Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt (39 page)

As the commanders and the van of the first wing of cavalry neared the crest, the scout fell in alongside, gesturing with an arm to show where the enemy now were. Without waiting further, Caesar rode over the crest and onto the hillside, Ingenuus, Varus and Volcatius immediately behind him and hundred upon hundred of horsemen in their wake.

The Aedui were an impressive sight. They looked more like an army than Varus had expected. Though he had ridden alongside native cavalry for years, they had been levies fighting with Rome. Those he had encountered who opposed them had almost always been disorganised - a gathering of individual horsemen rather than a unit.
This
force exhibited the signs of a well-trained army, not a warband.

The foremost Aedui reined in, the army coming to a halt behind them, perhaps confused by the sudden appearance of their enemy with apparently very few men. Then, as more and more cavalry poured over the crest and took positions behind and beside Caesar and his officers, the enemy began to look slightly less smug and certain. By the time someone among the Aedui had registered the approach of Silanus’ wing from their rear-left and of Quadratus to their rear-right, they knew they were hemmed in and it hit them that Caesar was anything but alone.

The general rode forth - closer than Varus approved of - and the senior cavalry officer joined him, as did Ingenuus and half a dozen praetorian riders. At a distance of perhaps thirty paces from the nobles at the head of the force, the general reined in and sat for a long moment, weighing them up.

‘Litavicus of the Aedui is hereby ordered, on the authority of Rome and its proconsul - namely myself - to step forth and answer a charge of treason and usurpation. Will you straighten your spine, betrayer, and answer for your actions, or must you cower cravenly among those you have misled?’

A murmur of angry resistance rose from the enemy mass, and a young nobleman rode out to the front of the force, his head high and proud.

* * * * *

Cavarinos watched, his heart in his mouth. It was almost impossible to believe. Once again, they had achieved their goal smoothly and with minimum fuss, albeit with unpleasant civilian bloodshed, and once again, Caesar had come, seemingly from nowhere, to swipe their victory out from under them. How in the name of all that was reasonable had the Romans learned of this so quickly?

And yet Litavicus still looked smug and proud.

Could he pull this off
? He was a consummate actor, for sure, but for Caesar to be here already, the man had to have at least some idea of what had happened, and even the most unobservant enemy would wonder about the wagon train with no Roman personnel around it

The young Aedui noble cleared his throat.

‘Proconsul. It is most gratifying that you ride out personally to meet us, though entirely unnecessary, I can assure you. We are quite capable of finding our way to your camp and we are in no danger on the journey.’

The Roman general kept his face stony, and in the single moment that Cavarinos looked into the man’s eyes, he realised several things. Firstly that Litavicus was doomed and the Aedui here would not be joining the rebel army. Secondly, that the general was everything that was said of him and more. He was easily a match for Vercingetorix who, to this point, had been the most astute commander Cavarinos had ever met. And thirdly - most important of all - that whatever they did, there was almost no chance that the rebels would win this war and free the tribes from Roman control. Even if they crushed the legions utterly, this man would not give in. He would be back the next year with ten more legions. Or twenty. Or a hundred.

In that moment of realisation, even before Caesar had begun his reply, Cavarinos was edging his horse out to the edge of the crowd, where he had a good line of sight to the gully they had just passed and which led north, towards Decetio.

‘You deny your treachery, Litavicus of the Aedui?’ Caesar said quietly.

The young noble looked around at his warriors, clearly weighing up the chances if the two forces came to blows. They were more or less evenly-pitted.

‘You are known to have tortured and murdered our ambassadors, proconsul of Rome. If anyone on this hillside should be accused of treachery, it is the mighty Caesar.’

The general’s mouth turned up at the corner as he watched the gathered horsemen nod.

‘While you weigh up your chances of success, Aeduan, be aware that although your cavalry might be the match of my own, four legions move upon you less than an hour from here, spread out and blocking your route to the rebel leader. You will never reach Gergovia.’ The general looked back over his shoulder and nodded.

