right up from the roots. Good men, I'm sure, but not officer class."
"Neither am I. You said you wanted good men in command? They're good men."
Caesar opened his mouth to reply but paused, a faint smile touching his lips. Finally, he folded his arms. "Very well. See it done, Legate."
Priscus stood and saluted. "Thank you, general."
"Don't thank me yet. We have a lot of work ahead of us, Gnaeus, and only half the tools to handle it that we've had previous years. Go to your command. I'll have the relevant documents of commission drawn up and delivered and since you're still nominally in command of the quartermasters you might as well go draw your own equipment. Don't go mad though. No golden breastplates or the like."
Priscus shook his head slightly at the unexpected turn of events and, saluting once more, turned and strode out of the door. Over the years he had watched Fronto bend under the weight of his command until finally, last autumn, he had broken. Now Priscus would begin to test the strength of his own mettle under the same conditions.
Fronto!
How he missed the old bastard.
With a sigh, he exited the building into the cold, grey world of northern Gaul and made for the mess hall where Fabius and Furius would be waiting for him. They would not be expecting the tidings he was bringing, and he couldn't help a smile crossing his face as he imagined theirs at the news of their meteoric rise.
* * * * *
For the second time in two days, Priscus stood on the dock of the harbour watching the ships bob and bounce, the pale and drawn Brutus at his side.
"We'll be back within the month, and Sabinus and Labienus are able commanders while we're gone. I don't think you'll run into too much trouble."
Brutus nodded with a resigned sigh. "Dividing the army nearly did for me last autumn. I don't like this at all."
Priscus shrugged. "Itio is supposed to be little more than a fishing village with good sea access so you should have no problems. Anyway, Sabinus will meet you with two legions. Just make sure the fleet gets there in one piece. After a whole damn winter putting it together it'd be a shame if it turned up at Itio as floating kindling. You've got a month at most to get the fleet ready and all the supplies prepared. As soon as we get back from Treveri lands, the general's going to want to cross to Shitannia."
"Don't get yourself killed out east, Priscus. It'd be a shame to get that shiny new helmet stoved in."
"Don't drown. We'll be back in a month."
Brutus gave him a half smile and waved him away. "Go on. They're waiting."
Priscus nodded and turned to see Fabius and Furius standing at the far end of the dock, looking distinctly unimpressed. Despite being dressed in the thin-striped tribunes' tunics and the armour and helm of a senior officer, both men somehow contrived to look baser and rougher than any ordinary soldier. Not scruffy or unkempt in any way - both men had too much attention to professionalism for that - but it was hard to see them as anything other than centurions in the wrong uniform - like a sweaty, blood-soaked bull wearing a sheepskin and shouting 'Baaaa'. He almost laughed. Fronto had said the same thing of him the day he had first donned the Camp Prefect's uniform.
"Morning."
"Sir" the two men snapped off a salute.
"Is the legion ready?"
Furius nodded. "We were the first to assemble outside the gate in full kit. That Carbo has them working like a machine."
"He's a good man. After me he was the best centurion in the legion. What of the others?"
"The Seventh is lined up and ready. The Ninth are falling in now, and the Thirteenth are readying the supplies. Caesar's foregone a full wagon train for speed and settled for pack horses. Half the cavalry have given up their precious mounts to carry sacks of grain and timber. You've never heard so much grumbling."
"Screw the cavalry. They only ever moan and chunter and most of them don't even speak Latin anyway. We'll be relying on resupply from
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