Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (61 page)

Before Caesar could reply, a knock echoed round the room, and Caesar raised his voice.

‘Come!’

Crassus strode into the office in dazzling armour and freshly laundered and pressed tunic and cloak. He looked glorious, for all his youth and inexperience, with his helm tucked beneath his arm - like one of the statues in the forum of generals of old.

‘Crassus. Good. Sit.’

‘I would rather stand, General.’

‘You might regret that decision in a moment, but as you wish. I am the bearer of news, and I am afraid it is not happy news.’

Crassus faltered very slightly, his leg shuffling into a new position to mask a slight shake. Priscus was impressed. ‘My father, General?’

Nod.

‘The Parthians?’

Another nod. ‘And there’s more, I’m afraid.’

‘Publius?’

‘Yes. It seems your father agreed to parlay with the King of Kings when his army was destroyed, and he suffered an ignoble end, but your brother went to Elysium like a true Roman, buying time for his cavalry to leave the field. It saddens me to relay the news, but better, I thought, to come in sympathetic tones than in a cold written missive.’ He held out the unopened scroll and Crassus took it and tucked it away without cracking the seal. His arm quivered a little, but Priscus was still surprised at the show of control.

‘Your situation in Rome will have changed, General.’

Again, Priscus noted with surprise how suddenly the young, enthusiastic officer was almost gone, subsumed by a shadow of his father and brother. He’d heard of the legate’s command in the forest and the burning of the survivors, and marked it as another step down on the ladder to his family’s harshness of spirit. Every passing month brought the young man a little closer in resemblance to his brother and now, here, Crassus was speaking to Caesar as something of an equal. Priscus was almost waiting for Caesar to take exception, but the general simply nodded and smiled sympathetically.

‘Indeed, but do not let my situation concern you. Your continued command here is assured, should you wish it, but I will also quite understand if you wish to resign that command and return to Rome. There will be much to administer and take care of with your father gone.’

Crassus nodded. ‘Thank you. I will - I must - resign my commission, sadly. As you say, Rome will require my presence.’

Caesar nodded. ‘I will prepare appropriate communiques to confirm that you have distinguished yourself in command and that your short term was in no way a reflection upon your abilities but rather on family tragedy. Also, rest assured that any help I can provide in Rome, I will. You have but to ask myself or any of my factors or clients.’

Crassus nodded and a small, humourless smile crossed his face.

‘Fear not, General… I am your man, not Pompey’s. Though I owe you naught but gratitude for my term of service here, I will never align my family with that fat lunatic - my father’s shade would haunt me the rest of my days if I did. In return for your support in my endeavours in the city, I will reciprocate and help balance things against Pompey. If that is all, Caesar, I must begin preparations. Rome is a long journey.’

Caesar nodded. ‘The Gods go with you, Marcus Licinius Crassus. Be well.’

The young legate saluted, turned on his heel and opened the door to leave, at which Cicero, paused outside, almost comically fell into the room.

‘Eavesdropping, Cicero?’ Antonius sniped with a malicious grin.

‘Hardly,’ snapped the legate, nodding professionally as Crassus left the room and closed the door. Cicero saluted, and Priscus had to stifle a smile as Caesar deliberately turned to the other two and made no sign that he’d even seen Cicero.

‘Crassus will be useful in Rome, I think. It eases my concerns a little to know that he hates Pompey so vehemently.’

‘Frankly I’ll be glad to see the back of him,’ admitted Priscus, and Antonius and Caesar both frowned. ‘In just one season,’ Priscus explained, ‘he’s gone from being an inexperienced and ineffectual youngster to being an unpredictable martinet. I see a fire growing in him that reminds me greatly of his kin. The Tenth will certainly be better without him.’

Caesar smiled. No matter what role he assigned to Priscus, the man always thought of himself as a member of the Tenth. Cicero, standing in the background, cleared his throat meaningfully. He, they noted, was not wearing freshly pressed tunic and polished armour. In fact he resembled a battle-worn soldier, with mud on his boots. Despite the temptation to see it as a façade, Priscus knew enough of Cicero’s past few years to afford him a little leeway. Despite that idiot call while in command of the camp, Cicero had distinguished himself more than once in Gaul, and had earned glory over the winter in his defence against the Eburones.

