‘Well, it would appear that the negotiations are over before they began,’ Labienus sighed, shaking his head and climbing down from his horse. ‘It’s my belief that the majority of the Gauls consider missile volleys and traps to be lacking in honour, so I think that tells us all we need to know about Indutiomarus’ intentions and abilities. He clearly plans to conduct this attack in a most atypical fashion.’
He handed the reins of his horse to the nearest soldier and rubbed his hands together in a business-like fashion. ‘Moreover, it tells us that either Indutiomarus is unwilling to field the Treveri unless he has to or, more likely, the Treveri themselves are less willing to bring the fight to us than the mercenaries. Either way, the main force we face now is the mercenary army he has attracted and they will have no discipline. They will falter at our defences unless he can commit the Treveri as well. I am decided as to our course of action, gentlemen, but it is all a matter of timing. We need the time to be just right before I put my plan into action and until then we need to hold them off and keep our defences and morale strong.’
‘I will see to the disposition of the men, sir,’ Baculus announced, swaying slightly in his saddle with weariness.
‘You will do nothing of the sort, centurion. You will report to the medicus and return to your bed and stay there until either your infection passes and you take on a healthy complexion or until we are desperate enough that I am forced to send for you.’
Baculus began to shake his head, but Labienus held up a warning finger. ‘The medicus tells me that every time you come out and about and push yourself to the limit, not only do you endanger your life, but you also set back your healing progress by several weeks. Simply: if you do not lie down and rest, you will never heal and I will be forced to have you put down like a horse with a broken leg. Now go!’
The Primus Pilus stared helplessly at Labienus and finally sagged a little, saluted and turned his horse to ride back through the camp. Labienus, he knew, had been nicknamed ‘soft touch’ by the soldiers. The commander knew nothing of it of course, and Baculus had already disciplined every man he heard use the phrase. And it was, to some extent, a fair appraisal. Of all of Caesar’s officers, only Titus Labienus had repeatedly — even constantly — attempted peaceful relations and diplomatic solutions with the Gauls. One man had even called him ‘Gaul-lover’ and had been scourged until his back ran red for his wit. But while they were right about his desire to avoid conflict where possible, there was still a steel in Labienus that Baculus could see and respect. The man might favour the diplomatic option, but he would never put his army in the situation in which Sabinus and Cotta’s force had found itself a few months back. And he would brook no argument, even from Baculus.
The legate had a plan, and the centurion knew his commander well enough to know that a shrewd, tactical military mind churned away within that peaceable exterior. Despite being outnumbered and cut off from the rest of the army by a force whose capabilities and actions they could not predict, Baculus felt certain that Indutiomarus would rue the day he brought a force against the Twelfth.
* * * * *
Labienus cinched the belt around his cuirass and stood still while the slave brushed out the long red plume on his helm.
‘You don’t have to do this, sir,’ said one of the junior tribunes, quietly.
‘Yes I do, Lentulus. I know you’ve studied your Herodotus and the like but no amount of tutoring can match the experience of long-term command, and you’re very new to this. A good commander knows when to sit back and when to throw in his lot with the soldiery. That is where half of Caesar’s genius lies, and it is he who taught me the value of ‘getting involved’. The value of the boost in morale and strength it gives the men to find their commander amongst them in the thick of it far outweighs the danger I will face. And that is why I must look as ‘noble Roman’ as possible. Caesar wears his crimson cloak and rides a white horse so that the men can see him and take heart that he’s with them. A horse is of little value when under siege, but I can do my part, and I shall do so.’
‘But legate, why go to such lengths to levy local cavalry and then allow ourselves to be besieged? It makes no sense! We should have met them in direct conflict on the hillside before they reached the camp. Now our cavalry cannot be deployed and we sit and wait while they continually harry our defences.’
Labienus sighed patiently.
‘Lentulus, the cavalry are part of my long-term plan, so please stop concerning yourself too much. I realise that I am keeping my strategy somewhat obfuscated but we must learn the lesson from ourselves. I have spies among the Treveri and their allies and bearing that in mind we cannot rule out the possibility that there are enemy spies among our own native levies. It has not even been unheard of for a legionary to turn informant for promises of rich reward, though I would prefer not to suspect my own men of such low dealings. I will continue to keep my strategy contained until the time arises to open the carceres and let the horses run. Now… you stay here, go over my latest engineers’ reports and make sure I’ve missed nothing. If you can think of anything to add, be my guest and do so.’
Leaving the exasperated young tribune, Labienus strode out into the cold, slightly damp late winter air in his most resplendent gear. Lentulus was almost laughably young and naïve, but Labienus could remember being just like him as a junior tribune in Vatia’s army against the Cilician pirates. Still, in this current situation, better the boy kept himself busy with the records than getting in the way on the defences.
The camp was quiet, but it was a quiet that Labienus knew well. It was that specific, eerie, leaden quiet that presaged another attack. The thugs and bandits that made up roughly half of Indutiomarus’ force had committed themselves to the assault almost immediately, but had not come with the force and skill of a tribal war band or a professional army, and had broken on the defences like a small wave on the beach.
They were doing damage, for sure, and two rows of tents had been taken from their occupants and given over to the medicus for extra hospital space. Men were being brought in at a steady stream, wounded by blades and missiles, and the area left largely clear — due to being the site of the most recently backfilled latrine pits — was now stacked with bodies awaiting the pyre when timber supplies and time allowed.
But it was all remarkably easily fought off and contained. While Labienus had lost maybe two dozen men to the ‘dead pile’ and more than a century’s worth to the hospital, it was a smaller figure than most sieges would have brought on. And the number of Gallic dead in the ditches around the camp was substantially larger by comparison. A satisfactory situation.
Two things had occurred to Labienus as he ran his reports this morning:
Firstly: while the situation was perfectly acceptable to Labienus, the failure to make a dent would be driving Indutiomarus mad and soon he would snap and commit the Treveri to the attack as well. When he did that, one of two things would happen. Either the Treveri would turn on the man and refuse, which was Labienus’ main hope and great suspicion, or they would throw their full weight into the attack, and in that case the camp would be overrun before the next sun set.
A gamble.
Secondly, that the troops were well provisioned, well armed, and not being particularly tested in the current attacks. They were handling the siege with all the professionalism he could have hoped for, but there was every likelihood of them becoming over-confident and lax, believing their position unassailable. By going among them as he was, he could help fight off the ennui that would be infecting the defenders, as well as gauging the enemy’s situation. All he needed was a sign that Indutiomarus’ control was faltering.