Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (46 page)

He glanced past Cantorix.

“The Ninth and Twelfth also acquitted themselves well, particularly given the reduced nature of both legions at this time. Rest assured that mention of that will be made to Caesar when we return.”

He leaned back.

“And that brings me to the question of how we proceed from here. The tribal alliance here is broken, but we need to be sure it stays broken.”

He reached forward to the map of Armorica spread out on the table before him.

“The oppidum of Crociatonum has been used by the rebels as a military fortress, stripped of its civil population. The legions will settle here as a garrison for the foreseeable future, at least until Caesar orders their movement or withdrawal. While based here, I want regular vexillations of three cohorts in size sent out to look for Viridovix, to gather supplies and information concerning the tribes that have just retaken their oaths, and to make sure that a strong Roman presence is continually felt in the area in order to put the notion of further rebellion far from their minds.”

He leaned back again.

“Our small cavalry detachment, along with a couple of the tribunes in command, will ride for Caesar’s army to inform him of the completion of our mission here and will return with any news from the campaign against the Veneti. In the meantime, we will see to our dead, including the recovered body of tribune Gallus, and process the Gauls. Are there any questions?”

Silence filled the tent and Sabinus gave a weary smile.

“Then let’s get things tidied up. It has been a
very
long day.” He eyed Cantorix. “Even longer for some of us. Time to rest and recover, eh centurion?”

Chapter 15

(Iunius: Inland Aquitania, two months prior to Caesar’s victory over the Veneti at the battle of Darioritum )

Gaius Pinarius Rusca, senior tribune of the Seventh legion, shuffled in his saddle.

“What are we waiting for, sir?”

Crassus shot him an irritable glance; the man asked too many questions. Still, while Rusca was as military-minded as a bag of brassica, a fresh-faced political ‘would be’ from Rome, he would likely be gone within the year and, after all, being surrounded by such idiots did one’s
own
image no harm.

Galronus of the Remi, leader of the strong auxiliary cavalry force accompanying the Seventh legion, rolled his eyes, his own irritation barely contained behind clenched teeth. Throughout the three week march south into Aquitanian lands, the legate of the Seventh, a man Fronto had told him to be careful of, had persisted with the attitude that the Seventh legion were effectively a noble and veteran force, moving alone through hostile territory, while the numerous detachments of Gallic cavalry were little more than a hindrance that blocked an otherwise impressive view.

Rusca looked taken aback.

“Of course, sir. But one legion was enough for you to crush the north west.”

Oh good. Stupid
and
sycophantic.

“Rusca, the Armorican tribes were relatively civilised Gauls in small groups, with their own internecine wars to attend to. Conquering them was like laying down the law to a group of squabbling children by comparison with
this
.”

At least Galronus could agree with him on that point.

“Aquitania constitutes fully a third of Gaulish territory, Rusca. We are not talking about a few squabbling tribes here, but what amounts to an entire nation. There may be many tribes in Aquitania, but there are a few very powerful ones at the top of the heap who maintain power in the region. If we wish to control Aquitania, we must first seek to control those tribes.”

He squinted into the distance and gave a small half-smile.

“Don’t forget, Rusca, that very clever and powerful men have fallen foul of this place over the last century and more. Praeconinus and his army died here. Manilius barely escaped back to Narbonensis with his life. We will find no allies here and no friendly supplies. Make no mistake: in Aquitania, the Seventh legion is utterly alone.”

Again, Galronus ground his teeth as he glanced over his shoulder at the assembled mass of thousands of Gallic cavalry, but his attention was drawn back to the legate as the man laughed.

“So we must be prepared. And like all good commanders, I prepared as much as possible before we even left Vindunum. I sent a few requests and messages ahead with some trusted couriers. See how my preparations begin to pay off?”

He pointed to the saddle further down the valley, the few flitting clouds casting patchy shadows along the ridge. As Galronus and the tribune watched, men began to pour over the rise in their direction.

“I have a not-inconsiderable supply of money and influence. Add to that the authority of Caesar and you’d be surprised how easy it is to raise an army. I can only imagine how the decurions of Tolosa, Narbo and Carcaso must have panicked and fallen over one another to provide my troops and supplies in time.”

“Beware the pit trap of insolence, commander.
I
authorised them in the general’s name. Such authority is implied in my command. The general would rather we cost him a little inconvenience and succeeded in our task than we lost him an entire legion in the wilds of Aquitania; of that I’m certain.”

Galronus turned his astonished gaze back to the army pouring over the crest and down the valley toward them.

“There are thousands of them!”

“Somewhere in the region of three thousand, if my requests have all been met; mostly archers and spear men, along with a good supply train of grain and other goods.”

Crassus smiled smugly as he watched the army pouring toward them to almost double the size of his force.

“Let’s move on and pick up our new allies. They are, after all, solid Roman stock of Narbonensis who have had a long journey to join us.”

Galronus glared at the legate as he turned his back, wheeled his horse and threw up an arm to signal the army forward. ‘Solid Roman stock’ indeed… the men of Narbo were almost as Gallic as the Remi;
had
been less than a century ago.

