Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (33 page)

‘They won’t loose arrows at us, Gnaeus. They’ll be too intrigued to see what we’ve got to say. That’s why it’s only two of us and not a hundred. More, and they’d have to kill us, just in case.’

‘And when they’ve heard you out and laugh from their walls and call their archers forward? What then?’

‘Not going to happen. Watch and learn, my cantankerous friend. Watch and learn.’

Priscus rode on behind, grunting and grumbling about officers with more balls than brains, occasionally throwing Fronto’s name into the cauldron of spite just for cussedness. Slowly, carefully, with Antonius paying close attention to the wooden walkways, the pair closed on the walls of Agedincum. The large towers to either side of the heavy oaken gate - which remained firmly shut - were packed with native warriors armed with swords, spears and bows, as well as a few bearing the traditional stylised animal standards of the Gauls and the odd unshapely carnyx among them.

‘This looks shittier with every step,’ Priscus grumbled.

‘Just play your part and watch with wonder,’ smiled Antonius as he drew his steed to a halt in a nice clear area close to the gates and well within range of the archers. Priscus pulled alongside as close as he dare, given the terrain.

‘Nobles and leaders of Agedincum… I am here to offer you a last opportunity to send ambassadors to the Gaulish assembly and pledge your loyalty to Rome with a further donation of auxiliary cavalry and, shall we say a hundred, noble hostages?’

There was a prolonged silence which suddenly erupted in laughter. A second wave of mirth issued forth - much louder - a few heartbeats later as the words were translated for the benefit of the non-Latin speakers. Finally a man wearing a bronze helmet that appeared to be topped by a bronzed dead rabbit stepped to the parapet.

‘You make us laugh, Roman. We safe behind strong walls of oppidum. Swamp keep legions out. No tunnels. No towers. No ballista. No way you come in. We safe.’

Antonius laughed loudly and turned to Priscus.

‘What was the name of that picturesque little village back along the river towards Melodunon?’ he asked loudly enough to be heard in the towers.

Priscus’ mind raced as he tried to remember the detail of the maps he’d scoured for hours on end.

‘Brixi, I think, sir.’

‘Brixi. Lovely place. Buxom women. Happy children. Not much industry, since all the menfolk are here inside these walls. No one to defend them, either. Shame for them.’

Priscus felt a cold thrill run through him as he realised what they were doing.

‘Don’t forget that shrine on the hill west of Melodunon,’ he chipped in. ‘I presume the druids are busily raging around holed up behind these walls too. Bet their precious nemeton is in the hands of a young, inexperienced apprentice?’

‘Indeed,’ Antonius sighed as he turned back to the walls. ‘Such a shame. You see, if you were allies of Rome as you’d always claimed to be, Rome would be duty bound to protect these places and their delicate occupants as though they were our own. But if you refuse Caesar’s summons and stand defiant against us, shattering your oaths… well, that means we’re effectively at war. And I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you people just how good we are at war. It’s practically our national pastime.’

Priscus laughed at his fellow officer’s audacity.

‘So you can sit here in Agedincum, all defiant and mighty behind your walls and marshes. But remember that we’ll leave a legion to keep you sealed in. We can spare one, you see. We’ve just raised another especially for the task. And soon your food will run out and you’ll have to eat the pets. And then the rats. And then, in the end, each other. It’s happened before when Rome sets herself to a purpose.’

Antonius straightened in the saddle.

‘But there is one bright side to your fate: those of you who starve to death or become too weak to defend yourself and are eaten by your neighbours will not have to live with that moment when you finally break and surrender and have to see what we’ve done to your tribe while the warriors starve in there. The burned cities and homes. No living soul for a hundred miles, as they’re all in the slave pens at Massilia. You won’t join them, of course. Near death, weakened and half-starved, you won’t be worth enslaving. You wouldn’t make it to the coast.’

He straightened. ‘I think that pretty much concludes my announcement. Anything you’d like to add, Priscus?’

‘I don’t think so,’ the prefect shrugged. ‘Think you’ve covered it.’

‘Farewell then, warriors of the Senones. Enjoy your voluntary captivity. We’ll enjoy your women.’

