Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (44 page)

Andesaros blinked.

More and more bolts and stones were whipping out of the bushes and trees to either side, the clatter of releasing ballistae joined by the thump of loosing catapults. He knew the sounds well from many previous battles. He knew what they would do.

A huge warrior clad in bronze and iron rushed towards the fallen Mediomatrici leader, and then suddenly he was gone. Or at least half of him was, the onager shot - a shaped rock more than a hand-span wide - striking him in the back, smashing the spine to fragments and neatly separating the body in two halves, the top of which disappeared off into the mass of panicked warriors.

Andesaros turned to the far side, confirming that more hidden artillery were releasing from the treeline to that edge of the field. His eyes picked out the panicked shouts of Solemnis of the Tribocci, shrieking at his men to flee the field. Briefly, he caught the young chieftain’s eyes and recoiled at the accusation they launched at him. Then, Solemnis too was gone, an iron bolt smashing through him and driving him from his horse.

‘Retreat!’ he bellowed.

A sound behind him made his blood run cold. Though he could not translate the Latin words, he knew it for what it was, given that it was repeated along the line by every officer of the legions and followed by the noise of a thousand men tensing.

He turned and dived from his horse, using the men around him and his own steed as cover from the horrible, deadly rain of pila that arced up into the air, seemed to hang there for dreadful heartbeats, and then plunged down among the panicked, pushing and shouting mob.

Andesaros struggled to his feet, and then found himself tumbling to the ground once more when a disgruntled warrior of his own distant kin snarled and gave him a hard punch to the jaw. As he floundered on the floor, the warrior spat on him and ran for the river.

This would be a difficult loss to recover his position from.

There would have to be a lot of casting of blame elsewhere. Fortunately, both other leaders were dead, and Ambiorix gone north somewhere, saying he sought the Segni for his alliance. Blame would be easy to apportion with such little of it falling upon his own shoulders. As long as he could leave the field safely, he could rally those who survived.

Again, he picked himself up and dusted down his muddied tunic, casting a brief glance back at the legions, now marching on the Treveri at an unstoppable pace.

His world went crimson, then black, and ended.

* * * * *

‘See that?’ Ianuarius grinned at his assistant. ‘Two nobles in one fight. And that one through the neck. Bet you couldn’t match that in a month of trying.’ He turned and bellowed to his equal, aiming the next ballista along. ‘See that, Petreius? Two! You owe me two jars of wine, you old cheapskate.’

* * * * *

Quadratus sat ahorse expectantly, his eyes on Labienus, waiting for the command. The legions had crossed the ridge, driving the Treveri before them in panic, their leaders dead already. The cavalry would likely be required for mopping up - chasing down the survivors and bringing them back, but with the narrowness of the ford area, they would not be expected to move until the infantry were not blocking the field.

The legate of the Twelfth, lieutenant of Caesar and commander of the southern forces in Gaul, smiled and walked his horse over casually.

‘Prefect?’

‘Sir.’

‘Would you be so good as to take your horse and harry the enemy for a good few miles? Make them regret their decision. No need to bend over backwards to give them quarter - they’ve had their chance. If they surrender, have them guarded, then roped and enslaved. If not, run them down until you’re within sight of their walls, then return to us.’

Quadratus grinned.

‘It would be a pleasure, sir.’

The commander turned to his signifers and musicians. ‘Sound the halt. I don’t want the legions racing across Gaul after the Treveri. They’re beaten and the cavalry will finish the job.’ He turned to the tribunes sitting nearby along with the other two legates. Plancus looked satisfied, and Trebonius stretched and rolled his shoulders.

‘Congratulations, Labienus. It seems you are turning smashing the Treveri into something of a habit. Caesar is planning to come and crush the Treveri against your forces. He will start to worry that you’re outshining him.’

Labienus laughed. ‘Hardly, I fear. I just lead them. They’re still Caesar’s men, and they know it. Let’s start moving the legions back to the fort. We’re going to have to create a sizeable annexe, given the growing size of the army here.’

