‘I am reconsidering the disposition of the officers, Priscus.’
The legate of the Tenth rolled his eyes, sure that his lowered face hid the gesture from the general. ‘A tough job, sir.’
‘I am very well aware of that. I have spent the past hour closeted away with my lists.’
'The past hour?' thought Priscus. Since the army had arrived at the shores of Gaul the previous night and travelled uneventfully back to Gesoriacum to meet up with the Roman garrison, the general had spent the entire time in his headquarters, alone apart from occasional meetings that lasted but a few moments. Perhaps the general's voluntary solitude and his staccato attempts at organisation had something to do with the missive that had been awaiting them on their return and which still sat, furled but well-read, on the table before him amid the lists.
‘Firstly, this matter with the Carnutes’ Caesar announced, his grey-shadowed eyes roving across the map on the table. ‘I am of a mind to send a single legion into their territory. Do you concur?’
Priscus nodded easily. News had reached Gesoriacum only the day before the fleet returned that the pro-Roman chieftain of the Carnutes - a man who had served well commanding auxiliaries and who had been supported in his bid for power among his tribe by Caesar - had been executed in the most appalling manner by his contemporaries. Though some flimsy excuse as to the cause had been bandied about, there was little doubt in either of the men at this table that it had been anything other than yet another piece being moved into place by the druids in their ongoing anti-Roman campaign.
‘I think so, general. The chances are that the Carnutes are shifting away from allegiance with us, but there's no proof as yet. Sending in a legion for the winter will make a statement and should help keep things under control. It should hamper any efforts to raise the tribe further against us. Plus they can let us know the full situation and there will be other legions in northern Gaul and Belgae lands to move to their support if need be.’
He cleared his throat. ‘In fact, general, given the likelihood that winter quarters will be quite widely dispersed this year, I think we would do well to make sure that every legion has another within at most a couple of days march for support.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Who are you thinking of sending to the Carnutes, general?’
‘Plancus.’
‘Plancus?’ Priscus tried not to spit the name. He was in the general's tent after all.
‘Yes. Lucius Munatius Plancus.’
‘Are you sure that's wise, Caesar. He's not the most practical of men.’
The general gave a cock-eyed hollow smile. ‘Perhaps not. But given the state of my officer lists, I would point out that he is now one of my longest serving legates and has had several years observing the state of the tribes in Gaul. He is perhaps not a stable battle officer but I believe in a more political role, he could prove his worth. However, the Fourteenth are not strong - not a veteran legion. I need to give him a battle-hardened legion against the possibility that things turn ugly. I think perhaps the Seventh. They've seen a lot of action, and their tribunes are unusually sharp and effective.’
Priscus nodded slowly, unhappily. ‘If you say so, general. I worry about what Plancus will do to the Seventh. I hope you're right.’
‘I appreciate your candour, Priscus, but while your tongue wags so, try to remember to whom you are speaking.’
‘My apologies, general.’
Caesar nodded and brushed the conversation aside. ‘To allay your fears, I will send a cavalry detachment with Plancus under the command of Varus. He will have all the support he needs. The next issue is the Belgae and the eastern reaches, toward the Rhenus and the Germanic peoples beyond. We have already had trouble with the Treveri this year. What is your opinion of them?’
‘Easy, general. I would sooner trust a Syrian whore to be pox-free than any of that lot. We put your man back in control, but I wouldn't be at all surprised to find he's already been off'ed in the night and the tribe starting to rise. I'll bet there's a thousand Germans already in the Arduenna forest waiting for word to start eating Romans.’
‘Agreed. We need to concentrate the army in the northeast. There have been few noises from the tribes of Aquitania or Armorica and we have limited resources. So we make sure to cover all the areas of known trouble.’
‘If that's the plan, Caesar, then despite their past pledges to us, we should send a force to the Aedui lands. Dumnorix, before he died this summer, named his brother Divitiacus as a co-conspirator, and that puts the entire Aedui tribe into doubt. Also, given their size and power and that of the Arverni who are only a javelin-throw to the west from there, we'd be remiss to ignore them.’
Caesar shifted his wax tablets and peered at his map, spread across the table.
‘You are entirely correct. Again: one legion. Roscius?’
Priscus bit his lip. ‘The Thirteenth aren't as long-standing veterans as some.’ He grasped the tablet with the legion lists. ‘But then they are Gallic blooded. They might be more useful there than anyone else.’