He turned his horse and started to walk her back towards the army. Priscus quickly joined him.

‘Dangerous way to end, that. They might have stuck us full of arrows just out of spite.’

‘But they didn’t,’ smiled Antonius. ‘Any moment now…’

The horses took a few steps further, carefully, between the marshes.

‘Wait!’ cried a desperate, panicked voice from the battlements.

Antonius turned an insufferably smug smile on his companion.

* * * * *

‘A welcoming party?’ Antonius muttered to Priscus, as the army tramped at a steady pace through the fine, soak-you-to-the-bone drizzle. The prefect widened the viewing hole in the hood of his cloak in which he had almost cocooned himself for the last day of the journey. It had been less than a week in total since their three legions had left the very gate through which their ‘welcoming party’ now emerged: the west gate of the massive camp of Samarobriva.

‘Not a good sign.’ Priscus shifted his sore rump as the bony nag beneath him bounced up and down.

Over the past three days, returning from the borders of Carnute lands, the weather had turned inclement again, this time warmer, but considerably wetter than the late winter had been. Complaints and grumbles had become the norm among the three legions - as well as their officers. All everyone wanted to do was get into that camp, drop their armour to the ground, peel off the soaked wool and bathe, change into something dry and then go to sleep, inside and warm.

The small knot of mounted officers converging on their column from the gate suggested that such a dream was a way off as yet.

‘It’s Rufio,’ Antonius frowned. ‘Him and a few lessers. What in the name of Juno’s bony arse is he doing coming out to meet us?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Priscus muttered and turned to the rider behind him, who sagged under the weight of his cornu. ‘Sound the halt.’

The man extricated himself from the enclosing circle of the horn and tipped it upside down to empty the collected rainwater before blowing a somewhat soggy call through it. The column came to a halt as the order was repeated back through the Tenth, the Ninth and the Seventh. The legates of the three legions, riding alongside to stay out of the press and the mud, kicked their horses forward to meet the commanders at the fore.

Waiting, rained-upon and tired, the returning victors - such as they were, having fought a grand total of two men - waited for the approaching riders. Rufio reined in his steed as they met on the low ground before the camp.

‘Miserable day you’ve brought back with you.’

‘Cut to the point, Rufio,’ grunted Priscus. ‘I’m cold.’

‘We’ve been waiting for your return. Caesar’s convened the assembly, but he’s also announced our next move to the staff. As soon as matters are settled with the natives, we’re moving against the Menapii in force.’

‘Surely he plans to let us settle in and get dry first?’ Priscus snapped.

Rufio chuckled. ‘Some of you. The Tenth are to return to quarters and stand down until after the assembly, but the Seventh and the Ninth have been redirected. Trebonius and Plancus are to take their men and make immediately for Labienus’ camp, along with the entire army’s baggage train. Labienus is being given overall command of three legions in order to crush the Treveri, while we squeeze the tribes from the north, starting with the Menapii.’

Priscus sagged slightly. ‘What about Fronto? He’s right in the middle.’

‘The general seems to think that Fronto will find his task easier if we can drive the enemy to him, working from the edges.’

The recently-arrived staff officer peered at the damp legions before him, noting the sour, less than happy looks on the faces of the two legates who would not tonight find the comfort of a warm room and a hot dinner. ‘Sorry, gentlemen. Caesar’s already had the support wagons and the baggage train readied for you at the east gate, so that there’s no delay. You’ll be slowed badly by the baggage, so you’d best get moving immediately. Your specific orders are with the prefect in charge of the wagons.’

‘What news of the assembly?’ Antonius asked pointedly.

‘Caesar’s drawing new oaths and new levies of cavalry from all the states that can still afford to do so.  What happened with the recalcitrant tribes you went after?’

Antonius thumbed in the direction of the column behind him.

‘The deputation from the Senones was delayed by stupidity. They’re with us at the back, as are a number of hostages from their tribe. The Carnutes apparently panicked when they heard we were approaching, and their deputation found us, almost falling over themselves fawning and simpering, wanting to attend.’

Priscus gave a hard smile.

‘I suspect that had something to do with what you told the Senones. Word of things like that spreads fast through the tribes. The Carnutes’ King probably shat a brick when he heard what you told his neighbours.’