‘Only a temporary one,’ Trebonius said, wearily, reaching into his cloak and withdrawing a sealed scroll case, which he passed over to the commander. ‘Caesar is planning to come here as soon as he’s dealt with the Menapii and combine the forces against the Treveri, but then we’ll all be moving on to deal with the Eburones. That you’ve managed to crush the Treveri before he arrives will just hasten our departure, I’m sure.’

Labienus nodded as he broke the seal and scanned the lines of neat handwriting. ‘Then we had best send riders north to inform Caesar of recent events. Since he no longer needs to aid us against the Treveri, he may wish us to march north and meet him.’

‘I hope not,’ Trebonius gave a tired smile. ‘I’m a little sick of marching.’

‘Let’s get back to the fort, and then we can discuss it all in comfort.’

‘Do you not want to speak to their leaders and set terms for their surrender?’ Plancus frowned.

‘I shall send a deputation to their capital, which is less than ten miles from here.’ He laughed. ‘Given the fact that I saw all three standards taken and all their leaders fall in the attack, I wouldn’t know who to threaten, anyway! We’ll give them a few days for the tribe to take out their anger on the rest of Indutiomarus’ relatives and decide who might lead them better and then we’ll talk to this new king. The Treveri are unlikely to support any further rebellion now.’

He smiled a tired smile at the other legates. ‘In the meantime, we need to get you gentlemen and your forces settled in.’

He turned his horse to see three riders approaching, escorted by a centurion and a contubernium of men.

‘Sir,’ the officer saluted and gestured to his charges. ‘Scouts from the northeast.’

‘What news of the Suevi?’ Labienus asked pensively. Were five cohorts enough to protect the camp?

The rider, clearly worn out from his ride, gave a weary salute. ‘Sir, the Germans have halted. We spotted other riders, and it seems they have their own scouts ranging out ahead of them. I can only assume they have learned of the battle, since as soon as the riders spoke to the Suevi chiefs, the whole lot of them turned and started to walk back towards the Rhenus.’

Labienus sagged and Trebonius chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘How does it feel to frighten off the whole Germanic nation?’

‘A bit of a relief, to be honest,’ Labienus smiled. ‘I was still half-convinced that the Suevi would ignore the death of their allies and come for us anyway. They’re not a people to be easily put off.’

‘Is there any chance of us catching them before they reach the Rhenus?’ Trebonius mused.

‘Little,’ Labienus said. ‘They travel light, living off forage and pillage, so they can move faster than us. Besides, they likely still outnumber us, even without the Treveri, so I’m not sure it would be a wise plan of action. Let us return to camp and thank Minerva for turning them back.’

Plancus nodded. ‘It’s been a long journey to travel straight into a battle. I for one could do with a bath, a meal, and a lie down.’

* * * * *

Publius Sextius Baculus, Primus Pilus of the Twelfth Legion, eyed the wagon suspiciously.

‘I shall ride a horse.’

‘No you shall not,’ announced the medicus, who, without warning, snatched away the vine staff of office upon which Baculus was resting most of his weight. Relieved of its support, the centurion staggered and fell into the waiting arms of the medical orderly. ‘You cannot stand unaided. You quite clearly should not be riding. You also seem unable to grasp the simple concept of rest and recovery. Had you stayed in bed and rested as you were ordered and not poured every vial of medicine the staff gave you onto the ground when they weren’t looking, you would be almost back to full health by now. Instead, you continually push yourself to the limit and consequently you are still months from well.’

‘You said the infection was cleared up?’

‘The infection has gone. What you have now is exhaustion, and atrophied muscles due to your protracted stay in my care. You, Baculus, are your own worst enemy. There is nothing that impedes your full healing but your own inability to rest. Now get in that cart and sit still until we reach tonight’s camp site.’

Again, Baculus eyed the cart. The hospital was being evacuated for the journey and the wounded and sick who were incapable of walking or riding had been assigned to the carts - eight men to a cart, except for this one, which held four officers.

‘Perhaps I could join one of the ordinary soldiers’ carts?’ he asked hopefully. Aboard this vehicle were Clemens, standard bearer for the Third Cohort, Second Century of the Twelfth, who Baculus knew well enough to know he was prone to travel sickness, an optio from the Seventh suffering from a gut wound after the Treveri fight and who smelled like he might pass away on the journey, and Dentio, a prefect that was suffering from foot-rot and was delirious much of the time. A worse set of travelling companions he could not imagine. ‘When we get there I’ll be covered in vomit and innards and have a headache.’

