Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt (16 page)

‘My king, I bring dire news.’

‘Go on.’

‘Despite all our precautions and every care that we all took, something has gone wrong. We arrived in the Roman province to find Caesar there, mobilising the local garrison and with what appeared to be two well-equipped legions. They were already moving north when we came across them in the foothills.’

‘You fought them?’ Vergasillaunus frowned. The Cadurci and their allies looked like a strong, untouched army.

‘No. Even strong as we were, we would almost certainly have lost to ten thousand Roman legionaries. I decided it would be better to bring the army north once more and add our strength to yours, making sure that you had all the information. We would be no use to you spread across a southern hillside feeding the crows.’

Vercingetorix nodded slowly. He did not look happy, but the spark of anger had gone from his eyes. ‘You erred towards caution,’ the king murmured. ‘This is not a trait of prime value in a warrior, but it is essential in a leader. You did the right thing. I am surprised that Caesar is so well informed and so quick to move. I would give a gold torc to find out how he learned of our activities and how he reached Narbo without us finding out. The Romans do not like to begin their wars before their festival of weapons, and that is still months away. Caesar is as slippery and unpredictable as ever.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Did the Romans see you?’

‘As far as I can tell they were not aware of us at any point. As soon as we found them, we returned through the hills ahead of them. We moved west, past Albiga, and returned by the low, easy route, but word from the mountain tribes is that Caesar moved east and north, to cross the Cevenna passes.’

Vergasillaunus shrugged. ‘Then we have nothing to worry over, and the man is a fool. He cannot hope to cross those mountains in winter. His army will be bogged down in snow and forced back to Narbo.’

The king fixed him with an appraising look and shook his head. ‘He will have succeeded. A man who has managed to move so early and in force when we have done all we can to prevent it is not a man to be put off by a mountain pass, even in winter. No, Caesar did not stop, nor did he pause. If you saw him make for the Cevenna, he will be past it now.’

‘But that would put him in our own lands?’ murmured Vergasillaunus.

‘Yes. There are easier routes to the north and to his army. If he attempted the Cevenna passes in winter, then the Arverni have been his target from the start. He has taken a force of two legions to ravage our lands while we tarry here.’

A voice from behind burst out, carrying tones of panic. ‘
Two legions
at work in our land?’

Vercingetorix turned a rather dangerous look on the outspoken man, a Vellavi chieftain of the oppidum of Condate, subservient to the Arverni, but whose town lay at the northern end of the main passes across that range. Probably the place where Caesar descended the mountains. Condate was likely gone already. The chieftain apparently failed to notice the nuances in his king’s expression, since he spoke again without pause.

‘All out warriors are in the north, here to fight for you. Our people are undefended!’

Vercingetorix closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, the steel they carried made the chieftain recoil. ‘Caesar is trying to manoeuvre us. He is poking a sore tooth to see how we will respond.’

‘But we must go to their aid?’ the man pleaded, raising mumbles of agreement from some of the other leaders around him.

‘Abandon our gathering of armies here? Leave the Aedui to slide back into their Rome-ish ways? That is exactly what Caesar wishes. Can you not see?’

‘But…’

‘No.’ Vercingetorix turned to Lucterius. ‘When was this? When you last saw their army?’

‘Fifteen days. Perhaps sixteen.’

Vercingetorix shook his head again. ‘Caesar is not there anyway, now.’

‘He must be…’

‘No. Caesar has left men there to tempt us south, to break off our work here. And you know what will happen if we race to Arverni lands to help our uncles and cousins defend their farms?’

Vergasillaunus nodded. ‘While we are there, Caesar will rejoin his armies and untie all the bonds we have formed with the northern tribes, weakening us.’

The king ran his fingers down his moustaches, squeezing out trickles of rainwater. ‘Caesar is a clever man, so we must be more so. Whatever he wishes us to do, we avoid doing it. We must not fall into his traps. If he is trying to draw us south, then we must stay here and continue our work, but keep careful watch on what happens around us. The Aedui, I am convinced, are the key to power in the region. They are the largest tribe, even without the numerous others under their protection, and their support may tip the scales for either Caesar or us. We
must
have the Aedui, so I cannot abandon this campaign, even for the sake of our villages. There is more at stake here than our own tribe; we have to look at the whole picture, and not just see a corner that is important to us.’

