Sons of Taranis (34 page)

Caninius gave a humourless laugh. ‘Near forty miles. I’d suggest we made camp here, but the whole thing was so much of a rush all our gear is back at Limonum.’

‘My horse and I can manage forty miles if there’s a bed and a cup of something soothing at the end of it,’ Varus murmured. ‘Slowly though, the poor beast has had a tiring day.’

Fabius tapped his lip. ‘Returning to Limonum would be a waste of time for my men. We’ve got the essentials with us. We’ll make camp here and cross the river in the morning, moving back northeast and dealing with the Carnutes. We can use your old base at Noviodunum as our centre of operations. Your centurion there’s a good man and he’ll be grateful to see us.’

‘I suppose with the fight knocked out of the Andes there’s no need for such a large force here,’ Caninius replied, and all three men fell silent, watching the legions below herding groups of prisoners to be roped and gathering the dead for burial. The sound of thundering hooves drew their attention, since everything else on the field of battle was now moving at an exhausted pace, very sedate and quiet. The commanders turned to see a small cavalry detachment with scouts ahead riding for their position.

‘Who’s that?’ Fabius asked blandly, almost too tired for curiosity.

Caninius sighed. ‘Must be the vanguard for the Fifteenth, who’re following on behind. They must be closer than I thought. They must have moved damned fast.’

‘They appear to be in a hurry, certainly. They must not know it’s over.’

Varus’ brow crumpled into a frown to see a senior tribune in among the riders.

‘Senior officer riding like Hades has a spear at his back? Odd.’

The three men blinked away their exhaustion, coming alert with the realisation that something else was happening here other than the reserves arriving on the field. As the horsemen reined in, the senior tribune danced his mount out front and saluted his commander and the other officers.

‘Tribune. You seem to be in something of a hurry? The legion sprinting is it?’

The man shook his head, rolling aching shoulders. ‘We’re not with the infantry, sir. I passed the Fifteenth around twenty five miles back. I came from the camp with important news from our friend in Limonum, sir.’

‘Spit it out then, man,’ Caninius said wearily, yet with a sense of foreboding.

‘It seems there is an army on the move towards the Narbonensis province, led by a rogue Senone leader named Drapes.’

‘Gods, first the Carnutes and now the Senones,’ Fabius grunted. ‘A gold coin to the man who can name me a tribe that’s not busy rising against us. Don’t they realise they’re beaten. Who is this Drapes, then?’

‘I know the name,’ said Varus, drumming his fingers on his saddle horn. ‘He was one of those they say was at Alesia with the relief forces. I’m starting to wish we’d pushed to stop them fleeing that hill, despite the state we were in. Every noble who got away had a small army with him and they all seem to be causing trouble now.’

‘That’s only half the problem, sir. The Cadurci’s leader is reputedly leading a second army to link up with him on the way.’

‘Luterius, yes?’

‘Lucterius, I believe, sir. He’s another that was with the relief at Alesia. I couldn’t get any solid estimates of numbers, but the Limonum prince seems to think that the two armies together will be strong enough to do serious damage to Narbonensis. Certainly since Lucius Caesar returned to Rome and the legions were reassigned, the Narbo garrison alone will not be strong enough to stop them.’

Varus nodded his agreement and heaved in cold breaths of night air. ‘There’s a legion on the way to protect that border, but it’s travelling slow with a convoy via Massilia and won’t arrive until long after any native army reaches the place. What can the tribes hope to achieve with such an act? They must know we’ll punish them for it.’

‘Could be a revenge attack?’ Caninius mused.

Fabius rubbed his hands together. ‘You’ve seen what’s happening: the whole land is still rippling with dissent. There are minor rebellions all over the place – more or less every tribe – but we’re not in any great danger as a whole, since they’re all so disorganised and separate. You know how bloody-minded these Gauls can be. They’re beaten and everyone knows it, but they’re fighting to the last drop of blood and if they can get some sort of symbol to rally round, we’ll be dealing with risings all summer and into the winter. Imagine the morale boost that would wash through the more rebellious hearts if they hear that Narbo and the Roman south has fallen to them. They will call it ‘reclaiming their ancestral lands’. Can you picture it?’

In the silence that followed, each of them did so, unhappy with what they were seeing.

