Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (61 page)

“
You are Caesar, general of the Romans.”

A statement,
rather than a question. There was no uncertainty in his voice and
no fear that Sabinus could detect. He sounded confident and
strong.

“
I am” called the general. “And this is Quintus Titurius
Sabinus, my lieutenant, and the rest are my honour guard. To whom
am I speaking?”

The man drew
his great Celtic blade and dropped the tip to the floor.

“
I am Damiacus, chieftain of this place and leader of the
Aduatuci in time of war.”

“
You speak our language well” the general noted with
interest.

The man
shrugged.

“
Rome seems to think we Celts are like hogs, floundering in our
own swill and unable to read or learn. One would think that after
two years of carving a path through our world that you, at least,
would now know different. We are Belgae; proud and
strong.”

Caesar
sighed.

“
I had no idea this was just a meeting for you to posture. You
waste my time.”

Damiacus
laughed.

“
Were we to meet under different circumstances, Lord Caesar, I
fear you would find we have much in common. Like you, I abhor
unnecessary posturing. I wish to see the Aduatuci victorious and
strong.”

Caesar let out
another sigh.

“
Posturing, you see.”

Damiacus
laughed again.

“
However, also like you, I detest waste. The Aduatuci are the
last Belgic tribe to stand against you and, whatever may become of
us, we will always have that. We were the last. But we can see
clearly, and only a fool fights on when there is no hope. I would
rather the Aduatuci lived to be proud that they were the last than
they slip from history in one glorious fight to extinction. I have
sons I wish to see grow.”

Caesar
nodded.

“
An attitude that does you credit, Damiacus, but please come to
the point.”

The chieftain
smiled.

“
There are so many more of you than us. We have strong walls
and high cliffs, but you have with you the means to destroy our
walls and, in only a few days, you have constructed a machine of
nightmare dimensions that can reach our town and deliver your
troops. We have no hope of victory.”

He drew a deep
breath, and Caesar was about to comment, when the Aduatuci leader
cast his great sword from the wall to the ground before them. As
the general blinked in surprise, other warriors across the line of
walls cast their weapons to the ground.

“
We ask you to accept our surrender, general Caesar. We give
you our oath, as your other Belgic allies have. We wish an end to
hostilities and would ask that you treat with us as you have with
others, as an ally. In return, our weapons are yours.”

As he said
this, bundles of swords, spears and bows were tipped from the walls
and towers onto the grass below, gradually building a mound of
discarded weaponry.

“
Say the word and the gates of our oppidum will be thrown open
to you. Will you accept peace with the Aduatuci?”

Caesar turned
to Sabinus, whose look of relief was clear.

“
You wanted peace, Quintus. It appears you have it.”

He turned back
to the wall.

“
The word is given. We will ask for a small measure of booty
and in return we will accept you as an ally, Damiacus of the
Aduatuci. I shall return with my men at noon.”

The Aduatuci
chief bowed from the wall.

Sabinus smiled
as the Roman column turned and rode back toward the legions.

“
Tetricus must be starting to feel very unfulfilled. Every time
he builds something impressive for battle, the enemy surrenders as
soon as they see it, and it never gets used.”

Caesar sighed
with relief.

“
Frankly, I’m glad of it. We’ve lost so many men in these last
few months it’ll take a great deal of money and effort to refill
the ranks.”

The two men
rode with their escort across the damp grass and past the great
bulk of the glistening war tower. Ahead, the legions were being
massed before the rampart. Clearly, in the general’s absence,
someone had decided that the enemy fanfares meant activity one way
or the other and had put the legions on alert. Caesar smiled. That
was why his army was more effective than that of Pompey or the
elder Crassus. His unique approach to military command, associating
set officers with particular legions on a semi-permanent basis,
meant that his army was capable of functioning well even without
orders from the top. That was why men like Fronto and Balbus were
worth a hundred Pompeys.

Cicero, in
full dress armour and looking uncomfortable in the damp and
drizzle, came striding out from the colour party of the Tenth
Legion, their flags and standard flapping and waving in the wet
breeze, the signifers weighted down with soggy wolf pelts over
their helms.

“
Caesar? What news? Tetricus informed us that you’d gone to
parlay, so I put the legions on standby.”

The general
nodded.

“
Perhaps a little premature, but a good decision nonetheless.
The Aduatuci have surrendered and are discarding their weapons and
opening their gates. We will wait the morning out and hope that the
weather lifts. At noon, we will ride with the first cohort of each
legion and enter the oppidum. I want the place occupied. This
Damiacus is far too sure of himself and Fronto’s staunch belief
that they’re up to something has set my neck itching. I’ll accept
their surrender and oath, but only when we’ve got the town
thoroughly under our control.”

Cicero
nodded.

“
I was wondering whether perhaps legate Fronto was with you,
sir?”

Caesar shook
his head.

“
I very much suspect the legate will have been practicing
debauchery and drink last night. Check his tent.”

The officer’s
face took on a worried look.

“
Begging your pardon, Caesar, but we already have. I don’t
think he slept there last night. And the chief signifer for the
Tenth, Petrosidius, says they’ve not seen their Primus Pilus all
morning either.”

Caesar
smiled.

“
Fronto and Priscus? Find the empty amphora, Cicero, and follow
the trail. Be sure they’re at the end of it.”

* * * * *

Priscus
stretched his shoulders. The night had been surprisingly cold and
with dawn had come a change in the weather. The cold drizzle would
have been numbing had he and Galronus not located an apparently
unused shed in a pig farm not far from the ropes but, even here,
after waiting half the morning they were starting to feel
chilled.

