‘Alright. I’ll grant that this sounds a little more serious, but watch what happens when we get there. I’ll give you my villa at Antium if we deal with the Bellovaci and don’t come out of it with a train of loot-wagons.’
Brutus chuckled. ‘I’ll remember that. Antium’s lovely in the autumn.’
* * * * *
Five days later Varus found himself deep in Bellovaci lands with three alae of cavalry a day ahead of the army, sweeping through deserted oppida and small settlements, trying to ascertain anything concrete concerning Commius and this army of his. Further information from the Remi had added another name to the list of conspirators – one Correus, a Bellovaci noble – and also the names of several smaller surrounding tribes who had thrown in their lot with the rebels.
So the cavalry had been sent ahead to discover what they could of the enemy, and Varus had consequently split his force into large scout parties that passed through the region seeking news.
But in five hours of passing through Bellovaci oppida, Varus had yet to see a human face. The settlements were deserted, all the livestock and goods removed from them. They were mere empty shells, devoid of life and value. Not simply abandoned like the ruined towns of the Bituriges and the Carnutes, but methodically emptied by its own populace, its entire contents moved elsewhere. It was almost a shame that he didn’t have Hirtius hovering over him like a vulture this time, since the man would be twitching at the lack of plunder to be had.
He tried not to imagine himself handing over the deeds to his favourite summer villa to Brutus.
In perhaps half an hour the force would have to turn back and meet up with the rest of the cavalry before returning to Bellomagos, where they would encamp and await the arrival of the legions. Varus slammed his fist on the horn of his saddle in irritation. Surely the Bellovaci, if they were building so large an army, would not have melted away into hiding like the Carnutes? So where were they?
His eyes strayed to the northern horizon, wondering where the next major oppidum was and whether they would have time to reach it before turning back.
He blinked, and gestured to a decurion he knew well.
‘Avelius? You have better eyes than me. Sweep your gaze around the area and concentrate on the small stand of trees on the hillside. Don’t look straight at it, but just catch it in passing and tell me what you see.’
The decurion did so and returned his gaze to his commander. ‘Two men on horseback in the shade of the trees.’
‘Good. I’d only seen one. But not an army, anyway. We’d have spotted traces of that kind of force. They’re watching us, keeping tabs on us. If we want to know anything, those are our men up on the hill.’
‘What do we do, sir?’
‘We make a show of looking around for a moment longer, then we turn and ride back for Bellomagos. As soon as we drop down into the narrow valley we passed on the way here, you and I, along with your turma of men, peel off and hide there, waiting for them.’
‘What if they don’t follow us, sir?’
‘Then we lose them, but I think we’ll be fine. I’ve felt uneasy all day, and I think they’ve been watching us since we crossed into Bellovaci lands. They’re just good enough that we hadn’t seen them ‘til now.’
The decurion nodded and went back to inform his men, and Varus called over his officers, explaining what they were about to do. Then, while the cavalry commander sat visibly fuming, gesturing at the empty houses of this small settlement, the men went about searching everywhere thoroughly for the look of the thing. Then, another quarter hour having passed, the alae formed up and moved out in formation, making for the rendezvous to the southwest. Varus felt his nerves twanging as his force dropped down into the defile and then rose to crest the far side of the narrow stream valley, riding on away from the enemy. But the retreating force was not quite complete, for in the bottom of that narrow way, clogged with undergrowth and ancient trees, thirty men paused, listening to the thundering hooves of their compatriots riding away.
Using gestures only, Varus gave out his orders and the unit split into three groups. Ten men, led by Avelius, moved behind a knot of trees out of sight. Another ten, led by the man’s second, followed suit behind another makeshift screen. Varus took the remaining ten and they dismounted, tying their horses behind trees and undergrowth, away from the churned earth that marked the cavalry’s passage. They then drew their blades and moved into hiding places to either side of the track along which the enemy would have to come if they hoped to track the Romans.
A quarter of an hour passed, tense and silent, but finally, just as Varus was beginning to worry that the decurion had been correct and that the enemy were not coming, he discerned the sound of horses above the rustle of wind-whipped leaves and scrambling wildlife and the gurgle of slow-flowing water around stones.
The riders neared the stream gulley and, though still out of sight, Varus counted what he believed to be three horses. Sure enough, a moment later, as he pondered on how far afield his thundering heart could be heard, three mounted shapes appeared at the lip and descended quickly to the stream bed, following the beaten earth and the prints of hundreds of Roman horses.
He opened his mouth to give the order and almost exploded as one of the cavalrymen leapt from behind a tree and shouted for the men to stop. The moron! Ambushes fail with over-excitement.
Entirely predictably, the three riders reacted instantly, their own alertness heightened by the danger of their task and driving them to action without the customary moments of dither and panic an ambush usually creates. However alert they might be, though, they were not prepared.
One man with long blond hair and a helmet bearing a boar at the crest burst forward, racing up the slope ahead, away from danger and on in pursuit of the retreating cavalry force. Another, a bare-headed and bald man with a face like a pomegranate, wheeled and raced back up the slope from whence he came, presumably thinking to carry warning to the army. The third, his horse bucking, swept down with his blade and cleaved the stupid cavalry trooper through the shoulder. As the thrashing, agonised form of the dismounted rider fell to the frosty, churned ground, his arm flopping uselessly and crimson pumping into the cold air from the chasm in his flesh, Varus raced from cover. Gritting his teeth, he threw himself at the mounted Gaul in a dive, using his slightly elevated position to his advantage, hitting him in the midriff and knocking him from his horse. The commander landed with his target in the mud and, while Varus had the wind knocked from him, the man on the ground had clearly broken something from the bony cracks as they hit.
For a moment he worried that the man might be dead, but a groan answered that question.
As the commander rose painfully, three of his men rushed over and hauled the pained Gaul to his feet, stripping him of anything he might use to fight back. Varus turned this way and that to check the situation and was relieved to see that his strategy had worked. The men who had fled the ambush had not been prepared for a second surprise. Neither escapee had made it to the top of the bank before those two other hidden units had caught them. One had twisted to fight and had fallen and snapped his neck on the hard earth. The other, though, was in custody, the men busy demanding his blade from him.
Varus looked at the wounded man by the stream.
‘You’re coming back to our camp now, my friend, where we are going to have a little chat about your tribe and their allies, where they are, and what their intentions are.’