Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (3 page)

Balbus
laughed.

“
Disappointed. I’m sure they all expected you to come and
visit.”

Balventius let
out a low whistle.

“
What is it with you and women, Fronto? It seems like they all
want some of you.”

“
I think it’s a mothering thing,” the scruffy legate replied.
“They all want to look after me, ‘cause they think I can’t look
after myself. I think they think I’m nicer than I am,
too!”

Balventius
chuckled and the tent fell quiet once more.

“
So,” Crispus interjected tentatively, “what is the situation
here? Fronto’s primus pilus intimated there were stirrings of
unrest among the Gauls?”

Fronto
nodded.

“
We’re going to see Labienus after this to get the complete
picture. I like to be well-prepared for all eventualities before
the general shows up. In fact, I’d like to know everything I
can.”

Balbus nodded.
“I’ve only just returned myself.” He gestured to Balventius and the
scarred veteran turned his good eye towards Fronto.

“
It’s been happening for months. Labienus received a message by
courier one day from Caesar. A few hours later he sent out a half
dozen scouts; Gaulish auxiliaries, they were. I don’t know how many
people noticed, but I was a bit surprised. None of them went out
with their Roman auxiliary equipment. Just dressed up like plain
old Gauls, they were.”

Fronto
frowned.

“
Think I can guess why, but go on…”

“
Well,” Balventius continued, “since then they’ve been coming
and going regularly. I stopped a few in the early days to find out
what they were doing and they refused to tell me. Directed me to
general Labienus, telling me they were under command of silence. I
went to see the commander and he basically told me to mind my own
business.”

He sighed.

“
Since then, though, word’s started to leak out. No matter how
much they’re told it’s a secret… well…” he smiled at Fronto. “Drink
loosens tongues. A few beers and these Gaulish scouts are telling
all their friends. They’ve been scouting out the Belgae and various
other tribes.”

“
I already knew that,” replied Fronto, leaning forward. “What
don’t I know?”

“
Well, I think you can safely say this isn’t just a bit of
unrest. Not like a few Numidians shaking their spears and
grumbling. It looks like this is getting organised.”

“
Go on?”

“
The Belgae are violent sons of whores, Fronto.”

“
Yes…” snapped the dishevelled legate irritably.
“And?”

“
We’ve never really concerned ourselves with the Belgae because
they just spend all their time kicking, biting and carving each
other. I spoke to some of the native levies and they all agree that
you’ve never seen any people eternally at war with themselves like
the Belgae. The only time they’ve ever been know to stop it and
actually turn their energy outwards was the odd time when the
German tribes tried to cross the Rhine and have a go with them.
Even the Germans are frightened of them!”

Fronto
laughed.

“
But?”

“
But they’ve stopped fighting each other, Fronto. They’ve been
swapping hostages and making blood pacts and all that other crap.
They’re one people right now, and that’s a bit disturbing. That’s a
whole new thing. They’ve banded together and it’s not for defence
this time.”

The legate of
the Tenth nodded.

“
So they’re getting ready to face us.”

“
But,” Crispus interrupted, “the big question is: have they
done this because they have decided that Rome is a perilous
neighbour, which would mean we have to face them, or have they done
this because they’ve been begged or bribed by other tribes? If the
latter’s the case, we may be facing half of Gaul
shortly.”

Fronto
sighed.

“
I think you’re missing the third option there.”

“
Pardon?” Crispus glanced across at him. Balventius and Balbus
also leaned forward, their brows knitted.

“
Well,” he continued, “it seems pretty obvious to me, but then
I’ve known the general a long time; know how his mind
works.”

A chorus of
nonplussed looks. Fronto sighed.

“
Caesar had to engineer a way to get us into Gaul last year. He
needs conquest and booty. We’re not here because the Helvetii
threatened Rome. We could have let them past, but no… they were
just the excuse we needed to begin campaigning in Gaul. But it’s no
use stopping there. We’d gained nothing except perhaps a little
stronger alliance with the Aedui and instilled fear in our northern
neighbour.”

Scanning the
interior of the tent, Fronto’s eyes fell on a jug of wine. Without
asking permission, he rose as he talked, crossed the tent, and
poured himself a goblet.

“
So… when that was over, Caesar had already spent time putting
the idea into the heads of important Gauls that we were the people
they needed to sort Ariovistus out. In fact, I wouldn’t be
surprised if he hadn’t pushed the Helvetii all the way to Bibracte
just so he was close enough to the Council of Chiefs to be
beseeched for help.”

Balbus shook
his head sadly.

“
You mean you really think that Caesar engineered every move
last year to get his legions into the heart of Gaul? Somewhere
where it’d be very hard to shift us from?”

Fronto
nodded.

“
Be very careful what you say, Marcus. You’re among friends
here, but those are the kind of comments that cause officers to
become quietly deceased!”

“
I know,” the scruffy legate agreed, swigging wine. ”Don’t
repeat any of this, for your own sake. Not even to your
closest.”

Another
swig.

“
I don’t think he’s stopped there, though. If Caesar was
sending out these scouts and spies as a reaction to news of the
Belgae, Labienus would have been the first man to know about it.
But no... Caesar sends a message to him and he starts sending out
men who are dressed to look as un-Roman as possible?”

Crispus
slapped his head.

“
He’s doing it again?”

“
Yes.”

“
He’s actually fomented discord and rebellion among the Belgae
just to provide us with an excuse to put down more of
Gaul?”

Balbus glared
at his young companion. Balventius stood and crossed the room,
opening the door and peering outside.

“
It’s alright. Nobody’s listening.”

Balbus
sighed.

“
A little care, Crispus!”