‘So’ Caesar said, moving small markers with legion numbers etched onto their face across the map, ‘Roscius and the Thirteenth babysitting the Aedui; and the man is a good officer with field experience so no need to support him. Plancus and the Seventh doing the same with the Carnutes, supported by Varus and his cavalry in case of trouble.’
Priscus nodded as he peered at the map. ‘That looks workable. They will be close enough to support one another too, if trouble arises.’
‘I intend to leave a third legion in Gesoriacum to maintain our port garrison and control over the Morini. They have proved duplicitous before and it would do no harm to have a legion within reach of Armorica.’
‘Brutus' Eighth, sir?’
‘The Eighth’ Caesar confirmed, moving the 'VIII' marker to their current position on the map. ‘I am, however, putting Brutus in overall command of the garrison, the port and the navy, as well as the cavalry contingent we leave there. That means I will need to assign a legate to the legion itself. What of the two men who arrived yesterday?’
Priscus cast his mind back to the two men he'd seen sitting in the mess hall, talking quietly. They had reached Gesoriacum only an hour before the returning force from Britannia and looked to Priscus woefully ill-prepared for the world of Gaul. The only two officers who had yet answered Caesar's summons, the older of the two - still little more than a boy himself - appeared to be a quiet, studious character with unruly hair and a squint. The other? Well the other, for all his youth, appeared to be focused almost to the point of being dangerously taut. That, however, was not what worried Priscus. The worrying thing was his lineage.
‘The younger Crassus seems perilously eager. Brutus would have his hands full just keeping Crassus under control, I think. He seems to lack the discipline of his father or brother, and that very thought frightens the shi… worries me a lot, general.’
‘So Gaius Fabius?’
‘He's such a boyish, academic looking sort.’
‘So was Crispus until Fronto got to work on him, and he turned out a fine officer.’
Both men fell silent for a moment at the memory of the poor, murdered academic. Priscus wondered whether Fronto had read his letter yet. Gods help Rome when he did.
‘Fabius, then. At least he looks like he'll take Brutus' advice. The two should be able to work together and Gesoriacum will be safe. What will you do with Cicero if he's not commanding the Seventh?’
‘I think: the Eleventh. Up here? Among the Nervii?’
Priscus nodded and watched as the 'XI' counter slid up to the north coast. ‘At least he's solid and shouldn't need watching.’
‘You may be correct, Priscus, in that he seems to have stopped exhorting me to change my mind every few moments. But just in case I think we'll transfer the two senior centurions with him from the Seventh. Pullo and Vorenus have kept Cicero at the top of his game so far. Let's let them continue to do so.’
Priscus frowned.
‘You've a problem there from the start. Felix is the primus pilus of the Eleventh and has been since they were raised against the Helvetii. He's a good man. But Pullo's also been primus pilus for over a year - though he's been shifted from the Thirteenth to the Seventh already. You can't move him to the Eleventh and demote him, but you can't kick Felix out of the way either. You can't have two top centurions in the legion.’
‘Felix?’ Caesar tapped his chin. ‘You mean Mittius? They call him 'Felix'? Yes, he is a good man. Did us proud back at the Tamesis in Britannia. Let us keep his lucky streak going then. I shall write up the orders to promote him. He can take the position of camp prefect for Cicero - the man probably could do with such a stable influence anyway. Then Pullo can maintain his primus rank in the Eleventh.’
Priscus sighed inwardly. With all the transfers it was a damn good job the legions were being dispersed, else all the centurions would be reacting to the calls of the wrong legions. It would be chaos. Caesar needed steady commanders and organised officers more than ever - it seemed that every passing month saw the army becoming more fragmented and complex. Indeed, the lack of experienced and trustworthy officers and the wide-spreading of forces was clearly starting to bother Caesar. Not only had the tic reappeared beneath his right eye - a mark of stress Priscus had come to recognise - but he had started to voice his private fears, albeit only to Priscus. Once more, he realised that this was exactly the reason that Fronto had been of value to the general. Not just as a senior officer or legate, but as a confidante and advisor. Priscus was doing a damnably good job standing in for him, if he did say so himself, but it was hard work.
‘Where will you put Labienus, then? South, in Treveri lands? At the southern extent of the Arduenna forest?’
‘Yes. With the Twelfth’ the general confirmed, sliding a piece across the map. ‘Again, he needs no supervision.’ He looked down at the north-eastern stretches of Gaul. ‘That leaves us an arc around the most dangerous region. We have hemmed the area in. Now let us populate it.’
He slid the remaining three counters across the map: IX, X, and XIV.
