The Druid King (31 page)

“And why not, if we make it so?” Vercingetorix told him as the strategy took full form in his mind. “We have stored up what we could of food and fodder, and we are among our own people. Down there is a vast army marching through a winter-barren hostile land that must survive with what it has brought with it. Caesar therefore must count on a quick series of great battles.”

“Perhaps only one!” said Critognat. “All the warriors of Gaul against all his legions! Night and day! Without respite or sleep! Gauls can stand up to that! These Romans certainly won’t! We’ll fight till they drop from exhaustion, or surrender in despair, whichever comes first!”

“No, Critognat,” Vercingetorix told him. “Why give the enemy what he hopes for? Instead, we will fight Caesar’s legions as the ants overcome the beetle that invades their nest, with a multitude of tiny bites that harry it and exhaust it and force it to be gone.”

“Ants!”
roared Critognat. “We are not ants!”

“As a pack of wolves brings down a great stag, then, by ripping out its belly.”

“I like the sound of that better. But I still do not know what it means.”

“We starve them,” Vercingetorix told him. “Quick concentrated attacks on their supplies. Ride in, destroy, ride out—do it over and over again.”

“Where is the glory in that?” demanded Critognat.

“In victory, Critognat, in victory!”

“Who would wish to boast of such a victory without honor?”

“He has a point,” said Litivak. “Few Gauls would have their fighting spirits roused by a call to such inglorious battle, and many would deem it craven, and not without justice.”

In his heart, Vercingetorix knew this to be true, but the man of knowledge knew that all other paths would lead to defeat, to a Gaul conquered by Rome. And where would be the honor or glory in that?

And so he must dissemble.

Perhaps even to himself.

“Once the Romans are out of food and weakened by starvation,
then
we destroy them in one grand, glorious battle.”

“It
might
work,” muttered Litivak. “And in truth, I can see nothing else that might.”

“Still,” said Critognat, “it seems cowardly. I have no love for the Romans, but even they should not be forced to fight with their ribs showing through their skin.”

The valley was broad, the hills to the east were low and sparsely wooded, but to the west there was forest, and the Roman road that ran arrow-straight through the valley was no more than a mile from the edge of it in places. Roman infantry, twenty ranks wide and ten ranks deep, marched with brisk assurance through the valley behind a screen of cavalry. Scores of heavily laden supply wagons rumbled along the road behind them in a long, narrow, vulnerable line, but the supply train was guarded along its entire length by infantry five ranks deep, in turn flanked by cavalry outriders.

Brandishing lances before them, a wild and unruly horde of nearly a thousand Gauls came galloping out of the forest along a wide front, howling and screaming toward the western flank of the Roman supply train.

The Roman cavalry guarding the wagons wheeled smartly to confront them, and the infantry behind them began to form turtles: the front ranks with their shields before them, the rest with their shields above their heads to form a protective roof.

The Gauls held on to their lances rather than throwing them like javelins as they clashed with the Roman cavalry, creating a terrifying and thunderous bang and clatter that was more noisy than effective, for most of the lances were blocked by shields. Even so, the shock and momentum of the charge knocked many Romans off their horses, to be trampled in the melee.

But the Roman line held, the Romans drew their swords, and in such close combat, swords were much more effective than unwieldy lances, and the Romans quickly broke the Gallic line roughly in the center—

—or so at least it seemed, as half the Gauls wheeled north, the other half south, fleeing along the roadside with the Roman cavalry in pursuit and other Roman cavalry units swinging out in broad arcs to cut off their escape.

But behind the first wave of Gauls had been a tighter, narrower formation of Gallic cavalry. Its front ranks were armed with swords and axes, and led by Vercingetorix himself; behind them galloped several hundred Gauls bearing flaming torches.

Vercingetorix led his warriors through the gap in the Roman cavalry, swords and axes smashing at the shields of the turtles. The Gauls behind flung scores of torches over the turtled Roman infantry. Most of them fell short, bouncing off shields, causing little more than confusion among their rear ranks.

But some of them reached wagons heavily laden with sacks of grain, ten of which smoldered, caught, burst into flame.