Antonius chuckled as Rufio raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Suffice it to say,’ added Priscus, ‘I think Antonius frightened the tribes into submission. They took the oaths again in a hurry and followed us like sheep. The west is settled, for now.’

‘Good. As soon as this council’s over, the Fourteenth and the Fifteenth will take on garrison duties here and the other five legions march on the Menapii.’

Priscus glanced at Antonius.

‘Great. More swamps.’

Antonius shrugged, droplets of water showering from his shoulders.

‘I’d rather be in a swamp with five legions than in the Eburones’ sacred forest with just a dozen men,’ the officer replied pointedly.

Chapter Eleven

Divonanto in the lands of the Condrusi

Fronto ground his teeth as he hiked up the last few feet of the near-vertical slope, his breath coming in gasps and puffs.

‘Would they… really be… offended if… we didn’t bother?’

Samognatos shook his head. ‘They know we… are coming. They… always know.’

‘But… we know where… to look next… anyway.’

The Condrusi scout flashed him a look that illustrated his feelings on the notion of bypassing the sacred nemeton of Divonanto. Fronto had been in two minds all morning. As far as his direct mission was concerned, he was unlikely to get any better directions to Ambiorix’s current location than the council had given him last night. And whatever the scout said, Fronto had his suspicions as to how helpful the druids were likely to be. He’d as soon stand knee deep in the sea, wearing copper armour and calling Jupiter a spiteful prick as trust a druid, but Samognatos seemed convinced they had to visit, and in these lands, Fronto was to some extent reliant upon the man’s continued help and goodwill.

The pair reached the top of the interminable and evil slope and Fronto reached down, gripping his trembling knees and heaving in breaths, watching the singulares labouring up the mountainside behind them. The ‘easiest’ route to the nemeton without circling round a few miles involved heading to the side of town away from the river, nestled up against the slope, and coming at the cliff outcropping from an oblique angle. Easiest: maybe. Easy: no. The slope was still one of the steepest he had ever climbed, and certainly one of the highest. His legs may never stop shaking, and he knew just how badly his calves and shins were going to hurt tomorrow.

‘I’m not leaving anyone outside… you know.’

Samognatos simply widened that infernal grin. ‘Won’t you want to leave someone to guard the weapons?’

Fronto blinked. ‘If you think for one… moment I’m going in there unarmed…’

‘That is the only option, I’m afraid, sir.’

‘Screw that.’

‘Respectfully, Romans do not approve of bearing arms in their temples. Indeed, the whole of Rome is weapon free I understand?’

‘That’s because Rome isn’t home to a bunch of savage…’ He stopped short, not for fear of insulting Samognatos’ druids, but rather because he was about to claim that Rome was safer and more civilised, but a quick mental run through his past few visits silenced that notion.

‘I give you my word that you will be unharmed.’

Fronto sighed. ‘I’m not impugning you, my friend, but I could give you my word that up is down. Would that make it so?’

‘Come on… Let’s get inside,’ coughed Palmatus, clambering over the edge onto the grass.

‘Samognatos here tells me we have to leave our weapons.’

‘Fair enough.’

Fronto frowned. ‘You approve?’

‘Not really, but we’ve come all this way, and they’re only old grey-beards with sticks. We’re legionaries, with Masgava too.’

‘Grey-beards? You’d not say that if you’d met the bastard with the crown over in Britannia that tried to carve me a new arsehole on the front!’

Samognatos cleared his throat meaningfully and Fronto turned to him, and then followed his gaze to see two men in white robes standing in the open gateway in the wicker fence.

‘Arduenna tells us that Romans are coming and that we are to open our arms to them.’

Fronto narrowed his eyes. ‘Experience tells me that one of those arms will hold a dagger.’

The druid held his arms out to the sides. ‘Please enter. You will come to no harm.’

Again, Fronto maintained his steely stare, but Masgava was suddenly next to him, striding towards the gate. As he approached, he drew his sword and three knives from various places about his body and, removing his cloak, placed them on the ground, on the thick wool for protection from the damp grass.

‘Masgava?’

‘Come on, sir.’