He was next to the spring.
Finally he registered the fact that it was raining very heavily. The angle of the rain was such that the tower was keeping it from him and he sat in its lea, a small, dry island in a land of downpour. The surface of the spring’s pool seethed. Last time he had seen it, it gurgled with small ripples as the flow poured from the rock, and the excess flowed out over a lip into a channel that distributed it into the earth down towards the woods, where it became one of the numerous tiny streams that fed the river below. Now, however, the surface of the water churned and stippled as a million raindrops pounded it.
Somewhere across the mountainside, he could hear the general order to fall back being called.
At last the general had seen sense.
But could he not have done so without such dreadful loss of life?
He glanced back down at the surface of the water. Above him the sky clashed with the sound of Vulcan’s hammer striking. The storm was in full flow and would not be abating any time soon. He sighed and tipped his head rather painfully back – his neck had apparently taken a jolt from the blow. The rain battered his face and he was rather grateful for the experience.
At least he wasn’t dead.
Now, the Tenth and Fifth were sounding their recall. All around him the men were moving. He could hear them even if he couldn’t see them, preparing to abandon the hard-won ground and retreat down to the camps. Presumably someone would come and help him down. He wasn’t at all sure he could stand unaided without throwing up.
Another rumble of thunder.
And another.
His brow furrowed in concentration, and that hurt more than he could possibly have imagined. The previous peals of thunder had been perhaps a count of twenty apart. Those last two had been so close together there was hardly time to count at all.
Another rumble.
What in the name of divine Taranis was going on?
His eyes widened in disbelief and alarm as the ground gave a shudder and suddenly all the water drained from the spring as though someone had removed a plug at the bottom. Despite his pain and discomfort he leaned forward, peering into the depths. Amid the dark rock, the slimy green weed and the coins thrown in as offerings, Atenos could see a number of wide fissures that had opened in the rock.
What in Hades?
And now the mouth of the spring itself was sputtering, odd gouts of brown water leaping from it into the empty pool. And then nothing. The spring was gone.
There was another rumble and the ground bucked like an unbroken horse.
Hands were suddenly beneath his arms, helping raise him to his feet. ‘Time you were away from here, centurion,’ announced the unseen helper. Atenos could not agree more, baffled as he was. As he struggled upright, the ground gave another ominous creak and groan and in a moment that almost stopped his heart, a swathe of woodland vanished into the earth in a long avenue down the hill.
As he boggled at the sight, the capsarius at his side helping him down the slope, he spotted the water seeping and saturating the ground down at the end of that flattened avenue. With a slightly painful grin, he spotted the figures there and finally understood.
Engineers, one officer, and perhaps two centuries of legionaries, all covered in earth and muck. Sappers.
All the time the tower at the top, the desperate fight of Atenos’ men and even the general advance had been keeping the defenders busy, the general had been undermining the hill. And finally, all at once, the tunnels had broken through to the spring’s underground source and diverted it way down the hill. And then the tunnels had been collapsed as the miners left them.
The only readily accessible source of water for the oppidum had been denied them. Where the water now came up from various places it would be undrinkable for some time, but would regardless be too close to the Roman lines for safe use and too far from the walls of Uxellodunon for the locals to defend.
The old goat had done it.
Atenos was grinning from ear to ear all the way down the slope and the appearance of the limping Decumius carrying his fallen phalera only made it all the wider.
* * * * *
Antonius glared at Caesar.
‘Isn’t it bad enough that you keep your surprises even from your senior officers without being unbearably smug about it as well?’
The figure of Aulus Hirtius was busy striding up the hill towards them, his lean, gaunt figure gangly and ungainly, as though he had too many knees for one human being. The pinched face had an odd expression that might be a mix of satisfaction and abhorrence. He’d somehow managed to get himself drenched, and the sopping white tunic and cloak clung to his frame making him look all the more like a crane fly.
‘All goes well, then, Hirtius?’
The man stopped and saluted. While Antonius and Caesar stood in the shelter of the porch of the general’s forward observation tent, Hirtius remained in the torrential downpour, sheltering his forehead as though that made the slightest difference in his soaked state.
‘The engineers and men of the Fifteenth acquitted themselves well, Caesar. The nearest accessible flow to the walls now is around a third of the way up the slope,’ he turned and pointed. ‘Somewhere near that large elm. We can cover the site with both artillery and archers with little difficulty from our lines. The enemy will not be able to get within fifty paces of water.’
‘Excellent.’ The general turned to Antonius. ‘Might I be allowed just the slightest hint of smug, now?’ he winked.
Antonius rolled his eyes. ‘If Fronto were here he would be standing a foot from your face, bellowing by now.’
‘If Fronto were here, Antonius, he would have been the one at the mines.’
Caesar peered up through the torrent and spotted Varus wending his way down the hill towards them. Turning, he spotted an older soldier, unarmoured and with a voluminous, hooded oiled-skin cloak wrapped tight around him against the rain. His favoured sacerdos. The priest of the Tenth, with the knowledge of ritual and some skill at divination. With a crooked finger, he beckoned.
‘Sir?’
‘Can you tell me what Jupiter Pluvius has in store for us?’
‘Of course, General. Despite the current downpour, I expect the sky to clear before sunset and lead to several days of dry heat. The ass’ manger last night was bright and unobstructed, and that speaks of good weather. Also a crow gave three distinct calls above the camp at dawn, which I thought to be at odds with the coming deluge, but now I see presaged a good period to follow. In the…’
‘A simple ‘good weather’ would have done, man. Thank you.’
The old soldier nodded and retreated five steps and into his hood once more.
‘We have to assume that they have good residual water supplies in the oppidum, and every cistern and reservoir they have will be uncovered to catch the storm rain. Still, they have many thousands of warriors up there in addition to the general population and the large number of animals to provide sustenance. They cannot have been expecting to lose their water supply, and this will be a very final blow to them. Their water will soon run dry in fine weather.’
Varus approached and saluted rather soggily, his face tired but satisfied.
‘What’s the lie of the land, Quintus,’ asked Antonius.
The cavalry commander stretched and rolled his shoulders. ‘We took serious losses near the spring. It was a good call assigning the Tenth under Atenos. That man would hold the gates of Hades itself against Cerberus if you asked. I hear he took a place in the front line and suffered a head wound, but is in no danger. The general estimate is somewhere around eight hundred dead. Wounded are few. Nearly anyone who engaged the enemy is gone, rather than injured. As soon as the spring disappeared, the enemy lost heart and pulled back. The other varied assaults suffered minor casualties, but never really got the chance to involve themselves before the mines did their job.’