Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (14 page)

The primus
pilus grunted.

“
I’m sure with the dozen men I’ll have left in ten minutes
we’ll be able to do a great deal!”

Fronto
laughed.

“
You wanted a fight and there’s one coming, so stop
grumbling.”

Priscus gave
him a sour glare and then started passing word down the line.

Fronto smiled
and strode off back towards the command party, meeting Sabinus
striding fast in his direction en route. The staff officer looked
concerned.

“
What’s up?”

Sabinus
stopped and pointed back down the slope to the staff officers
gathered around the general.

“
Think we’ve got trouble, Marcus. Three scouts coming hell for
leather on the other side of the river, but one of them’s
wounded.”

The gentle
comedy of dealing with determined engineers quickly forgotten, the
seasoned campaigner in Fronto took over instantly.

“
Get those cohorts sorted and fortify here. We need to get
moving. Priscus knows you’re coming. When you see him, tell him to
get across that river now.”

Sabinus nodded
and jogged on toward the Tenth.

Heading in the
other direction, Fronto picked up speed and sprinted down the slope
towards Caesar and his men. Twice, on the uneven ground, he almost
lost his footing as his leg threatened to buckle beneath him. Ever
since that German bitch had bitten into his heel last summer, his
running had been impaired.

As he slewed
to a halt before the general, breathing heavily, he looked up and
across the water.

The scouts had
now reached the far bank. The three auxiliary riders ploughed into
the water, the middle one supported in his saddle by the arms of
his comrades as he wavered around and slumped periodically.

Fronto turned
to Caesar.

“
With respect general, whatever the news is, you need to get
the army moving across and fortifying. We can’t afford to waste
time.”

Caesar shook
his head as it to shift a daze.

“
You’re absolutely right, Fronto.”

He turned to
Labienus.

“
Get the army moving.”

As the staff
officer marched off toward the group of tribunes gathered nearby to
distribute the orders, Fronto looked down at the river. Pomponius
and a few of his men were already at the waterline just downstream,
taking measurements. The riders finally waded ashore on the near
bank and two of them dismounted and led their horses up the slope
to the officers, while the third remained in his saddle, clutching
his neck, drenched in blood.

“
Report!” commanded Caesar.

The two scouts
saluted.

“
Ave, Caesar.”

The general
waved aside the niceties dismissively and with a little
irritation.

“
What happened?”

The smaller of
the two men looked up at the general.

“
The Belgae are close, sir. They seem to have split into two
groups. The larger part is camped about twenty miles away, but a
sizeable part of their army is besieging the Remi oppidum at Bibrax
just downstream. The town won’t hold for long.”

“
Damn it!” the general barked. “Bibrax is too far north, right
on the Remi’s border. They haven’t been sent a garrison unit yet,
have they?”

One of the
officers in the crowd shook his head.

“
No sir. The garrison’s still with us. They were supposed to be
heading to Bibrax when we’re finished here.”

Fronto
growled.

“
Got to do something, Caesar. Break a promise of protection to
the Remi and you risk losing the alliance.”

The general
shook his head.

“
The Remi can’t expect us to have supplied troops to somewhere
we haven’t even reached yet. And in the grand scheme of things,
it’s just one barbarian town.”

Fronto started
to open his mouth and wave his hand angrily, but Caesar raised his
voice and rode over the top of him.

“
I can’t send anyone. We need the legions here to get these
camps constructed, else we’ll be in the same state as Bibrax when
the enemy get here. They’re only eight miles away, Fronto. We’ve
barely got time to get sorted even with our full
complement!”

Fronto growled
dangerously.

“
We have to help them. Spare me one cohort and I’ll go help
them.”

“
No.”

“
One cohort” shouted Fronto jabbing a finger toward Caesar,
spittle landing on the general’s cuirass. The rest of the senior
officers melted away from the two of them, hardly appearing to
move. Caesar’s face had gone purple. Behind him, Fronto could see
Labienus making subtle, yet frantic motions to Fronto to
stop.

