Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (16 page)

“No, of course he didn’t! One of the outrider scouts saw your column two days ago and reported in. But to be honest, I had the tent stocked weeks ago, ‘cause I assumed you’d be here soon.”

Fronto grinned at the man, astounded that in the years he’d commanded the Tenth, he’d never noticed this man playing second fiddle to Priscus. But then, only legates who weren’t doing their job properly had time to get to know every officer in the legion who didn’t report directly to him. Still, given how smoothly this man had slid into the role of senior command, it was perhaps time he started to pay more attention to the lesser centurions.

“Well if you can cope with hanging around while I quickly towel myself dry and change, I could do with a bit of a ‘catch-up’, given what I’ve been hearing. Then I fully intend to find a bar and get merrily slammed. Two weeks of best behaviour en route with the general has me itching to get involved in a little debauchery.”

Carbo laughed.

“Your needs have been anticipated, Marcus. The cavalry commander, Varus, along with legate Brutus and the primus pilus of the Eleventh, dropped by a few hours ago and asked me to tell you where they were. I gather the senior officers have been frequenting a particular tavern in the centre where most of the rank and file go…”

He lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“I suspect that’s because it’s the only place they can go where they know legate Crassus won’t be, since he is apparently repelled by the scent of plebeians.”

Fronto laughed.

“Sounds good; in fact it sounds like
just
my kind of place. And I expect you, as my second in command, to join me. It would be only right, after all.”

“Right. In the meantime, while I get changed, tell me everything that’s happened; and I don’t just mean the official version, but all the dirty and slanderous stuff and the rumours too.”

* * * * *

Fronto leaned back in the low chair, sliding his mug onto the table, looked over his shoulder at the three legionaries sharing a bawdy joke about a Syrian woman with one leg, and smiled sweetly.

“Here’s a deal for you: You three piss off over the other end of the bar and stop anyone coming within earshot for the next half hour and the rest of your drinks are on me. Deal?”

The affirmative comments were almost lost among the kerfuffle and scraping as the three men greedily gathered their gear from the floor around them and shuffled off along the bar, grinning and nodding respectfully at the legate as they went.

“Good,” he announced once the officers were safely alone at the dingiest end of the bar. “Now we can talk properly.”

He smiled at the faces gathered around the table, some of whom he had not seen in almost half a year. Varus and Brutus had a haunted look, the stress of the winter command telling plainly on their faces. Felix seemed to have weathered the shit-storm better, though the centurionate were notoriously hardy. Now, with Galba, Crispus, Rufus, Balbus, Cicero, Carbo and Sabinus, the core of what Fronto considered the professional officers were all present in one place for the same time in a long while. His thoughts briefly flashed to thoughts of Labienus, still camped out east in Belgae lands.

“Right. I expect we’re all heard titbits since we arrived back in camp, but it’s time we got a few things clarified.”

There was a chorus of nods and grumbling agreement around the table.

“Alright. These tribes in the area. Carbo tells me that Crassus has been less than successful in keeping them calm and under control.”

“I believe I used the words ‘almighty cock up’, actually” Carbo nodded.

Varus grumbled as he leaned across the table.

“Rather than trying to mollify them or come to terms, he seems to have abandoned any hope of getting our hostages back. Instead, he’s taking whatever crops he can from them, commandeering their cattle and goods and burning down the settlements afterwards. He seems to think that eventually they’ll just give up and accept it. My scouts tell me a whole different story.”

Fronto shook his head.

“Scorched earth never works. We’re here to make this place part of Rome, not to turn it into an ash-strewn wasteland. What’s the point in conquering a place if you’ve murdered the population?”

Galba nodded sadly.

“Indeed. Every legion is sending six cohorts out in two groups of three on ‘loot and burn’ missions. They go out for a week in some direction and if they come back without enough loot Crassus has those units given the shittiest jobs in Vindunum until their next opportunity. More than half the army is out of camp at any one time, marching around the country, taking and burning. The Twelfth have been omitted from the roster, since our veterans make up less than a cohort.”

“I may have used the general’s name without permission to drum up new recruits among our Gallic allies on the way back from the Alps. When they’re fully trained, we’ll be back up to over half strength, even if most of them are greener than the forests they came from.”

“Where are they then?” Fronto interjected, leaning forward. “The camp of the Tenth is basically almost empty.”

Galba laughed and leaned back, taking a swig of imported wine.

“I sent them to Brutus’ shipyards at Turonum on the Loire. They’re alternating training with construction work, and it keeps Crassus in the dark about both our true strength and Brutus’ little project.”

“How’s that coming?”

Brutus leaned forward.