‘There’s another danger,’ Varus said quietly. ‘Caesar will return to Rome next year for his consulship and the governance of this place will be granted to whoever the senate favours. Imagine what’ll happen if a
bad
governor gets the place, or just an ineffective one. Caesar’s army will have gone with him and it’d take time for a new commander to raise legions. If the tribes can just keep their spirit of rebellion burning until Caesar’s left, there’s a faint chance that the general’s successor will lose everything we’ve achieved these past seven years. We can’t let these two tribes ravage Narbo and raise new sparks all over the place.’

‘South, then,’ Varus sighed. ‘With little or no rest.’

Fabius and Caninius nodded and the latter turned to the newly-arrived tribune.

‘Time to turn round and ride back. Have the Fifteenth stop their advance and return to camp. They can get everything ready to march south, and press the Pictone prince we just saved for additional cavalry. Wait at Limonum for the Fifth and after a short break we’ll head on to deal with this southern army.’

The officer saluted and turned his horse.

‘And Tribune, see if you can find out anything else about this army, in particular their last known location. We don’t want to have to search everywhere between here and Narbo for them.’

‘Gods, but I could do with a snooze,’ Caninius sighed as he turned to Fabius. ‘I take it just the Fifth and Fifteenth will be heading south then? You’re bound still for the Carnutes?’

The legate nodded. ‘Can’t turn south and leave the Carnutes at our back. You know what’ll happen. I’ll deal with them, settle the Pictones and Andes, and then follow on.’ He turned to Varus. ‘Caninius will need you more than I.’

‘Very well. Two legions and a wing of cavalry. Hopefully it’ll be enough to beat Lucterius and Drapes. Good luck with the Carnutes. They’re a tricky bunch. They’ll be dug in and hidden all over the forests.’

‘Good luck in the south,’ Fabius countered. ‘Don’t let them cross the Roman border or we’ll all be knee deep in the shit. Best get going.’

The other two nodded their agreement. Roman lands were under threat, and this was no time to dither. ‘Get your men mobilized again, Caninius,’ Varus breathed. ‘We must move immediately.’

* * * * *

‘It’s another damned Alesia,’ Varus snarled, shading his eyes from the morning sunlight and gazing east bitterly.

It was horribly familiar – some two hundred miles southwest of that place of bloody slaughter, and yet a hauntingly recognisable echo of the site of Vercingetorix’s last battle. From Varus’ viewpoint on the high slope above the river, he could see every element of Alesia reflected in this place.

The river cut through a wide plain so reminiscent of the plain of mud and blood at Alesia. And just like that other place, two small rivers crept east, reaching out like arms around a high oppidum like an upturned boat, topped with a walled settlement and further protected by chalky cliffs that defied scaling for much of its perimeter. Just like Alesia, the scouts said that the eastern end was more of a gentle slope, but that side had been much more heavily fortified in times past. Nowhere was a simple proposition. Any attack on this place would be hell.

Caninius looked equally sour at the sight. The two legions had needed a day’s rest before they moved on south, and Varus had chafed at every hour in Limonum, fretting at the delay and knowing that each heartbeat they tarried, vengeful Gauls moved a heartbeat nearer to Narbo. But once they’d begun to move, he had to hand it to Caninius, they’d moved fast. The Fifth and Fifteenth had travelled light –
expedite
– taking only the faster wagons and leading them with strong, speedy horses rather than the usual oxen. The army had covered the hundred and forty miles to this place in three days and, while every man in the army now looked fit to drop and the baggage, speedy as it was, lay strung out over the last ten miles with the rest of the day to catch up, their impressive pace had seemingly wrong-footed the enemy, trapping them here.

The information they had received from the Pictone prince had placed the enemy army at the chief oppidum of the Lemovices, where the two armies were to combine. The Roman force had arrived at the place to discover that the combined forces of the Gallic rebels had moved on south the previous day. Helpful locals there had vouchsafed that the enemy was bound for the Cadurci fortress of Uxellodunon and, cresting the rise this morning, it appeared that the intelligence had been correct.

For Uxellodunon – and gods, but it
was
another Alesia – showed every sign of full military occupation. The walls, high above the rocky cliffs, were packed with men. Not just sparsely like the poor bastards Varus had seen in the risings early this year, but
packed
. And with them were standards of many shapes. The initial forays by the scouts to ascertain the precise lie of the land had come under missile attack from the walls and the strength of that scuffle showed that the enemy were not only numerous and belligerent, but were also well supplied. A tough proposition.