As the legion and its auxiliary support moved off, the senior officers moving ahead with Crassus, Galronus walked his horse out to the side, deliberately detaching from the column.

He was surprised when, a moment later, one of the five remaining tribunes of the Seventh trotted out to join him. As the army marched on, Galronus looked the man up and down.

He had seen the tribune, as he had seen them all during the journey, usually with their heads up the legate’s backside. This one, one of the juniors, was surprisingly elderly to be filling such a post. From what Galronus understood, the tribunate was almost exclusively filled with young politicians climbing their ladder to success, alongside just a few clever veterans who stayed in the position in the hope of securing the command of a legion when the previous legate moved on.

This man, however, would be perhaps fifty years old or more. His hair was peppered black and white, his face lined and displaying a weariness that had little to do with physical exertion. The officer gave him a sad smile and pulled alongside.

“Can I help you, tribune?”

The man glanced ahead, but the command party had picked up the pace to meet the new troops and was clearly out of audible distance, even if they had been listening.

“
More
carefully. Young Crassus has taken a very personal dislike to you and you may find yourself in a great deal of danger unless you tread lightly.”

Galronus sighed.

“I am used to dealing with prejudice, tribune. The officers of Caesar’s army mostly see me as an barbarian warrior given too much authority for my own good.”

“Not like Crassus. He despises your cavalry and even their commander, Varus. He would never move against Varus, for the man is of noble Roman blood, but you…?”

The Remi commander nodded sadly.

“Do you know, tribune, that I spent the winter in Rome? I had only a loose command of Latin before my time there, and much the same even when I first arrived. And yet, in the city itself, no one treated me as anything other than another face in the street. No prejudice. The distrust of the Gallic peoples seems to be the province of the military alone.”

The tribune chuckled.

“Give them a little room there. They’ve spent the last two years
fighting
Gauls, so there’s bound to be a certain uneasiness. Things will change in time, but not until the army stops campaigning here. In the meantime, mark my words and watch your back. I will do what I can to help, but I will not, you understand, defy the legate for you.”

Galronus nodded.

“I would not expect it. I am surprised to find a tribune in the Seventh who would lower himself enough to speak to an auxiliary commander, let alone one of your… experience.”

“It is good to know that someone of apparently good honest sense has a commanding role in this campaign. This role is not one of my choosing. I would have been back among my own people serving under Labienus if commander Varus had been willing to take this command instead.”

Again, the older tribune gave a light laugh.

“I must return to the others. I may be required when we meet up with these new reinforcements. Remember my words, though, Galronus of the Remi.”

The cavalry officer smiled and nodded.

He
would
remember.

* * * * *

The army had been travelling through the lands of the Sotiates for a day now and Galronus had begun to feel distinctly tense, jumping at each unexpected sound. The officers in their accustomed position in the vanguard seemed to be treating the whole expedition as some sort of jaunt through the country, laughing and joking, pausing the army’s march to take a meal on a hill with a particularly splendid view and riding out on small forays to hunt as the army travelled.

The Remi commander had met a number of men like this in his winter sojourn in Rome with Fronto, men more interested in themselves than their assigned task. Men who were heading for a fall.

The scenery here
was
stunning, though, he had to admit. As a man from the largely low and flat lands of the Remi, Galronus had little experience of terrain like this. Aquitania seemed to consist largely of deep valleys and gorges, thick woodland and high waterfalls, separated by high rock formations and bald moorlands. The landscape reminded him of the folds and dips in a cloak cast uncaringly to the floor.

Also, since leaving Vindunum and separating from Caesar’s army, the weather had been improving the further south they travelled, leading to blue skies and warm sun among the Aquitanian hills, the buzz and hum of bees and the twitter of birds a constant companion.

But no amount of breathtaking scenery or stunning weather could shake the mood from the cavalry commander.

Three days into what was considered to be Aquitania and no sign of anything but a few small hamlets and lonely woodcutters’ huts. One full day into the lands of the Sotiates, the largest tribe of this land, and nothing to show for it but a tanned face and the smell of summer flowers.

Galronus had approached the legate and suggested a number of measures, almost all of which had been ignored out of hand.

Crassus did not deem these woodcutters worth interrogating, though Galronus had seen the look in their eyes as they’d watched the legion pass. They
knew
something and each gaze he met set his nerves a notch higher. The legate refused to reorganise the army’s marching order so as to be less predictable; the Seventh were apparently invincible in Crassus’ eyes. Even the suggestion that they change their route and make for some of the smaller tribes first to gain more of an idea of what they were facing fell on deaf ears. Finally the two men had agreed on roving scouts provided by the Gallic auxiliary cavalry, but even that seemed but a tiny measure to the Remi commander.

A noise cleared the cobwebs from his head.

He was relieved, as usual, to hear the double blast on the Gallic horn that announced the return of the scouts. To his left, the hillside sloped away sharply, becoming a gradient far too steep for horses as it plunged down to a narrow river valley. Ahead, a more gentle and civilised slope led down the valley side, their route to the river they would be following to its confluence.

The scouts appeared to the right flank of the column, where the hillside continued to rise to a lush, grassy moor, punctuated by white rocks that created unusual and fascinating formations on the crest.