Cavarinos, who had neared the edge of the mass of warriors, noticed for a moment that somehow Litavicus’ personal force of guards had gathered here, close to both the edge and the front where the leader conversed with the Roman. The Arvernian watched the Roman column and felt his heart sink as two figures rode forth from the mass. Eporedirix and Viridomarus. Two men trusted by the rebels and who had been intimately involved in their influence over the Aedui. They had not gone into hiding after all, but had instead run to Caesar to keep him informed.

His mind running through all possible avenues of escape, he barely listened as the gathered Aedui began to shout their anger and disgust of Litavicus, who had so clearly duped them into betraying an oath they had long held sacred. The fury at Litavicus changed fluidly, barely-perceptible, to pleas for mercy and understanding aimed at the general.

The mass began to fragment, the more notable of the Aedui renewing their oath to Rome and stepping their horses out from the crowd to submit to Caesar’s judgement. The army was now a lost cause… by the end of this day, everyone on this hillside would either be dead or serving the proconsul. As the Aedui appealed in a clamour, Litavicus nimbly stepped his horse backwards into the tumult, disappearing from direct sight into the press.

Fortunately, while the Aedui were strangers here and relied upon the main trade and droving roads, and the Romans forged their own way in the most direct line, regardless of terrain, Cavarinos was a child of the Arverni, born to these lands and intimate in his knowledge of them. There were a dozen ways or more with which he could reach Gergovia without the Romans finding him. So long as he could get away from the mass of men, he would survive.
That
, of course, would be the hard part. Cavarinos found he had his hand resting on the pouch at his belt.
The curse
! How would the war change if Caesar were to die here on this hillside?
Everything he had just realised about the inevitability of defeat might be overturned.

His logical mind came down heavily upon these hopes, reminding him that all that he bore in the pouch was a slate tablet etched with spidery text by some mad druid. It may appear sacred and magical to the credulous, but he was absolutely certain that if he used it here and now, nothing would happen… except that the tablet would then be gone. And somehow he felt that the ‘curse’ had a part to play yet.

Still his fingers were beginning to undo the straps on the pouch.

‘Seize the traitor and his men!’ Caesar shouted above the din, urging the Roman forces into action. The crowd of Aedui, huge and sprawling, reacted in numerous ways, some drawing their weapons, assuming their end was nigh, others casting their swords to the turf and holding high their hands. Others appealed to Caesar in desperate shouts, while the more sensible sat quietly, aware that Caesar only wanted his betrayers. Most of this army he sought to bring back to his side.

And a few were leaving as best they could. But they raced either ahead, trying to skirt Caesar’s unit and hurtle into the valley, or back east, in the direction of Bibracte. They did not know the territory. Those who went forward would sure as shit on a wet day ride into the waiting arms of four legions. Those who went back would find themselves surrounded by two wings of Roman cavalry.

Cavarinos’ fingers twitched at the straps on the curse tablet’s container. If it
worked
, he could potentially end the war here and now. He would die too, of course. Probably slowly and horribly. For if he was to escape this, it would have to be now… and if he did not, who would warn Vercingetorix of what had happened? His mind made up, as practicality won over magic, he snatched his hand back from the leather pouch and wheeled his mount.

There would be a dozen heartbeats - no more - while the chaos of the panicked Aedui riders granted him the freedom he needed. After that, the Romans would begin to instil order, as was their wont, and such chance would evaporate.

Kicking his heels, grateful that they had been riding at a sensible pace this morning and his horse was still strong and energetic, Cavarinos moved among the scattering Aedui, making for the gap between Caesar’s men and those who had come in from the northeast. It was dangerous. Very dangerous.

Some Roman officer nearby shouted out for him to stop, and he almost did so as his horse reached the valley side and he looked down the steep slope, where the turf had come away in clumps to leave loose shale or dirt. His horse baulked at the sight, and so did the rider, but the sound of several Romans moving in his direction decided him. With a deep breath, he urged his mount forward and disappeared down the sharp descent as fast as he dare, knowing that one misstep would likely maim his horse and result in his capture.

It was the longest two-hundred paces of his life, and two Roman cavalry spears, cast from above, came close to ending him on the descent. But finally, blessedly, he reached the bottom and looked up at the hillside, where the Romans waited, pointing at him, unwilling to take that dangerous plunge.

