“Yes, sir. In almost all cases that has proved to be true. However, with respect, there are several things that need taking into account with Darioritum.”
Caesar narrowed his eyes as he gazed down. Now, Fronto, Balbus and Brutus were on their feet approaching the table with interest.
“Firstly, Caesar, this map is not accurate” Cicero continued. “I have spent time speaking to some of the less reticent captives of Crassus’ campaign last year and, in return for a little lenience, they can be very talkative. The map shows Darioritum some six or seven miles from the sea. In actual fact, the oppidum is by a large gulf or salt-water lake that has an opening to the sea. Two spits of land reach out like the horns of a bull. Darioritum is, essentially, by the sea. Moreover, it is also, according to two different sources I have questioned, considered the capital of the tribe, or the nearest approximation they
Caesar nodded slowly, scratching his chin.
“A symbolic victory indeed.”
Cicero smiled at the general.
“Given its importance and location, it is almost certainly occupied, even if only by a small retainer force.
The general smiled.
“An exceptional suggestion, master Cicero. Moreover, it gives us an even greater opportunity. Brutus?”
The fleet commander frowned.
“We can cordon off the south, Caesar and, given the right weather, possibly even engage.”
The general smiled wolfishly.
“You are thinking too small, Brutus. Think on what Cicero just told us.”
There was a moment’s silence and suddenly a grin split Brutus’ face.
“An enclosed bay. The horns of a bull, you said?”
“Indeed.”
Brutus laughed.
“If the army can lure the fleet into the bay, we can seal them in and deal with them at our leisure.”
“And what would draw the fleet in more than having to evacuate their capital?”
Fronto became aware that most of the other officers had stood and approached the table, the entire officer corps now trying to see the map. Brutus cleared his throat.
“Can we get a more accurate map of the situation around Darioritum?”
Fronto shrugged.
“Easily. Send some cavalry scouts from the Gallic wings to go and check out the lie of the land. They can bring us more accurate details. And, of course, if the weather stays kind, you can send a couple of ships up there to get a look at the coast.”
Caesar sighed with satisfaction and stood straight.
“I think, gentlemen, that we have a workable strategy here. We must not, however, rush into early action. If this is to be the point at which we break the Veneti, things need to happen in perfect order with no ghastly mistakes.”
Fronto frowned down at the map, trying to picture the large bay with its surrounding horns.
“You realise, Caesar, that those two promontories that seal in the bay will have Veneti fortresses on them. We’ve not yet encountered a defensible headland without one and they must have a way to control the entrance.”
The general frowned and looked back down at the map.
“I do believe you are right, Fronto. The scouts can confirm their presence, but they are almost certainly there and occupied.”
Balbus ran his finger along the coastline on the map thoughtfully.
“They will need to be secured before any attempt by the fleet to get into the bay and deal with the enemy ships. In fact that will have to be the first move in the whole plan.”
Caesar smiled.
“Indeed. Shall I take that as you volunteering for the task, legate?”
Balbus nodded without looking up, still intent on the map.
“The Eighth would deem it an honour, Caesar.”
“So would the Tenth” Fronto cut in. Both the other men looked up at him.
“Well, these strongholds could be only a few hundred yards apart, but getting to them will require miles and miles of marching. Both will have to fall at the same time to attacks from opposite directions. That’s a job for two separate forces.”
Caesar shook his head vehemently.
“No. I cannot spare fully half my army to take two peripheral forts.”
“With respect, general, these would hardly be peripheral. I realise that until we have seen the bay, this is all speculation, but if what we surmise is really the case, those forts will be key to controlling the bay and therefore destroying the fleet.”
He smiled.
“But we’re not talking about two legions anyway, are we?” He glanced across at Balbus, who shook his head.
“This would have to be subtle, general. We’d have to control the entrance to the bay before your main attack begins, or we risk giving their fleet time to organise and escape. For subtlety we’d only want a small force.”
“And engineers” Fronto added. “Once we have control of the forts, we’d have to try and get artillery set up to help seal off the bay.”
Caesar nodded.
“Very well. It’s an eminently workable plan at this point. We will have to see what happens when we have a better idea of the landscape and disposition. The timing will have to be very tight to achieve what we’re talking about.” He glanced across at Brutus. “And some of this is still reliant on the mercy of the Gods. Brutus is right. Everyone should pay their proper respects and try to keep Jupiter happy for the near future.”
He straightened again.
“Very well. We will reconvene each morning and hammer out the dents in the scheme until we are convinced the time and situation are right. In the meantime, each of you needs to think on what your own forces can do to improve our chances and have scouts sent out to bring us accurate intelligence of the bay and the town. Dismissed.”
Fronto nodded to Caesar and joined the general exodus of officers.
Outside, the air was chilly and there was a faint tang of salt, though the sky had cleared overnight, leaving wispy clouds on the horizon to both south and west; clouds which threatened less than the heavy-bellied ones that had hung over them for the past weeks. The day felt fresh and new.
He turned to Balbus as the man left the tent.
“You realise we’ve just volunteered for about the most dangerous part of the whole show?”
The older legate laughed.
“Nothing new there, Marcus. Care to join me for a bit of breakfast? We’ve a few things to think on.”
Fronto smiled.
“I’d like to, but I have a prior engagement. I’ll call on you before lunchtime.”
Balbus nodded, slapped him on the shoulder and, turning, wandered back toward the camp of the Eighth. Fronto strode on toward the Tenth, smiling as he appreciated the dry crispness of the air. Was Fortuna favouring them at last?
His tent stood off to one side of the legion’s headquarters and his prior engagement stood at ease beside the tent flap, idly examining the sky, while drumming his fingers on his thigh.
“Atenos? Thank you for coming.”
The huge Gaulish centurion turned his pale grey eyes on Fronto and he saluted.
“Legate.”
Fronto wandered past him into the tent, gesturing for him to follow. As the big man stooped and entered the tent where the legate had not even ducked his head, Fronto wandered over to his cot and unclipped his cloak,
