Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt (33 page)

‘Will the wagons be alright?’ Plancus hazarded, picturing the wrathful side of Caesar they had all seen when his subordinates made decisions with which he disagreed. The two officers had received word of Caesar’s approach two hours previously and had immediately set the baggage train off back to the bridge across the Elaver under armed escort to save time.

‘Let’s hope so. Fabius and half his legion were with them.’

The two men sat and waited as Caesar and his staff closed on them. The general looked self-satisfied, which boded well for the results of the Aeduan matter at least. As Caesar reined in and nodded to the two legates awaiting him, the four legions continued to descend the slope and fall in alongside the other two.

‘Your force seems diminished,’ Caesar noted archly by way of greeting.

Plancus opened his mouth to explain, but Cicero was already speaking. ‘Five cohorts have accompanied the baggage to the Elaver this morning, general. Given the time it takes to move the wagons across the bridge we decided that saving a few extra hours would be of use.’

Caesar frowned. ‘My map of the region shows a sizeable ford some eight or nine miles upstream. I had planned to take the baggage across there, along with the legions, for speed.’

Plancus cleared his throat noisily, his throat-apple bobbing like a man in a heavy swell of sea.

‘Respectfully, general, the natives inform us that from early spring until late autumn the Elaver is too deep and fast to be forded. Run-off from the mountain thaws, sir. Bridges are the only option.’

The general nodded his understanding, though his frown remained. ‘This will slow us down. Irritating. I had hoped to be well on the road to Gergovia by sundown, leaving the escorted baggage to follow on behind. Oh well. Needs must. Good work, gentlemen. Now let us take the legions to the bridge and cross.’

* * * * *

‘I don’t like it, general.’

Caesar looked across at Fronto, rolling his shoulders, stiff from several hours in the saddle. ‘What would you have me do, Fronto? Commit half the army to support roles, when they are so clearly needed for the fight?’

The legate of the Tenth shook his head. ‘No, sir. I don’t know. I’d have preferred to assign the support tasks to the legions Labienus took north, perhaps. I just don’t trust the Aedui as far as I could spit a rat.’ He raised his face to the sky. The weather was warming daily now, spring beginning to take a firm foothold, but the clouds spoke still of imminent rain.

‘The Aedui are ours, Marcus. Convictolitanis owes his reign to us. He will not forget that.’

‘We make war on a huge army of rebel Gauls, general, led by a tribe who only two years ago we thought our staunchest of allies. And while we prosecute that war, we place our supplies and garrisons in the hand of another such tribe. It’s begging disaster, that’s all I can say.’

‘We have no other option, Marcus. I…’

The general’s voice trailed off as the two Romans eyed the native scout racing back towards them, where they rode at walking pace near the front of the army but off to one side, safely away from the dust cloud kicked up by the stamping feet, and protected by Ingenuus’ men and Fronto’s singulares both. The scout hauled on his reins and bowed his head.

‘What is it?’ Caesar asked quietly.

‘Trouble at the bridge, general. Legate Fabius sent me to request your presence as a matter of urgency.’

Caesar turned his frown on Fronto, who shrugged. ‘What
sort
of trouble at the bridge?’ he asked the scout.

‘It’s not there, sir.’

The two officers’ frowns deepened. ‘Come, then,’ Caesar said, urging his horse forward and lengthening to a canter as Fronto fell in alongside, Bucephalus matching the pace with ease. The two bodyguard units followed close behind as the men, led by the scout, passed out ahead of the column and between two stands of beech and chestnut trees.

Sure enough, as the river Elaver came into view, the mud-churned plain on the near bank was packed with hundreds upon hundreds of wagons and beasts of burden milling about impotently, five cohorts of the Eighth legion drawn up protectively in neat blocks around the mess. What had once been the wide, strong timber bridge that the army had used more than once to cross the broad river was now little more than a few broken struts and posts jutting forlornly from the rushing waters, the piles shattered, and what could not be broken down had been burned, now little more than charred sticks.

‘This is no accident,’ the general murmured as they slowed to take in the sight.

