THE INVASION OF GAUL (49 page)

“
Don’t worry about it lads.
I
wouldn’t recognise me right now either.”

Laughter rippled through the ranks as more of the troopers joined the knot on the hill. The fighting was effectively over. Fronto tried to do a rough count but gave up.

“
Ingenuus. What’s the damage to the unit d’you reckon?”

The prefect made a swift move and jumped up onto the saddle with the practised ease of one of the equine entertainers that occasionally preceded a race at the hippodrome in Rome. Standing on his saddle, he scanned the crowd around him and then dropped back into a seated position in another fluid action.

“
I’d estimate about fifty sir; seventy-five at the most.”

“
Hmm.”

It was more than Fronto liked, but considerably less then they deserved. A quarter as many casualties as the enemy.

“
Let’s catch up with the cohort. We should be able to get ahead of the Germans in no time now.”

Ingenuus nodded.

“
I’ll have a detachment round up spare horses. We might as well take them with us.”

Chapter
16

(The city of Vesontio)

“
T
ribunal: A platform, carefully constructed in forts, or temporarily made from turf or wood, from which a commander would address or review troops
.”

“
Praetorian Cohort
:
personal bodyguard of a General
.”

Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus pounded up the main street of the town. The street ran from the great bridge through most of the length of the place up to the massive hill that, with the horseshoe of the Dubis River, surrounded the city; the hill that was where the citadel stood and where Caesar had made his headquarters this last few days.

He was starting to understand why Fronto liked to be in amongst the soldiers and involved in the lower levels of command and activity. Since the legate had been away swanning about impressing German leaders, Priscus had been called to Caesar’s headquarters almost every day and often more than once. Where he used to send a subordinate to run messages and errands, now he found himself running everywhere. No wonder Fronto was always either running or drunk. The appeal of a quiet jug of wine was tangible.

Glancing to the sides of the street as he ran, he could see the large piles of goods that Caesar had acquired from the city. Much of it had, in all fairness, been purchased, though more was seized. A lot of it had been moved into the camps on the other side of the river where the six legions rested. Indeed, the supplies allocated to the Tenth were all stored away in appropriate places. The other legions were an entirely different matter however. The other legions…

Priscus redoubled his pace, panting with effort as the incline of the street became more and more pronounced the closer he got to Caesar’s headquarters. Finally he burst through the stockade gate at the top and came to a rest, his hands on his knees, puffing and panting as sweat poured from his forehead and on to the ground. The guards approached him to give the password, though half-heartedly. They all knew Priscus very well by now and they also knew he had to regain his composure before entering the building. He would give the password as soon as he caught his breath.

Priscus waved them away, still bent double, and stuttered out the password. Remaining where he was, he drew a scarf from beneath his harness and wiped his forehead and hair with it, smoothing the damp locks back down with his hands. He nodded at the officer of the guard, who acknowledged him back, and then walked across the courtyard and into the building.

As always, the headquarters was full of people, all busy and all irritable. The army had only been at Vesontio for four days. How on Earth the staff had managed to accumulate the clutter and paperwork they had was a mystery to Priscus. He wondered if Fronto knew anything about it. Making his way down the long hall, he knocked on one of the doors and the guard opened it for him. In the large, well-lit room sat Caesar along with a number of his senior staff officers, Balbus, Crassus, Crispus and Longinus, and some of the senior centurions. Balbus nodded at him and he returned the greeting. Caesar smiled at him.

Priscus bowed, hurriedly and not particularly respectfully. Caesar waved the pleasantries aside.

“
Priscus. Your report on the Tenth?”

The centurion cleared his throat.

“
They’re still standing to, General. I’ve got a full guard and no visible problems from the men, but I
do
hear things. I’ve not pulled anyone up on it yet, ‘cause I’m pretty sure that would just be the spark that sets them off. I’ve called a meeting of all the officers of the legion as soon as I return, and I’ll sort ‘em out then.”

Priscus looked around. Not only was Fronto’s absence still notable, but this time there were no Rufus or Galba either. Half the legions’ commanders being absent was not a good sign. Caesar gestured at Sabinus with a finger.

“
You see?
That’s
a legion. That’s my glorious Tenth. They’re under-strength by an entire cohort, missing their commander
and
their training centurion and they still maintain order and discipline. The rest of the legions could learn a thing or two from the Tenth, as I’ve always said.”

Priscus lowered his head. A comment that embarrassing to the other commanders could cause resentment, and Priscus was damned it he was going to look smug in front of them. From his lowered eyes, he could see legionary commanders shuffling uneasily. Crassus was the first of them to speak.

“
Caesar, it’s not a matter of maintaining order and discipline among the men. The rank and file are frightened of the prospect of facing unreasonable odds. All the reports we’ve received have given the German army as considerably larger than ours. Word has spread of the unpleasant practices of the Germanic tribes, their sacrifices, the fact that they are driven on by blood drinking Druids eight feet tall. All a fiction, I understand, but a fiction designed to terrify our cowardly lower ranks.”

As Priscus looked up once more, peeved at such comments from a man he already didn’t like, Balbus beat him to the retort.

“
Crassus, these ‘cowards’ you speak of are your own men, Romans, and the backbone of the army. They’ve been building and maintaining our Empire since all our families were farm owners. If the men are losing courage and morale, strength needs to come down from above.
That’s
what the centurionate and the tribunes are for.”