Varus found himself almost considering a drastic course of action. It would be easier to face the enemy under almost any other circumstance. If the army retreated ten miles or so, perhaps the Gauls would quit this place and move on Narbonensis. Then perhaps the Romans would catch them in open terrain and could make an easier job of it. But this place was only a hundred and fifty miles from Narbo itself, and a mere fifty or sixty from the border and the first peaceful Roman settlement. To let them go now was to place Roman civilians in grave danger. Besides, the enemy seemed to be quite comfortable here, so there was no guarantee they would move on quickly. After all, if they were desperate to press on south they could have done so ahead of the legions, even if only just. He brushed aside the unpleasant thought that the enemy were simply biding their time. Behind him the cavalry and legions were massing, awaiting their orders.

Caninius looked extremely unimpressed. The poor sod had just come from trying to break a siege against superior numbers, via a battle that had almost gone badly for him and now to an oppidum that looked more or less unassailable.

‘What else can we do?’ the legate sighed. ‘Settle in for a siege. The scouts have identified three suitable strong points. I’ll split the legions into three groups with six or seven cohorts apiece and you can assign the cavalry to them appropriately. Then at least we can be sure we have them trapped while we consider the next move.’

Varus chewed his lip. ‘There are not enough of us to take that place, Caninius, and if they’re as well-stocked as they seem, we could be here for anything up to a year. Our next move might be to send to Caesar for reinforcements.’

Caninius curled a lip at the thought of having to ask for aid.
Labienus
had never had to ask for help, and it appeared that Caesar had already sent Fabius to his aid once, assuming he couldn’t cope with just two legions. ‘No. Not yet. We have them hemmed in. Fabius will come soon. Maybe you could send a group of riders and urge him to move at speed?’

Varus peered at Alesia’s echo and nodded. The last thing he wanted to experience was a repeat of that bloodbath.
Gods, let Fabius be quick
.

MOLACOS of the Cadurci sat astride his horse and peered down at the wide valley, wondering if there was some other route they could have taken. But he knew there wasn’t, and no matter how much time Lucterius thought he could buy, Molacos knew that time was running short. His task had already taken far longer than they’d expected, and it would still take some time to get to Rome, extricate the king and return him to his people. Only then, with Vercingetorix at the head of the new rebellion could they even hope to bind all of the tribes together and achieve what they had failed last year.

Since Alesia the surviving nobles of all the tribes had come to the inevitable conclusion that if they had not argued and dallied, and had simply thrown all their strength behind the Arverni king at the beginning, Caesar’s head would now be mouldering on a spike and the land would be free. Well when the next rising came, they
would
fight. Even now many were busy causing just enough trouble to keep Caesar’s eyes on the north and away from Lucterius and his gathering forces, or the small select band of hunters and killers tasked with returning the king to his place.

Molacos raked his scalp and punched his palm every time he was alone, knowing that his delays in finding anyone who could reveal Vercingetorix’s actual location and situation may well already have caused a failure in the plan. By now they had all been expecting he and his killer gods to be making for Uxellodunon with the king in tow, to combine with the growing army. Gaul was underpopulated and starving, and no one was labouring under the impression that this would be as easy as last year. But it was their last chance. If they gathered the army and put the king at its head everyone, young and old, man and woman, would grab a sickle or spear and throw their every ounce of will and strength into the fight.

But if it went wrong or they lost, there would never be another chance. Rome would have won.

It was a desperate thing.

His gaze raked the occupants of the wide Rhodanus valley.

More carts and wagons than he might have thought existed. It was quite unbelievable, really. The convoy stretched out of sight to both left and right, still filing around a distant bend in the valley to the north and gradually rolling out of view to the south, bound for Massilia. And it was well guarded. At least a legion, by his now expert estimate, lined the convoy as it rumbled on, along with cursed Remi and their allies riding along the sides.

He could see a small group of officers on horses sitting still not far from his position, apparently deep in discussion with a scout. It was imperative that Molacos and his men get to Massilia and board their friendly boat as soon as possible. Waiting for that monstrous column to pass would take forever, and they would then be in the port, blocking things up and making life difficult for Molacos and his people.

The twelve of them had first moved to cross the high ground some forty miles west of here, but it had quickly become apparent that since the legion that had guarded the border had been reassigned, the clever man running the Roman provincial garrison had carefully utilised his small number of soldiers in setting up guard posts and fortlets all along the edge of Roman territory. Until they’d reached the Rhodanus, Molacos had found no place where they could possibly have passed towards Massilia unobserved.

