Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (16 page)

“
Very helpful.”

He sighed and
turned back to the blank and confused face of the Remi
chieftain.

“
This is going to involve a lot of sign language.”

“
Eh?”

“
Oh, Nemesis!”

He turned back
to Decius.

“
If I were someone like Crassus or Caesar, I’d be delegating
this shit to you.”

Decius
grinned.

“
If you were someone like Crassus or Caesar, sir, you wouldn’t
be here without seven legions!”

Fronto laughed
and squared his shoulders.

“
Right. Let’s try and explain to these Remi what needs to be
done.”

“
You’ve not told us yet, sir…”

Fronto
nodded.

“
I’m not sure how feasible my ideas are yet. Wish I’d brought a
good engineer with me.”

Decius opened
his mouth, but Fronto cut him off.

“
Yes, I know: afterthought is no better than no
thought!”

He gestured to
the growing crowd of damp and uncomfortable auxiliaries.

“
First thing’s first: get them in position right the way round
the walls, two archers and a slinger every so many yards apart. I’m
guessing the Remi defenders didn’t have many missile weapons
before. That’s how the Belgae got in close enough to undermine.
They could only throw rocks down. Well when they come back in the
morning, I want to be able to pick off every other man who sets
foot on this hill. Let’s thin ‘em out before they get anywhere near
the walls. We can’t fight them off, but with enough attrition from
missiles we might be able to make them give up and move
on.”

He frowned as
he rubbed the slimy wet linen of his red tunic between his
fingers.

“
And once they’re in position, gather a small group. Get them
to collect any loose or dead wood. I want fires at regular
intervals. The men can rotate positions every thirty minutes so
that everyone gets a chance to dry off and keep warm.”

“
And rest, sir?”

“
Sorry?”

Decius smiled
wearily.

“
The men need some sleep. I would suggest every group of three
organises one to stay on watch in shifts.”

Fronto
nodded.

“
Sounds good. Get to it. I’ll be somewhere around with ‘Eh?’,
teaching him about siege warfare.”

He turned to
Iccius.

“
Isn’t that right.”

“
Eh?”

With a sigh,
Fronto grasped Decius’ shoulder and then turned away to the
chieftain.

“
Come with me.”

To illustrate
his point to Iccius, he beckoned. The chief nodded and followed
him, three warriors at his back. Fronto took a deep breath as he
approached a clear section of wall and pointed at it.

“
Romans.” He held up three fingers.

Iccius nodded
so Fronto mimed two archers and a slinger to him. Another nod. With
a relieved sigh, the legate pointed behind him and held up three
fingers again.

“
More Romans.”

Another nod,
so he turned and pointed ahead, repeating the process. As
comprehension sank into Iccius, Fronto mapped out regular positions
with his fingers.

“
Here comes the first tough one.”

With another
deep breath, he mimed two lots of three Romans again and indicated
the space between them.

“
Remi” he announced, miming spears and swords.

“
Eh?”

“
You have to be joking! I’m doing my best, man.”

Waving his
arms frantically and interspersing three fingers here and there, he
walked back and forth along the wall, announcing:

“
Roman, Roman, Roman…. Remi… Roman, Roman, Roman….
Remi…”

A slow smile
crept around Iccius’ face. He turned and talked to his companions
and they all made affirmative noises.

“
Alright,” Fronto said with relief. “I’m going to assume that
means you understand. Let’s move on.”

He beckoned
and climbed onto the wide wall. His plan might work, or might end
in disaster. It was all a gamble but, as Caesar had said back at
Durocorteron, Fronto was a gambling man. Of course, this gamble was
made more perilous when translated from Latin by hand gestures and
carried out by a motley force drawn from all over the world. As
Iccius joined him, he pointed down at the Belgae.

Iccius
nodded.

“
So far, so good.”

Reaching down,
he mimed digging.

Another
nod.

He repeated
the gesture and pointed up and down the walls, shrugging.

“
Eh?”

“
Nemesis, give me some bloody help here!”

He repeated
the process and added wandering along the wall, looking down. There
was a long pause and finally Iccius laughed. Beckoning, he strode
fast along the wall. Fronto followed him until he reached a spot
that looked like any other and stopped with a smile, pointing at
the floor beneath him. Fronto glanced over the parapet and
squinted. Sure enough, just below him and to one side was a pile of
earth.

“
Thank you. Finally we have some understanding. Alright,
there’s three of them.”

Looking around
urgently for a marker, he reached out to the warrior at the chief’s
shoulder and grasped his spear. The man gave him a growl. Without a
word, Fronto irritably ripped the spear from his grasp and, walking
back to the parapet, he carefully examined the ground and located
the entrance to the tunnel outside. Tracing it across the wall with
his finger, he jumped down the inside and jammed the spear in the
ground there, point first.

“
Listen, Iccy. We’re going to mark out the three tunnels and
then I’m going to send you on a little scavenger hunt. We’re going
to arrange a little surprise for your countrymen in the
morning.”

“
Eh?”

Chapter 6

(The Remi
Oppidum of Bibrax)

“
Testudo: Lit- Tortoise. Military formation in which a century
of men closes up in a rectangle and creates four walls and a roof
for the unit with their shields.”

“
Miles: the Roman name for a soldier, from which we derive the
words military and militia among others.”

The early
morning light was eerie. Fronto stood on the wall of Bibrax under
the shade of a particularly bushy beech tree and tried to make out
details of the Belgae on the plain below. The majority of the
Belgic army lay encamped to the east of the oppidum and it was on
that side that their main siege works were being carried out. With
the sun about to climb, watery and pale, above that horizon, the
mass of enemy warriors below was hard to make out in the shadowy
gloom.

