* * * * *
Lucius Aufridius Aprilis swallowed nervously. He held the military rank of tribune, though it had been a good four years since he had last donned the armour and these past few days of squeezing his well-fed bulk back into it had been extremely uncomfortable. He’d enjoyed life in the province, commanding the extremely dispersed garrison — which was a task that almost ran itself — while living the good life in the well-appointed city of Narbo and keeping an eye on a number of private investments in shipping and mercantile endeavours and other, less legal sources of extra revenue.
But three days ago, his world had turned upside down as a force of legionaries some seven or eight thousand strong, supported by a sizeable cavalry unit, had arrived, a small knot of noblemen and officers carrying a banner that had made Aprilis’ blood run cold… Gaius Julius Caesar!
By the time the general had dismounted at the forum’s elegant basilica, Aprilis had managed to find his clean toga, brush his hair, dress well, perfume and drag together an honour guard of six of the better turned out men. The general had hardly looked at him as he had stammered out a welcome and announced a huge banquet that he would have prepared in the Proconsul’s honour. He had been rattling off how much of an honour it all was when another of the officers, a hard-looking man of seemingly advanced age for his position, had spoken quietly to Caesar and the general had brushed aside Aprilis’ words.
‘No time for such matters, tribune. Send out messengers to every post your garrison occupies. I want a skeleton force left everywhere. All other men are to bring their full kit as fast as they can and muster on the plain across the river. I want the vast bulk of your command in position within three days, for in four I will be taking them with me.’
And now, three days later, Aprilis was starting to sweat in panic. He had immediately passed the task onto his subordinate, Marcus Aristius, who was always so damned busy and seemed to be far too stiff and military in his manner for such a quiet and peaceful post. To Aristius’ credit, despite the near impossibility of Caesar’s demands, the young, overly-formal prefect had managed to pull in every free man within three-day’s fast ride of Narbo, with all other available troops en route. He would owe Aristius for this, since the man’s efficiency reflected well on the garrison’s commander, and Aprilis had his eyes as always on higher office.
Taking as deep a breath as he could manage trapped under the restrictive cuirass that threatened to break a few ribs with each influx of air, Aprilis presented himself at the door of his own office. The dangerous-looking cavalry officer with the missing fingers at the doorway looked him up and down, noted the absence of blades at his belt, and nodded.
As Aprilis stepped into the room, he was surprised to see a map of Gaul hanging from his wall and piles of tablets and scrolls upon his desk, two officers — the older, mean looking one with the expensive sword at his side, and a young man he had heard might be the noble Brutus — rifling through them. Caesar stood looking at the map, scratching his chin.
‘What of the Ruteni?’
The older officer shrugged. ‘Split down the middle. Half of them have been living in the province for two generations, pay their taxes and live well. The other half are beyond the border, but I suspect harbour the desire for what their kin have. At least, that’s what Aristius seemed to infer.’
Caesar nodded. ‘That route would be the easiest. Priscus certainly seems to be trying to persuade me that is the route to take, circling wide through the lowlands. But I am acutely aware of the need for speed and surprise. By the time we have moved the army halfway through western Gaul, Vercingetorix could be all-powerful. He could have crushed Labienus and the legions and be waiting for us. No. I think it has to be the mountain passes, despite the danger of snow and other problems.
Brutus looked over at the older officer and the two men nodded unspoken thoughts. ‘Fronto and I are in concord, I think, Caesar. We’d rather fall on them unexpected, too. And that’s the shortest route toward the army, too.’
The general finally registered Aprilis’ presence.
‘Ah, tribune. Thank you for your attendance.’ The general strode around the table and smiled — a look that seemed unpleasantly predatory on that serious, aquiline face. ‘I am afraid I am about to take your army away with me. But fear not, for Narbo will be in no danger as I draw the eyes of Gaul with me to the north. However, I am aware that your forces have been spread over a wide area for some time and have had little sight of action for more than a decade. They will have adapted to garrison life well, I’m sure. So I will require their commander on my staff as we march north — a man who knows them and knows how to use them and motivate them while they readjust to life in the field.’
Aprilis felt a cold rock of fear settle in his stomach. To war? Into Gaul? He was too old — too fat and lazy if he were to be truthful — for campaigning in the field. Was Caesar punishing him? Aprilis was fairly sure that among the records on the desk were his unusual financial investments. He realised with cold certainty that Caesar knew about his interests and, if he did, he probably knew about the tax-skimming, the deals with certain notorious locals, and the whole gamut of troubles. He swallowed nervously and spoke in a shaky voice.
‘I… I would be honoured to take command…’
The older officer — Fronto? — rolled his eyes. ‘He doesn’t mean you, porky.’
Relief and confusion mixed with irritation at the reference to his ample shape, but Caesar’s voice cut through. ‘I have taken note of your activity here, Aufridius Aprilis.’
Here it comes. Please don’t have me stoned!
‘A man with your fascinating financial talents is wasted in the field. Aprilis, you are hereby appointed as Questor for the province. Strip off that ridiculous armour and find yourself another office. I want this province to turn an extra ten percent profit under your new position, rising to fifteen in the next year.’
Aprilis almost collapsed with relief and joy. ‘Proconsul, I would be…’
‘But bear in mind that I also want that rather substantial quantity of missing tax to find its way back into the coffers before the month is out.’
Aprilis could do little but nod, still flooded with relief.
‘We will be taking your adjutant, Aristius, who will receive his promotion to tribune in your place. He will command the garrison.’
Had he not been so restricted by the tightness of his armour, Aprilis might have laughed with joyful relief, or jumped in the air. He could hardly wait to tell his wife.
The miserable looking one called Fronto tromped across the floor and slapped a wax tablet in his surprised palm. ‘Your last task as tribune here, Aprilis, will be to acquire everything on this list and have it on carts beyond the river by the end of the day. Tomorrow we march into Gaul.’
Aprilis nodded his understanding. It didn’t matter what was on the list. It the man wanted a pack of elephants or a golden phallus or a bag of hen’s teeth he would do it. He had been given a reprieve and a glorious opportunity all at once, and he would not fail now.
May the gods help Aristius in the company of these eagles in human form. And pity the poor bastard Gauls who got in the way of that army!
* * * * *
The forces of Lucterius had grown beyond his expectation. From the two thousand men who had left Gergovia those weeks ago, he had managed to now field a force that he reckoned to number around eight thousand. And as he trotted his horse along the line of sweating, battle-hungry, optimistic warriors from a dozen tribes combined, he felt once again the pride of striking the initial blow against Rome — bringing war into their territory for the first time in many generations.