Gesoriacum, Gallia Belgica, 20th April 41 AD

With a leap, Gaius jumped off his horse and ignored the nervous glances the tribunes gave him. They looked only a few years younger than himself. But unlike them, he had grown up among soldiers, tribunes and legates, while they had played on country estates or spent their time in the gardens of their rich friends in Rome. Unlike them, who were still so inexperienced, he could not only find his way around a Roman military camp in his sleep, but also knew all the strategies and dodges that could be used to win victories. Now they were still in a permanent camp, but soon they would have to give up these comforts.
Earnestly he handed the reins of his horse to the strator and trudged off in the direction of the praetorium, there he would live for the next few weeks until the crossing. Soon he would exchange the villa for a tent and frankly he was looking forward to it. Suetonius and three other praetorians followed him at a reasonable distance. At first he was surprised at the respect the soldiers showed him, as he had not yet been able to earn it. For he was no longer the little boy who ran through the camp in armour made especially for him as if it were his playground. He was the commander of this army, and he would prove to each and every one of his legionaries that he was not just the son of the great Germanicus. Soon they would respect him for his own achievements and not just those of his father. Without hesitation, Gaius opened the door of the praetorium and disappeared inside the villa. As he entered, Hesiod rose and signalled to the slaves to prepare his rations.
Of course, Gaius would prefer to summon his staff immediately, but he stank like a barbarian and his stomach growled. He quickly ate the bread and cheese, then washed them down with a cup of grape juice. Following this, he made his way to his villa's spa and had the dirt of the journey removed.

"How is the construction of the lighthouse coming along?" he demanded to know, eyeing the commander of the fort.
"It will be ready for use in about two months, princeps," the man explained nervously, and Gaius nodded with a serious expression. For the past hour, he had been briefed on every little thing by the members of his staff. There were maps on the table in front of him, with the Oceanus Britannicus in particular clearly visible. What little knowledge they had of Britain still came from Caesar and Aurelia had repeatedly told him the various reasons why he could not rely on the maps she had made. But for the moment, what little they already knew was quite sufficient for further planning. The first priority was to cross the Fretum Gallicum. After that, he would be able to count on Verica's support. Verica was the leader of the Atrebates, with whom Rome had an amicitia relationship, and Verica's request for help due to the threat to his domain from the Catuvellaunes legitimised Gaius' entire Britannian campaign. The lighthouse was a guarantee not only of their safe outward journey, but also of their return and of vital grain supplies. For Gaius strongly doubted that they would find enough supplies for his legions on the island, and he wanted to be prepared for anything. A starving legion was an unpredictable legion that not only fought worse, but in the worst case would turn on its commanders. Hunger makes evil, Aurelia had once murmured softly. She was so right.
"Any news from legio II Augusta?" asked Gaius, the silence making him look up from his contemplation of his maps. Uncle Claudius shook his head slightly and Gaius suppressed a groan. Immediately he turned his attention to Sabinus and wanted to know from him if he had heard anything from his brother. Sabinus also just shook his head. Thoughtfully, Gaius rubbed the back of his neck. Three legions were too few to pacify all of Britain.
"She will surely arrive here soon," Gaius said, ignoring his uncle's surprised look. Uncle Claudius had never taken part in a campaign because of his physical ailments and Gaius knew that unpunctuality and unreliability in a battle could mean the destruction of the whole army. Nevertheless, he thought it better not to accuse his legates already if they could not answer to him. Hopefully, Vespasian would have a good reason to show for his tardiness when he arrived in Gesoriacum. Sabinus' expression remained unmoved. Either he really didn't know anything, or he didn't want to tell him. Slightly alarmed, Gaius asked the two Flavius brothers present to report on the state of his own legion. But Gaius only listened to Sabinus with half an ear. Again and again his thoughts drifted to the one who was missing.