“
He’s correct, though,” the young man replied quietly. “Caesar
has pushed the Belgae until they snapped. Now he’s preparing to
take them to task. And, of course, the Belgae are the fiercest of
all the tribes, or so they say. If Caesar can defeat the Belgae,
all of Gaul should fall and cower before him. It’s a bold
move!”

“
It’s a stupid move!”

The other
three turned to Fronto in surprise. The tired legate took a last
swig and grounded his goblet.

“
He’s riled the Belgae so he can fight them and beat them and
show all of Gaul who’s the master. But he’s done it too well. The
Belgae have decided it’s time to piss on Rome. But they’re not
stupid. They know how big Rome is; how powerful. So they, in turn,
foment discord among the Gaulish tribes and the next thing we know
is that the Council of Chiefs has been called without any of our
allies. So half of Gaul looks like their siding with the Belgae.
And they’ve even thrown out hooks into Germania. There’s nothing so
sure as most of the German tribes would love nothing more after
last summer than to kick six shades of shit out of us!”

Balventius
whistled through his teeth.

“
Looks like we’re wading in it shortly, then?”

Balbus
sighed.

“
Then I hope Caesar’s the tactician everyone thinks he is.
We’ve got to have something up our sleeve, or we’re facing odds of
at least ten to one!”

He leaned
forward and gestured at Fronto.

“
Pass me that wine…”

* * * * *

The four men
emerged, blinking, into the light. Fronto had meant to ask why
Balbus had drapes over the windows but, in the end, they had proved
useful both for maintaining privacy and for preventing sunlight
from worsening his headache. The thumping came back like the
weaponsmiths of the Tenth at work.

The other
three strolled ahead, chatting, while Fronto plodded along
unhappily at the back. They were still set on going to see
Labienus, despite the fact that Fronto was sure they would learn
nothing new of value. He was filled now with a cold conviction that
Caesar had put his men in the worst possible danger for his own
vainglorious expedition and, regardless of Balbus’ fervent hopes
that the general had a surprise up his sleeve, Fronto also knew
with leaden certainty that it would be left to men like himself to
make the general’s grand plans work out.

He spat on the
ground with irritation and looked up once more.

As they
strolled down the hill toward the river and the bridge that linked
the military garrison with the Gaulish city of Vesontio, he noticed
the guards at the riverbank pointing and gesturing excitedly to
each other. Squinting, for they were still some distance away yet,
he tried to focus on the small figures and tracked back from them
in the direction they were pointing.

A vast array
of armoured legionaries was stomping up the valley in the direction
of the bridge and the camps. He stopped for a moment, drawing a
tense breath while his companions, unaware, continued on down the
path.

No amount of
squinting would allow him to focus enough to identify the flags
they bore, but his initial fears were easily brushed aside: these
couldn’t be the retreating survivors of the first wave of Gaulish
counter-invasions. The army in front of him was fresh and tidy.
Perhaps Labienus had called the outer legions back to Vesontio
before the general arrived.

“
Yes… that’ll be it” he muttered to himself and then hurried
along to catch up with his companions.

As the four
officers reached the gate of the camp, the duty guards snapped to
attention with great professionalism. As always, Fronto studied
them carefully. He found the Eighth a great yardstick for measuring
the performance of his own legion; the two were the closest among
the army in both age and command style.

The spring
bees hummed around the grass and scrub outside the gate as the men
trod heavily on the dirt track that had formed from months of
soldiers tracking to and fro between the camp and city across the
river. From here the path ran down a gentle grassy slope to the
bridge, where it converged with similar tracks that had been worn
from the camps of the Eleventh and Tenth Legions. At the meeting
point by the bridge two posts had been erected; one bore direction
signs to the city and the three camps, presumably erected so that
merchants and teamsters knew where to sell and to deliver; the
other post held a banner with the eagle of Rome.

“”
What is Labienus thinking?” snapped Fronto as he pointed down
at the flag.

“
Hmm?” Balbus looked closely and frowned.

“
I suppose it’s just there to denote the presence of the
legions and the headquarters in the citadel in town?”

Fronto
grumbled.

“
Labienus is bright enough to know that you don’t plant the
flag of Rome in territory we don’t own. It basically tells anyone
who sees it that we either think we do own it or that we intend to
own it shortly.”

Crispus
shrugged.

“
And yet it remains. I cannot help but wonder why the
indigenous people have not requested it be taken down. I’m sure
that if they had, Labienus would have done so.”

Fronto growled
again.

“
Stupid. Arrogant and stupid.”

Balventius
rolled his eye around and laughed.

“
I think you’re crediting them with a little too much
intelligence there, Fronto. Six legions bring a lot of money into
an area. Even the lowest vagrant in Vesontio is dining out and
wearing silk now. After this winter it’s probably the richest city
in Gaul. Most of them would let you plant a flag in their back if
you jingled your purse!”

“
Well…” Fronto pointed up the valley, “it looks like their
customer base is about to increase again. Can’t see which legion
that is, but they’re coming from roughly south west. Which legion’s
camped out west?”

Balventius
frowned.

“
That would be Crassus’ Seventh. Why the hell are they coming
in?”

“
That’s not the Seventh.” Crispus shaded his eyes and squinted.
“In fact, I have no idea who they are.”

He became
aware that Fronto was looking at him expectantly, but with a hint
of irritation.

“
Well I cannot see the legion number on the flags, but all of
Caesar’s legions bear the Taurus emblem. Those flags seem to have
horses.”

Fronto boggled
at him.

“
You can’t see how many ‘I’s are on the flag, but at that
distance you can distinguish between quadrupeds?”

“
It’s a simple matter of shape, Fronto. In fact, those symbols
look a lot more like Gaulish ones than Roman.”

“
Let’s get to the bottom of this!”