staring at the gate in consternation.
Atia? Niece of Caesar. What the hell was the general up to now?
Wishing there was another urchin around to set to watching the door, Balbus stood, stretched, and turned back to locate the busily shopping women somewhere back down in the forum and the boy with his overheard senatorial musings.
Clearly he was going to have to pay attention in Rome .
Something was afoot.
Chapter 4
(Divoduron, in the land of the Mediomatrici)
The most powerful men in Gaul sat on low benches around three sides of the tent, the legs of the seats deliberately shortened, forcing them to look up at the general and his officers who occupied the fourth. Periodically one would stand as though he were a Roman patrician addressing the senate, and make some salient point or other to which Fronto paid no attention whatsoever.
The assembly of the chiefs of Gaul had been in progress for over an hour now and Fronto had retained precisely zero words that had been spoken in that time. To pay attention and contribute was not why the officers were here; they were here as a reminder of the pomp and sheer power that Rome and Caesar had at their disposal. They were here to help make the Gauls feel small, just like the shortened seat legs, the captured Gallic standards that hung on the leather wall behind the officers and the centurions and men who stood erect behind the Gauls as though guarding them.
It was an assembly of the Gallic rulers about as much as it was an orgy of the Gods. It was, in fact, Caesar once more playing the Gauls for his own benefit. Indeed, he had even feigned ignorance over the very existence of Germanic tribes this side of the great river, just to allow the Gauls to plead, demand, and urge Caesar to come to their aid.
Showmanship.
Fronto felt uncomfortable with the whole pretence, all the more so since Labienus kept catching his eye and raising his eyebrows, nodding towards the general. He knew why it was all happening, of course. The senate continued to bemoan Caesar’s pushing beyond the limits of his granted powers, and the pleas of the allied Gallic chiefs would legitimise his campaign. But still it reeked to Fronto.
Another Gallic chieftain stood, his silvery braids whipping around his neck as he rose, his moustaches all-but obscuring his mouth as he refused to grant Caesar any more levies for his cavalry. Fronto rolled his eyes and mouthed along with Caesar’s somewhat predictable reply.
“Without adequate cavalry support, I cannot see any way in which we can reasonably challenge your Germanic aggressors.”
He’d heard Caesar use the same line three times already. It was a stalemate situation at the moment. The Gauls were all in favour of Rome coming north in force and driving out the new invaders, but many of their husbands, fathers and sons had finally been released to return to their tribes after two or three years of serving with the Romans. Their tribes were beginning to recover, the returning manpower allowing them to raise their farming and manufacturing to the levels they had achieved before Caesar had first enlisted their cavalry. Only three tribes had so far relented and agreed to provide new men for Caesar’s horse army and those were tribes that had only recently become allies and had lost few men to the campaigns.
It was all about attrition. Caesar had them in the palm of his hand. The Gauls needed him to get rid of the invaders, lacking the strength to do so themselves, and everyone there knew it. They simply jostled to get the best deal from the situation for the fewest losses. By the time the meeting was over, Caesar would have his cavalry, of that there could be no doubt. But it was extremely wearing to be a part of.
Fronto glanced across and accidentally caught Labienus’ eye once more. The staff officer was watching him intently, damn him.
Fronto’s eyes strayed to the other figure in the room whose presence offered something of an interesting
Atia? Niece of Caesar. What the hell was the general up to now?
Wishing there was another urchin around to set to watching the door, Balbus stood, stretched, and turned back to locate the busily shopping women somewhere back down in the forum and the boy with his overheard senatorial musings.
Clearly he was going to have to pay attention in Rome .
Something was afoot.
Chapter 4
(Divoduron, in the land of the Mediomatrici)
The most powerful men in Gaul sat on low benches around three sides of the tent, the legs of the seats deliberately shortened, forcing them to look up at the general and his officers who occupied the fourth. Periodically one would stand as though he were a Roman patrician addressing the senate, and make some salient point or other to which Fronto paid no attention whatsoever.
The assembly of the chiefs of Gaul had been in progress for over an hour now and Fronto had retained precisely zero words that had been spoken in that time. To pay attention and contribute was not why the officers were here; they were here as a reminder of the pomp and sheer power that Rome and Caesar had at their disposal. They were here to help make the Gauls feel small, just like the shortened seat legs, the captured Gallic standards that hung on the leather wall behind the officers and the centurions and men who stood erect behind the Gauls as though guarding them.
It was an assembly of the Gallic rulers about as much as it was an orgy of the Gods. It was, in fact, Caesar once more playing the Gauls for his own benefit. Indeed, he had even feigned ignorance over the very existence of Germanic tribes this side of the great river, just to allow the Gauls to plead, demand, and urge Caesar to come to their aid.
Showmanship.
Fronto felt uncomfortable with the whole pretence, all the more so since Labienus kept catching his eye and raising his eyebrows, nodding towards the general. He knew why it was all happening, of course. The senate continued to bemoan Caesar’s pushing beyond the limits of his granted powers, and the pleas of the allied Gallic chiefs would legitimise his campaign. But still it reeked to Fronto.
Another Gallic chieftain stood, his silvery braids whipping around his neck as he rose, his moustaches all-but obscuring his mouth as he refused to grant Caesar any more levies for his cavalry. Fronto rolled his eyes and mouthed along with Caesar’s somewhat predictable reply.
“Without adequate cavalry support, I cannot see any way in which we can reasonably challenge your Germanic aggressors.”
He’d heard Caesar use the same line three times already. It was a stalemate situation at the moment. The Gauls were all in favour of Rome coming north in force and driving out the new invaders, but many of their husbands, fathers and sons had finally been released to return to their tribes after two or three years of serving with the Romans. Their tribes were beginning to recover, the returning manpower allowing them to raise their farming and manufacturing to the levels they had achieved before Caesar had first enlisted their cavalry. Only three tribes had so far relented and agreed to provide new men for Caesar’s horse army and those were tribes that had only recently become allies and had lost few men to the campaigns.
It was all about attrition. Caesar had them in the palm of his hand. The Gauls needed him to get rid of the invaders, lacking the strength to do so themselves, and everyone there knew it. They simply jostled to get the best deal from the situation for the fewest losses. By the time the meeting was over, Caesar would have his cavalry, of that there could be no doubt. But it was extremely wearing to be a part of.
Fronto glanced across and accidentally caught Labienus’ eye once more. The staff officer was watching him intently, damn him.
Fronto’s eyes strayed to the other figure in the room whose presence offered something of an interesting
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