And now, moving into Roman lands, they had to rely on stealth and not violence, lest they fail through their own conspicuousness. The only place they could pass the Roman border unnoticed would be the Rhodanus, since the quantity of traffic up and down the wide valley on any single day was vast and multi-national. Twelve folk of the tribes could easily lose themselves in the endless mercantile traffic.

But not today. Damn the Fates and the gods and the shit-eating Romans for making the day he reached the border the same as Caesar’s cursed column. The coming day or two would be a hell of difficulties, or yet more impossible delays.

‘What now?’ asked a hoarse voice made eerie by mask and hood.

He looked back at the speaker, Cernunnos – one of the few of his group to whom he would consider deferring. Each and every one was a killer and a master of the art, though each was driven by their own goals, from Molacos’ own devotion to his master Lucterius, through Catubodua of the Lemovices, fighting here to avenge her husband King Sedullos who had died at Alesia, and to Belisama and Belenos, the crazed twins who had seen their father tortured to death for information. But apart from himself, the only one who was here purely with the goal of returning Vercingetorix to his place was Cernunnos, a respected master druid who had once led the Arverni priests, seers and druids in their devotions. He would do nothing were it not for the greater good.

‘We have no time to seek another way, even if there was one. It has to be the Rhodanus. If we wait for this convoy we will be a further day behind, plus any extra days they cost us by blocking up the port on their way to Rome. Unless we can get ahead of them some way…’

‘We could kill them all,’ interjected Mogont, the giant. ‘Take the convoy, free the slaves and then stroll into Massilia?’

Molacos turned on the big man. Mogont was generally less belligerent than some of the others though he had his own score to settle, having been gelded by some arsehole Roman officer after killing his horse. But that kind of talk was plainly stupid. Twelve men and women against a legion?

‘Don’t be an idiot.’

‘I didn’t mean alone. I meant with them.’

Confused, Molacos followed the giant’s pointing finger and blinked in surprise.

On the hills at the far side of the valley a large force was mobilizing, from here looking like swarming insects. ‘Who..?’

‘They are the Helvii,’ Cernunnos said quietly in his strange, ghostly voice.

‘There is no possible way you can see a standard from here,’ Molacos growled.

‘I see many things far beyond the realm of your eyes. They
are
Helvii.’

Molacos opened his mouth to argue, but he had rarely experienced a druid who was wrong when he made such a pronouncement. They had the ears of the gods and on occasion spoke with their tongues. He felt a faint shudder run up his spine.

‘But the Helvii are Rome’s allies.’

Cernunnos turned to him slowly. ‘Enough gold and slaves to buy a place among the gods can turn the most loyal of heads, Taranis. And these are Helvii lands. See how they have chosen a part of the valley where the river limits their movement, there are no settlements to get in the way, the slopes are shallow enough for a cavalry charge and the wagons have been strung out in single file due to the depth of the undergrowth, stretching the Roman army to its limit. There are no more than two thousand Helvii there at most. Maybe as little as a thousand. They could not hope to destroy a legion in the field, but here they can hit the army quick and hard at a weak point and cut the column in two. Note also how they have waited until the Roman commanders are close so they can cause the maximum chaos by killing the leaders first. They may lose, but they have at least a reasonable chance of success if the Helvian leader can maintain enough control throughout the fight.’

Molacos boggled. It was just as Cernunnos said. And if they joined in, they could take the column. Free the slaves! Retrieve the spoils. Fund and man the army…

He shook his head angrily. He was being tempted and distracted just as the Helvii had been. He could not afford to be side-tracked from his task, even for this. Vercingetorix was his goal, and the king was worth ten of these columns when it came to uniting the tribes.

‘It is too dangerous. Roman commanders are often clever beyond reason. There is a chance this column will fall to the Helvii, but you and I, Cernunnos, we know that there is more chance they will be broken by some unexpected Roman manoeuvre. We cannot afford to throw in our lot with these traitorous Roman pets.’

‘So what
do
we do, then?’ hulking Mogont asked.

‘We
use
the Helvii. It is not as though we sell out our own, since the Helvii are a Roman tribe now.’

‘You don’t mean…’

‘That is exactly what I mean.’ He straightened, turned and gestured for the other eleven to close around him. ‘Cloaks and masks off and stowed. We are loyal Allobroges now, serving Rome and living in their province. I will remain masked and cloaked at the back – my face is too recognisable and memorable. Cernunnos can lead and do the talking in my place. No moves against the Romans, and watch your tongues. If you speak their language make sure not to react poorly to anything they say.’

