Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (7 page)

“
Very well. Tell me about Paetus.”

Fronto nodded
and finally took the seat opposite the general.

“
Paetus took on his father-in-law’s debt to Clodius. Now that
arsehole thinks he owns the man. The problem is that while Paetus’
family are half a mile from Clodius but he’s here with us, the
bastard pretty much does own him. Balventius is convinced of
Paetus’ innocence and I tend to agree.”

Caesar nodded
soberly.

“
So?”

“
Well,” Fronto went on, “that leaves us in an unusual and
useful position.”

“
Do tell” the general replied, steepling his
fingers.

“
I’m not sure what you’d want to do to cause Clodius trouble,
but Paetus is your pipeline to doing it. If we can persuade the
prefect to deliver information back to Clodius, you could feed him
a line of whatever rubbish you felt like. I’d bet you could make
him look like a complete tit in front of the senate if you thought
about it.”

A slow smile
spread across Caesar’s face.

“
I can see you’ve thought this through, Marcus.”

Fronto shook
his head.

“
Actually, this was all Balventius’ idea, but there’s a small
hitch.”

“
What?”

“
Well Paetus is unlikely to want to help us if it’s putting his
family in danger. We need to think of a way to protect them from
Clodius.”

Caesar smiled.
Fronto shuddered. It wasn’t a nice smile at all.

“
I think I can sort that out, Fronto. When we’re done here, go
find Balventius and Paetus and bring them here. I’ll…”

He suddenly
frowned and reached across towards Fronto.

“
Is there a smell like tin?”

Fronto
frowned.

“
Caesar?”

“
And it’s not got a little darker?”

“
Erm… no, Caesar.”

The general
stood, slightly stiffly.

“
I think we’re done for the moment, Marcus. Best get to your
duties.”

Fronto
stared.

“
Caesar?”

“
Go, Fronto. Get to work. Come back tomorrow with the
others.”

Fronto stared
for a moment longer and then bowed and strode for the door, opened
it and, exiting, pulled it shut behind him. As he stood alone in
the corridor, staring at the wood, he wondered what the hell had
got into the general. After a moment, he shrugged and, turning,
made his way from the building.

Out in the
courtyard area, the other officers stood in a small knot, arguing
in low voices. The sound died out sharply when Crispus drew their
attention to the puzzled legate as strode from the headquarters
building.

“
Marcus? What happened?”

Fronto shook
his head.

“
I wish I knew.” For a second he stared into nowhere and then
realised they were speaking of the argument.

“
Politics. Bad moods. He’s alright now.”

Gesturing at
Balventius, he smiled.

“
He wants you, me and Paetus to come back and see him in the
morning, but I think we’re off the hook for the rest of the
day.”

He
grinned.

“
All of a sudden I find myself very thirsty. Anyone care to
join me? We have to walk past the taverns on the way out of town,
after all…”

Chapter 3

(Tavern on the
main street of Vesontio)

“
Mansio and mutatio: stopping places on the Roman road network
for officials, military staff and couriers to stay or exchange
horses if necessary.”

Balbus grinned
unevenly.

“
Problem is…”

He sat for a
moment, pointing a shaky finger at Fronto as his face went
blank.

“
Problem is that I can’t remember what the problem
is!”

Fronto burst
out laughing as the older legate stared down forlornly into his
mug. Next to him, Crispus made snorting sounds and on the other
side of the table, Labienus grinned.

“
I swear the Gauls put something in this wine that rots the
brain.”

“
It’s what you’re putting the wine into that’s doing
that!”

As Balbus
turned to stare at Labienus, the other collapsed in fresh waves of
laughter.

“
So…” Fronto pulled himself upright and rubbed his face with
his hand. “The general’s been here two weeks. We’re rushed back
from the blue shores of the Mare Nostrum in such an awful hurry
because the Belgae are stomping around getting twitchy, and then we
sit in camp waiting for something to happen. Come on, Titus. You’ve
spent the most time with Caesar. What’s he told you? Why are we
still sat here?”

Labienus
shrugged.

“
He’s waiting on a few things; that I know for
certain.”

He tapped his
mug on the table rhythmically as he spoke.

“
I’ve been told to watch for a report from Crassus on the
situation with the tribes up in Armorica. It’s possible Crassus
managed to get his legion to Cenabum in a week, since it’s just men
and kit with no baggage or artillery, though that’s a tall order in
itself, being best part of two hundred miles away. Let’s say he can
get a courier back to us in, what… five days? I mean there’s no
mansios or staging posts out here in Gaul; nowhere to change
horses, so he’d have to let the beast rest. That means that even at
breakneck speed, he’d only have had a couple of days to check up on
the tribes. I’d say we’ve at the very least another week or two
before we look like moving.”

He quickly
glanced around to make sure no one else was listening.

“
And those riders he sent back to Rome too.” He tapped the side
of his nose conspiratorially. “You know… the Paetus thing? He’s
waiting for a reply from them too.”

He sat back,
letting his mug sit still long enough for Balbus to refill it.

“
And there’s still almost a dozen native scouts out there among
the tribes near the Belgae. He’ll be waiting for those to come in
with their information.”

Fronto
grumbled.

“
So basically, he’s waiting for his mail to arrive!”

Balbus
laughed.

“
What’s up, Marcus? Are you so desperate to get stuck into the
Belgae? From what I remember, the last few fights you’ve been in,
you’ve ended up wounded and convalescing. You do look a bit too
healthy at the moment.”

Fronto glared
at him.

“
You can go off people really quickly, you know that,
Quintus?”

“
Ahem…”

The four of
them turned at the sound of the throat clearing. The yard was
attached to the side of the tavern itself, surrounded by a low
stone wall and sheltered by a wooden structure covered with ivy.
Apart from the other two tables and the benches that served them,
the yard was empty. Over the wall, however, life and business went
on as always on the steeply-sloping main street.