Clicking his
tongue in irritation, he reminded himself that the longer his own
men got to rest before the inevitable, the better, so long as it
wasn’t more than an hour. Then the timing would be really tight. He
turned and looked down inside the walls. Here shade cast by the
buildings and trees left the defenders still sitting in virtual
darkness, lit by burning torches spaced periodically around the
circumference of the oppidum.

“
Enjoying breakfast?”

A number of
blank uncomprehending faces looked up at him from the gathering
behind the wall. While one man in each section remained on watch,
the rest of the defenders, whether they be Belgae, Cretan, Spanish,
African or Roman, were all gathered in small groups around fires
tucking into boars that had been roasting since not long after
midnight. An army always fought better with a full belly than an
empty one, so long as there was time for it to settle… and Fronto
knew how this morning would begin.

There would be
a few forays and tests of the new defences but no serious fighting
until later, once the Belgae were sure there was no better way and
that they could win. Likely, though, the first move would be the
continuation of the undermining that had been begun the night
before. He smiled.

As soon as
things had settled last night, the Belgae back in their camps and
drinking, the defenders dry and warm and in position, Fronto had
climbed down outside the wall and examined the three tunnels. At
first it had struck him as strange that they should have left the
tunnels so open to investigation, but then any warriors they had
left behind would have been in danger overnight and would have been
easily picked off from the walls. The defenders could hardly
collapse the tunnels, as they would likely finish the enemy’s job
for them that way. Briefly, he’d given thought to filling them in
from the spoil heaps the Belgae had left nearby, but in truth it
would not have taken them long to clear it back out with such loose
earth. No; he had his idea and it should work. He’d looked
carefully at the tunnels and nodded appreciatively at the effort
that had gone into them.

Groups of
warriors had dug the three tunnels and transported the dirt out to
the mounds. A long line of warriors protected by wicker shields had
carried timbers up the slope, probably under enemy fire in the
early stages of the siege, and these had been used to bolster the
mine. The tunnels were well worked. Currently, the Belgae had
actually reached the level of the wall itself, the tunnel sloping
gradually upward so as to avoid the need to dig into the bedrock of
the hill.

Without a
great deal of knowledge of Belgic siege tactics, Fronto had assumed
that they followed much the same system as the civilised peoples to
the south. Certainly they had no intention of merely digging
tunnels for ingress to the oppidum. Any warriors emerging from the
tunnel would be in single file and would be cut to pieces; so the
tunnels were there to collapse the wall. The tunnel would have to
go another three or four feet beneath the wall itself and then open
out slightly to either side. Then, during the first assault of the
day, grapple lines would be thrown over the defences. A hefty tug
from the Belgae and the wood and dirt-packed walls would crumble
and collapse into the holes.

With a grin,
Fronto dropped down the inner face of the wall and walked over to
the spot where he’d marked the location of a tunnel with a spear.
Since late last night, teams of auxiliary soldiers and Remi locals
had worked under the directions of Roman officers, throughout the
hours of darkness, to complete the tunnels from within the walls.
Now there were three clear passageways under the walls, shored up
with strong timber. Mounds of spoil sat next to the tunnel
entrances both inside and outside the walls.

He smiled
again and, wandering over to the fire, gathered a plate full of
meat cuts and a few chunks of fresh bread. Returning to the wall,
he settled down to wait, watching the enemy below while eating the
tasty meal.

The Belgae
finally came once the sun was fully above the horizon. At first
they came with great care, some warriors holding large screens
constructed of several layers of woven wicker backed by leather and
light wooden spars to protect their companions from arrow fire, the
rest gathered into three groups, heading for the tunnels.

Fronto heaved
a sigh of relief as missiles began to drop down towards the
attackers, but only occasional pot-shots as the opportunity
presented itself. Satisfying. It had taken quite some time last
night to explain through his officers to the multinational assembly
that was his army, that they needed to take enough shots at the
enemy so that the Belgae would be lulled into a false sense of
security, but not enough to actually stop them reaching the tunnels
or frighten them off. An arrow whizzed past him and landed one of
the wicker shields below with a dull thud.

Fronto tapped
his finger on his lower lip as he watched the approach. It was slow
going. His men would have to show serious restraint, as he was sure
that they could easily have picked most of them off before they
reached the tunnel entrances. Finally the Belgae reached the spoil
heaps and the screen-bearers peeled off, running around the
entrance and planting the wicker shields heavily into the ground,
supporting them with beams and creating an effective missile
screen.

As the first
warriors reached the tunnel mouth, Fronto raised his arm and
dropped it.

“
First team!”

Despite the
communication difficulties, plans had been drawn up during the
night and set with appropriate groups. At his command, by the
entrance to all three tunnels, a group of four Remi overturned a
barrel into the entrance. The top of each barrel had been punctured
with a hole around six inches across. Liquid glugged and gurgled
from the holes, pouring into a carefully-angled drainage channel
the Roman defenders had excavated in the floor of the tunnel.

With another
satisfied smile, Fronto watched the barbarians below enter the
tunnel. He could hear them talking in their strange language and
hoped against hope that they hadn’t realised their error. He took a
deep breath. There was laughter. Likely the barbarians had smelled
the roasted hog drifting down the long passageway. Hopefully it
wouldn’t occur to them that the smells should not permeate a
half-dug tunnel.

Once more he
raised and dropped his arm.

“
Second Team!”

As the first
groups of defenders rolled the barrels away to the side of the
tunnel entrance, where they continued to issue a steady stream
while remaining clear of any further activity, another group
arrived, split into two groups of two men each. One group carried
the remnants of the smouldering hog on a sharp wooden pole; the
others bore torches.