“
Alright, just two centuries” he bellowed. “For Juno’s sake,
that’s less than a hundredth of your men. For just that, we might
be able to save Bibrax, our alliance, and even your
reputation!”

Caesar had
begun to tremble slightly.

“
Fronto, your mouth runs like a thoroughbred horse. One more
word from you and you can take your vine staff, your reputation and
any hope of Julii patronage, and run off home with it.”

The legate
began to open his mouth again. He was clearly as angry as the
general.

“
Fronto, I put up with your breathtaking disobedience and
insolence because you may very well be the best commander that Rome
has to offer, but this is my army and I will not risk it. If you
wish to go help the Remi and risk your own life, by all means do
so, but you will not take my legions with you.”

Caesar had
gone very pale now and the legate recognised the signs. The general
had been pushed as far as he would go before he snapped, and Fronto
had seen the results of that before in Spain. He shivered
involuntarily and forced himself to calm down.

“
Very well, Caesar. You cannot spare your legionaries. What
about the auxiliaries? Will you allow me to take auxiliary units
and try?”

The general
glared at him for a long moment.

“
The Gallic cavalry will be no use in a siege,
Fronto.”

“
We have other units, Caesar…”

There was a
long, tense silence.

“
Very well. Inform you primus pilus that he is in command of
the Tenth in your absence and draw whatever non-legionary staff you
require. I sincerely hope you succeed, though I still consider you
foolish for trying.”

Fronto locked
the general with his gaze for a moment and then nodded and turned
to run off toward the legions. As he passed the silent and shocked
gathering of staff officers, Labienus stepped out and grasped him
by the arm.

“
For the sake of Nemesis, Fronto, be very careful. We would
miss you!”

The commander
of the Tenth gave him a lopsided grin.

“
Nemesis herself can’t shift me, Labienus. You know
that!”

With a laugh
he turned and ran on. The Eighth Legion was now in the lead,
marching down to the water’s edge ready to cross. He grinned at
Balbus.

“
I’m going off on a little errand. Look after things here.
Don’t let Caesar cock it up for the rest of us.”

Balbus raised
an eyebrow.

“
I know that look. Whatever you’re up to, do it
carefully.”

Fronto gave a
mad laugh and ran on.

* * * * *

The oppidum of
Bibrax was considerably smaller than the one they had seen recently
at Durocorteron. The population of this place could not be higher
than a thousand or fifteen hundred folk at most. Situated on a
wooded plateau rising above the Aisne River, it was in a reasonably
defensive position, but could not surely muster more than seven or
eight hundred warriors at most. For a moment, Fronto wondered
whether Caesar had been right and considered turning with his force
and heading back to camp.

Shaking his
head, he once more cast his eyes over the panorama. There must be
thirty thousand Belgae here at the very least. That was a very
small portion of the Belgic army, but still enough to make the odds
more than ten to one. He shook his head again and turned to look at
his relief force, which threatened to make him laugh.

He had been
denied the regulars, and the Gaulish cavalry would be of little or
no use. Following half an hour’s consultation with his fellow
legates, he had selected the units he could and formed what must be
the most bizarre military force ever commanded by a Roman
patrician.

His army,
which numbered just under a thousand in total, was formed entirely
of missile troops attached to the various legions. Slingers from
the Spanish islands drawn from the Ninth and Tenth marched
alongside Cretan archers from the Eighth, Eleventh and Twelfth with
their short, flexible bows. And from the Thirteenth and Fourteenth:
yet more archers, though these were dark as night, mustered from
the Numidian peoples of northern Africa and freshly drawn from the
training centre at Cremona for those newly-raised legions. Almost a
thousand non-Roman soldiers, of whom half at most would be able to
speak Latin with any real aptitude. The Roman prefects in charge of
these irregular units all bore tired and resigned expressions, sure
that the path of their career had reached a dead end. Indeed, on
their eight mile hike from the bridge site, only one of the
prefects had displayed any enthusiasm at all; a man called Decius,
in charge of a unit of Cretans.

