Conspiracy of Eagles

what was about to happen within that stockade. Dozens and dozens of cavalrymen pushed and jostled to get to the entrance and have a first go at the prisoners.

Caesar glanced around and his gaze fell on a regular cavalry decurion in the crowd. He gestured with a crooked finger and the man strode over, saluting.

“Once it’s over, have their heads removed, cleaned and bagged up for the journey.”

The soldier saluted again. Fronto looked across at Caesar as they started to walk away.

“What of the two you had removed at the end there?”

Caesar shrugged. “Priscus will probably get everything we need from the first two, but I thought it prudent to have two men spare for him to question afterwards.”

“And will they be released afterwards as well?”

Caesar flashed a genuine frown of incomprehension at him.

“As well?” Realisation struck him. “Oh you expect me to release the first two after interrogation? Marcus, if everything goes the way I expect there will not be enough of them left to ride a horse afterwards. There are times, Marcus,“ he added with a curious smile “when you are almost deliciously naive.”

Fronto glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep his mind on the mundanities of legion command, the ordered lines of soldiers marching through the dust behind him, kicking up clouds of grey, the standards glinting in the sunlight, the crimson flags that stood out blood-red against the blue and green of the summer’s day…

But the problem was that even they were too reminiscent and drew his gaze back around to settle on the grisly sight at the front of the army.

Twelve bearded, top-knotted, grisly severed heads bounced up and down on the tips of spears, bobbing along to the gait of the walking horses beneath them. Caesar’s cavalry guard had been given the ‘honour’ of carrying the trophies, and Aulus Ingenuus had selected a dozen of his toughest and most loyal men to carry out the unpleasant task. Flies buzzed in clouds around them where they rode, at the ‘head’ of the army, as Priscus had put it in a moment of attempted light relief.

It was yet another display of ruthlessness from the general that jarred his sensibilities, and yet Fronto could not help but think that the fault really lay with himself. Somehow, despite having served for over a decade with Caesar, in two different theatres of war, deep down Fronto still expected Caesar to live up to the expectations that he’d had all those years ago when he disembarked in Hispania to take up his post. The fact that Caesar consistently failed to live up to them was more likely a problem with his own expectations being too high than with Caesar being less than he could be.

Irritated with the general for his shortcomings, himself for his naivety and the Germanic invaders for being stupid enough to cross the Rhenus and push the matter, Fronto clicked his tongue angrily and glared at the bobbing heads.

“Do you approve?”

The voice was so close and unexpected that Fronto actually jumped a little in the saddle. Turning, his heart sank at the sight of Labienus, pulling alongside with his dappled grey mare. The staff officer was pointing at the heads.

“Do you like the new standards the general has raised for the army? Are you proud that the Tenth get to march at the front behind them?”

“Leave it, Titus.”

“Do you approve of the execution of men of diplomacy to create a symbol of Roman implacability?”

“Titus…”snapped Fronto, turning a warning glare on him. Labienus blithely ignored it.

“Is this the man you came to Gaul to serve with? ‘Cause I know for certain that this is not the man I followed.”

“Just leave it, Titus.” Fronto’s face darkened further and Labienus searched his companion’s eyes, feeling that he’d scored a point somewhere — touched a nerve; perhaps there was a chance here…

“Why did you defend the general in the command tent? There was the chance of a peaceful solution. It only took a little more support; a few more of us to stand before Caesar and nudge him to a diplomatic answer. But you defended him. Even though you knew Cicero and I were right. And you did know that, didn’t you?”

Fronto raised a warning hand.

“Why?” Labienus pressed. “Why defend him? You’ve always stood up to him and argued when you thought he’d crossed the line. You’re renowned for it. It’s what makes most of the officers respect you. I know that I’ve changed over the past four years, but so have you, Marcus. I may have begun to understand something beyond the simple discharge of duty, but you? You’ve hardened. Half the time now, when the general is crossing a line, you’re crossing it with him! Why?”

Fronto turned in the saddle and something in his eyes made Labienus shrink back. Perhaps he had misjudged the legate.

“Don’t stir up things you don’t understand, Titus.”

“Fronto…”

“Could it be that there are things you don’t know? Could it be that I feel I have a duty to defend and support the man who saved Faleria and my mother from murder by the mob in Rome? Could it be that without Caesar my entire family might have died when thugs and gladiators set fire to my father’s house and came to carve Faleria to pieces? That Caesar fought side by side and back to back with me to defend my family? That only he and his veterans stood with us?”

Labienus blinked. He’d been in winter quarters with the legions much of the past two years and the troubles in Rome had reached him as mostly rumour, notes and fragments from people like Cicero. He opened his mouth to speak, but Fronto was almost snarling, spittle at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you think I serve Caesar because of his patronage? The only thing I ever got from him was my first military post in Hispania all those years ago, and I’ve paid him back for that a hundred times over. Patronage? I’m Caesar’s client because I choose to be, not because I’m beholden to him. Do you think that every sestertius Caesar borrowed to put himself at the top came from Crassus? Of course not, but I’ve written off every last coin that changed hands between us because of what that man has done for my family. It’s nothing to do with money or power or position. You know me well enough, Titus, to know I don’t give a rat’s shit about that. But a man who will stand in front of a blade for my sister’s sake?”

Labienus shook his head. “I didn’t know, Marcus.”

“You!” Fronto snapped, jabbing a finger into Labienus’ chest. “You owe him nothing. I know that. You’re no client of Caesar’s. You came on the staff as an equal; a friend and a colleague. You could walk away at any time, so don’t push me to do what you won’t yourself.”

“Fronto, I have to stay. Someone has to be here to try and temper the worst excesses of this endless war. To gainsay Caesar when he steps across that line. Fair enough if that person cannot be you any more, and I do understand what you say. I can see the point. But someone has to be here. Where else would I be able to make a difference?”

Fronto withdrew his jabbing finger and fell into a sullen silence. Labienus took a deep breath, dangerously aware that he was about to poke a bear with a sharp stick.

“But even with what you say and your personal bond with the general, surely you can still see the wrongness of that.” He pointed at the bobbing heads. “He broke his word. He murdered them all, or allowed it to happen. Twelve men of peace and diplomacy hacked to bits in interrogation or torn to pieces by angry Gauls, despite the fact that he’d promised clemency to at least four of them. An oathbreaker is a man to watch, and you know it.”

When Fronto turned back to him, there was a glassy deadness to his stare.

“It worked. It may not have been the gentlemanly thing to do, and it sure as shit was not the nicest. But look at the results. Three ambushes we might have fallen prey to, and each one dealt with efficiently and quickly by scouts and advance parties just because we knew where to look. Not a man escaped to tell the tale, either. As far as the enemy is concerned, they don’t even know we’re on the way. All because of what happened to those ambassadors. And the very fact that there were such ambushes tells you just how diplomatic those men were planning on being.”

He gestured with a sweep of his arm. “And look at the army. Look at the Gaulish auxiliaries and the men of