‘Ah, Quintus. Sit, man. You are not on trial.’

Priscus saw Antonius’ expression before the man covered it with the mouth of his wine flask. The senior commander clearly thought otherwise. Cicero simply stood, looking tired.

‘I’d rather stand, sir.’

‘Everyone would stand today. Ah well. Know that I am disappointed in your inability to follow my instructions, Cicero.’

The tired-looking legate opened his mouth, bridling, but Caesar waved his hand and spoke first. ‘I gave you specific orders not to split your force and leave the fort, and I gave you my word that we would be there for the kalends.’

‘We were facing the danger of legion-wide starvation, General, with many additional wounded sapping the food supplies.’

‘When did we return, Cicero?’

The legate stood silent.

‘When did we return?’ repeated the general, quietly, patiently.

‘On the kalends, sir.’

‘Would men have starved by then?’

‘Well, no, but…’

‘So you understand my disappointment.’

Again, Cicero’s ire rose and he opened his mouth angrily.

‘But, apart from that,’ the general said calmly, ‘it seems to me that during the siege, you and the Fourteenth comported yourselves appropriately and efficiently. I understand that the only poor decision made in battle was made by your Primus Pilus and he seems to have paid the price for his failures. I also understand that your success was in no small part assured by Baculus, from the Twelfth and among the wounded, as well as the eagle-bearer of the legion?’

Cicero nodded, defeated. ‘Aquilifer Nasica will be receiving commendations, and Baculus is sore wounded, Caesar, but the medicus says he will live, so long as we can strap him to a bed and stop him interfering with things.’

Caesar smiled at a few personal memories of the veteran centurion. He had fought alongside Baculus in the press of men when the Belgae had first resisted Roman presence, and the man’s indomitable spirit had impressed himself on the general even then.

‘We appear to understand one another, Cicero. I am certain you will not disappoint me again.’

‘You wish me to retain my command?’ Cicero blinked in surprise.

‘Five seasons of excellent and strategically sound command deserve to be recognised regardless of any moment of short-sightedness. Of course I wish you to retain your command, Cicero.’

He leaned back and glanced at the room’s other two occupants and in that gaze, Priscus realised that Caesar had reached another decision.

‘In fact,’ the general went on, turning back to Cicero, ‘I want you to give the Fourteenth a little action. Ambiorix still evades us despite the devastation we have wrought. Until the season changes and the snows set in, I want all ten legions based here, continually ravaging and destroying until the renegade king is brought to justice. I will remain as commander of the camp garrison. You can take turns with the other legates campaigning around the Belgae lands until you have fulfiled my vow for me.’

Cicero smiled. An opportunity to redeem himself loomed. ‘What of Tullus?’ he asked.

‘Tullus?’

‘His command was the Rhenus. To stop the tribes crossing. Had he obeyed your commands,
I
would not have faced
my
problems.’

Caesar frowned in deep thought, but shook his head. ‘Tullus used his initiative in interpreting my orders and I cannot condemn the man for that - in fact, he obeyed their spirit above their letter. I had extended an offer of plunder to our allied tribes. Tullus would have been at fault had be prevented an ally from joining the hunt. He cannot be held accountable for the Sugambri’s betrayal. But rest assured I will give him the opportunity to explain to them how disappointed I am at their actions.’

Cicero nodded, again wearily. ‘Is there anything else, sir.’

‘I do not believe so. See to your command. You will want to make some promotions and arrange some transfers I have no doubt. See to it and be at the general briefing tomorrow.’

Cicero turned with a salute and left the room. Caesar looked across to the other two.

‘Thoughts?’

‘You are too soft on the man,’ grumbled Antonius, slugging back his wine.

‘You’ve decided to stay, then?’ Priscus asked. ‘Despite Rome?’

‘To return to Rome having failed to uphold my promises would be a dreadful thing and would play into the hands of my political enemies,’ Caesar sighed. ‘It seems I am left with little choice.’

The three fell silent for a long moment - a silence broken by a commotion outside the building. Caesar frowned at the others and Priscus stood, stretching. ‘I’ll have a look.’ Leaving Antonius and Caesar arguing over Cicero, Priscus stepped out through the door.

‘Better to have Clodius do away with Cicero’s brother in an alley and then send the incompetent fool home,’ grumbled Antonius.