Now, Decius
lay next to his commander on the brow of the hill, looking down at
the scene with trepidation.

“
How in the name of Bellona do you intend to get past them,
sir?”

‘
How, indeed?’ Fronto thought to himself as he once more
examined the situation.

The oppidum
rose amidst a carpet of Belgic warriors, who surrounded the town,
keeping currently at a safe distance from the walls. The only way
that stood remotely clear for access was to the south, where a
steep slope of the hill came down straight to the waters of the
Aisne. The Belgic leader had thought to cover every conceivable
escape route, though, and had stationed a group of several hundred
warriors on the far bank.

“
Only one way in, Decius. Just the one. And it’s
wet.”

The
middle-aged prefect, badly-shaven and vaguely dishevelled,
blinked.

“
Swim? Are you mad, sir?”

Fronto
grinned. He liked Decius. Scruffy and unshaven among officers was
frowned on and often meant that man was more concerned about doing
the job than pleasing his commander.

“
It has been said, yes.”

He pointed
down at the water.

“
Clearly there’s no way we can fight through them, so the only
way is to sneak in. And the only way to sneak is to get into the
water down here, wade along the bank to the slope and then climb up
to the oppidum. There’s just no alternative I can see.”

Decius
frowned.

“
I suppose you’re right, but we’ll be right under the gaze of
those warriors on the far side.”

“
True,” Fronto nodded, ”but the water’s fast and noisy and will
cover our sound. And if we go at night, we can probably get right
up to the walls without being seen.

The prefect
spluttered.

“
You seriously want to make a thousand men wade downstream in a
strong current silently in the dark?”

He whistled
gently though his teeth.

“
People are right. You are mad!”

Fronto laughed
quietly.

“
Don’t panic. We won’t be swimming; just wading in the
shallows. The bank’s high enough that we should be covered from
view.”

Shading his
eyes, Decius focused on the oppidum. ”They’re holding back from the
walls because they’re busy undermining them. They must have picked
off most of the missile-bearing defenders, but there’ll still be a
few. The Remi are screwed when that wall collapses though, so we’d
best hope it lasts until dark.”

Fronto
nodded.

“
If you look really carefully, you can see there’s no big piles
of earth, so they can’t be very deep yet. We’ve got time. And I’ve
got an idea, but we need to get in there first.”

Decius
grinned.

“
Fair enough. I’d better warn the others.”

Fronto grabbed
him by the wrist as he moved away.

“
Make sure they all know how quiet they’re going to have to be.
I’ve seen Spanish warriors in bars. They sing like they’ve got
delicate parts of them caught in a door.”

Decius
grinned.

“
Got it. Everyone very quiet; especially the
Spanish.”

The wait for
darkness had been tense. Throughout the afternoon and evening, a
four hour wait, the veteran commanders had become more and more
twitchy, waiting for the off. It was anyone’s guess how the
Spaniards, Greeks and Africans felt, but they were certainly
fidgety and their officers had been forced to quieten them more
than once.

Up high on
their viewpoint with a constant watch on the action below, they
were far enough away from the Belgae that conversation should have
gone unheard, but Fronto knew better than to risk it. All afternoon
and into the evening the Belgae had worked at digging their three
undermining tunnels beneath the walls of Bibrax. Now, heaps of
earth outside showed how far they’d got, though they’d disappeared
from view in the failing light around half an hour ago.

And now, in
traditional Celtic fashion, the Belgae had abandoned their assault
for the night, safe in the knowledge they had Bibrax cut off and
that it would fall tomorrow, and moved instead onto celebratory
singing and drinking. Fronto smiled. It was not unlike the legions
in a way. Still, a loud and drunken army would be considerably
easier to sneak past. With a last glance toward the oppidum to be
sure of his bearings, he wished them all a pleasant feast, offered
up a quick prayer to Bacchus, and dropped down below the hill to
issue the orders to move out.