Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (58 page)

“Can’t really send more than a small vexillation in there. Marching a whole legion into the forest would be asking for trouble and they’d have difficulty manoeuvring. A smaller unit of, say, two or three centuries would have the size and flexibility to work within the woods.”

The general nodded and spread his hands on the table before him.

“Three of your centuries will be enough? With a few scouts who know the paths, of course?”

“Actually, I was thinking of taking two of mine and one from the Fourteenth if Plancus is amenable. They’re Gauls themselves and might be useful.”

Still smiling, the legate strode out of the tent and stopped there. Four of Ingenuus’ cavalry guard stood to attention around the tent, and three soldiers, clerks by the look of it, stood waiting to see the general, tablets and scrolls in their arms. With a chuckle, he leaned across to the nearest, pulled the documents from the surprised man’s hands and dropped them on the pile of the man in front.

“There. Now you’re free. Do me a favour and run to the camp of the Fourteenth. There’s a centurion there by the name of…” He stopped and frowned for a moment as he dredged through his memory. “Cantorix, I believe. Tell him that Legate Fronto of the Tenth has requested that he and his century attend in full kit at his earliest convenience. Then find the scouts that came back this morning and send them too.”

The clerk looked confused and a little worried for a moment.

“Run along now. Your figures can wait.”

As the man saluted and ran off in the direction of Plancus’ camp, Fronto strode on, whistling, toward his own men. Making his way along the main thoroughfare between the tents and past the larger quarters of the tribunes, he spotted the primus pilus waving his vine staff at two legionaries.

Turning, he bellowed a command at the two legionaries and, paying them no further attention, strode off into the camp to find his men.

Fronto wandered across to his own tent and ducked inside. Scanning quickly around the interior, he found his helmet, baldric and cuirass and, collecting them, went to sit on his bunk and start strapping things on. Early on in his command, Priscus had tried to persuade him to take a body slave to help with these things, as was the custom with senior officers, but it just felt a little soft having a person dress you. How could a man be expected to hold his head high and command a legion when he couldn’t even dress himself?

It was therefore a minor irritation when he realised that he’d fastened the wrong buckle on his cuirass while thinking and been left with a spare strap.

By the time he had adjusted it and slung the baldric across his shoulder, fastened the ribbon around his middle and tucked the liner into his helmet before jamming it unceremoniously on, he could hear the general hubbub of men assembling on the open ground outside. Standing, he straightened, flexed his knuckles, and strode outside.

Carbo and a centurion he knew by sight, a big man with a flattened nose, stood to attention with their men lined up behind them parade-style.

Fronto nodded in satisfaction and cast his eyes back up toward the centre of the enormous camp, where he could see other legionaries jogging in formation toward them. No one in the ranks spoke as they awaited the arrival of the Fourteenth, who reached the parade ground area and fell into place next to the others. Fronto glanced at them out of the corner of his eye and could see the centurion smiling in realisation.

“Good morning, men.”

A roar answered him from the three centuries.

“I’ve a little job for you all. We’re going to take a wander in woods, with the help of the scouts who went out this morning, and we’re going to lay first eyes, then hands, on the enemy supply wagons. By lunchtime I want those wagons back here and being distributed into the army’s stores. Think you can do that?”

Another roar.

“Good. Stand at ease for a few minutes until the scouts arrive. Get to know one another, since you’ll be working quite closely over the next few hours.”

He grinned.

“Officers to me, please.”

Carbo and the broken-nosed centurion strode out front, closely followed by the officer of the Fourteenth, who was shaking his head, smiling.

“You two? I’d like you to meet Cantorix of the Fourteenth. I have it on good authority his century are good men, and I thought the presence of a staunchly Gallic unit might be advantageous this morning.”

Cantorix grinned.

“You could have
told
me you were an officer, sir. I’d have given you due deference.”

Carbo glanced across at him.

“A less officer-like officer you never will meet, Cantorix. If he turns up among your lot again, would you be kind enough to send him somewhere safe at the back?”

Cantorix laughed out loud.

“I suspect it’s not that easy!”

“True.” The primus pilus turned back to his commander. “I suppose there’s no point in trying to persuade you that we can do this without you and that a senior officer shouldn’t be putting himself in such a frankly stupid position?”

“First step is to head to the previous site of their wagons, then to move on to the current location. We’ll split the scouts into three groups, one with each century. Cantorix? You and yours will take the main forest path that the wagons took at a nice slow stroll. Feel free to let your entire century talk in their native tongue. I know the officers usually discourage such a thing, but I’m hoping to try and talk these tribes down from their pedestal and convince them that without supplies to keep them going, they’re better off joining us, and you could go a long way to helping with that.”

He smiled.

“That, of course, means that I’ll be going with you. The other two centuries will make their way as fast as they can by circuitous routes, guided by the scouts, until they can come at the clearing from other directions. That way, if we have to do this the hard way, we’ll have a solid advantage. Hopefully, you’ll get there moving fast before we do at our leisurely pace and be in position before we arrive. When you get there, spread out ready for trouble, but stay back and hidden.”