Vespasian arrived with his legion from Germania a month after Gaius' own arrival and sought out his commander first. Relieved, Gaius looked up from his half-finished letter to Aurelia and indicated to Hesiod that he could bring Vespasian to him. Torn, Gaius looked at his letter, but put it aside and sat up straighter in his chair. His friend would not be able to read the letter anyway because he did not use a coding system with Aurelia, but in that strange language she called English. The language would not change into the form they both used for their private letters for several centuries, and to him this method of a language not yet spoken and also not yet in existence seemed more efficient than an encoding system that could be cracked by his contemporaries without much effort.
When the door opened and his friend entered in full armour, Gaius rose and watched as Vespasian tucked the helmet under his arm in a practised manner and saluted him with the other. Smiling, Gaius stepped up to him and held out his arm, which Vespasian grinned and took.
"It's the first time I've seen you in caligae," Vespasian teased him and he replied with a less than amused snort. Vespasian understood immediately. Lately Gaius had been watching him being patterned from all sides. His reputation preceded him and again and again he heard his unloved nickname, Caligula, soldier's boot, which could so upset Aurelia. Through her he had come to hate the nickname even more and he had sworn to himself that he would never be Caligula. When he had once caught a legionary directly calling him that, he had the soldier publicly flogged and threatened his legions with decimation if such an incident happened again. This was war, not a game, and he needed the respect of his soldiers, not their gossip.
Seriously, he inquired as to the reason for Vespasian's late arrival. Instantly the jest drained from his friend's eyes.
"I had a little business to attend to on the other side of the Rhine, which is why your order reached me only three weeks ago. As quickly as I could, I called my men together and set off with them," Vespasian reported, holding his scrutinising gaze. Gaius sensed that his friend was omitting some details and it displeased him greatly. If this campaign was to be successful, he needed to be able to trust his legates. Vespasian had always been a good friend to him, that was the only reason he would not probe further - at least for now. Therefore, Gaius nodded as if that said it all and invited Vespasian to dinner tonight.

Lost in thought, Gaius stood on the small platform at the top of the lighthouse newly erected by his soldiers and gazed out at the waters of the sea glittering peacefully in the sunlight. On the horizon, the mystical island already seemed within reach and yet far away. Now, in mid-June, the final preparations were finally complete, and the actual invasion of Britain could begin. With a solemn expression on his face, he stepped up to the brazier and wordlessly extended his right hand, in which Uncle Claudius immediately placed the torch. With a grand gesture, Gaius lit the fire, and he felt a wave of hope wash over his army. This beacon was the symbol of their safe return home. Its light would guide him safely back to Aurelia.

The next day, Gaius called his soldiers together on the beach with a satisfied expression on his face, and after praising their efficiency sufficiently, he began his speech proper. But he soon found that the calming effect of the inauguration of the lighthouse had fizzled out. Before him stood men trembling with fear for their lives and the superstitious stories about the island. Feverishly, Gaius considered how to convince them to cross, but his mind went blank. He had no choice but to shimmy along his preconceived speech and hope for the best.
Out of the corner of his eye, he registered a movement at the edge of the legions lined up in front of him, heading straight for him. Undeterred, he continued in his speech. The figure came to a halt diagonally in front of him, so that Gaius could still be seen by all the soldiers.
"Soldiers, these are those Signa that were lost in the depths of Germania 32 years ago!" shouted Vespasian, ramming the two freshly polished field signs into the ground beside him. Insistently he continued in a firm, clear voice: "It was none other than our princeps who freed these symbols of our proud armies from their unwanted exile and brought them back to their homeland. The honour of our army is thus restored. Let us show the British what it means to be a Roman!"
The army broke into thunderous applause and shouted its approval. For a moment Gaius enjoyed this small triumph and gave himself over to the relief of no longer having to deal with mutinous soldiers. Then he raised his hand and the crowd fell silent. In a loud voice, he thanked his army for their trust and issued a whole series of orders.
With a thoughtful smile on his lips, Gaius watched his guests, who were basically all members of his staff. Although they didn't know it yet, these carousals, which admittedly were nowhere near the standard he had to indulge himself in Rome, would soon stop altogether. Life in the camp would be hard, especially for the less fortunate souls who had not come here as officers. As soon as they had crossed the sea, Gaius would no longer be able to reconcile it with his conscience to take anything other than the people without whom his campaign would be doomed from the start. So, he allowed his confidants the last bit of luxury before they would get to know his way of warfare. After all, there were no women or dancers for whose efforts he had to feign interest.

Just as Sabinus was trying to laugh particularly unceremoniously at one of uncle Claudius' jokes, Vespasian leaned inconspicuously closer to him and whispered softly in his ear, "The order came from her, didn't it?"
At first, Gaius wanted to ignore his friend's question and pretend he hadn't heard it. But when their eyes crossed and he saw the seriousness in his friend's eyes, he could not bring himself to do so. Of course, it had been immediately clear to him that Aurelia must be behind Vespasian's action. Only he had assumed until now that Vespasian must have known of Aurelia's plan, at least in part.
"She is truly a remarkable woman," Gaius murmured more to himself and his lips twisted into a proud smile. For she was his alone. Vespasian nodded in agreement, avoiding his gaze and sipping his goblet of wine.
As soon as his guests had made their way to their lodgings, Gaius took out his letter to Aurelia, added a few words with a smile, rolled up the letter, sealed it and handed it to Hesiod, who would see to its further delivery. Lost in thought, Gaius leaned against the window frame and stared out to sea at the mysterious island. Without his wife, he would already have failed.