Their shields might protect them from the Gallic steel before them, but not from the searing heat of the roaring fires behind, and many of the Romans panicked and sought to flee, and their orderly formation broke. This in turn created chaos in the infantry lines to either side of the breach as Romans collided with Romans.

The Gallic cavalry formation now divided in two. Half of them followed Vercingetorix through the gap in the infantry line, came up
behind
the ranks of turtles, then wheeled up onto the roadway among the wagons headed north. The other half rode through the breach, executed the same maneuver, and reached the road headed in the opposite direction.

The Gauls galloped along the road in both directions through the narrow path between the wagons and the turtles, swordsmen and axmen shielding the torchbearers, who flung their torches into wagon after wagon at close range.

As these wagons caught fire, the drovers lost control of their terrified horses, who pulled flaming wagons this way and that, smashing into other wagons, adding to the panic, spreading the fires.

Both wings of the first wave of Gauls had meanwhile made for the forest with much of the Roman cavalry that had sought to cut them off now in pursuit. The rest of the Roman cavalry broke off to ride back in confusion toward the conflagration, where the infantry that had been guarding the supply train scattered in disarray as they sought to escape the swiftly moving fire.

The whole battle lasted less than ten minutes, from the time the first wave of Gauls burst from cover until Vercingetorix blew a signal on a trumpet and the remaining Gauls wheeled off the roadway, rode through the rear of the broken Roman formations, and disappeared back into the depths of the forest whence they came.

The slopes of the defile were steep and rock-strewn, but not so steep that nothing would grow on them, and the cleft between them, green with an abundance of fresh spring grass, was not quite narrow enough to be called a gorge, and not quite wide enough to be truly deemed an alpine meadow.

Vercingetorix crouched behind a seemingly natural jumble of boulders piled up by his men atop the ridgeline, watching the Roman supply train approaching. This was not one of the more direct routes through the Alps, but the pass was wide enough to allow an infantry guard to march on either side of the wagons.

“Clever prey,” said Oranix, crouching beside him. “They never stumble into the same snare twice.”

“You sound like you approve.”

“Of course I approve,” said Oranix, watching the Romans approach with the keen and concentrated gaze of the hunter. “Dull prey makes for a boring hunt.”

Dull prey, Caesar’s army was not. The first attack on a Roman supply train had been the easiest one, for Caesar had probably never seen such tactics before, but never again did he group his supply wagons together on a road. Each of his legions then moved with its own supply train in the center of a large infantry formation. They did not rely on roads. They kept far away from the forest.

This had freed Caesar to group his cavalry into several large scouting forces, seeking to hunt down the “army of Gaul.”

Vercingetorix had then divided his forces into three main parts: Arverni led by himself, Edui led by Litivak, and a force composed of warriors from a collection of the smaller tribes led by the Atrebate vergobret Comm. The Gallic leaders knew the terrain far better than the Romans, and each commanded many more men than the roving Roman cavalry units, so it was easy to lead them into disastrous ambushes.

But Caesar regrouped his forces once more, this time into legion-sized units with the cavalry never far in advance of the infantry, and sent
them
roving independently around the countryside.

Once the snows melted and sowing began, the Romans gave over hunting for the elusive army of Gaul and instead took to harrying the peasants in their fields and sacking villages, trying to provoke the army to attack and tie it down in battle long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

Vercingetorix did attack, but not as Caesar had intended. He brought together only enough forces to attack single legions, and fought only long enough to destroy food supplies, never allowing a battle to last more than half an hour. Ride in, break through to the supply wagons, fire as many as possible, ride out, disperse, do it again. And again. And again.

Yet again Caesar regrouped his army, this time into three main forces, each with the supply wagons clustered in the center, each far too large to attack and penetrate. But these impregnable formations were too cumbersome to hunt down anything. All they could do was attempt to provoke suicidal attack by slaughtering villages, taking slaves, sacking towns. Several contingents of warriors from the smaller tribes deserted to return to their lands when Vercingetorix refused to take the bait and these lands Caesar cunningly gave over despoiling.

