“That we’re back to square one?”
Galronus shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Hardly. It leaves you with an inescapable conclusion.”
Fronto frowned as they approached their destination. “Hang on.” Caesar’s command tent stood some forty yards ahead, two guards standing by the open flap and checking on the officers as they filed inside. “What conclusion?” he said sharply as they came to a halt still safely out of audible distance.
Galronus sighed and tapped his temple. “Think, Marcus. Who passed through Massilia?”
“Us. And the centurions, and Caesar’s nephew. Oh, and…” The frown on the legate’s face creased deeper. “Surely you don’t think…”
“Barring the discovery that someone else with a grudge was travelling north into the war-zone from Massilia, if you rule out us, and Furius and Fabius, what other conclusion can you draw?”
Fronto shook his head in disbelief. “But those two tribunes are as wet as a duck’s ringpiece! They could no more…” but his mind was already furnishing him with a mental image of Menenius standing by a farm house, his sword running with blood as he issued orders like a man born to the task. He’d saved a tough centurion’s life!
“Fast as a bloody snake.”
“What?”
“When Menenius saved Cantorix across the Rhenus, he claimed he’d been lucky, but the centurion thought otherwise. And then he saved me from three…” Fronto felt his spine tingle.
“He didn’t, did he?”
“Marcus, you’re not finishing sentences. I may
“Menenius!” Fronto said quietly. “They found him wounded. He’d beaten off three barbarians and saved me, they said. You were there in the hospital. But that’s not what happened, was it? Bloody Menenius didn’t run and hide like a coward, did he? He lurked like a murderer. And as soon as he saw his opportunity, he tried to do for me, but three barbarians interrupted him.”
Fronto shook his head in amazement. “Three bloody Germanic thugs saved my life. Saved me from a pissing Roman tribune!”
Galronus nodded slowly. “Then Menenius has done an exceptional job of making himself appear ineffective and effeminate. The guise fooled everyone.”
“Even Caesar.”
“So he had the opportunity and the ability? He could certainly have been in Vienna when Caesar’s nephew was there. The Fourteenth were in the front lines of the battle in the Germanic camp when Tetricus was attacked. And they were in our camp at the time he was murdered, and when Caesar’s courier was done away with. The opportunity was there.”
“And that brings Hortius into the equation too” muttered Fronto. “The pair of them are as thick as thieves. I doubt Menenius could pull any of this off without Hortius knowing about it. Besides, the medicus reckoned it would have taken two people to do what was done in the hospital.”
“But, the motive?”
Fronto shrugged. “The same, I guess. What connection Menenius and Hortius could have to Pompey I don’t know, but it still seems likely that they’re trying to remove Caesar’s supporters. At the first opportunity I’m going to have to have a little word with Caesar and, when we get back to Gaul, I’m going to have another quiet word with a pair of tribunes while they’re held down and at the tip of my sword.”
Galronus gestured towards the tent, where the last of the officers had disappeared. “Best get inside before they begin.”
“I’m sure Caesar will forgive me later when I explain my reasons to him, but you’re right. It’s starting to rain and I’d rather be under leather when that happens.”
As the first patter of drizzle scattered into the hard earth and springy grass, the two officers picked up the pace and strode hurriedly across the path and into the general’s tent, the praetorian cavalry guards nodding their recognition and approval as they passed.
The tent was warm and smelled slightly of the charcoal braziers but mostly of sweat and armour oil. The legates and tribunes of both legions as well as Brutus and Volusenus stood patiently as Caesar ran a finger down a list on a wood sheet on the table before him. Fronto and Galronus fell in by the entrance and the guards closed the tent flap behind them. The dim interior gradually resolved itself in the absence of the damp morning light.
“You’re late” Caesar said flatly, his eyes not even rising from the list.
“Yes, general. Apologies, but the delay was unavoidable.”
“Is it a matter of urgency?”
“Not urgency, as such, Caesar.”
“Then it should not preclude your punctual attendance, Fronto. Or yours, commander. You are learning bad habits from the Tenth’s legate, I fear.”
Fronto bridled impotently. The general hadn’t even looked at him yet. “I will take the opportunity to explain in due course, Caesar.”
“You overstep sometimes, Fronto. I fear that I have allowed you to rush to the gate and snap and bark at passers-by too often. Legates and officers serve in this army at my convenience. You have been with me since the early days and I indulge you perhaps more than I should, but if you continue to treat this command as though
Fronto’s angry step forward was rendered impossible as Galronus trod heavily on his foot, the hobnails in the Remi officer’s own boot digging painfully into Fronto’s foot and causing him to take an involuntary sharp breath. Caesar still hadn’t looked up and Fronto glanced angrily at his friend to see a warning glint in Galronus’ eye. Slowly, he let his rage out with a measured breath.
He glanced around the tent to see every other officer’s gaze lowered carefully except for Cicero. He half expected to see the man grinning, but instead, the legate of the Seventh was giving him a speculative, even slightly sympathetic look. For some reason that angered him almost as much as being spoken to in this way by the general.
“Good. At least you know when to stay silent” the general said, looking up. Galronus’ hobnails pressed into Fronto’s foot again as he opened his mouth to reply. Wincing at the pain, the legate clamped his lips shut.
“We have had visitors, gentlemen. A number of the local tribes have sent their ambassadors to offer me hostages and treaties. I have unilaterally accepted their offers, placing the hostages aboard one of the Gallic ships for safekeeping at this time.”
“Are these the same tribes who tried to stop us landing, general?” Cicero took a step forward. “Because if they are, I’m not really sure how far our hospitality should extend.”
Caesar nodded. “For once I agree with you, Cicero. We have no confirmation of the identity of those who attacked us. Quite simply our intelligence on the tribes of Britannia is not complete enough for us to make any solid guess as to who we were dealing with. Barring a few coins with unfamiliar names found upon the bodies, they could easily be from any tribe. All those who have entreated me claim to have had nothing to do with the clash at the beach, though it seems unlikely that they are all quite innocent. We have accepted their offerings, but I want this encampment fortified, regardless. I want the army on constant, full alert, and the ships under guard.”
“They’re probably trying to buy time” Fronto said, trying to keep the anger and resentment from his tone.
“Possibly” the general acknowledged. “Without a sizeable cavalry force we are effectively blind and relying on the few patrols commander Galronus can manage, and otherwise on the word of potentially treacherous natives and simple hearsay. The entire island of Britannia could be forming into an army over the next hill with a thousand druids for all we know. Thus I want the alert high and maintained.”
Cicero swallowed and took a deep breath. “Forgive me for reiterating, Caesar, but I can still only advise that we return to Gaul. You said it yourself: we’re effectively blind. We have no idea what’s coming. And while we sit here and wish the cavalry would arrive, the weather is turning inclement. I can appreciate that a chastisement of the tribes that supported the Veneti against us would be a good way to instil a respect for Rome, but we can hardly punish the wayward tribes of Britannia in these conditions. Returning is the only sensible course of action.”
The general’s gaze rose slowly to Cicero and came to rest there, carrying the full force of Caesar’s scorn.
