Fronto found his eyes straying across behind them to a the tip of a tree, standing high above a nearby building, that he knew grew in the corner of a nice, shady tavern. What wouldn’t he give to be there right now rather than here? He frowned and nodded reflexively, trying to put forth the impression that he was paying some kind of attention to proceedings.
The Aeduan magistrate, or whatever these people called them, strolled around the square, his hands clasped together behind his back. He had been annunciating at the top of his deep, resonant voice for the last twenty minutes, though Fronto had heard barely a word. Caesar had been listening intently, but had not interrupted. Balbus had begun to snore gently a few minutes ago, until Longinus had nudged him.
The whole thing was something of a charade anyway, put together to enhance Liscus’ standing among his people. Caesar had discussed the matter with the Aeduan leader the previous night and planned every detail. Dumnorix would be stripped of any titles and rights he held among the tribe, fined to within the borderline of poverty, and his personal cavalry would be disbanded. Dumnorix would be left no better off than the lowliest fishmonger in the tribe, and would be under a restricted movement policy. He would be unable to leave the confines of the town, and must report to the magistrates at dawn and dusk. He would be effectively disempowered and imprisoned. In addition, Liscus would have him under surveillance, noting any contact he had with others and reporting appropriately to the Roman command.
In order to build Liscus’ reputation among the tribe the Roman officers, when asked, should demand execution as a penalty. Liscus would then make a very nice and persuasive speech in defence of Dumnorix and the Romans would relent, accepting whatever punishment Liscus and his companions cared to lay upon the accused. A charade. A scene from a playwright to be performed in front of the Aedui.
Fronto’s mind wandered, as it was prone to do on occasions like this. When was the last time he’d been to see a play? Oh, he’d seen the gladiatorial shows a number of times in Rome, Puteoli and Pompeii over the last few years. He’d seen the quadriga racing at Rome. He’d even once been persuaded to go to a music recital by some of the Greek slaves in Rome; an outing he would rather not repeat.
No, the last time he’d seen a play would probably be in Spain. In fact, he could remember where it was precisely. Tarraco was the place, in the wooden theatre down near the river. He and the other officers had been drunk by the time they arrived, having spent a good few hours around the taverns of the city before they had made their way to the theatre. He had the sneaking suspicion that Longinus had been there. He’d been expecting a good old-fashioned play from the pen of one of the famous Roman playwrights, and had been pleasantly surprised to discover that Tarraco had its own flourishing artists. The play he’d seen had been little more than a sarcastic and slapstick attack on the morals of the upper class in Rome. A number of the higher ranking citizens and some of the officers attending had left in an outrage. Fronto however had laughed until his eyes watered and his sides hurt. He’d noticed when he left that he was the only soldier of any standing left in the theatre. Everyone else was a low-ranker.
Suddenly, his attention was pulled back to the present. Sabinus was nudging him as unobtrusively as possible. Glancing left and right quickly, he realised that Caesar was glaring at him. There was silence from the centre of the square. Fronto’s mind raced. He suddenly felt like an eight year old boy again, caught gazing out of the window toward Vesuvius when his tutor was trying to teach him Thucydides. Sabinus gave him a sharp, painful nudge and whispered under his breath “say something!”
Clearing his throat, he realised that the Aedui were all staring at him. He took a deep breath and prayed to Minerva that he knew what was going on.
“Death.”
Trying to look calm and unconcerned, he glanced surreptitiously at Balbus for confirmation, but was relieved a moment later to hear Sabinus call out “Death!”
He smiled and whispered under his breath. ‘Thank you, Minerva. I’ll pour you a libation next time I see an altar.’
Shuffling in his seat, he realised that Caesar was still glaring at him. Oh well. It was Caesar who wanted him here. He turned and smiled warmly at the General, who turned a nice shade of purple.
He shouldn’t be required to say anything else for the duration of the trial, but he’d best stay relatively alert this time.
He focused on Liscus, who was making an eloquent speech, his hands raised imploringly toward the Romans, his face contorted with concern for his countryman. The man, like all politicians, was a consummate actor.
Fronto turned once more to stare at the prisoner. For all that he could see the sense and the reasoning behind leniency, he wished he could offer a more permanent solution. Leaving an enemy, or even a potential enemy, of Rome free went against the grain. Once more the words of Domiticus the Gaul, standing naked and bound in the temporary stockade, came flooding back into Fronto’s memory. ‘There are others. Many others, and not all of them Gaulish.’ And so this man must be used to identify any more of these conspirators.
He sat in silence, working through lists of potential enemies. The Helvetii should still be considered enemies until they were found and dealt with. The Aedui were generally allies of Rome but, as Domiticus had proved, not all of them were content with the tribe’s alliance and some may be eager for Celtic power. Then there were the innumerable Gaulish units serving as auxiliary troops in Caesar’s army. Some of them were Aedui, but others had been drawn from any number of smaller tribes on or near the border with the Empire. Then there was always the possibility of disaffected Romans; officers who disagreed with the campaign and, most importantly, those who resented Caesar or were allied with his political opponents. Theoretically such men would have been weeded out by now but, with an army this size on continually mobile campaign, such control was tough.
He became aware that Liscus had finished speaking. Rebuking himself for having drifted off again despite his best intentions, Fronto glanced around the assembly. This time no one was staring at him. He relaxed a little as Caesar stood.
“Friend Liscus, I would request a short recess in order to confer with my officers.”
Liscus turned and bowed. “By all means, general. Shall we reconvene in, say thirty minutes?”
Caesar nodded confirmation and the Roman contingent rose from their seats, knees creaking from the extended period of rest. Fronto shuffled out of the square with the rest. As they entered the main street Caesar stretched, raising his arms above his head.
“Gentlemen. Since there is in fact very little to discuss, I would suggest we retire to the officers’ mess tent for twenty minutes.”
Balbus cleared his throat.
“General, I think we would be better served staying close to the square. There is a rather pleasant tavern that we found just a little further along the street. Perhaps we should stop there instead?” Turning his head, he winked at Fronto.
Caesar smiled.
“Very well Quintus, we’ll try your tavern.”
The tavern keeper nodded in friendly recognition to Fronto and Balbus as they approached, then breathed in sharply and performed a deep bow as Caesar rounded the corner, surrounded by staff officers. Fronto smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
“Can I suggest your very best wine, innkeeper.”
The Gaul nodded nervously, swallowed and scurried off inside.
By the time the group of Romans had seated themselves around the two rear-most tables under the cover of the trees, the Gaul had returned carrying a tray of fine goblets. He was followed by two servants heaving a large amphora of wine. Once at the table, they began to decant the wine into several smaller jugs, which Balbus and Fronto used to fill the goblets. Caesar craned his head and looked around the yard.