Titus Sabinus,
senior staff officer and currently one of the general’s busiest
aides, stood in the road with folded arms and a false frown. As the
four stared up at him like vacant fish, he slipped into a
smile.

“
Thought I’d find you lot in one of the bars. This is the third
one I’ve tried though.”

“
Us too!” Balbus grinned.

“
I’ve brought some weary travellers to join you” the staff
officer announced.

Turning, he
beckoned down the street and, moments later, the travel-worn faces
of Rufus and Galba, legates of the Ninth and Twelfth Legions,
appeared around the corner. Galba, a short, stocky and swarthy man,
looked tired to the point of exhaustion. Rufus, younger than Galba
by several years, looked equally weary, yet walked with a
straight-backed professionalism. The two men looked across at the
men in the tavern yard and gave a faint smile.

Sabinus
pointed at Fronto while addressing the two latecomers.

“
This man knows how to relax. You’ve been training solidly for
weeks. Take a rest. You’ll need it, because you won’t be here
long.”

He turned to
the others.

“
Look after them.”

Crispus
frowned.

“
Caesar’s pulled all the legions back to Vesontio?”

Sabinus
nodded.

“
All but the Seventh, of course. Things are in motion, Marcus.
Won’t be long now. “He gestured at the mug in front of the legate.”
Make the most of that. I doubt the Belgae will be as
hospitable!”

Fronto mumbled
something and then took a deep pull from his mug.

Galba and
Rufus entered the yard as Sabinus gave a nod and wandered on up the
street to report to the general. After a brief discussion, they
collected a table between them and, carrying it over, butted it up
against the one at which their companions sat. Retrieving the
benches, they sank gratefully to the oak seats. Balbus grinned and
banged heavily on the table.

The Gaulish
innkeeper came scurrying out of the doorway. As soon as he saw his
two new customers, he rushed back inside and returned with two more
jars of wine and two more goblets, which he distributed
appropriately round the table.

Galba sighed
with relief and poured a drink for himself and his companion.

Labienus
regarded them with a raised eyebrow.

“
You two been overworked? You look exhausted.”

Rufus shrugged
lightly.

“
Crassus set a pretty heavy training schedule for the forward
camps this last month.” He glanced at his companion. “And Galba
here is determined not to be outdone, so he’s driven his men to
work twice as hard as that!”

Galba
nodded.

“
We’re still a new legion and when we get into the thick of it
this year, I’m determined the Twelfth are going to weather it with
the best of them. Most importantly, I’m bloody damned if that
humourless dick is going to prove a better legate than me, just
because he was born with a golden rod up his arse.”

Rufus gave a
tired chuckle.

“
And of course, if Crassus is pushing his men to the edge to
prove they’re best, and then Galba starts doing the same on the
other side, what am I supposed to do in the middle?”

He let out a
small laugh.

“
Actually, I gave my men an easy run of it compared with these
other two, but then the Ninth has always had a good reputation
anyway.” He raised his goblet to Fronto. “You’ll remember that, I
guess, since you’re responsible for a lot of it.”

Fronto smiled.
There was something vaguely sad about Rufus. He couldn’t define
exactly what it was, but even when the young man was smiling and
passing on a compliment, it felt like he was delivering cheerless
news. There was a permanently haunting look about that young face
that made him turn away, back to his drink.

Clearing his
throat, he looked back up, this time at Galba.

“
Far be it from me to question another commander’s
methods…”

He paused for
a second as he noticed the scathing look in Labienus’ eyes and
ignored it as best he could.

“
You should be careful about taking your cue from Crassus. That
man’s bad news. For us; for you; but most of all for his own
men!”

“
Fronto…”

He flicked his
eyes across to Labienus, who was giving him a warning look.

“
No. I’m right. Crassus is a dangerous man. He’s got the drive,
the ambition and the ruthlessness of Caesar…” he ignored Labienus’
frantic motions to shut up. “But he doesn’t have Caesar’s redeeming
features. Caesar’s a showman and tactically sound. He knows what to
do and when to do it, and he knows how to make his men love him.
Crassus is just making his legion resent him, and that’s never a
good thing.”

Irritably, he
pushed Labienus’ waving hand down to the table.

“
Mark my words: Crassus is going to find himself in trouble out
there in the west. He’s got one legion. They’re a good legion and
he’s had them training like mad, but still, even with his
auxiliaries and support, there can’t be more than seven or eight
thousand of them.”

He waved his
arm in a sweeping motion to indicate the whole of northwest Gaul,
knocking Crispus’ mug in the process so that the young legate had
to grab it quickly to prevent spillage.

“
But there’s hundreds of thousands of Gauls out
there.”

He waited for
that to sink in during the silence that followed.

“
Eight thousand versus more than a hundred thousand. That’s the
odds if it comes down to a fight against all the tribes up there.
And, let’s face it: Crassus is going to push something until it
breaks. He’s as diplomatic as a turd stew.”

Labienus
grasped his waving hand and forced it down.

“
Fronto, there are soldiers out in the street who can hear all
this. For Jupiter’s sake shut the hell up!”

Fronto growled
at him.

“
Shaln’t!”

He pulled his
wrist free.

“
And even if he manages to maintain peace, I wouldn’t trust his
men not to revolt against their commander. He treats them like
slaves.”

“
For Gods’ sake Fronto, shut up!”

Fronto pushed
Labienus’ arm aside.

“
And the worst thing? Absolutely the worst thing that could
come of any of this? What if Crassus somehow pulls this round and
makes himself look good? You know as well as me that there’s only
one possible reason Caesar sent him out to be surrounded by those
odds with only one legion? It’s a bloody death sentence; that’s
what it is!”