Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (7 page)

The legion’s senior centurion, Baculus, officially confined to the sick hut but proving somewhat difficult to contain, leaned heavily on his stick, his grey features shining unhealthily.

‘Firstly because as senior officer in the region, legate, it is a matter of principle. Secondly, because your scouts and spies are natives and, given what’s happened this past winter, I would not advise any Roman to get too close to one of them without armour on, especially someone of value.’

‘My spies and scouts are Mediomatrici, centurion. They are our allies, not the enemy.’

‘They have spent months wintering among the Treveri, legate, and the Treveri would like nothing more than to tear out your heart through your arse. Better safe than regretful, sir. Buckle up and look good.’

Labienus sighed as the slave handed him his baldric with the fine sheathed blade attached. Settling it over his shoulder, he narrowed his eyes.

‘You need to be back in the sick hut, centurion. The medicus has told me that he’s considering putting a guard on the door to stop you straying.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me a bit of fresh air and exercise won’t cure.’

‘On the contrary, the medicus tells me that even a minor wound can kill if the infection takes hold too strongly, and that the infection which eats away at
your
wound is brutal and life-threatening. He puts the fact that you are still alive thus far down to the fact that you are - and I quote - ‘a pig-headed angry bastard’. I do not like to countenance a future for the Twelfth Legion in which you are not there to bully them around, so kindly go back to the sick hut, lie down and stop interfering with the running of things until the physician pronounces you ‘healthy’.’

Baculus managed to sneak in an unhappy grumble before saluting quickly, so that he could grab back hold of his stick for support, and turning to leave.

‘Get better, and do it quickly. Things are too unsettled around here for me to be missing such an important officer.’

Labienus watched the centurion leave and shook his head with a slight smile. The medicus had actually told him that Baculus was generally out of danger and would stay that way as long as he didn’t overdo things and set himself back. The chances of the veteran sitting back and not overdoing things were, he had decided, miniscule.

‘Am I ready?’

The slave nodded. ‘Yes, Dominus.’

Labienus shrugged his shoulders so that the red cloak hung slightly better and then strode from his quarters - one of only five wooden buildings in the camp, the rest of the men making do with their tents. The mud, despite the periodic fall of near-freezing rain, was being kept well under control in the camp by the judicious use of timbers sunk into the main thoroughfares for stability, and scattered gravel and chippings brought by the men from a local rock outcropping.

Nodding a greeting to some of his tribunes and centurions who were going about their business around the headquarters and the larger officers’ tents, he strode off down the gentle incline towards the north gate.

Two of the veteran legionaries assigned to guard their commander fell into step behind him and escorted him towards the small knot of men gathered inside the gate. A Belgic warrior in his colourful tunic and wool trousers stood rubbing his hands as legionaries held his steed by the bridle, kept his spear and sword out of reach and blocked off any possible route for the native to escape into the camp. Labienus sighed. What the Twelfth had experienced earlier in the winter had put the men on guard enough, but the news of what had happened to Sabinus, Cotta and Cicero had brought about an atmosphere where no Gaul would be given a sliver of respect, let alone outright trust. Sad, really. Labienus was still sure that Gaul could be tamed peaceably if only the army and its more rabid officers could be persuaded to a more tactful approach. Of course Caesar’s own actions did little to promote such a diplomatic solution.

‘Have you confirmed his identity?’ he asked the duty centurion as he approached the knot of men.

‘Aye sir,’ the centurion - a surprisingly young man for such a role - nodded, passing over a wax tablet with a list of names and details. ‘Litomaros. Birth mark shaped like a fat amphora on the left shoulder and ‘L’ shaped scar on lower left of belly. Unless they’ve been very creative, it’s him.’

Labienus nodded, satisfied. He’d sent a dozen men out among the Treveri and their sub-tribes in the area to gain intelligence and provide forewarning of any trouble, and on Baculus’ recommendation had had each one’s distinguishing features noted to provide proof of identity should they return. Labienus had shaken his head at the time and replied that such a means of security stopped a man masquerading as one of the spies, but did not mean they could not be turned. Baculus had grunted and said that half a measure of safety was still better than nothing. Despite his misgivings, Labienus had to admit that he felt that little bit more sure when the centurion had confirmed it.