‘We have two experienced legions and one relatively green one. And we have a number of experienced commanders left. I am inclined to place the two strongest legions at the centre of this entire web, on the western border of the great forest, where they can come to the support of most of the other legions in short order. That would be the Ninth and Tenth.’
Priscus nodded. ‘My men will be ready and eager, general.’
The general rubbed his chin and sat back in his chair. ‘I hope they can, Priscus. I'm moving you out again. You'll be coming to serve directly on my staff.’
Priscus stared at the map. ‘Then who… no. No, no, no, no!’
‘Yes, Gnaeus. Young Crassus will take command of the Tenth. I need you in your advisory and strategic role, much as you are now. Surely you must have noticed that I've been grooming you for the role all year. Only the lack of available legates kept you in command.’
‘The lack of available 'experienced' legates, you said, general. Crassus is a boy and one, I suspect, with a dangerous temper.’
‘He is also the son of one of my two most powerful colleagues. With Pompey's grip ever on the increase in Rome, I might need Crassus' support at any time. To that end, I will grant his younger boy all the honours I can. The place he can do the least damage is with my best legion, who will not be swayed to stupidity. Especially since you will not be joining me until the spring. I want you to winter with Crassus and the Tenth and guide him into the role.’
‘Is there no other way, general?’ Priscus stared at the map and then grabbed the legion list and staff list and started to run his finger down them.
‘What of the Fourteenth?’
‘I shall be posting them to the far northeast, in Eburones territory. It's very much out of the way and not in an area of direct threat, so they should be safe enough. Besides, they being one of the weakest, greenest legions, I am hardly going to place them under the command of a green, weak officer, am I?’
‘So who?’
‘Cotta. Since Cicero has the Eleventh, Cotta will take the Fourteenth. And with him, Sabinus to keep thing stable. Given their somewhat distant position, I shall also assign a cavalry contingent to Sabinus.’
Priscus was still shaking his head at the bleak prospect of grooming that angry-looking boy to command his pride and joy, but something struck him as he peered at the map. ‘Are you sure about this position here?’ He stabbed his finger down at the point where Caesar had placed the XIV marker.
‘We have had no reports of unrest from the Eburones. It will be very much a garrison to control the flank of the army.’
‘It looks bloody cut off and dangerous to me, general. It's surrounded to the north and east by the Rhenus and beyond that are half a million angry Germanic monsters looking to rip off our heads and piss down our necks.’
‘I am assured that the river there is far too wide for a force of any size to cross. If anything, it is a better defensive position than most of the others.’
‘Still looks damn dangerous to me, general. You really interested in my advice?’
‘Go on.’
‘Either pull them back a way to the west or give them the support of a few veterans at the least. Maybe we can move the Ninth or Tenth up there and leave just one legion floating here?’
Caesar pored over the map for a while and finally tapped the position of Gesoriacum. ‘This is the most stable region, and the Morini are now thoroughly cowed. We will spare half the garrison legion. Five cohorts of the Eighth under the command of their primus pilus can accompany the Fourteenth to their quarters. A few turmae of cavalry too. You approve?’
Priscus looked across the map, shaking his head. There were so many things of which he did not approve that it was hard to know where to begin. But the worst thing was that every moment longer he stared at the map, the fewer alternatives suggested themselves. It was like playing Latrunculi with Carbo. Despite the centurion's face, full of shiny, pink, open honesty, the man was devious as a snake inside a fox when it came to playing complex games. Every time they played, each new move further restricted Priscus until he reached the point where it mattered not what piece he planned to move, he could see why it would lead to him losing the game.
This map was the same.
He could move a commander to another legion, but in the end, each move left a weak legion with inadequate command, or an inadequate officer with a dangerous command, or a good officer with no one to command. It was hair-tearing. The legions could perhaps be better dispositioned, but only by splitting several legions into several-cohort vexillations, and that not only weakened each legion, but raised the number of commanders required. It seemed that Caesar had placed his pieces in the optimum positions no matter how little Priscus liked it.
Besides, something in the general's demeanour had changed following the arrival of his news and Priscus was far from sure that right now was a good time to start arguing with him. There was a strange feeling of tautness about the great man, as though touching him even with a feather might snap him. He scratched his head.
‘While Balventius is going to curse me for sending his boys out there with the Fourteenth, sadly I concur, general. Shall I start to write up the orders?’
‘Do so, Priscus. Thank you.’
With a weary sigh, the soon-to-be-ex-legate-yet-again turned and left the tent.