“We’re nearly done, to be honest. The fleet’s just having the final touches added. What we’re missing at the moment is the crews, but I am informed they’re on their way up from Narbo and should be here any time. We’ll be ready before Crassus has managed to recall his legions.”

Fronto laughed nastily.

“
His
legions! Things might change a little now that Caesar’s back. The general may be a politician who doesn’t give much thought for the locals, but he
does
have a better than elementary grasp of tactics and enough common sense to go only so far with them. Better than Crassus, anyway.”

The table fell silent, a reaction that often greeted Fronto when he began to espouse his opinions of the great Caesar, and particularly after a few beverages.

“Anyway,” Fronto went on, glancing at Varus, “you say your scouts have told you more?”

The cavalry commander nodded unhappily.

“The tales I hear sound more like a nation gearing up for war than a beaten people trying not to starve to death. The Veneti have retreated to their fortresses on the coast which, I am informed, are almost impregnable. When the legions get to their inland settlements to impound their animals and grain, they’re finding the people are already gone and have taken everything with them. They’re stocking up for a siege and leaving nothing for us to take. It’s starting to get to Crassus.”

“I can imagine. Are we just talking about this Veneti tribe then?”

The look on Varus face answered Fronto’s question before he opened his mouth.

“There are tribes all over Armorica doing the same. But even that’s not even the main worry. Some of my outriders caught a messenger riding east. He was taking a message to the Belgae, urging both them and the Germans to rise up and drive us out of Gaul. Crassus has turned the small issue this started as into a catastrophe. We could very well be looking at an uprising all over the north.”

“You cannot sleep comfortably, so you have to flatten out the lump, but then a lump forms somewhere else. No matter what you do, there will always be a new lump forming somewhere. And the more you play with it, trying to make it comfortable, the more lumps you have until, in the end, there is nothing else for it but to discard the pallet and begin again with a new one.”

“
That’s
a depressing picture” Galba sighed.

“So” Fronto grumbled, “we may be looking at more than just these tribes?”

Varus cleared his throat meaningfully.

“I have it on good authority that their messengers also went south to the Pyrenees and the tribes around there and into Spain, and even by boat across to Britannia. The more we hear, the more it sounds like we’re about to be crushed between armies from all over the place. Who the hell knows
what
we could be facing if the Celts in Britannia cross the water.”

Balbus leaned back, his expression bleak.

“If all this is accurate then it would appear we are already beyond hope of negotiation. We are at war; we just haven’t moved yet.”

Varus nodded and took another slug of wine.

“Well then, gentlemen” Fronto announced, slapping his mug on the table. “It’s no use us sitting here wishing things were different. We’ve got to get things moving. We should go see the general and start pushing.”

“I have had three months of trying to argue and gainsay Crassus with the man talking down to me and over the top of me. I’m exhausted Marcus. But it’s nice to have you back. Nothing stirs the army up like having you around!”

He turned back and threw the last of the wine down his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smearing deep red across his chin.

“Right. Let’s go ruin Crassus’ day.”

* * * * *

Two of Crassus’ legionaries, polished and straight, stood at the closed door of the headquarters building. As Fronto and his group of officers approached, they crossed their pila over the doorway.

“I have my orders from both the legate and the general, sir and, with respect, the general outranks all of us. If I let you past I’ll be cleaning latrines until winter comes again.”

Fronto stepped uncomfortably close to the man and grinned through bared teeth, the fumes of freshly-imbibed wine washing over the man’s face and making him gag.

“You know who I am and the sort of thing I get up to. Crassus might have you emptying latrines, but if you don’t open that door, I will snap that pilum in half, stick the sharp bit up your arse and use you to mop the latrines. Do I make myself clear?”

The man held out defiantly, if nervously, for a moment longer until his companion buckled under the legate’s glare and stepped out of the way. Suddenly alone in front of an angry officer, the legionary stepped aside and averted his gaze.

“Good choice” Fronto growled as he swung the door open and stepped inside.

The building was divided into four rooms with a central corridor that connected each of them with the front door. Most were likely given over to office space, but the room to the immediate right had its door closed, from behind which Fronto could hear muffled conversation. The irritation of the guards outside still driving him, he reached for the handle and swung the door open without knocking, striding through purposefully.

Crassus, his back to the door, had apparently not noticed and continued addressing Caesar while the general looked up in surprise.

“…and we estimate that the lack of supplies will push the Veneti into submission within the month.”

“That’s not what I hear” Fronto barked, the other officers filing in behind him. Caesar furrowed his brow.

“I believe I left instructions we were not to be disturbed, Fronto? I was planning to call a meeting first thing in the morning and give you time to pickle your brain in the meantime, since it seems to be your hobby.”