They had
watched the area of cliff where they had arrived for an hour or
more last night, waiting for the group of warriors to abandon the
place. There was no doubt they’d take the rope with them anyway,
but Priscus would have liked to check whether Fronto was still
hidden near the bottom or had left. Unfortunately, the warriors had
set up camp there and spent the night. Indeed, as the night
progressed, the hidden investigators saw pairs of Aduatuci warriors
taking up positions all along the cliff, presumably watching for
any further intrepid Roman scouts.

The primus
pilus crawled across the small hut and peered out through the
cracks in the battered wooden door. Behind him, Galronus
shivered.

“
Warriors?”

Priscus
nodded.

“
They’re still there. There’s only two now, but I think that’s
because they’re posting pairs of lookouts around the hill. We’re
not getting out that way.”

Galronus
hunched closer to ward off the chill.

“
Then we die here. No way out.”

Priscus
shrugged.

“
There’s always a way. You’ll learn this about Rome, my friend.
We’ll rule the world one day because we never give up; we just find
the way that no one else has noticed.”

Galronus
looked unconvinced.

“
But,” the centurion said, squaring his shoulders once more,
“we won’t find a way out cowering in a pig-keeper’s shit shed. We
need to head down into the main town again.”

The Remi
officer blinked.

“
Back? You mad. We die there!”

Priscus
grinned.

“
Look at it this way: they’re watching the cliffs now. They
know someone got in that way, so we won’t get past them. But they
won’t be looking for anyone back in the town. Our friends must have
gone to Elysium without mentioning us, or there’d have been more
commotion. And they only noticed the other two ‘cause they had
bodies over their shoulder. We’re inconspicuous, and you speak the
language.”

“
But where we go when we get to centre?”

Priscus
shrugged.

“
Who knows, but we’ll work that out when we get that far. It’s
easier breaking out of a place than breaking in.”

Galronus
rolled his eyes.

“
You mad as Fronto.”

“
We’ve known each other a long time.”

The primus
pilus smiled and pulled his Celtic tunic up, allowing air to
circulate round his armpits. There was an unpleasant waft of strong
body odour.

“
Come on.”

Galronus
scrabbled to his feet and Priscus shoved the partially-rotten door
open as quietly as he could. Glancing between the tree trunks, he
could see the pair of warriors at the point of ingress the night
before. Taking a deep breath, he slipped out of the hovel and
around the side, out of sight of the lookouts on the cliff edge.
Galronus was out and at his heel mere moments later.

Taking a deep
breath, Priscus strode from the shed, past the main farm building.
There was little point in sneaking here. Two men running around the
oppidum, crouched and ducking from alley to doorway would be far
more likely to stand out than two men dressed as locals and
strolling calmly along the street.

“
Where we go then?”

Priscus
shrugged.

“
I’d like to get close to the walls. Let’s try and skirt the
very centre and make our way to the end of the
defences.”

Galronus
nodded unhappily and fell into step beside him, glancing around
nervously at the empty street as they left the farm yard.

“
For the love of Venus, will you stop looking so bloody
suspicious?”

* * * * *

Caesar
frowned.

“
What do you mean nowhere?”

Tetricus
shrugged.

“
Just that, sir. The whole camp’s been searched, and everywhere
along the ramparts. Varus has got scouts out now behind the camps,
checking the woodlands, but I don’t think they’ll turn anything up.
If Fronto and Priscus were in the woods getting drunk last night,
I’m sure they’d have come back under cover once the rain
began.”

The general
growled.

“
Where are they, then? Fronto’s nothing if not direct, and he
never misses the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ to me. It’s a
vexing and worrying development.”

Tetricus
nodded.

“
There is another possibility, of course” Sabinus
interjected.

Caesar raised
an eyebrow.

“
That he and Priscus went to spy on the Aduatuci.”

The general
frowned.

“
I know Fronto can be impulsive, but…”

He turned to
Tetricus.

“
Have Varus send out scouts toward the oppidum; right up to the
cliff if necessary.”

The tribune
nodded and left the tent to find the cavalry commander and relay
the orders. Once they were alone again, Caesar turned to
Sabinus.

“
Something is going on here. Fronto was right. Have the first
cohort from each legion assembled. I’m not waiting until noon.
We’re going now, and the rest of the army should stay on high
alert.”

Sabinus
nodded.

“
A sensible idea, if I may say, sir.”

Fronto groaned
and rolled over.

Grass.
Confusion flooded his mind. Wet grass. And red. Lots of red.
Sticky. Smelled like tin.

For a horrible
moment, his memory took him back a year to that night when he’d
found the body of Cominius in his tent. But no. As his brain swam
slowly into focus, he realised the thumping and pain in the back of
his skull was from a wound. He prodded it tentatively, and
something moved. ‘Not good’, he thought, as he almost blacked out
from the pain.

He strained,
thinking back to last night.

The cliff!

“
Shit!”

Hurriedly, he
began to push himself to his feet, but slipped in the blood and
came down with a bang, almost knocking himself out again. He waited
a moment for his head to clear and then, very slowly and carefully,
he arched his back and began to pull himself into a seated
position.

Yes, something
was definitely wrong. Priscus and Galronus and their companions
were gone. Were they dead? Did the Aduatuci hold them prisoner?
Something had to be done.

Ignoring the
warnings of his body, the legate pulled himself upright. Staggering
slightly, he turned to take in his situation. He was only a hundred
yards from the cliff… Within throwing range!

Suddenly,
desperately, he began to run, floundering slightly, away from the
oppidum. Behind him he heard shouting on the cliff edge in that
guttural tongue. Uttering a prayer to Nemesis, he ran like the wind
toward the ramparts.