He turned to the outspoken chief from Condate.

‘Take your men back south… no more than a thousand, though. Protect who you can, save who you can, and take stock of what you find there, then send a messenger to us with your answers. You will not find Caesar there, of that I am sure. I doubt, in fact, that you will find a solid veteran force there. This army in our lands is a phantom Caesar raises to panic us. Old men or young recruits in shiny armour.’

As the relieved-looking chieftain nodded and turned to ride back to his own warriors, the king sighed. ‘Settle your men in with the army, Lucterius. We have brought the Bituriges to our standards and have harried other small tribes. Now we go to destroy the Boii at Gorgobina and bring the Aedui’s nerves to new heights. Soon Caesar will be upon us, and I want that troublesome tribe with us and not with him.’

* * * * *

Vellaunoduno was unimpressive, to Fronto’s eye. In the six years he had fought through Gaul, he had seen the most powerful fortresses the tribes had to offer, from the towering chiselled mountain of Aduatuca, through the treacherous coastal strongholds of the Veneti, to the swamp-ridden islands of the Menapii. Vellaunoduno had walls of reasonable quality, but it sloped gently downhill from north to south, with even the north only protected by a gentle grassy incline, and the south gate undefended by any natural obstacle.

‘We could take that place in an hour,’ he muttered, shivering in the cold breeze.

Carbo, the primus pilus of the Tenth legion and trusted officer of Fronto’s, grinned. ‘Give the word, legate and I’ll turn the place upside down for you. It’d be a damn site better than this.’

He indicated the work going on all around them, as legionaries from eight legions busily cut turf sods, worked on taking the ditch down to at least waist level and used the soil to create the rampart behind it. Atop the completed sections of the mound, other legionaries were using timber and wattle to weave strong fences and nailing them in place to posts. Here and there, men were even constructing low towers to sit above the fence, affording a good view of the oppidum and its surroundings. The work was going on in a wide circle that surrounded Vellaunoduno, leaving just under a scorpion-shot between the two opposing walls.

Fronto sighed. ‘No. Sadly, we cannot. Caesar gave his orders. Circumvallation. He wants the oppidum undamaged for its stores.’

‘I can’t help but wonder what the Gauls are thinking, sir. They’re Senones, and that means they’re theoretically our allies, yet we pitch up here with eight legions and build siege works? And what happens when the bloody-minded buggers inside decide it’s better to burn the granaries than let us have the grain?’

Fronto nodded. The same thoughts had occurred to him. ‘There are rumours that the western Senones are sending warriors south to Vercingetorix, and when we arrived, they shut the gate. No welcome party generally means you’re not welcome. And as to the granaries, we’ll have to trust to their sense of self-preservation. Currently we have no reason to put them to the sword. We are not officially at war with them, after all. Caesar will grant them favourable terms in return for supplies.’

He desperately hoped so. When they had arrived at Agedincum two days ago, Fronto had gone with Priscus to examine the supply situation at the main camp. Labienus had showed them the granaries and storehouses, and they had been pitifully thin. Normally, when faced with such an issue, the commanders of the winter quarters would rely upon sending out centuries of men and foraging in the surrounding lands, but it seemed a Boii scout who had been working with Cita at Cenabum had survived to bring the legions news of the Carnute attack a few months back, and in response, Labienus had reined in all such forage parties, keeping the legions together and on high alert. The result had been low stores, but six well-prepared and alert legions, ready to move at a moment’s notice. Indeed, Labienus had told them of reports from native scouts of Carnute and Parisi warbands prowling the region in the hope of picking off any such small extended foray.

Caesar had rallied from the news, sending out messengers to the Aedui at Bibracte and the Boii at Gorgobina, reminding them of their allegiance and asking that they send whatever supplies they could spare. Still, Fronto had noted, Caesar had lost no time in fielding the army and making for the grain-filled oppidum of Vellaunoduno, leaving only two legions at Agedincum in reserve.

The centurion nodded wearily. ‘The lads are itching for a fight, sir.’

‘I suspect that by the autumn they’ll be sick of the sight of blood, Carbo. Somewhere south of here is an army of Gauls bigger than anything we’ve faced in this land so far. And some time in the next few weeks or months we’re going to have to bring them to battle.’