‘Litomaros?’ he said, gesturing for the other soldiers to step aside and moving forward to face the spy.

‘Legate.’ The man bowed his head respectfully.

‘What news from the Treveri?’

‘Trouble, sir,’ the Gaul replied, his face dark.

‘Indutiomarus stirring up his tribe for another try on us?’

The native warrior cleared his throat, rubbing his cold hands together. Labienus noticed his frosting breath and realised the man must have ridden twenty miles or more in the freezing morning air. With a gesture to wait, he turned to the legionaries beside him. ‘Someone get this man some heated wine. Can you not see he’s chilled to the bone?’

As one of the men ran off, Labienus filed away the looks on the other men’s faces for later attention. Not one of them cared that a native might freeze to death.

‘Right. Now tell me the news.’

‘Treveri are unhappy at Roman warband camp in their lands.’

‘This is nothing new. Are they unhappy enough to make war on us?’

‘Treveri know they are too small to beat Roman warband. Indutiomarus try to talk other tribes to attack Rome, but they not fight.’

‘Good. There is still
some
sense in this land, then.’

‘So Indutiomarus send men across river to German tribes.’

The legionaries shared a worried look and Labienus tried to keep his composure without reacting obviously to such unsettling news. If the tribes across the Rhenus decided to join the Treveri in force, then the Twelfth Legion would likely be a mere stain on the memory of the campaign in a few weeks, just like Sabinus and Cotta’s command a few months back.

‘How many?’

The Gaul shook his head. ‘Suevi and Ubii and Chatti refuse to help.’

Labienus felt his spirits lift at such news. It seemed unlike those tribes not to take the opportunity for a little havoc and plunder among the lands of their Gallic cousins and against the might of Rome, but Labienus could be grateful for their recalcitrance without seeking the reasons.

‘So the Treveri do
not
come? Why then did you feel the need to leave them and seek me out?’

The Gaul took a steadying breath. ‘Indutiomarus not needing Germans now. Chief gather to his boar standard all thieves, murderers, bandits, killers and rebels in Gaul and Belgae lands. His army grow with men who hate Rome.’

‘How large can an army be if it’s formed of countryside brigands?’

The Gaul frowned as if the question made no sense.

‘Is it really a force that presents a threat to us?’ Labienus rephrased.

‘Yes,’ the Gaul replied. ‘You surprise how many Gauls hate Rome and run to Indutiomarus because their druid say not fight.’

Labienus sighed. He would not be at all surprised, if he were to admit it. It
was
a surprise, however, to hear that the druids were counselling non-confrontation. While Labienus was of firm belief that the Gallic tribes and their leaders could be persuaded to a diplomatic solution, the druids had always seemed immovable objects in the path of peace. What was their game?

He pursed his lips. ‘There are enough to do to us what the Eburones did to Cotta and Sabinus?’

Again the Gaul nodded.

‘Then we are faced with three choices. We abandon camp, give the Treveri the run of the countryside, and join up with Caesar’s army back west. Upside: no one dies unnecessarily. Downside: the Treveri are given a victory and the freedom to cause further trouble. Or, we sit and hold tight and work on our defences in the belief we can hold against a siege until Caesar arrives and breaks them, like he did with Cicero. Upside: we have time to strengthen our position. Downside: we are trapped and if Caesar does not come, the Twelfth become a memory. Or… we strengthen ourselves while weakening them.’

The duty centurion frowned as he leaned closer. ‘Sir?’

‘The man said the druids are counselling peace. The Treveri still have druids among them, and still listen to them. There will be warriors of honour within the tribe who are in two minds about any attack. If they recognise that the druids are against it and that half their army is made up of criminals or men from tribes they don’t even know, a lot of their warriors might find cause to desert any attack.’

He wagged his finger at the Gaul. ‘It is asking a great deal, but do you think you can get back among the Treveri without suspicion?’

‘I think,’ the Gaul nodded.