And as he watched, a tiny fragment of relief flooding through his veins, he saw half a dozen more Aedui riders hurtle over the edge at a perilous and idiotic pace. Somehow he knew that one of them was young Litavicus, the others the bodyguard who had gathered at the edge of the crowd ready to protect him.

Two of the riders fumbled the plunge, one separating from his horse and crashing to the slope as his mount tumbled, screaming and snapping, down into the valley, the other staying atop the beast as the pair broke and smashed down the incline, shrieking. Halfway down a Roman spear took a third man in the back. And then the remaining three were in the valley, racing towards Cavarinos. Litavicus did not look chastened or panicked. He did not appear disheartened or angry. The man wore an exhilarated grin, as though he were enjoying himself immensely.

For a brief moment, Cavarinos considered drawing his blade and dispatching the man here and now.

‘I place my safety in the hands of the local,’ smiled Litavicus.

‘Shut up,’ Cavarinos snapped and kicked his horse into life, making for the northern valley and the side ravine that would carry them back to the Elaver River, skirting any likely route of the legions’ advance. So… no Aedui support for now. It was to be hoped more than ever that Vercingetorix knew what he was doing and that Gergovia could hold.

* * * * *

Fronto struggled into his cuirass and hurriedly threw his baldric over his shoulder, racing out of the tent and into the morning sunshine. The camp seemed strange with so few men. Of the six legions they had brought to Gergovia, Caesar had taken four to be certain of turning the Aedui once more. Two had remained here, along with sundry auxilia. Ten thousand men at most laying siege to perhaps
eighty
thousand. And now, with the foothold camp established on the hill below the oppidum, none of the officers were willing to give up that hard-won position, so the remaining forces had split. The ‘white rocks’ camp held the Eighth legion, while the main camp held the Tenth. A fortress for eight legions, manned by one. The sheer logistics were staggering. It was so far between the ramparts. And the walls themselves were such an extensive circuit that when fully manned there were virtually no men left in the camp itself. No reinforcements or men on rest.

‘What is it?’ he demanded of the tribune - a man whose name he couldn’t even remember. Gods, how he already missed Fabius and Furius.

‘Another assault, sir.’

The irritating, testing attacks had continued in Caesar’s absence, with nine such forays over the previous day, each of which had thinned out the men on the walls slightly, not noticeably to the untrained eye, but Fronto had the numbers on the tablets on his desk. He knew the cost better than anyone, barring the medicus, hard at work in the hospital tent.

‘Rally the men to the nearest rampart and have the ammunition and equipment brought to them by the walking wounded. Which way is this force weighted?’ The forays had tended to focus more on either cavalry elements or the archers, constantly changing and leaving the Roman defenders uncertain as to what to expect next.

‘I think you need to see this, sir.’

Fronto, perturbed by his junior officer’s tone and words alike, hurried across the bare, empty camp until he passed from the area of officers’ and supply tents and reached the main
decumanus
- the road crossing the camp from east to west - and was afforded a view of the enemy fortress between the lines of empty legionary tents.

‘Shit.’

‘My sentiments precisely, sir. What are your orders?’

Fronto looked up at the oppidum of Gergovia. Even over a mile away it was a daunting and impressive sight. All the more so when it towered above a veritable flood of men streaming down the hillside. From this distance it resembled a swarm of ants on a sunken log.

‘Grab a shield, pray to your gods and make sure you’ve had a shit before they get here, ‘cause you’ll sure as hell have one when they do!’

The tribune’s steady look faltered for a moment.

‘How many do you think there are, sir?’

‘All of them. Get to the rampart. Sound the alert, in case anyone’s asleep or in the latrines.’

As the tribune ran off, Fronto ripped his beautiful blade from its scabbard and stooped to pick up a legionary’s shield where he had helpfully left it standing in the doorway of his tent. Without pause, he ran on for the western rampart. He should have expected this, really. A day of probing and testing, and then the Arverni king would make a full play to remove them, taking advantage of the absence of Caesar and the other legions.