Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (62 page)

And then he
noticed all the activity. Legions were marching from the gate in
the palisade toward the slope. What the in the name of Pluto were
they doing? And small groups of horsemen were scattered across the
plain, riding slowly.

His mind began
to swim again. The activity and adrenaline, along with the pumping
blood thumping through his brain, threatened to floor him once
again. He stopped, woozily, and put his hands on his knees.

Just ahead,
and as his legs gave out, he heard a comforting voice.

“
Here he is! Tell the commander we’ve found one of
them!”

Caesar gazed
thoughtfully at the oppidum as the army approached the outer line
of defences. The command party, led by the general himself, along
with Sabinus and Cicero, was mounted, while their accompanying
cohorts were afoot. Ingenuus’ guards rode in a protective cordon
around the officers, while Varus’ regulars supplied extra support.
In all, the general was as well protected as a man on a horse
entering an enemy stronghold could be.

What in the
name of the Magna Mater were the Aduatuci up to? Damiacus sounded
so tremendously reasonable, and the Belgae were a proud people, so
there was really no reason to suspect a problem. The tribes they
had dealt with all summer had either submitted without the need for
battle, or fought to the death.

He craned his
neck to look up as the riders passed at a walk through the great
open gate of the oppidum. Outside and in both directions along the
wall, piles of weapons discarded in good faith told a story.
Caesar’s imagination told another.

Behind the
gates was a square unlike those Caesar had seen in most Gaulish or
Belgic oppida. The ground was paved with flush stones in a style
more reminiscent of Latium than the barbarian north. The buildings
around the edge of the square were of familiar style, with stone
courses to shoulder height, surmounted by timber and either wooden
or thatched roofs. Here, at the square, they were tightly packed,
almost in a Roman style, fronting the street though, as he looked
up the main thoroughfare, also paved, toward the centre of the
town, the buildings seemed to become more randomly placed.

There were no
warriors on the walls. Perhaps a show of peace and surrender there,
since men folk, along with the women and children, stood beside the
doors to their houses, proud and erect as their Roman conquerors
marched past, through the square and up the sloping street.

Six cohorts of
men, even depleted as they were, numbered almost two thousand men
and made an impressive sound and sight as they tramped through the
streets, crunching and clanking. This was Rome, as always, imposing
itself on the barbarians.

Some of the
men stared angrily at the officers as they passed. Good, the
general decided. To be unhappy about the situation and angry at
Rome and its commanders was normal; to be expected. It eased
Caesar’s tension a little. Fronto had been right; they had been a
little too smug.

There was a
clatter of hooves on the stone and Varus reined in next to him.

“
I don’t wish to raise any further alarm, Caesar, but one of my
men found Fronto.”

Caesar raised
an eyebrow.

“
Alarm, Commander?”

“
Well, general, he was only a couple of hundred yard from the
cliff and had been wounded in the head. Raises some questions about
the motives of the Aduatuci, I’d say.”

“
Wonderful. Just when I was starting to breathe a little
easier.”

The general
leaned back to speak to Cicero, riding close behind.

“
Quintus? As soon as we get into the square, have the cohorts
form into a square; battle formation, but defensive rather than
ready to attack. I want to be prepared.”

Cicero nodded
and turned to speak to the tribunes behind him as the army rode out
of the street and into the main square. Aduatuci warriors and their
families lined the edges, while at the far end, atop a low stair,
stood Damiacus and his advisors and guards.

The general
drew a deep breath.

This was it.
The end of the Belgae.

Fronto
staggered, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him once again.
Two of the cavalrymen had dismounted and rushed over to support the
wounded officer.

“
Gerroff me!”

“
Sir?” One of the troopers grasped him regardless. “We’ve got
to get you to the medicus right away. You’re pale as a Vestal’s
underwear; must have lost a lot of blood.”

Fronto
growled.

“
I’m a little wobbly; that’s all. Haven’t got time for doctors.
Send for Florus from the Tenth; he can keep me going.”

“
Sir?” the man said urgently.

“
More important things to do, soldier. Caesar’s mobilised the
army?”

The trooper
nodded uncertainly.

“
The general has taken six cohorts into the city to accept
their full surrender and to occupy the oppidum, sir.”

“
Shit.”

“
Sir?”

Fronto tapped
his head, trying to get his fuzz-filled brain to work faster. He
seemed to decide something and then grasped the shoulders of the
trooper for support as he looked at the second, so far silent,
rider.

“
This man and I are going to find Florus and my horse. You get
your friends and go find every legionary legate and auxiliary
prefect on the field and tell them to mobilise for action. Tell
them to be ready to march on the oppidum as soon as they’re in
position.”

The trooper
blinked.

“
Sir? They surrendered.”

“
Bollocks!”

“
Sir, I don’t have the authority…”

“
I do!” interrupted Fronto. “Get the army mobilised
now!”

As the man
remounted his horse and rode off toward the lines, Fronto smiled
shakily at the other trooper.

“
That gives us a few minutes to get my head seen
to!”

* * * * *

Galronus
peered through the crack in the door at the rear of the building
and then stared down at the body at his feet.

“
What’s all the commotion?” he whispered.

Priscus, at
the other side of the house, peered out between the mostly-closed
wooden shutters. The central square was lined with people, even in
front of this building, only a few feet from where he crouched.

“
I think they’re getting ready for a ceremony or something.
That particular noise you’re talking about, though, is legionaries.
I know that sound anywhere. That’s a hell of a lot of legionaries
coming up the main street.”

