Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt (38 page)

And among their number, travelling at the rear with a score of legionaries, came the Romans’ latest supply train. Two hundred wagons of food and equipment, manned by Roman citizens and accompanied by soldiers.

‘My brothers,’ was all Litavicus had let on when Cavarinos had pried into how he intended to achieve all this. The young warrior’s two brothers, along with half a dozen other nobles who all owed their allegiance to the Arverni, had been sent ahead from Bibracte, ostensibly to inform Caesar of the imminent approach of his supplies and reinforcements.

Seven thousand of the best horseback warriors the Aedui could muster. It was quite an impressive force in its own right. They were strong enough, fresh enough, and disciplined enough to defeat a legion in the field. If Litavicus had misjudged something and the pro-Roman nobles among them took the warriors to Caesar’s side, it would be a terrible blow to the rebel cause. But if the young man had pulled it off, then Vercingetorix’s army would gain the edge they desperately needed. After all, more than half of these men had spent years serving alongside the Romans as native levies. They knew the legions; knew how to beat them, if approached properly.

And this was still only plumbing the shallowest depths of the Aedui and their allies. When news of this spread, the Aedui could field another thirty thousand men if needed, and the tribes who owed allegiance to them the same again. The scales of strength were about to tip in favour of the rebellion. Vercingetorix had been correct from the start in courting the Aedui; in their value to the cause. Of
course
he had been correct. Let’s hope he was equally correct in his decision to let Caesar meet him at Gergovia.

He sat musing in silence for a while as Litavicus hummed a carefree tune. Then, as he was finishing his cup of milk and about to rise and go to prepare his mount for the remaining thirty miles to Gergovia, a shout went up to the west.

Litavicus grinned. ‘Observe a miracle in the making.’

Cavarinos frowned and stood, brushing down his clothes and rolling his shoulders to loosen up. There was some sort of fuss over on the western side of the camp, and the commotion was moving their way like a ripple in the mass of men.

After a short wait, during which Litavicus continued to hum quietly, three figures emerged from the throng, half a dozen of the Aedui nobles hurrying alongside them. Cavarinos knew their faces vaguely, but it took him a moment to place them, then he exhaled sharply, trying not to smile.

One of Litavicus’ brothers, along with two others of the men who’d been sent ahead to Caesar. All three were dirty and dishevelled and looked to have been beaten heavily, bruises and blood caking them. The three men staggered up to the young noble’s campfire and collapsed, weary, to the earth. Now, all the warriors crowded forward to see these poor husks of men, but Litavicus’ close guard kept them back. With apparent pain, the nobleman’s brother rose and staggered across to Litavicus, who reached out his arms to steady him. Cavarinos was near enough to hear the exchange that followed, though the rest of the army heard nothing of it, for their conversation was low and close.

‘What of the rest?’ Litavicus muttered.

‘Dispersed,’ his brother breathed. ‘Our brother back to the south, Viridomarus and his friends to Cabillono, Eporedirix back to Decetio. They will disappear for now. Caesar has Gergovia under siege, but there are still many ways in that are not watched by the legions.’

Litavicus nodded and smiled. ‘You have all done well, brother. Your injuries are most convincing. I will require you for only a moment, and then you can visit the healers and tend your wounds.’

The man sagged slightly, and Litavicus patted him on the shoulder, then straightened and stepped forward to address the assembled warriors.

‘See now to whom we have chained ourselves. Our bravest and most noble hurry to Caesar to tell him we come to his aid, and all they find is violence.’ He paused for effect. ‘For Caesar blames them for our tardiness and accuses them of treachery and consorting with the Arverni!’

Gently, he turned his brother to display his dishevelled appearance and bruised skin to the masses.

‘Where are the rest?’ called out a voice from the crowd. Litavicus gestured for his brother to speak up and the beaten young man cleared his throat with apparent pain. ‘Dead. All dead. Eporedirix. Viridomarus. Even our poor brother. Murdered and tortured by Caesar for some perceived treachery! Three of us escaped with our lives. Three alone of eight.’

‘What would you have us do?’ one of the warriors asked darkly. ‘Break our word? Renounce a vow given before the Gods and make war on Caesar?’ Cavarinos recognised him as one of the more noted pro-Roman nobles, and he held his breath. Much hinged on this exchange.