‘A plan with a few merits,’ Caesar smiled, ‘but a number of drawbacks. No. Cicero is better tamed and sweetened than turned into a martyr by my enemies. We could…’

He paused as the door opened again unannounced, and Priscus returned with a wide grin.

‘Prepare yourself, General. Fronto’s back. And he’s brought you a gift.’

* * * * *

Fronto strode into the general’s office with Palmatus and Masgava at his shoulders, the remaining six men of his party remaining outside, crowded at the doorway with Ingenuus’ guard. He was aware, as he passed the immaculately turned out cavalry troopers, that he and his men bore a closer resemblance to common countryside bandits than Roman soldiers, and probably smelled more like goatherds after so long in the same clothes with only a fully-dressed dip in chilly rivers to serve as a bath. Certainly Caesar reached up and rubbed his nose as they settled in, Masgava closing the door behind them.

‘A gift from the Goddess Arduenna, Caesar, who seems to favour Romans over fugitives.’

With no ceremony, he dropped something bulky and heavy in a dark-brown-stained oiled skin bag on the floor before him. The rounded object hit the boards with a bony clunk and rolled a short way. Caesar fixed the bag with his piercing gaze and then frowned as the other two men dropped a similar bag each.

‘Need I ask what that contains?’ Caesar prompted, pointing at the bag Fronto had dropped.

‘It is exactly what you think, Caesar.’

A nod. ‘And the others?’

‘What we believe to be the usurper king of the Segni and their chief druid - the pair who were planning to tear their tribe away from you and join Ambiorix. Traitors both. Without them, the Segni are still ours.’

Caesar nodded and a weary smile crept across his face. Fronto turned to his friends. ‘Take the rest of the lads and get yourselves bathed, dressed properly, and then fed until even Masgava’s fit to burst.’ The pair grinned and saluted Fronto and Caesar, then turned and left the room, shutting the door behind them and leaving the two senior officers in the relative gloom.

‘You were a long time away, Fronto. Despite everything, I found I worried for you. Especially when we began to campaign around you. Priscus never missed an opportunity to remind me of your proximity and your peril.’

Fronto chuckled and sank unbidden into a seat. ‘The forest of Arduenna is a big place to search, as it seems you have learned yourself, sir.’

‘And finally, in the end, you have given me the means by which to fulfil my vow.’

Fronto nodded, his eyes darkening. ‘There is more, though, Caesar.’

‘Oh?’

‘My unit was infiltrated by an anti-Roman Remi warrior, who it seems killed half a dozen of my men during the journey and only revealed himself when he was forced to murder Ambiorix to prevent the man spilling his guts to me.’

‘You got nothing from him?’

‘Almost. Despite the betrayal - which, I must warn you came from the bosom of one of our staunchest allies due to the current policy of devastation against the Belgae - I managed to coax a name from him:
Vercingetorix
.’

‘Never heard of the man. Who is he?’

‘That remains a subject for investigation, but I am fairly certain that it is the real name of the revolutionary we have been hearing of called Esus. Also that he is a nobleman of the Arverni tribe who I actually spoke to in Bibracte back in spring. He is friend to the druids and from what I saw a man to be reckoned with.’

Caesar sighed. ‘I thought for a moment you had brought me the solution to my quandary, but it seems instead that you have simply altered the parameters.’ He saw Fronto frown and explained. ‘I have been debating whether it was more important to return to Rome and deal with the problems arising there or to continue in my hunt for Ambiorix. You have solved the latter for me, but only by raising another problem in Gaul that will demand our attention, possibly more so than Ambiorix.’

Fronto took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been thinking about this Vercingetorix, Caesar, and I have a few thoughts on the matter for you, but what news from Rome? What demands your attention?’

Caesar’s fingers steepled and he leaned forward. ‘It seems that the three most powerful men in Rome are now two.’

‘Crassus fell to the Parthians.’

‘You say that as though you knew?’

‘Let’s say the Gods gave me a little preview and leave it at that. I’ve been half expecting the news all year.’

‘His son fell in the battle, also. Consequently, the younger Crassus is returning to Rome. The position of legate of the Tenth Legion seems to have opened up somewhat fortuitously for you. Almost as though that damned random Goddess you so favour had a hand in it.’