Galronus
growled quietly and wiped his bloody knife on the body. They had
sneaked in through the rear door of this building right in the
centre of town around thirty minutes ago, hoping they would be safe
from prying eyes, but minutes later they had had to hide as the
front door opened and a man had entered and gone straight across to
a cache of hidden weapons. Others stood in the portal and had
weapons passed to them until the cache was empty. Then they left
and closed the door, but the one man had stayed. Priscus had been
impressed with how quickly and quietly the Remi officer had dealt
with him.

“
I can only see the Aduatuci near me, but they’ve got swords,
axes and slings hidden behind them or leaning against the bases of
the houses. I’ll assume the same is true of everyone, wherever they
are.”

Galronus shook
his head.

“
Then we have to raise the alarm; warn the army.”

Priscus held
up a warning hand.

“
Not yet. If an ambush was their only plan, they’d have carried
it out in the narrow street. They’re allowing the legions to get
into the square, which is stupid. There the men can form squares,
shield walls, testudos and so on. So why? Why let them have the
room to manoeuvre?”

Galronus
shrugged.

“
Maybe…”

“
Wait!” Priscus cut him off with a raised hand. He frowned and
squinted across the square.

”
Oh shit!”

“
What’s…” Galronus began, but he was too late. Priscus was
already gone, flinging the door wide open, regardless of the
Aduatuci waiting beyond, and running out into the square.
Desperately, unsure of what was happening, the Remi officer rushed
over to the window the centurion had just vacated and scanned the
square outside.

Priscus had
barged through the warriors outside, drawing his great Celtic
blade. Confusion gripped the men lining the square as this apparent
Belgae warrior had run out into the central square openly wielding
one of the weapons they had gone to such great pains to hide. Those
Roman Gods must be running at Priscus’ shoulder indeed, he thought,
for the confusion gripped the locals so strongly that the primus
pilus was already across the centre of the square and accelerating
before a shout went up outside the door.

Still unsure
of what had caused Priscus’ sudden panicked run, exposing them to
the enemy, he followed the direction in which the man was running
and squinted as he scanned the opposite edge of the open space.

Nothing
unusual.

The warriors
and their families lined the edge as they did on the other three
sides, but there was nothing special about them. Behind them, the
same single story buildings rose, stone based with wooden uppers
and either wooden or thatched roofs…

Roofs.

The roof!

Galronus drew
a nervous breath. Priscus must have sharp eyes; one building of the
several opposite was undergoing extensive repair work, its roof
only partially complete. The building stood open, with no door and
no shutters on the windows. And the rafters were partially
thatched, great sheaves standing tied and waiting to be
attached.

But among the
rafters stood two figures; two tall barbarians, barely visible,
lurking among the debris. And one of them had a bow, already nocked
and straining as the man gradually stepped back into the shadow,
disappearing from sight.

Damn, that
centurion really did have good eyes.

With
absolutely no doubt for whom that arrow was destined, Galronus
rushed out through the doorway, drawing his sword as he went. He
had to buy Priscus time, which meant drawing as much attention as
possible.

With a violent
cry, he leapt out into the square, the sword raised above his head,
and brought it down hard, almost cleaving the man before him in
two. The viscera from the horrifying blow sprayed out, catching the
men on either side and staining them crimson. With a grunt,
Galronus heaved the heavy blade back out of the corpse as it
crashed to the floor, spraying himself with gore in the
process.

Heads all
around the square turned at this commotion, just as the Remi
officer swung the great blade sideways and bit deep into the
midriff of the next man. Now the warriors around him were grasping
their hidden weapons and struggling to fight back under this sudden
and unexpected onslaught.

Between
desperate, panicked blows, Galronus bellowed and cried, catching,
as he did, the occasional glimpse across the square. Priscus had
reached the far side and disappeared, though there was a commotion
there too. Well, the auxiliary officer had done all he could now.
The warriors outside the house had fallen like wheat to his blade
as he surprised them, but now they were armed and beginning to
block his blows. With half a dozen of them pressing on him, he
would die here.

Swallowing,
and hoping he’d done enough to help Priscus, he suddenly dropped
back through the doorway into the building once more, slamming and
wedging shut the door as he did so.

Without
pausing to take a breath, he ran through the house and out of the
rear door into the well-tended garden. Should he run round to the
square again and try to warn the Roman column? No. Pointless. They
must be aware of the trouble after all his shouting.

It was all
down to Priscus now.

Aulus
Ingenuus, former cavalry prefect and, for the last year, commander
of Caesar’s praetorians, licked his dry lips nervously. To command
the bodyguard of such an important man was always a great
responsibility, but never more so than today. Ingenuus had done
what he could. He’d managed to get Varus, the cavalry commander, to
supply extra troops, and the command party was surrounded by
well-trained and extremely alert troopers, all fully armed and
armoured and on experienced war horses. And yet he was
twitching.

He had
actually requested of Caesar that the senior officers carry shields
too. After all, they were in full armour and wore their swords, so
it would only be reasonable, but the general had shaken his head.
The commanders of the army had to look imposing, in control, and
invincible.

But… in the
name of Mars Gravidus, what were they thinking? As the column left
the main thoroughfare and rode slowly out into the great open
square at the centre of Aduatuca, Ingenuus became acutely aware
that something was happening at the far end. There was a commotion
that included sounds of fighting. As the command party and its
guard made their way into the open area, Ingenuus, his eyes darting
nervously from place to place, spotted two trouble spots
immediately. A house on the far right, toward the top of the
square, was the focus of attention for a small group of Aduatuci
who were brandishing weapons and beating on the door and windows,
and…

Brandishing
weapons?

Even as the
praetorian officer’s eyes swept across the square to a similar
scene on the left, he realised his voice had called the order
without waiting for permission from his brain.