Vercingetorix had been constrained to call a council of his main lieutenants when even Litivak openly considered defecting. This was held over a roasting boar and a barrel of beer deep in the forest and away from other ears, for Vercingetorix knew full well what he was going to hear.

“There’s no honor in this!” Critognat complained.

“Even the Arverni are calling you a coward!” said Comm. “And I’m beginning to agree with them!”

“Why fight if we’re not even protecting our own people?” demanded Luctor of the Cadurques. “What are we supposed to tell our men to keep them from leaving?”

“Caesar attacks the farmsteads of those tribes who have troops in this army of yours and leaves the others be,” said Litivak.

“Thus does he seek to divide us,” said Vercingetorix.

“Thus is he succeeding,” Litivak told him. “Liscos is now
demanding
that I withdraw my men. Unless I obey,
I
take the blame if Caesar
does
turn on the Edui once he has finished with you, not him.”

“But if you don’t,” Vercingetorix told him, “the glory will be yours, not his.”

“Glory? What glory?”

“The glory of winning the war.”

“Winning the war!” growled Critognat. “We haven’t even won a single real battle!”

“No glory!”

“No victory!”

“But no defeats either,” Vercingetorix told them, “and if any among you can point one out, I now invite him to speak.”

There was only sullen silence.

“We are winning the war,” Vercingetorix insisted. “We are defeating the greatest power in the world. Caesar brought his army here in winter knowing it would have to live off what it brought with it until grain was ripe in the fields and grass in the meadows.
Yet crops are only beginning to grow, and we have destroyed half of what the Romans brought to see them through to summer. They will be starving before then. Caesar must either retreat over the mountains or fight us with an army whose horses are dead or dying, whose legionnaires’ knees have been rendered too weak to keep them standing, and
then
shall Gaul know the most glorious victory in the history of the world, for then shall we have done what no other people have done—not the Greeks, not Carthage with Hannibal and all his mighty elephants—we shall have defeated and humbled Rome!”

This silver-tongued speech had been enough to hold the army together, but Vercingetorix knew that, to bring that victory, sooner or later he would have to force down their unwilling throats a strategy far more bitter still.

But for the moment . . .

As the head of the Roman supply train began to move past his position, Vercingetorix saw that this one was guarded by infantry alone. “No cavalry at all this time . . .” he muttered.

“Clever prey,” Oranix said again. “They’ve learned that we’re choosing slopes too steep for horses to climb.”

Behind the boulders piled up on the ridgeline and screened from sight were bales of hay wrapped around smaller boulders for weight, and soaked in sticky pitch. Vercingetorix’s men were positioned all along the ridge on the other side of the crestline—like the hay bales, invisible from below.

Vercingetorix peered down into the valley, back at the line of boulders poised atop the ridge, down again. The center of the Roman supply train was now directly below him.

He raised his trumpet to his lips and blew the first signal.

All along the ridgeline, his men prized the piles of boulders free with stout tree branches, and hundreds of them, large and small, tumbled and bounced down the slope, kicking up clods of earth, dislodging more boulders, stones, and pebbles, rumbling and roaring toward the Romans within a fearsome cloud of dust.

Even from this distance, Vercingetorix could hear the cries of “Avalanche!” from below, as the front ranks of the Roman infantry guard knelt down with their shields before them in a futile attempt to block the mighty wave of rock and dust—

—which picked up speed as it reached the bottom of the slope, crossed the narrow valley floor, and broke upon them, smashing them backward into their fellows, crushing, pulverizing men, reaching the wagons, shattering wheels, cracking axles, panicking horses, as—

—Vercingetorix blew the second signal, and his men lit the hay bales and sent a second avalanche, this one of fire, rolling down the slope.

The flaming hay bales, even with their stone centers, formed a lighter avalanche than the boulders, and moved more slowly, causing the fresh green mountain grass to smolder in their wake. They had just enough speed when they arrived at the valley floor to roll through the decimated Roman infantry to reach the chaotic disarray of overturned and shattered wagons, and set them ablaze.