, meeting up with Longinus on the slope.
“I need ideas and plans now. I hate to think that Labienus might have lost me ten thousand men, but we need to plan accounting for only the four remaining legions. Suggestions?”
Fronto, still astounded by the turn of events, worked through their goals and their resources in his head, and then turned to Caesar to put forward his proposal.
“The highest hill around here is the one to the right and ahead. That’ll put us around a mile from the objective peak. It’s a nice defensive position, in case Labienus really has lost us a third of the army. While we maintain that ground, we can send out scouts to find out what has really happened. We can’t move on while we’re blind, sir.”
Caesar nodded.
“Very well. Pass the orders down to the column. I want a score of the best individual scouts we have sent to me. I have no intention of sending out a full scouting unit. They’re far too obvious. Each man will ride independently, giving them better range and making them less visible. I don’t want anyone blundering into anything.”
Gradually, the column moved into position on the side of the hill, creating a defensive line. The scouts requested by Caesar were sent out with specific orders to find Labienus and his two legions, or at least a trace of their remains to tell what had happened; also to locate and examine the Helvetii with a view to removing them from their position of control, and to look at all surrounding countryside for any escape routes that the army could take if things went badly.
While the scouts were out, Caesar gave orders that the four remaining legions should fortify the position on the hill with ditch and mound, the auxiliaries maintaining a defensive cordon while they worked.
Fronto found himself a quiet patch of turf high above the fortification work and relaxed, lying back. He hadn’t realised just how weary and weak he was; the day’s ride had taken a great deal out of him. He’d been travelling for more than twelve hours, and yet it was still only lunchtime. Reaching out to his pack, he retrieved some salted pork, bread, apples and a small flask of watered wine.
Some of the tension slipped away from his limbs, but an oppressive weight remained in his chest. Balbus was part of Labienus’ missing contingent. In this whole army there were maybe half a dozen people Fronto could really talk to, and only two with whom he felt he could really share anything: Priscus and Balbus. It was odd how much his friendship with the ageing legate of the Eighth had blossomed over the short time they had known each other. He had never had the time or inclination to make that kind of friend when he had been in Spain. Then again, he’d been a lot younger then and intent climbing the ladder of the Cursus Honorum. He hadn’t had time for friends. He’d treated the Ninth Legion well and led them to victory a number of times, but had never had the kind of relationship with its officers that he did with the centurions of the Tenth. It would be a shame if Balbus had vanished ignominiously in the middle of Gaul.
The crack of a twig sounded behind him and he started. Longinus took another step and then slumped to the turf beside him. Wordlessly Fronto proffered the wine flask and, gratefully, Longinus took it.
“It’s a bright, hot day. Makes you glad you outrank the poor buggers who have to do all that digging.”
Nod.
Longinus regarded Fronto with a slightly worried expression.
“Marcus, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look well. You’re still recovering from some fairly nasty wounds and will be for weeks yet; maybe months. Caesar only invited you to rejoin them at the moment because your primus pilus badgered him repeatedly until he agreed. You should by all rights still be with the medics. I know it and you know it.”
Fronto waved a hand dismissively.
“Nah. I can ride, drink and think. Nothing else required of me at the moment.”
Longinus reached around and grabbed a handful of tunic at Fronto’s shoulder.
“Don’t be so bloody stupid. None of your friends will say a word to you at the moment. They’re all too proud of you and too frightened of hurting your feelings to tell you what’s what. They just pussyfoot around you like you’re a teething babe.”
Fronto stared blankly at the cavalry commander.
“You’ve taken your nasty medicine today, haven’t you?”
Longinus released the handful of tunic.
“I’m just talking straight, same as you would to me. We have no pretence at being caring friends, and sometimes that’s useful. You need to rest; to stay completely out of things for now. If you ‘ride, drink and think’ as you put it, you’ll slow you recovery down interminably. If you don’t have yourself relieved and go back to the doctors, I may be temped to break your other arm just to save you from yourself.”