‘What has
Caesar
done?’ Litavicus replied, gesturing to his bruised kin, ‘if he has not just broken that bond for us. Caesar declares war on us for some false treachery. I have lost a
brother
!’ Cavarinos was impressed to see a tear leak from the young noble’s eye. He was nothing if not convincing. ‘A
brother
! And another beaten and sentenced to the same fate, yet protected by the gods to bring us news of this horror.’

A susurration issued around the crowd. Cavarinos could almost feel the hatred seething among the assembly, could almost sense the anger against Caesar tipping the scale. It was done in a masterly fashion. In a stroke of genius Litavicus had not only managed to turn the tide against Rome, but he had managed to turn himself into a hero and his brother into a martyr in doing it. So long as the supposed
victims
of Caesar remained hidden away, all would prove well.

‘We should return to Bibracte!’ someone shouted. ‘Abandon Caesar.’

‘No,’ Litavicus said, in a quiet, snake-hiss of a voice, unfolding to his full height. Cavarinos had not realised the man was hunched until he suddenly seemed to grow. The man was a born actor.

‘No,’ the young noble said again, slightly louder. ‘This slight was not levelled at my brothers alone. Nor even at the men of Bibracte. It is a slight made against
all
of the Aedui. Caesar has in one cowardly, craven and paranoid move, tarred the Aedui as traitors. What now? Should we sit at home and wait for him to finish with the Arverni and then turn his anger on us? Let him beat and torture the rest of us?’

He took a single step forward, his hand coming down to rest on the hilt of his sword. ‘No. Caesar has decided that we are with the Arverni. Let us turn this falsehood into a cause. Let us ride for Gergovia and revenge ourselves upon the Romans who beat our brothers!’

The crowd held its silence for a moment, until a lone voice suddenly called out ‘Gergovia!’

As Cavarinos and Litavicus watched, the word was taken up as a chant by half a dozen voices, which then spread until it became a rhythmic roar across the hillside.

‘And what of them?’ demanded the man who had initially resisted, gesturing across the hill, the chant dying away as the crowd turned their attention to this new conversation.. Cavarinos followed the man’s gaze to the Roman supply wagons on the crest, their civilian crews sitting nervous atop the benches, the meagre guard of legionaries with hands on weapon hilts, preparing for trouble.

‘Caesar tortures and kills our nobles…’ Litavicus snarled. ‘Let us return the favour!’

With a roar, the more rabid of the incensed warriors ran for the carts, weapons raised. The legionaries prepared desperately to sell their lives dearly, for they were clearly doomed, and everyone knew it. Cavarinos lost sight of the terrified Romans amid the rush of the raging Aedui surrounding them. With a shake of his head, he stepped close to Litavicus.

‘This is not the way,’ he whispered. ‘They are mostly merchants and farmers, even if they are Roman ones. They do not deserve death, let alone torture. We’re warriors, not
murderers
.’

‘The army has its blood up,’ Litavicus replied equally quietly. ‘They will kill them anyway. Let them sate themselves in Roman blood. Every cut they deliver makes them more mine.’

Cavarinos stood with his cold glare locked on the man. ‘I fight to
free
our lands from mindless and hateful death under oppressive rulers, not merely to change who those rulers are.’

‘And
I
fight to kill Romans. If you have not the stomach for this, Cavarinos of the Arverni, then you are no use to me.’

Litavicus stomped off towards the agonised screams of Roman civilians, and Cavarinos closed his eyes. Did the rebels deserve to win, if this was how they were to act? What was he doing fighting this war for men like that? Shortly, he would ride for Gergovia with them, and they would join Vercingetorix. But there would be no more such unjust, cruel and unnecessary acts, or he would have to take action himself.

Grinding his teeth at the stupidity of their allies, he patted the curse tablet in its pouch at his belt and strode back to his horse.

* * * * *

Caesar scratched his chin.

‘Then it’s dealt with?’

‘As best I could without pulling both men out of the fight. They are too experienced and strong - and even popular - to risk keeping out of battle. They’re now serving as centurions in the Eighth. There they can work to make up for what they’ve done and still be useful to us.’

‘They killed another soldier, Fronto. That’s a serious offence, not cause for a mere transfer.’