‘It’ll be a big one, sir.’

Fronto regarded the bald, shining pink pate of the stocky centurion and nodded. ‘It’ll end all this and settle the place one way or another, that’s for sure. By the time this season’s over half the population of Gaul of fighting age will be howed up in burial mounds, be they Gaul or Roman.’ He shrugged off the depressing thought and nodded to the growing rampart. ‘How long will the circumvallation take?’

Carbo shrugged. ‘The mound and ditch will be in place by nightfall… benefit of eight legions’ manpower. Another day for the fences, towers and gates. Then there’s the lilia pits and the like. Two days, though in all.’

A nod.

‘Doesn’t look like much, does it?’ muttered Palmatus, arriving at the completed mound that overlooked the south western corner and standing beside his commander. The singulares remained standing at ease close to the rear of the slope, ready to move should their commander require it, and watching the rest of the army labouring with the satisfaction of the excused-duty.

‘No,’ the legate replied. ‘But from here you can see why it’s important.’

‘Why’s that?’

Fronto pointed over the enemy ramparts at the sloping town within. ‘See up near the top, past that two-storey place with the red tiled roof? There are four extremely long roofs?’

‘I see them?’

‘They’re granaries.’

Palmatus whistled through his teeth. ‘They’re bigger than the ones in a legionary fortress.’

‘That they are. Vellaunoduno’s pretty much at the centre of the Senones’ grain-farming region, like Cenabum for the Carnutes. As such, it’s a hub, which supplies other towns within the tribe. There’ll be enough grain in those four buildings to keep us in the field for a month or more.’

‘Hopefully it won’t take that long to finish the job,’ Palmatus shrugged. ‘The general word is that the Gallic army is massing less than a hundred miles south of here. A bit of careful manoeuvring and we could bring it to open battle in days. Weeks at most.’

‘Don’t be too sure,’ Fronto replied quietly. ‘Remember: we’ve met their leader. He and Caesar might well be a match for one another. Neither of them is going to commit on unfavourable ground, so there might be a lot of dancing around before anyone gets to bloody their sword. No idea what Vercingetorix is doing down there, but he’s close to the Aedui, and after last winter I’m not quite sure how far I trust our old friends any more. And as for Caesar: well he’s concentrating on breaking off the man’s northern allies and containing him. Could be a while before we put sword to throat in open field.’ The pair fell silent and perused the oppidum’s walls, pulling their cloaks tighter for warmth. None of the men were used to campaigning so early in the year. It was unnatural.

‘Look at that pair. Daring buggers, eh?’ Fronto and Palmatus followed Carbo’s pointing finger and picked out two men standing atop the walls of Vellaunoduno with their fists on their hips, regarding the Roman engineers sealing them in. The rest of the warriors atop the walls had either pulled back down inside the city or were crouched behind the parapet, ever since the Roman artillerists had loosed a hundred pot-shots at the walls just to determine range and the position for the line of the ditch. The Roman defences were safely out of Gallic bowshot, but a scorpion was still accurate enough with a good artillerist behind it to pick a man from that wall.

‘They’re just watching us, the cheeky bastards,’ Palmatus said.

‘Let ‘em,’ Fronto said. ‘Might help with lowering their morale.’

‘An extra corpse or two would help more,’ Palmatus snorted.

‘They’re wise to us, though, since the test volleys’ replied Carbo. ‘Any time the crews move the scorpions, the buggers go into hiding.’

Palmatus gave a nasty grin and turned, looking back down the earth bank to where Fronto’s bodyguard were assembled, supping from water flasks, exempt from all the manual labour going on around them.

‘Arcadios? Get up here.’

The swarthy Cretan scrambled up the bank, his bow across his back and a leather case of arrows at his waist. He saluted Fronto and Carbo and nodded to Palmatus. ‘Sir?’

‘I’ve seen you put a point through a torc at almost a hundred paces. Could you hit a man on that wall?’

Arcadios narrowed his eyes and squinted through the dreary air. ‘It’s more like a hundred and sixty paces. Maybe a hundred and seventy.’ He sucked a finger and held it aloft. ‘And there’s a more-than-moderate breeze. It’s possible, but I’d have to be very lucky.’