‘Clearly not,’ Fronto agreed, raising a finger to point across the river. The general followed the gesture and noted the dozen or so natives on horseback sitting watching from a rise on the far bank, distant enough to keep them safe from attack. ‘Who are they?’

The scout cleared his throat. ‘They carry the
rearing horse
standards of the Lemovices, legate. One of the rebel tribes under Vercingetorix.’

Fronto nodded sourly. ‘Then their army is not far off. They have destroyed the bridge to prevent us crossing.’

‘More than that,’ Caesar agreed, ‘they have left scouts. There are too few there to do us any harm, but enough on good mounts to ride and recall the rest of the army should we commit to constructing a new bridge. If we set the engineers to work, the whole of the rebel army will be on the far shore before we near the bank. And then we will be forced to funnel ourselves onto the bridge and into their waiting arms. Vercingetorix is shrewd. He thwarts my plan to cross and march upon his city. I am surprised he learned so quickly of our plans. He must have moved from Avaricon not long after our meeting at Decetio to achieve this. I knew that sooner or later his spies would hear of my plans, but I expected to be on that bank and marching south before that.’

Fronto had a brief flash of mental image - a face that might have been Cavarinos in among the nobles of the Aedui, and he felt certain now that it had been him after all, and that the man had ridden like the wind to warn his king as soon as Caesar had pronounced judgement. In truth, though, the source of the information mattered not. The Arverni king had learned of their plan and thwarted them. For now, anyway.

‘I will speak to legate Fabius down there, Fronto. You head back to the main force and have them alter course. We march south along the bank. There should be another bridge a little less than fifteen miles south, if our maps are correct.’

Fronto nodded and turned Bucephalus back towards the column.

‘And if it’s still there,’ he muttered quietly.

* * * * *

Vercingetorix smiled as he leaned back in his seat.

‘Your warning has saved our city, Cavarinos. I cannot thank you enough for that. My riders tell me that Caesar fumes on the far bank, unwilling to attempt a bridge for fear that we will have him then. This morning, word reached me that his army moved southwards to the next bridge at Dabrona. They were breathtakingly fast in doing so, given their army and its slow baggage and artillery, and yet they still reached there to find the bridge so long gone that even the embers had died away to ash. I have had no further word yet, but it seems highly likely he will continue along the river to the south, trying to cross the bridges at Macolion and then Sollurco. The former is already destroyed and my men are even now closing on the latter. Beyond that he will be heading south into the mountains way past Gergovia, and his army will be in danger due to the terrain and the huge distance their supplies must travel. And we can simply move easily down to the city and watch him flounder. He will eventually find a way across or around the river, of course, but they will be tired and demoralized by the time they do. So long as we are close enough to move to prevent a crossing, we are in no hurry.’

‘But why do we play this game at all?’ frowned Cavarinos. ‘With the Aedui, we should be able to beat him in open battle. Why not simply commit?’

The king rolled his shoulders. ‘The Aedui may have sided with us, but they have yet to add their strength to ours. Remember that Caesar is between they and us. Besides, I have a mind to teach the Roman a lesson. He seems to believe himself able to roll over any fortress he comes across, but he has never come across the likes of Gergovia. If the Aedui forces join us before Caesar eventually finds his way to the west bank of the river, we may invite him to battle, sure of our numbers and of success. If he crosses first, we will let him dash himself to pieces on the slopes of Gergovia while we wait for the Aedui to join us. We are in no danger, either way.’

Cavarinos narrowed his eyes. ‘Why not just leave Caesar to it? Why bother with Gergovia when we could turn north, slip past him and join the Aedui in their lands? Then we would be strong enough to pursue him and bring him to battle.’

He watched suspiciously as an uncomfortable look passed briefly across the king’s eyes.

‘It’s a matter of pride, isn’t it? Gergovia matters because it’s
yours
. For all your high words to the other chiefs back at Avaricon, you would never burn your capital, would you? Even if doing so would give us the edge over Caesar, you won’t sacrifice Gergovia.’

‘Cavarinos…’

‘No. Fear not, my king. I shall not tell the chiefs of this. You can cook up whatever excuse you like for them but remember, if this decision comes back to haunt us, that
I
know. Do not let your pride cost us this war.’