He turned to Cernunnos as, uncertain and unhappy, his men and women began to remove their god-cloaks and ritual masks. ‘You know what to do?’

The druid nodded. ‘I have plenty of experience in tricking the Romans and feeding them lies. As soon as we crest the hill, everyone make as much noise as you can as though trying to attract their attention. As we descend, stay a little back. Catubodua, you come out front with me and be my wife. The rest of you keep out of the way and look respectful.’

Without waiting for their comments or agreement, recognising the fact that the Helvian force across the river was almost ready to act, he kicked his horse and broke into a run, racing for the crest and the slope down into the valley. Molacos kept himself safely among the crowd behind as they joined him, dashing down the hill and making directly for the officers.

The group began to shout warnings, those who had no grasp of Latin whooping instead. The reaction from the Romans was immediate and Molacos congratulated himself – they were sharp and quick, these officers. The fight
would
have gone badly for the Helvii. Before the dozen riders were even closing on them, the officers were protected by a shieldwall of legionaries in three files with spears out in their standard anti-cavalry move. Archers appeared as if from nowhere, arrows nocked and strings pulled taut, and Remi riders were gathering in groups, just in case. The wagons rolled on behind them.

‘Tribune!’ shouted Cernunnos as they rode closer. ‘Tribune!’

It was a good guess. Legions usually had a legate or even a more senior officer with them, but even a cohort on the move would have a tribune with them, and so there would be at least one among the officers.

Cernunnos and Catubodua slowed, the former holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. One of the Romans gave a gesture and the shieldwall opened enough to let him step his horse forward. The twelve riders reined in, the ‘couple’ out front only ten paces from the Roman, the rest gathered in a group further back.

‘What is your business?’ asked the Roman. Molacos took in his youthful good looks, light and agile physique, sharp, clear eyes, but most of all, the red belt knotted across his cuirass, denoting his position as some sort of general.

‘Your column is in grave danger, sir. Helvii gather on the far slope in large numbers.’

Molacos watched with fascination as the Roman seemed to study the druid, his gaze digging deep into Cernunnos’ eyes. After a few heartbeats he straightened.

‘Tribune? Prefect? Halt the column and have the entire legion form up in strength on the eastern side of the convoy. Have the wagons begin to double up, every other one pulling alongside to tighten the line and give us manoeuvring room. Send word to the rear to bring up the reserves on the far side of the valley and have all the missile troops mount the wagons for extra range. Every sixth wagon contains a scorpion bolt thrower, so have them all loaded and manned ready too.’

An older officer looked at him as if he were mad. ‘Sir?’

‘Do it.’

‘The outriders have found nothing, sir. These Gauls could be lying… leading us into a trap.’

The general turned a hard look on him. ‘This man is speaking the truth. Follow my orders or by Juno I will find someone to replace you.’ As the tribune trotted off, the officer gestured to another rider – a Remi by the look of it.

‘Take three men and get a good look at these Helvii. Confirm what looks to be their intention and come straight back.’

As they moved off and the officer gestured for the shieldwall to disperse to their normal assigned place, he nodded to Cernunnos. ‘I must thank you for your timely intervention. I have, I confess, been expecting some sort of attack throughout the length of the Rhodanus valley, though I was beginning to feel safe now, in the shadow of Rome.’

‘Will you move against them?’

The officer shook his head. ‘If they come, we are now ready and we’ll fight them off. But I don’t think they
will
come. The Helvii have too much to lose. If they think we are ready for them they will call off their attack and disperse. I will give you nine coins to one that you have saved us a fight altogether today.’ He smiled. ‘Though I fear you will be in danger from reprisals. They may well be watching you speaking to me. Where are you bound?’

‘Massilia, sir,’ Cernunnos answered easily. ‘My wife and I have property there as well as back in Allobroge lands. I have a modest concern in the city trading in wine.’

The officer brightened. ‘How marvellous. You may be acquainted with a friend of mine. Fronto, the former legate of the Tenth also trades in wine in Massilia.’ The man chuckled and failed in his jollity to notice a moment of dark recognition in the druid’s eyes at the name. ‘For your safety you will, surely, allow my column to accompany you to the city? My name is Decimus Junius Brutus Albinus, pro-tem commander of the Twelfth Legion.’