“I am piss-wet through and it feels like I’ve been sleeping on a bag of helmets for the last few weeks. I’m looking forward to getting my tent set up. Do you have somewhere in the meantime I can dry off?”
He stepped in through the gate and Carbo nodded, still smiling.
“I’ve had a tent set up for you. It’s not got all your personal gear in yet, of course, but I had it stocked with food, drink, towels, sheets and blankets and four spare sets of clothes that I’m fairly sure are your size.”
Fronto blinked.
“You knew we were imminent?”
Carbo nodded seriously.
“Yesterday the Tenth’s augur saw a pigeon and a duck flying in the same direction, with a swallow going the other way. He said you’d be back before dark and would be wet and in need of a drink.”
Fronto stared at the earnest pink face and boggled.
“He did?”
Carbo burst out laughed.
“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
Carbo shrugged.
“You mean put off the latrine roster til later on in order to sink a few mugs of local beer? I think I can manage that, yes.”
Fronto’s grin widened.
“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.”
Balbus frowned.
“Balventius tells me that you’ve been hogging the workshops, knocking out weapons and armour like madmen.”
Galba grinned at the older legate.
“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.
“
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.