‘You do not believe I can hold Gergovia against him?’

‘I don’t believe that you
should
.’

‘But you think I
can
?’

‘Perhaps. You know the land, and it is the strongest oppidum I know of. But Caesar has proved resourceful and ingenious every time he has besieged a fortress thus far. Do not underestimate him.’

Vercingetorix straightened and brushed out his drooping moustaches. ‘You did me a great service in bringing us warning of Caesar’s plan, my friend, and the Aedui are ours now. But we still need to bring them physically to our side before we can crush Caesar, and so I must send you back once again.’

‘Banishment, my king?’

‘Hardly. We need the Aedui, and you are the man who can bring them to us. You know our people there and have seen the workings of their leaders first hand. Go and bring them for me, Cavarinos.’

The tired Arverni chieftain stood with a bow of the head. ‘Very well.’

As he turned and made his way out of the king’s tent, Cavarinos gave a heavy sigh and sagged. Back to the Aedui. And whatever Vercingetorix said, he was sure that the principle reason for his being sent once more was to keep his seditious opinion of his king’s motives far from the ears of the other chiefs. For the sake of his pride, Vercingetorix was willing to submit to a Roman siege rather than burn his own house. With luck that pride would not destroy them before Cavarinos could return with the Aedui.

Damn the man.

* * * * *

Caesar sat astride his horse in the faint mist, beneath clouds that intermittently soaked them, peering at his surroundings. The slight rise gave a good line of sight in almost all directions, with the exception of directly south, where scattered copses and woodland largely obscured the land. To the north, some half mile back, the army approached by the fading sunlight, heading for this strong position to make camp for the day’s end. To the east, the slope disappeared down towards now-untended and burned farmland. And to the west, the land fell away gently to the Elaver River, where twin dark lines of timber fangs marched out across the water, marking the latest destroyed bridge on their journey.

‘Good land for a camp,’ Antonius noted, sitting astride a fine grey mare. ‘Excellent view.’

‘Yes,’ Caesar replied with a bitter tone. ‘We will have a wonderful view of yet another burned bridge, but this time we will also be able to see those responsible.’

Antonius sighed and fixed his gaze upon the sprawling mass of the Gaulish army encamped perhaps a mile from the river on the far bank, almost taunting the Romans with their proximity. ‘We are close to Gergovia now. He no longer trusts us to small scouting parties. Now the whole army readies for us. He knows that we cannot afford to follow the river up into the mountains and cross it at the narrow point. He knows we must cross here or at the next bridge, but we all know that there will not
be
a next bridge by now.’

‘Yet cross we must, as you say.’ The general shifted his gaze to take in the advance party of legionary engineers with their gromas, pegs, ropes and plumb lines, laying out the basic plan for the army’s massive camp atop the hillside, large enough to accommodate six legions and more. It was an impressive sight. What must the Arvernian rebel think as he watches this massive force day after day?’

A slow smile spread across Caesar’s face and he turned to the gathered staff officers and legates who sat ahorse behind him. His eyes settled on the nearest of his legates. Both were good men - the best for what he had in mind.

‘Fronto? Rufio?’

The two men stepped their mounts forward a few paces to address the general.

‘Sir?’

‘What is your opinion of making camp for the night down there amid the copses and trees instead of here on the hill?’

‘It will be evil to put in adequate defences,’ Fronto said, peering at the wood-dotted landscape.

‘But considerably less windy,’ smiled Rufio.

‘We could fit six legions in there?’

‘Well, yes. We won’t be well-defended, mind.’

‘The enemy are not likely to cross the river tonight. They would be suicidal to do so.’ Caesar gestured to the engineer officer with the transverse crest, who was busy guiding the works.

‘Centurion? Have your men take up their measures and move down amongst the trees. I want the camp down there tonight.’

The centurion turned a respectful, if baffled, expression on his commander. ‘But sir, that land is dreadful for a camp.’

‘Nevertheless, I would like it so. See to it.’

The centurion, still perplexed, saluted and started to call his engineers in to change location down to the copse-dotted plain. As he did so, Caesar turned back to the officers next to him.