The conquest of Gaul

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Marcus Falerius Fronto trudged through the mud between the headquarters pavilion and his tent, kicking in irritation at errant stones, which disappeared into the dark with a skittering sound. He would have given good money to be back at the winter quarters in Aquileia, on the warm Adriatic. For all that Cremona was a reasonably sized town with all the facilities and amenities a Roman gentleman could enjoy, the camp itself, almost a mile away, was much the same as any practice camp throughout the Empire: cold, damp and dirty. Like many of the mighty General’s senior officers, Fronto’s quarters were considerably closer to the centre of command than he would truly wish. Though concentration of the officers made for better organisation and a certain camaraderie, the great Caesar slept little and late and had a tendency, when thoughts occurred in the dark of night, to wander among the tents of his officers and seek out their opinions of grand designs and obscure schemes. It was said by some of the men that Caesar never slept, though Fronto knew the truth, having just removed the cup from the General’s hand, emptied the dregs outside the tent and draped a blanket over the figure slumbering in the folding campaign chair.

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