‘In the cart.’

‘Problem?’ asked Labienus, passing by on his horse on a brief inspection of the column.

‘Just the usual, sir,’ muttered the medicus, gesturing at Baculus with the purloined vine staff.

‘Get in the cart, centurion,’ ordered Labienus.

Grumbling, Baculus snatched back his staff and clambered with some difficulty aboard the cart.

Four days had passed since the defeat of the Treveri and scouts had brought overtures of peace from the new Treveri leader. It had pleased the officer corps to discover that the man who had risen to rule the Treveri once more was Cingetorix, a long-time supporter of Caesar who had been deposed and exiled by Indutiomarus. The tribe’s anger at their recent leaders’ foolish decisions had driven them back to the loyalty of Roman client kings.

As soon as Labienus had confirmed that the tribe were settled and there was little likelihood of further trouble, he had made the decision to march north with the entire army and follow the river to the Rhenus, since Caesar’s army would be moving south along that course. En route, the army would make a stop at the Oppidum of Vindunaco, where Cingetorix now held court, in order to receive the renewed vows of the Treveri.

It would be a long, slow journey, and Baculus was dreading every moment of it.

* * * * *

Ambiorix placed his prized helmet on the table and dusted the silver boar atop it with his fingers. A helmet made for a Roman general, it had once belonged to Sabinus, one of Caesar’s top men before Ambiorix had taken it, with the man’s head still inside. He had ripped off the red crest, replacing it with something more appropriate and now it was a masterpiece of propaganda. The helmet announced to every warrior who saw it ‘here is a man who beat the best Rome had to offer’.

If only he could repeat his success, but that damned Caesar was in the way at every turn. He had almost had Cicero’s head last winter, straight after the first legion’s demise, and he’d almost crushed that man’s army, but for Caesar’s untimely arrival on the scene.

Then he’d set about rebuilding his army, knowing that, if he’d done it once, he could do it again, but Caesar had pre-empted him and launched campaigns against everyone who would speak to him before the winter was out.

The Nervii had been eager to join him once more, and had agreed to marshal their forces and meet him at the site of his greatest victory in the spring, but Caesar had taken his men north while the winter’s chill was still in the air and had torn the Nervii apart and burned what was left. Then the Menapii, who had been hesitant at first. They had managed to stay free of Roman interference for years by hiding in their infernal swamps. But shown what Caesar was doing to Gaul, and with a great deal of persuasion and wheedling, they had finally agreed to commit to his cause at the appointed place and time.

And then Caesar had shown up there yet again, like a bad smell in a small hut, and had bridged the rivers and swamps of the Mosa and the Rhenus and reduced the Menapii to a gaggle of blubbering women, effectively tearing out another of Ambiorix’s greater allies.

The Treveri had been a true hope, too. Indutiomarus had taken control of the tribe and despite a number of their most powerful men professing continued loyalty to Rome, had committed them to the cause. That Rome-lover Cingetorix had been exiled and powerless. If
Ambiorix
had risen to lead them, he’d have killed the man rather than exiling him, but the Treveri were a divided and uncertain tribe and his execution might have turned much of the tribe against Indutiomarus.

In the end, they had proved unequal to the task. That fool had managed to lose a battle against one single legion, a battle he should have won with little difficulty. And his nephew had risen to seek revenge for him and managed to fail yet again. This Labienus was beginning to become as troublesome as Caesar himself.

Allies were hard to find in these days, and Caesar was removing them as fast as Ambiorix could secure them. Damn the druids and their pet Arvernian chief. Vercingetorix counselled caution and delay and because he had the druids tucked in his purse, most of Gaul and the Belgae would not even speak to Ambiorix, busying themselves with preparations for Vercingetorix’s grand scheme. A few druids had flocked to his cause, bringing with them small tribes and a few dissenters, but he was on the edge and increasingly abandoned by the people, while that grinning Arverni lunatic secured a huge army that milled around deep in Gaul doing nothing.