The conquest of Gaul

“You two coming?”

Florus looked up and shook his head.

“Love to sir, but I’m not leaving the legate at the moment. Perhaps later when he falls asleep.”

Velius’ face split with a wide grin.

“Why not? I think I have some wine myself somewhere. Where are we going?”

Balbus and Longinus looked at each other and Balbus turned back to him.

“Longinus and you are supplying the wine, so I’ll supply the tent. My quarters in around ten minutes. Just give me time to put away the maps and the kit and requisition some more chairs from the quartermaster.”

As Balbus jogged off at a speed that impressed the others, considering the legate’s advanced years, Longinus turned and grinned at Velius.

“Well I’ve got nothing to do for ten minutes. Shall we go back in and torment Marcus for a while?”

“Tempting, but I’ve got to go via our billets and warn the primus pilus about Caesar’s meeting later. He never said whether he wanted me at the meeting. D’you think he does?”

Longinus smiled.

“No idea. I suggest you go anyway and then if he doesn’t want you, you can always leave again. Better to be present when unexpected that absent when expected, yes?”

“Aye.”

The two of them crossed into the area of the camp set aside for the Tenth and a number of the men saluted and greeted the two as they made their way to the praetorium. Priscus stood on a patch of bare earth with three of the Tenth’s centurions and optios. As the men watched, the primus pilus drew a tactical plan of battle lines in the dirt and motioned where the individual cohorts and centuries would move with his vine staff. The two officers couldn’t hear what he was saying as they approached, but he lashed out with the staff and caught one of the men a ringing blow below the ear before pointing back to the earth. Longinus raised an eyebrow and looked at Velius.

“That’s Arius, our most junior optio. I don’t think Priscus likes him much; thinks he’s thick. He might just be right.”

Longinus frowned.

“He’s going to be thick if he keeps getting clouted round the ears. I might have to have a quiet word with your primus pilus sometime soon. Or maybe with Fronto.”

Velius shook his head.

“I wouldn’t worry over much about it, sir. Priscus knows what he’s doing. Young optios get hit on occasions. It’s part of the training and promotion process. When I started out in the Tenth the primus pilus was an evil old bastard who treated me like something he trod in. In fact, he did tread in me occasionally. Tremendous old sod, though. It breeds tough men.”

Longinus smiled at the grizzled centurion. It occurred to him that everyone who met Velius seemed to complain about him vehemently for a while and then began to appreciate the man. If he’d had that kind of officer in the Ninth, he might have been tempted to make a go of his legionary command. Still, he was happy with command of the horse. He reined himself in from his wandering thoughts as the two of them reached the primus pilus.

Priscus turned and saluted at Longinus.

“Morning sir. Touring the camp?”

“Just dropping by with a message, Priscus. Caesar’s called a meeting at dusk and you’re going to have to attend.”

Priscus frowned and shifted to Velius.

“Why, how’s the legate?”

Velius grinned.

“Confused. And very prone to suggestion. If you want anything at the moment, I’d go and get him to sign it over. He’d probably sign away his year’s pay if you asked him.”

Priscus laughed.

“I could do with a few things. Might go and see him in a bit. Still, I guess that means that I’m in sole command for now. Seems to be happening quite a lot at the moment. Where are you two off to then?”

Longinus waved the jug of wine.

“Going to Balbus’ tent to test the quality of this. Coming?”

Priscus wavered for a moment, then shook his head.

“Can’t really, sir. Too much to do without Fronto here.”

Velius winced.

“Need me here?”

“No, I’ll manage. Just don’t get plastered. I’ll certainly need you later.”

Velius nodded as they turned and made their way toward the area allocated to the Eighth. Balbus’ tent would be in the praetorium. As they approached the periphery, the guards assigned to patrol the edge moved forward to challenge them. The javelins were levelled and then one of them said something to the other and they were lifted again.

“Pass, friends.”

Longinus cocked an eyebrow at Velius.

“What do you suppose that was about?”

The centurion grinned.

“I’ve noticed that a lot of the Eighth’s officers avoid eye contact with me. I think I might have frightened them a little when we defended the wall at Geneva.”

A voice behind them pulled them up short.

“Longinus!”

They turned to see Crassus marching at high speed toward the Eighth’s camp. As he approached the perimeter, the guards stepped forward and levelled their weapons.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

“Get out of my way you idiots unless you want to be beaten to death.”

The two men dithered for a moment and, Longinus noticed, both looked at Velius who gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Pass, friend.”