The other two centurions nodded.

“And then, sir?”

“
Then
we become heavily reliant on the scouts. I would like to try and repeat the procedure on the current position of the wagons, but that might be more troublesome, depending on what trails the scouts can find and where they lead. Be aware at all times of your bearings, as one century getting horribly lost in those woods with an antagonistic bunch of the enemy wandering around could be a somewhat fatal experience.”

He took a deep breath.

“If all goes well and the three centuries converge on the wagons, we’ll overcome whatever resistance there is and then two centuries can form a line and hold them off if necessary while the third leads the wagons back out of the forest. All clear?”

The three men nodded.

“Good, then you’d best fall back in. The scouts are coming.”

* * * * *

Fronto and Cantorix jogged forward along the trail as quietly as they possibly could; surprisingly so, really, given the mail shirt and phalera harness the centurion was wearing. The scout waved them to the side of the track and the two officers moved quickly off the road and onto the grass verge, beneath the branches, as they approached the point where the Gaulish scout was peering around a bend in the track.

Fronto appeared behind the man and leaned out to look. The clearing was large, perhaps a hundred and fifty or even two hundred feet in diameter, and packed with everything the tribe on the run might need. The wagons, which numbered in the dozens, were arrayed in half of the clearing, carefully manoeuvred and parked between the remaining stumps where the tribe had cut the trees down to widen the clearing and also to form the fence that sealed off the remaining half of the clearing and which held cattle, goats and pigs in tight confines.

Fronto ducked back, irritation plastered across his face. Cantorix shrugged and then peered out himself. Nodding, he pulled his head back in to the side. There were a few ordinary folk of the tribes, going about feeding the animals and gathering items from the wagons.

That wasn’t what was annoying the legate, though.

The wagons had been carefully arranged to fit between the stumps and it must have taken hours to get them in that position. Freeing them and taking them back along the trail to the Roman camp would be near impossible in anything less than half a day.

For some reason, Fronto had expected them to be on the run, prepared to flee at all times, the beasts still hooked up to the vehicles and in a position for a quick escape. He hadn’t planned on them having set up a semi-permanent store.

He slumped and shrugged.

Cantorix frowned and made strange arcane dances with his fingers, miming something incomprehensible. Fronto stared at him and shrugged again. The centurion sighed and repeated the gestures, slowly and elaborately, waggling his eyebrows meaningfully. Fronto sighed.

“I don’t know what you’re saying” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“Kill the cattle, burn the wagons” the man hissed back at him quietly.

Fronto frowned. It was a thought that had occurred to him before now. Shame to waste it all, but the primary goal of the whole escapade was to cut off the supplies of the rebels. The smoke from the wagons would alert the whole lot, of course. And then, with it having been dry for days there was always the possibility of the woods catching fire. Could it be worth it?

He shook his head. No. His reason for this was more than merely depriving them of goods. It was goading them into accepting terms and surrendering.

He shook his head again, this time directly at Cantorix.

“No. We go ahead and take them all. If it takes all day, we’ll still do it. Let’s just hope the others got here too.”

The Gaulish centurion gave him a helpless look, but nodded and Fronto nudged the scout and pointed back along the track. The three men wandered back to the seventy men standing in formation on the trail a couple of hundred yards away. Fronto looked them up and down.

“Well, centurion, that’s an end to the sneaking. Can’t sneak a whole century up there, Besides, we need the others to hear that we’ve arrived.”

Cantorix nodded and gestured to his optio.

“Idocus? You get the animal job. When we get to the clearing, the left side is a huge animal pen, separated into three parts. Send three men to the pigs and three to the goats. Get them roped together and start leading them back to camp. Take another twenty men and start moving the oxen out two at a time onto the track. While you’re doing that, I’ll take another twenty and we’ll start moving the carts out to hook them up to the animals. Soon as they’re done we can start moving them off, with one driver per cart.”

He turned to Fronto.

“That leaves only about twenty five men to defend us while we work. Will that be enough, sir?”

Fronto shrugged. “It’ll have to be. Hopefully, the other centuries have made it round through the woods and are waiting for us. I’ll take the carts, you lead the defence. If the Tenth arrive to help, send more men back to help us with the carts and animals. Alright?”

Cantorix nodded.

“I’m sending Dannos and Villu to help you. Villu used to be a thief and cattle rustler, I believe, so he should be quite useful, but he also had his tongue cut out, so don’t expect much conversation.”

Fronto rolled his eyes.

“Let’s go and hope Fortuna’s watching over us.”

Taking a deep breath, he raised his arm and let it fall and the century of men began to tramp forward in perfect unison. Fronto smiled to himself. Despite recent outbursts he would rather forget, he was surprised to find, as he thought about it, how many Gauls in whose company he had spent the past year and upon whom he had come to rely. Perhaps what the army was doing wasn’t merely an impediment to getting home, but was purposeful and worthwhile on a higher level.