“Anyway,” Fronto went on, glancing at Varus, “you say your scouts have told you more?”
The cavalry commander nodded unhappily.
“The tales I hear sound more like a nation gearing up for war than a beaten people trying not to starve to death. The Veneti have retreated to their fortresses on the coast which, I am informed, are almost impregnable. When the legions get to their inland settlements to impound their animals and grain, they’re finding the people are already gone and have taken everything with them. They’re stocking up for a siege and leaving nothing for us to take. It’s starting to get to Crassus.”
“I can imagine. Are we just talking about this Veneti tribe then?”
The look on Varus face answered Fronto’s question before he opened his mouth.
“There are tribes all over Armorica doing the same. But even that’s not even the main worry. Some of my outriders caught a messenger riding east. He was taking a message to the Belgae, urging both them and the Germans to rise up and drive us out of Gaul. Crassus has turned the small issue this started as into a catastrophe. We could very well be looking at an uprising all over the north.”
Crispus sighed.
“This land is somewhat like a lumpy sleeping pallet.”
He looked around at the confused faces of the others and spread his hands.
“You cannot sleep comfortably, so you have to flatten out the lump, but then a lump forms somewhere else. No matter what you do, there will always be a new lump forming somewhere. And the more you play with it, trying to make it comfortable, the more lumps you have until, in the end, there is nothing else for it but to discard the pallet and begin again with a new one.”
“
“So” Fronto grumbled, “we may be looking at more than just these tribes?”
Varus cleared his throat meaningfully.
“I have it on good authority that their messengers also went south to the Pyrenees and the tribes around there and into Spain, and even by boat across to Britannia. The more we hear, the more it sounds like we’re about to be crushed between armies from all over the place. Who the hell knows
Balbus leaned back, his expression bleak.
“If all this is accurate then it would appear we are already beyond hope of negotiation. We are at war; we just haven’t moved yet.”
Varus nodded and took another slug of wine.
“Well then, gentlemen” Fronto announced, slapping his mug on the table. “It’s no use us sitting here wishing things were different. We’ve got to get things moving. We should go see the general and start pushing.”
A chuckle caught his attention and he peered across the table at Sabinus.
“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet?”
Sabinus shook his head wearily.
“I have had three months of trying to argue and gainsay Crassus with the man talking down to me and over the top of me. I’m exhausted Marcus. But it’s nice to have you back. Nothing stirs the army up like having you around!”
Fronto smiled.
“Then let’s get stirring. Time to go see the general.”
As he stood, he turned to Carbo. The primus pilus nodded.
“I know. Head back to camp and get the men on a first alert.”
Fronto nodded.
“That and more.” He turned to Varus. “Can you send riders out looking for the wandering cohorts and give them the recall order?”
Varus shrugged.
“I can do it; I just don’t have the authority.”
“I’ll take responsibility. Just get the men back here.”
As Varus nodded, he turned back to his primus pilus.
“When the rest of Tenth make it back to camp, stop anyone else leaving. There’ll be no more of this pointless burning.”
He turned back and threw the last of the wine down his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smearing deep red across his chin.
“Right. Let’s go ruin Crassus’ day.”
Two of Crassus’ legionaries, polished and straight, stood at the closed door of the headquarters building. As Fronto and his group of officers approached, they crossed their pila over the doorway.
“Sorry sir. The legate is in a meeting with the general. No one is allowed in at the moment.”
Fronto glared at the man.
“Have you any idea just how many senior officers there are here? Get out of the way.”
The legionary had the decency to look nervous and apologetic.
“I have my orders from both the legate and the general, sir and, with respect, the general outranks all of us. If I let you past I’ll be cleaning latrines until winter comes again.”
Fronto stepped uncomfortably close to the man and grinned through bared teeth, the fumes of freshly- imbibed wine washing over the man’s face and making him gag.
“You know who I am and the sort of thing I get up to. Crassus might have you emptying latrines, but if you don’t open that door, I will snap that pilum in half, stick the sharp bit up your arse and use you to mop the latrines. Do I make myself clear?”
The man held out defiantly, if nervously, for a moment longer until his companion buckled under the legate’s glare and stepped out of the way. Suddenly alone in front of an angry officer, the legionary stepped aside and averted his gaze.
“Good choice” Fronto growled as he swung the door open and stepped inside.
The building was divided into four rooms with a central corridor that connected each of them with the front door. Most were likely given over to office space, but the room to the immediate right had its door closed, from behind which Fronto could hear muffled conversation. The irritation of the guards outside still driving him, he reached for the handle and swung the door open without knocking, striding through purposefully.
Crassus, his back to the door, had apparently not noticed and continued addressing Caesar while the general looked up in surprise.
“…and we estimate that the lack of supplies will push the Veneti into submission within the month.”
“That’s not what I hear” Fronto barked, the other officers filing in behind him. Caesar furrowed his brow.
“I believe I left instructions we were not to be disturbed, Fronto? I was planning to call a meeting first thing in the morning and give you time to pickle your brain in the meantime, since it seems to be your hobby.”
Crassus spluttered as he turned. Fronto grinned at him with no humour at all.
“It sounds to me like you handled the situation badly and you’ve all but pushed the local tribes into full rebellion.”
Crassus shook his head.
“Totally untrue. Wherever the legions go we are encountering no resistance.”
“That” Fronto snapped “is because the tribesmen are gathering for war in their coastal fortresses while they send to Germany, Spain and Britannia for help.”
“Preposterous” Crassus spluttered.
Caesar, behind him, leaned forward in his chair.
“You have conflicting information, Fronto?”
“And from a number of trustworthy sources in your own army, general. The Veneti are all but ready to go to war and it looks like they have incited other tribes to the northwest, the southwest, back towards Germany and even across the water in Britannia. If they haven’t killed the hostages they took, it’ll only be because they’re holding on to them in case they need them later.”
Crassus shook his head.