‘Good. Go back to them. Take up your former role but now, instead of gathering information for me, I would like you to sound out their druids and, if they are truly opposed to an attack, help spread their dissent among the warriors of the Treveri. Try not to get yourself caught though, and steer clear of these thugs they have recruited.’

The Gaul nodded and Labienus smiled sadly. ‘You know I want naught but peace for us all, and I know you will be returning to terrible danger, but I’m trying to bring matters to a close without strewing the countryside with the bodies of all our people. Go with your Gods and ours.’

As the Gaul held out weary hands to the man holding his spear and sword, Labienus turned to the duty centurion.

‘We have a full legion, barring a few wounded, but we are lacking in cavalry.’

The centurion’s face showed his low opinion of horse soldiers - an opinion shared by many of the legion’s officers and men.

‘Cavalry have their place, centurion. I have commanded mounted forces and while there are things that the legion can do that they cannot, there are activities that require the speed and flexibility of riders. We have less than three hundred horse - probably only half that if I look at the figures. I want that upped to more than a thousand, split into four alae, each with the few regulars we have mixed among the native levies.’

The centurion shook his head. ‘Sir, Caesar has already levied every cavalryman he has the right to. If we try and call for more levies, we are exceeding our agreements with the tribes.’

‘It seems curiously out of character for you to care, centurion?’ Labienus asked with an arched brow.

The centurion looked a little taken aback, but made a quick recovery and shrugged slightly. ‘I’m not over-bothered whether they get irritated about having more of their unwashed hordes recruited, true. But I’m not a lover of the idea, when faced with a sizable enemy, of stirring up the other tribes around us. I don’t want to suddenly find we’re also facing the Mediomatrici, the Leuci and all their little friends.’

Labienus smiled.

‘Not a thought I relish either, centurion, but also not something I intend to bring about. I want your most eloquent men, accompanied by a few of our native auxilia, to head to all the larger oppida within a day’s hard ride. They will petition the tribal councils for volunteers to help us against the Treveri.’

The centurion’s eyes widened. ‘That’s mad, sir.’

‘Remember to whom you speak, centurion.’

‘Apologies, sir, but these people don’t give two wet shits about us already - even the ones who are supposedly our allies. I really can’t see anyone volunteering to save us from the Treveri.’

‘That’s because you have haven’t thought of it from their point of view, centurion. You need to brief the men you send on the necessary angle of attack and bring up all the following salient points: the local tribes are peaceful now and have good trade relations with us. We are demanding nothing of them other than a small tithe agreed years ago with Caesar to help us against the rebels. The Treveri may be distant cousins to our locals, but you need to emphasise the fact that their leader has tried to petition the Germanics across the river to join him.
None
of the local tribes will like that. The Germanic peoples have only ever been aggressors and invaders. I think you’ll find that many of the Gauls hate the tribes across the river more even than they hate us. Moreover no settled, law-abiding and honourable Gaul will like the idea of an army of bandits, murderers and other scum moving into their lands. Appeal to their honour and their sense of self-preservation. Remind them that we are here trying to build links between our people, and remind them of the last few times the tribes across the river came into their territory. I think you’ll be surprised just how many volunteers you get.’

The centurion grinned. ‘No one likes a thief in their garden, that’s for sure, sir.’

‘Precisely. Succinctly put. Now get your best rhetoricians saddled and ready to go. We don’t know how long we have before the Treveri decide to come and stand on us, and I want a cavalry force to be reckoned with assembled by then.’

‘I still don’t see what good that will do us, sir,’ the centurion replied.

‘That, my good man, is because you have never ridden a horse into battle.’

As the centurion saluted and disappeared off to find the men he would need, Labienus watched the Gallic spy riding out through the gate towards the Treveri once again.

It was a gamble. But it was always worth gambling a little if the stakes were the prevention of a full scale war. Now to make the camp impregnable, or as near as damn it. It was always worth preparing for the worst.

* * * * *

Sextius Baculus, Primus Pilus of the Twelfth Legion, veteran of dozens of engagements and eighth highest-ranking man in the camp - including several pointless boyish junior tribunes - struggled upright at the end of his cot.