Fronto sighed and folded his arms. ‘Respectfully, Caesar, we both know that things like this happen from time to time. It was unfortunate, and Furius was clearly at fault, but you know it was not an intentional killing. I know the pair of them. They will fight all the harder to recover their reputation.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Caesar replied, rising with a creased brow and crossing to his tent’s door. Leaning forward, he pulled open the flap and gestured to the praetorian soldier outside. ‘What is all the noise? I am attempting to hold a meeting in here.’

The trooper saluted. ‘There’s a man here demanding to see you, Caesar. A Gaul. Says he has important news for you. I was about to knock.’

Caesar looked past the man to see a travel-worn and tired Gaul, dressed in rich, if dirty, clothing and with the gold and bronze accoutrements of a noble, his grey hair and moustaches matted but braided well.

‘I know you,’ he said.

‘Eporedirix, Caesar,’ the man replied quietly. ‘Of the Aedui. Formerly your factor in Bibracte and erstwhile magistrate of Decetio.’

‘The Aedui,’ Caesar breathed a relieved breath. ‘It’s about time. Come in, then, man.’

The Gaul followed Caesar in and Fronto turned in his chair to look the man up and down. ‘You ran into some trouble, I assume?’

Caesar returned to his desk. ‘I trust you bring news of my supplies and reserves?’

‘I do, Caesar, though the news is not good.’

Fronto felt his heart sink.

‘Go on,’ Caesar said quietly.

‘Treacherous men among the Aedui rise up against you, Caesar. Litavicus and Convictolitanis among others. Even now, Litavicus takes seven thousand horsemen to the Arverni’s aid, along with your latest supply wagons now in his possession. The Aedui are breaking their bond with you Caesar, and even those of us who maintain our vows and trust to you and to Rome are at risk from this rising vocal minority. If they are not checked, they will turn the whole tribe against you.’

Caesar took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing.

‘Where are these seven thousand men now?’

‘Less than thirty miles from here, on the road to Bibracte.’

Caesar turned a questioning look on Fronto.

‘If they can be stopped, then they should,’ the legate replied. ‘To prevent the extra manpower for the enemy, and also to recover the much-needed supplies.

The general nodded. ‘You and Fabius maintain the siege from the two camps. I’ll take the rest across the new bridge and intercept this rebel Aedui army. They need to be reminded of their vows.’

‘And their leaders?’ Eporedirix asked.

‘This Litavicus will pay for his treachery. Convictolitanis and the rest will have to wait for now. Be assured, though, that I will free your people from these traitors and return them to Rome’s side.’ He turned back to Fronto. ‘Can you hold for a day or two without us?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

Chapter 13

Twenty miles from Gergovia

‘There is to be no killing unless I specifically order it,’ Caesar said, his voice jarred by the gait of his horse. The four legions were perhaps an hour behind, making an impressive pace unencumbered as they were, but once the scouts had announced a sighting of the Aedui cavalry force, Caesar had ridden forth with his own horse which, bolstered beyond the pitiful regular cavalry units by huge swathes of native levies, would at least slightly outnumber the enemy.

Varus nodded his understanding and agreement, casting up a private prayer to Minerva - she who embodied both war
and
wisdom, that the German unit, who he had deliberately positioned towards the rear, not take it upon themselves to start killing random Gauls.

‘We’re at your command, Caesar.’

With a wave of his hand, the three wings of cavalry began to move, the standard bearers waving their burdens to direct the columns. The first wing, under the young but talented Volcatius Tullus, remained at the valley centre with the commanders and the praetorian guard, splitting into two distinct streams to skirt the large pool that had collected where the valleys met, and then seamlessly forming up again at the western side. The second wing under Silanus moved off along the southern-most of the pigeon-foot-shaped conjunction, riding hard to block off a potential path of retreat towards Bibracte. The final third wing under trusted Quadratus - a man who had proved himself time and again, rode off to the north to barricade the other viable route to Gergovia.

The main force slowed their pace fractionally to allow the other wings to move into position and then, at a signal from Varus, began to move up the valley side, along a wide trail that displayed the ruts caused by years of passing wagon traffic, where the scout who had spotted the enemy sat, just below the crest.