Marius' Mules II: The Belgae Read Online Free

down more of
Gaul?”
    Balbus glared
at his young companion. Balventius stood and crossed the room,
opening the door and peering outside.
    “ It’s alright. Nobody’s listening.”
    Balbus
sighed.
    “ A little care, Crispus!”
    “ He’s correct, though,” the young man replied quietly. “Caesar
has pushed the Belgae until they snapped. Now he’s preparing to
take them to task. And, of course, the Belgae are the fiercest of
all the tribes, or so they say. If Caesar can defeat the Belgae,
all of Gaul should fall and cower before him. It’s a bold
move!”
    “ It’s a stupid move!”
    The other
three turned to Fronto in surprise. The tired legate took a last
swig and grounded his goblet.
    “ He’s riled the Belgae so he can fight them and beat them and
show all of Gaul who’s the master. But he’s done it too well. The
Belgae have decided it’s time to piss on Rome. But they’re not
stupid. They know how big Rome is; how powerful. So they, in turn,
foment discord among the Gaulish tribes and the next thing we know
is that the Council of Chiefs has been called without any of our
allies. So half of Gaul looks like their siding with the Belgae.
And they’ve even thrown out hooks into Germania. There’s nothing so
sure as most of the German tribes would love nothing more after
last summer than to kick six shades of shit out of us!”
    Balventius
whistled through his teeth.
    “ Looks like we’re wading in it shortly, then?”
    Balbus
sighed.
    “ Then I hope Caesar’s the tactician everyone thinks he is.
We’ve got to have something up our sleeve, or we’re facing odds of
at least ten to one!”
    He leaned
forward and gestured at Fronto.
    “ Pass me that wine…”
     
    * * * * *
     
    The four men
emerged, blinking, into the light. Fronto had meant to ask why
Balbus had drapes over the windows but, in the end, they had proved
useful both for maintaining privacy and for preventing sunlight
from worsening his headache. The thumping came back like the
weaponsmiths of the Tenth at work.
    The other
three strolled ahead, chatting, while Fronto plodded along
unhappily at the back. They were still set on going to see
Labienus, despite the fact that Fronto was sure they would learn
nothing new of value. He was filled now with a cold conviction that
Caesar had put his men in the worst possible danger for his own
vainglorious expedition and, regardless of Balbus’ fervent hopes
that the general had a surprise up his sleeve, Fronto also knew
with leaden certainty that it would be left to men like himself to
make the general’s grand plans work out.
    He spat on the
ground with irritation and looked up once more.
    As they
strolled down the hill toward the river and the bridge that linked
the military garrison with the Gaulish city of Vesontio, he noticed
the guards at the riverbank pointing and gesturing excitedly to
each other. Squinting, for they were still some distance away yet,
he tried to focus on the small figures and tracked back from them
in the direction they were pointing.
    A vast array
of armoured legionaries was stomping up the valley in the direction
of the bridge and the camps. He stopped for a moment, drawing a
tense breath while his companions, unaware, continued on down the
path.
    No amount of
squinting would allow him to focus enough to identify the flags
they bore, but his initial fears were easily brushed aside: these
couldn’t be the retreating survivors of the first wave of Gaulish
counter-invasions. The army in front of him was fresh and tidy.
Perhaps Labienus had called the outer legions back to Vesontio
before the general arrived.
    “ Yes… that’ll be it” he muttered to himself and then hurried
along to catch up with his companions.
    As the four
officers reached the gate of the camp, the duty guards snapped to
attention with great professionalism. As always, Fronto studied
them carefully. He found the Eighth a great yardstick for measuring
the performance of his own legion; the two were