“I don’t know about that, but the general and I have known each other a long time, and he seems to trust me. I think I’m just too set in my ways to be unpredictable and dangerous. Mark my words, Quintus, that man is dangerous. Brilliant and charismatic, but dangerous. There’s one legion here, with two on the way, which is fine, but there are three more legions gathering at Vienna and more auxiliaries being raised. That kind of force is not used to swat flies. He’s building an invasion army, and that should be plainly obvious to anyone with a strategic background. He’ll either lead us to glorious victory, or to an unprecedented bloodbath. Likely a little of both.”
Fronto suddenly remembered that Tetricus was with them. Turning, he narrowed his eyes.
“Needless to say, this is all in strict confidence, Gaius.”
Balbus shrugged. “What will be, will be, Marcus.” He paused for a moment at the crossroads by the granaries and collared an optio, who came immediately to attention.
“Optio, find Helvius and bring him to me at my quarters.”
He turned to the other two. “Care for a drink while we wait for my chief engineer?”
“Why not,” Fronto grinned.
Tetricus shook his head.
“Thank you for the offer sir, but I really must run a survey of our resources if we’re going to plan any works. Perhaps you could have someone find me at the stores when you’ve spoken to your senior engineer?”
Balbus nodded and the young tribune jogged off toward the storehouses.
As the two legates entered the commander’s house, Fronto admired the building. The summer training base of the Eighth had been in use now for well over a decade, and had become a second home for the legion. Certainly, it seemed to have become a second home for the commander. Essentially a small villa, Balbus’ quarters were an oasis of peace in the middle of a muddy military base.
“Must be nice to be based somewhere often enough to make something of it. We use a different training site every time we leave Aquileia, so they’re always the same old muddy shit-holes. You’ve got walls around you and a ceiling above. We seem to spend around eight months sweating under leather tents and then four months in winter quarters. Nice place you have.”
Balbus smiled again. “A nice little ‘home away from Rome’, you might say. Corvinia lives in Massilia, but she comes here with me during the summer. I think she does her best to pretend she doesn’t live in a fort, though I don’t believe she’s ever considered living in Rome either. She’s a country girl from Campania, and I think she likes the open spaces too much.” He ducked to avoid a plant trailing from a basket on the wall. “You’ve never married, have you Marcus?”
“I never had the time. Perhaps if I’d followed the cursus honorum, I might have done. I don’t think I’m much of a catch these days, frankly.”
They reached the dining room, and Fronto was surprised to see a good repast already set out on the table, with wine at the ready. Balbus registered the look on Fronto’s face and smiled.
“My wife thought the general might grace us with a visit, so she’s permanently prepared. I daresay she won’t mind if we dig in.” The legate pulled a dish of sweet meats towards them across the table.
“Anyway Marcus, I think you’re putting yourself down. I never tried to climb the political ladder myself, and yet I caught a wife and ended up with three children. A good solid military man is worth ten young lunatics who command a legion as merely a step to bleeding Rome dry in a political role. Take that Longinus of the Ninth. In a year or two, he’ll be in Rome, probably making policy decisions that affect the rest of us, and the man couldn’t command a cohort, let alone a legion.”
Fronto stopped, mid-mouthful.
“I didn’t realise you knew Longinus? But I suppose you must do to have formed such an accurate opinion of him. He’s never been very happy with having had to replace me in the Ninth. I think it took the best part of a year for his officers to stop laughing at him. As an infantry commander he’s a bit of a donkey; doesn’t know one end of a pilum from the other. Pretty good with cavalry though, Caesar’s right about that. Do you know Crassus too?”
Balbus frowned. “Legate of the Seventh eh? I’ve heard of him, of course. The son of one of Caesar’s most rich and influential friends, given a command through pure nepotism. I don’t like that much, but it’s the way of things.”
“He’s the one my sister likes to compare me with, because he actually cares about climbing the political ladder. He’s using his command to catapult himself into politics. Although he’s a competent enough officer, I suppose, I doubt he’ll ever make a great commander. Too indecisive.”
“Ah, a ditherer.” Balbus took a drink of wine and then looked up as a slave coughed politely on the threshold.
“Yes?”
“Centurion Helvius here to see you sir” the slave said, in good Latin, with a hint of a Greek accent.
“Show him in.”
Helvius was an impossibly tall and thin man, with a receding hairline and a nose that had been broken badly at some time in the distant past. He ducked as he crossed into the dining room and remained low for a moment in a bow. Standing, his eyes fell on Fronto. Balbus waved an arm expansively toward Fronto, a chicken leg in his grip.
“Helvius, this is Marcus Fronto, legate of the Tenth.”
“I suspected as much, sir.” The centurion turned and bowed to Fronto. “I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, legate.”
“Pleased to meet you too, Helvius.” He glanced at Balbus, who waved him on, taking another mouthful of bread.
“I don’t want to disrupt things too much for you, Helvius, but I’m afraid I need to take the best of your engineers and sappers for a time.”
Helvius’ brow creased. “Sir?”
“Here’s what I want…”
The morning was bright and crisp; chilly, but not quite freezing. Fronto stamped his feet and blew into his hands until a little colour returned to them. Standing where he was, on the end of the earth embankment that projected out into the lake, he could see down the almost perfectly straight line of ditch and rampart into the distance. He couldn’t see the other end, of course, not now, but he knew it was extending at a backbreaking pace. He had left Helvius in charge of that end now, and had come to trust the competent engineer of the Eighth enough to leave him be. He instead had returned to the length of defences near Geneva to oversee the next stage. The construction of the palisade formed from nine foot-tall sharpened logs was beginning. Fronto had split the remaining men at this end into four groups. One was spending most of its time on the hills behind Geneva to which Tetricus had directed him, cutting down trees and shaping them into useful timber. The second had begun the palisade. The third were taking shortened stakes, sharpening them to a vicious point and sinking them into the ditch. The final group were constructing a redoubt, the first of several, in the form of a small, square fort near the water’s edge. Fully supplied with ditch and mound and their own palisade, these forts would be focal points for the disposition of troops that Balbus had ordered. Indeed, the locations of the forts had been chosen by the Eighth’s legate in line with his plan.
Tetricus stood not far away, holding a map that threatened to escape, fluttering in the wind. He was explaining to en engineer from the Eighth Legion where the forts were to be constructed and to what size and composition. Fronto put his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.
“Gaius! Don’t forget the gate. I think it needs to be about a mile from the lake.”
Tetricus waved back, acknowledging him, exchanged a few more brief words with the engineer and then began to trudge up toward the embankment.