‘Good day, gentlemen. Do either of you speak Latin?’
The two men frowned in incomprehension, and Caesar smiled. ‘Ingenuus, you can come over on the second trip. I want your man with the local dialect with me on this journey.’
Varus caught Ingenuus’ expression and was under no illusion as to what the bodyguard officer thought of the idea, but they had all been around Caesar long enough to know how little chance there was of changing his mind. The only man who’d ever had that kind of influence was Fronto, and he was probably busy now swimming in a pool of the money he’d made in Massilia.
The Praetorian trooper in question, one Sidonius, rode forward at his commander’s signal and, at a nod from Caesar, rattled out a question in the local language. The ferrymen looked at one another and stuttered out a reply.
‘They have not a word of Latin, general. They claim loyalty to Rome and to be men of Blesio across the river, which they say is also loyal to its Roman vows.’
Caesar nodded and favoured the two men with an easy smile. ‘Ask them how much they charge for a man with his horse?’
The trooper did so, and cleared his throat before replying ‘One copper coin apiece, general, but they say there will be no charge for the Roman commander and his officers.’
Caesar laughed lightly. ‘Nonsense. With the current state of Gaul, every denarius counts for these people. Tell him that we have eighteen riders to ferry across in six trips. If he can do it without incident, he will receive one good Roman silver sestertius for each man from my own purse. Brutus? Have word sent to the legions to make camp on the south bank tonight, pending a decision on our course tomorrow.’
As Brutus nodded and turned, the news was relayed to the ferry owners and the two locals’ eyes widened as they bowed sycophantically. Without waiting, Caesar gestured to Varus and Sidonius, who dismounted and followed the general to the raft. As the two ferrymen readied for the journey – the Liger was a wide river here, and fast-flowing – Caesar and the other Romans tied their nervous horses’ reins to the bar and held on tight while the raft shook and juddered off the mud and slowly out into the current. Varus couldn’t help but note the look of anxious disapproval on Ingenuus’ face as he watched from the bank, where he prepared to come across next with Brutus and another of the praetorians.
The raft was sturdy, and despite the size and speed of the river its surface was remarkably calm, and soon Varus found his fears of capsizing or destruction fading. The general gestured to Sidonius.
‘Would you ask them if a large band of rebels recently passed through here, perhaps with loot and captives?’
The trooper relayed the question and the two men, their faces revealing their nervous state, nodded and rushed out a reply.
‘Several hundred Carnute warriors, general. And many dozens of captives with them, as well as three carts of booty.’
Caesar smiled. ‘At least they know enough not to lie on such a blatant fact. Ask them how they crossed and where they went? I cannot imagine they brought wagons of supplies across on this ferry.’
A brief exchange followed, with lots of nodding from Sidonius, who translated the reply.
‘According to the ferrymen, a few leaders and warriors crossed the river, but were refused entry to Blesio. They made off north afterwards. The rest of the force with the loot and slaves set off downstream two days ago, making for the ford at Ambasso, where they will cross and head north to join with the leaders.’
Caesar nodded. ‘I know of Ambasso. A vexillation of ours camped beside the oppidum there following the siege of Avaricon last year. The ford is supposed to be easy in the summer season, but often submerged in the winter. Still, it has been a mild, if cold, winter, and obviously the locals consider it passable. Once we have spoken to the nobles in Blesio, we will return to camp and the legions can work their way west to cross at Ambasso.’
‘We will pursue them, then, Caesar?’ Varus presumed.
‘If there is any hope of us catching them, yes. They could be fast-moving, compared with our baggage train speed. But they are heading north, and north is Cenabum, which has always been the heart of both Carnute pride and their druids’ religion. If the enemy will ever stand to face us, they will do so at Cenabum.’
Varus nodded, though somewhere deep down he remembered hearing that Autricon was their true seat of political power. It had not escaped Varus’ notice, though, that Cenabum, while not their true heart, was their great trade centre, and the richest settlement in Carnute lands.
* * * * *
Varus eyed Hirtius suspiciously. The addition of Caesar’s secretary on any detached duty was cause for unease as far as the cavalry commander was concerned. The last time it had happened, Hirtius had been instrumental in seizing the mines of the Bituriges on the flimsiest of pretences. And now the bird-like figure was once more riding alongside the cavalry as the force neared the Carnute oppidum of Tascio.
‘If the rebels did flee here, it looks to me like they went on running,’ the cavalry commander murmured.
‘Our intelligence says that this is the location of one of four sightings of the Carnute warbands,’ Hirtius replied primly. ‘Are you suggesting we ignore the matter?’
Varus glared at the man, who he was beginning to see as little more than an extension of Caesar’s grip. In his personal opinion, the Carnute raids had been just that: raids. They were not a campaign of invasion as the Biturige envoys had put it to the general in their panic and desperation. The Carnutes, like most other of the more belligerent tribes, had lost so many fighting men in these last few years that they could hardly hope to mount an invasion. The warlords had simply seen an opportunity and begun to raid their weaker neighbours. It was going to be hard to survive the coming year, and easing the tribe’s suffering by taking from weaker groups would make a noticeable difference.
Something in his subconscious suggested that there might be more to it than that, of course. It was tempting to see conspiracies and strategy in everything these days, after what had happened over the past two years. Could it be that some new Vercingetorix was setting fires in the hearts of the more aggressive tribes to keep the Romans off-balance? It had happened a year or so before Alesia, after all. And in more than a month, the general and his armies had spent their time rushing around solving small problems rather than resting and preparing for the season ahead. Coincidence?
He shook his head. Logic suggested the former.
Having failed to catch up with the enemy at Ambasso, Caesar had taken the entire force to Cenabum, where he had found traces in both memory and physicality of the recent passage of warbands with slave chains. Helpful ‘loyal’ Carnutes – could there be such a thing? – had given Caesar details of four such groups that had passed through Cenabum heading northeast and southwest, doubling back past the pursuing army. While the general had settled the two legions in the oppidum that had so recently been the site of a massacre and a brutal punitive siege, he had sent out the cavalry.
The men of the Sixth and Fourteenth now sheltered in the half-ruined houses of Cenabum, the shells of the town’s residences providing some protection and ease from the winter winds, though each eight man contubernium had erected their own tent inside the houses, since few boasted a surviving roof.
And Varus, accompanied by the humourless Hirtius, had been tasked with visiting the towns named by the informants and tracking down these rebels. As far as Varus was concerned it was a pointless task. The Carnutes would melt into the landscape, sell their slaves and separate, taking their gains with them. None of these warbands were going to be stupid enough to hole up together in an oppidum and face off against Caesar’s army. None of them were near strong enough.