“I suspect they’ll wait for me.”
“No man’s
Fronto threw a full salute to the centurion and, turning professionally on his heel, jogged back across the grass. All along the forest’s edge the action had ended, the battle clearly over. The survivors had fled into the forest and the legions were calling their men to muster. All around him, small pockets of two or three legionaries wearily dragged their feet back to their units.
Not Fronto.
For some reason he felt almost impossibly good. There was a spring in his step that he just couldn’t subdue and he couldn’t stop smiling. He might have to look up centurion Cantorix of the Fourteenth and buy him a drink some time soon.
The two men glanced at him and shared unheard words as he jogged across to them. Carbo raised an eyebrow.
“I see our legate managed to slip away from us and get himself covered in blood somehow.”
Atenos nodded.
“I expect he was helping an injured man, Carbo. He would never have deliberately launched himself unarmoured into a fight, ‘specially after you warning him not to. After all, that’d be stupid. No, I’m sure there’s some sensible explanation.”
He turned back to the legate.
“May we ask where you’ve been, sir?”
Fronto grinned at them.
“Therapy.”
Chapter 19
(September: Caesar’s camp, in Menapii territory.)
Fronto rapped quickly on the frame next to the tent’s door and, lifting the flap aside, strode in without ceremony. The general looked up from his desk, where he was making marks on a number of wax tablets.
“Ah, Fronto… good.”
“You called” the legate said and, strolling across to the table, indicated the seat with a question on his face.
“Yes. By all means, sit.”
Fronto sank into the seat and shuffled until he was comfortable. Caesar was looking him up and down with interest.
“Something wrong, general?”
“Not at all. In fact, Brutus was right: you actually appear almost
Fronto laughed.
“We are almost at the end, Caesar, I think.”
The general nodded, quietly, his face giving nothing away.
“I hope you’re right. I really do hope you are right. I need to return to Rome as much as you do, Marcus, and I need a settled Gaul before I do.”
Fronto shrugged.
“It’s been a week without more than the occasional gnat bite from these tribes. They’ve retreated so deep in the forests it’s pretty clear they have no wish to fight us. Perhaps it’s time we tried to bring things to a conclusion? Perhaps force the issue so that they might accept terms?”
Caesar nodded.
“I had been considering the possibility. Slaves and an example made are good things, but at this point expediency may call for a temperate response to the situation. The deforestation seems to be proceeding apace. I can barely see as far as the tree line now.”
“Yes, we’ve taken the forest back well over a mile now. But to keep doing so will take so long it’ll be winter before we leave here. We need to do something now to try and bring things to a satisfactory end.”
Caesar frowned. There was a sparkle in Fronto’s eyes that he recognised.
“What are you planning, Marcus? I know that look: you have an idea.”
“I was talking to the scouts on the way over here. The latest searches along the forest paths have become a little more revealing.”
“Go on…”
“Yesterday they found a clearing only a half mile from the current forest edge. It had clearly held wagons in large numbers until recently.”
The general nodded.
“I debriefed them myself, yes.”
Fronto smiled.
“The tracks that led from the clearing deeper into the woods were fresh; a day or two old at the most.”
“And…”
“And that means that the enemy’s supplies, their entire wagon train, is closer to us than it really should be. It can’t be far inside the forest. I suspect that, while the tribes can easily move deeper and deeper into the woods, they have left the area where their trails and tracks are and moved into inhospitable terrain. They’ll be having to hack and clear a path for their wagons as they move and it’ll be slowing the whole process down. Their wagon train is exposed, general.”
Caesar cracked a slow smile.
“And with no supplies, their resistance would soon falter.”
Fronto grinned in return.
“I see you get my point.”
The general steepled his fingers and sat back.
“I presume this sudden enthusiasm is by way of you volunteering?”
The legate shrugged.
“Can’t really send more than a small vexillation in there. Marching a whole legion into the forest would be asking for trouble and they’d have difficulty manoeuvring. A smaller unit of, say, two or three centuries would have the size and flexibility to work within the woods.”
The general nodded and spread his hands on the table before him.
“Three of your centuries will be enough? With a few scouts who know the paths, of course?”
“Actually, I was thinking of taking two of mine and one from the Fourteenth if Plancus is amenable. They’re Gauls themselves and might be useful.”
Caesar nodded.
“Whatever you think best. Plancus will give you the troops. If he is reluctant, feel free to drop my name in the conversation.”
Fronto nodded and stood slowly, pausing with a faint look of surprise.
“I just realised that I never even asked why you called for me in the first place?”
“Nothing that cannot wait, Marcus.”
Fronto grinned and straightened.
“Then if you’ll excuse me, general, I’ll just run out and end the war…”
Still smiling, the legate strode out of the tent and stopped there. Four of Ingenuus’ cavalry guard stood to attention around the tent, and three soldiers, clerks by the look of it, stood waiting to see the general, tablets and scrolls in their arms. With a chuckle, he leaned across to the nearest, pulled the documents from the surprised man’s hands and dropped them on the pile of the man in front.