Before Crassus could open his mouth, Balbus turned to face Caesar.

“
General, I have noticed among the Eighth that there is an air of despair and worry among the legionary tribunes. Some of the centurions have fallen to the same attitude, but others haven’t. Balventius, for instance, stands steadfast in his control and confidence. As a result, the First Cohort is still pulling its weight. In fact, due to the failure in morale with several of the other cohorts, the First is pulling more than its weight, and is moving and storing all the supplies for the entire legion. I firmly believe we have to pull the officers together.”

Crassus snorted.

“
Don’t be naïve, Balbus. The officers are despairing because they can only do so much with non-responsive troops. I know
my
officers are trying their best. I’ve had six men beaten today and their century is back to work as we speak.”

Again, Priscus opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to it by Crispus, legate of the Eleventh, this time.

“
My dear Crassus, brutalising your men is hardly a shortcut to improving morale. Balbus is quite correct in his suggestion that the problem has to come down from the apex of the command structure. It is not to us that the troops look for potency, nor is it to the tribunes. The men look to their own commanders; to the centurions. The two most active and dedicated legions present are those whose primus pilus stands akin to a rock upon which the barbarian tide must break. I refer of course to the terrifying Balventius of the Eighth and the daunting Priscus of the Tenth. The path that we
should
be taking is that of a meeting of the centurions, just as Priscus has organised. If we can re-establish a dedicated chain of command, then the men will fall in readily."

Various of the officers began to talk at once and Priscus stood, still near the door, wondering how anything ever got done in command meetings. They just seemed to argue for the sake of it. Caesar’s voice cut through the cacophony.

“
Quiet
!”

The racket died down immediately, leaving Crassus and Balbus glaring at each other angrily. Before anyone could speak again Caesar, red faced and fuming, called a halt to the meeting.

“
Get out. All of you. Priscus will let me know how things go with the Tenth this afternoon and
I
will then decide what course of action is to be taken by the rest of you. If any
one
of you dares defy me or open his mouth to object, I will send you back to Rome and replace you. A legate is not a permanent appointment, remember? Now go!”

Priscus turned to exit, and was quickly followed out by the others, mostly wearing a sheepish expression. He was amused to see Balbus and Crispus following Crassus out. The looks on their faces and poise of their bodies suggested that murder might be done soon. He gestured to the two of them.

“
Gentlemen.”

Balbus had forbidden him from calling any of them sir over a week ago, since he was the effective commander of a legion. The two legates stepped out of the line of departing officers and joined Priscus in the courtyard.

“
Gnaeus, what can we do for you?”

Priscus pointed down the street.

“
There’s a tavern in a side street about half way down the hill that’s very used to me dropping in on my way back from these meetings. Care to join me?”

The other two looked doubtful, so Priscus waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Balbus laughed, a smile cracking his lined and weary face for the first time that day.

“
Priscus, you have been too close to Fronto for too long. You’re both mad as March hares. Alright, I’ll leave Balventius sorting the Eighth and we’ll discuss your eyebrows.”

The three of them wandered down the main street between rows of houses and shops built in the local style, with a ground floor of stone and a timber upper. The street was dry and reasonably clean in the warm weather of late August and early September, but they could easily imagine how unpleasant it would be in bad weather, with muddy water flowing down the incline. Halfway down the hill, they turned a corner and made for a small tavern with an inviting open doorway. The inside was fairly dim and of dark oak. A heavy, roughly-hewn trestle served as a bar, behind which stood a fat man in a leather apron leaning on one of three huge casks.

Balbus and Crispus sauntered over to a table near a window, while Priscus approached the bar and purchased three jugs of the local ale. These Gaulish taverns were nothing like the ones within the Empire’s borders or even the ones among the Aedui. Here there was no Roman wine, just local beer, and, although Roman coinage was thoroughly acceptable, the change was given in low grade coins of strange denominations.

He carried the drinks to the table and sat. As he took a healthy swig, Balbus and Crispus stared at their jug, Balbus with a look of mistrust and Crispus with open nausea.

Priscus grinned.

“
Bottoms up!”

Balbus took another look at the jug’s contents, a glance at Priscus and shrugged, upending the container and taking a large swig. His eye twitched slightly as he put the jug back down and said in a whispery, cracked voice “nice!”

Priscus and Balbus laughed again and both turned to look expectantly at Crispus. The young officer had been told before about barbarian drinking habits and his mother had made him promise to stay clear or any such indulgence. He smiled uneasily.

“
I really ought not to. I do have a chest full of jars of excellent wine from southern Italy that my father had sent to me when we rested at Bibracte for a short time. Perhaps we…”

Priscus almost spat his beer across the table.

“
Your father shipped a
chest
of wine outside the Empire’s borders for you? That must have cost a small fortune!”

Crispus smiled again.

“
My family would not approve of my sampling barbarian brews.”

Balbus looked at the centurion who was trying very hard not to laugh and turned back to Crispus with a broad, beaming smile.

“
Your family are a
long
way away at the moment, lad.”

Crispus nodded once more, gingerly. Leaning forward and holding his breath, he raised the jug and took a small sip.

Balbus and Priscus watched with bated breath, waiting for the young man to turn green or purple. Instead, Crispus swished the liquid around his mouth and gums with a speculative look on his face. He stopped swishing, swallowed, and then breathed in sharply.

“
Tangy.”

He shrugged and took a much larger pull from the vessel as the other two stared at him.