The last time Caesar had had this much trouble, near Numantia in Spain, the general had repaid the locals with genocide.
His gaze rested for a long moment on the shattered remains of the headland stronghold, it’s buildings pulled down, walls dropped into the sea, the thicker areas of vegetation fired and still showing from this distance as columns of smoke, and the grass salted to ruin it for generations to come… if there were to
Fronto sighed again and pulled up the front of his breeches, fastening the drawstring. Before he turned away, he made sure to spit once on Draco’s name, a habit rapidly becoming a tradition in the Tenth. Glancing quickly at the sky, which threatened heavy rain again through the night, he strode back across to Tetricus’ tent. The warm glow and murmur of good-natured conversation from within welcomed him.
Pulling the tent flap back, he entered once more and made his way across to his seat among the cushions on the floor.
“I just don’t see what he expects us to do?”
Brutus gestured irritably with one arm before swigging from the cup in the other.
“I mean…” he paused, rubbing his eyes, ”the simple fact is that our ships can’t go out to sea to follow them in those choppy conditions and they can’t get close enough to land to follow them along the coast. All we can do is keep watch. Even when we do get near them, they’re both faster and higher than us.”
Tetricus shrugged.
“Then you’re going to have to find a way to bring them to your level. To even the odds a little.”
“Easier said than done, my friend.”
Tetricus nodded.
“The time will come. In the meantime, how many of these damn strongholds do we have to take before we can pin them down?”
Fronto sat heavily and reached for his own wine.
“I have to admit I am heartily sick of Armorica. For a few days when I got to Vindunum I was actually glad to get out of Rome and back into the field. For the life of me I cannot fathom why!”
Balventius and Carbo shared a look and then the primus pilus of the Eighth smiled.
“It could be worse.”
“How?”
“You could be with one of the other armies.”
Fronto frowned and Balventius spread his hands wide.
“You could be with Labienus suffering the worst of both worlds. He has the climate of Gaul and the boredom of no action. He’s just digging aqueducts and teaching the locals the value of Rome while his boots fill with rain.”
Carbo nodded and leaned across in front of him.
“Or you could be with Crassus… actually, that’s enough on its own. You could be with Crassus!”
Fronto chuckled.
“I wonder how everyone else is getting on?”
He leaned back and took another swig.
“Remember the last couple of years? Those times we sat in that nice little tavern in Bibracte?” He grinned meaningfully at Balbus. “Or that charming little place in Vesontio where you broke my nose? I can’t remember there being rain. All I remember when I think back is warm sunshine, bees and the smell of wildflowers.”
Carbo snorted.
“That’s because you went to Spain for the winter. You should have seen the conditions at Vesontio in November. It was like camping in the bottom of a latrine.”
Fronto shrugged with a laugh.
“Fair enough. It’s just this constant rain is beginning to wear my patience away, particularly when combined with our inability to nail the Veneti down. It just feels like we’re wasting our time out here while the Gods piss on us for fun. The only time it stops raining is when the bloody thunder clouds need time to gather to give us yet another storm.”
Brutus nodded.
“But that can’t go on forever. At least if the weather clears up the fleet might have more of a chance to prove itself. We’ve been sat pretty much port-bound for the last fortnight.”
Balbus smiled and leaned forward.
“We need a plan. We need to trap the Veneti and their fleet in the same place with no means of escape. If we can do that, we can force a conclusion to all this.”
He reached up and thumped himself a couple of times gently on the chest before wincing and sliding his unfinished cup of wine back onto the low table.
“You alright?” Fronto asked, his brow furrowing.
“Just heartburn. It’s this cheap and nasty wine, and the quantity of it, of course.”
Tetricus raised his eyebrow.
“Cheap and nasty? You have no idea how much I had to pay Cita to get that. It’s some of his special reserve store.”
Balbus grinned at him.
“Still tastes like a gladiator’s sandal!”
“You’re just sore because you haven’t won a game of dice in three days.”
Fronto leaned back with his wine and let the ensuing good-natured argument wash over him like a warm bath, soaking him in comfort. Grimacing for a moment, he shifted his supporting weight to his right arm. His left had made an almost full recovery after the spear wound last year, but prolonged pressure still made it ache painfully.
Funny how many things had changed in just over two years. When they were chasing the Helvetii, the people in this tent would have been so different, with Priscus, Velius, Longinus and others. No Carbo or Brutus in those days, though. The seasons changed and, along with them, so did the people around him, but the central fact never changed: these were the core of people that made Caesar’s army what it was.
He smiled sadly at the recollection of friends gone and currently absent and realised, with surprise, that events had taken such a turn that he’d never had the opportunity to review the situation of promotions within the Tenth’s centurionate. Clearly Carbo had settled into the role of primus pilus comfortably and Fronto was hardly about to put
But the need for a training officer had slipped his mind, perhaps due to the pain that thoughts of Velius still brought. He frowned and noticed that Carbo was watching him intently across the tent, past the laughing and arguing officers.
“Carbo? Mind if I pick your brain for a moment?”
The centurion smiled and shuffled across the carpeted floor until he sat close to the legate.
“By all means. You’ll have to find it first, of course…”
Fronto laughed quietly.
“Have you thought about how we fill Velius’ place?”
Carbo nodded.
“I assumed this would come up some time, but I didn’t want to push anything. I’ve had the job shared between the three most capable centurions in the Tenth as an interim measure, but I also have a shortlist of three candidates I was going to put to you.”
Fronto shook his head in exasperation.
“You’ve been prepared all this time? Why did you not speak to me, or even just sort it yourself?”
Carbo smiled.
“Velius was your friend. The time wasn’t right yet. Now, it clearly is. And it’s not my place to assign promotions in the centurionate; that has to come from you or a tribune.”
Again, Fronto laughed.
“You promoted
