Perhaps life would be easier if he left Caesar’s clientele and found someone else? It wasn’t like he needed the money or the political leg up. He served with Caesar, as he always had, because the general often left him alone to do his job and he could soldier on in his own way. Maybe Pompey would have use for him?
He shook his head. He was Caesar’s man. So the general was going through a bad patch. A man who changed his allegiance for ease and comfort was… well wasn’t Fronto. Besides, he knew he was a moderating influence on the general and, without him, how many good men would die in fruitless pursuit of glory?
Tetricus smiled as he approached.
“Had a feeling you might be sending for me, sir.”
Fronto smiled.
“Get your thinking head on. Caesar’s in a hurry as usual, but I don’t want to lose too many men.”
“Yes,” the tribune smiled. “Already had some thoughts.”
The two men turned and strode toward the command unit when a shout suddenly went up. Squinting into the distance, they began to run as they saw a flood of men pouring down the slope from the gate of the oppidum. Calls went up from the various cornicens and the legions tightened formation into solid shield walls, waiting for the order to attack. Fronto and Tetricus veered off and made a beeline for the staff who were now pulling back between the legions to a position of safety at the rear.
As they reached the group of officers, Fronto frowned.
“There’s only a few thousand of them. What can they possibly hope to achieve in open battle?”
Caesar smiled.
“It matters not. The legions will obliterate them and then we will besiege their town.”
Fronto remained unconvinced and, as the command party reached a small rise where they could observe events, he studied the enemy warriors pouring across the turf towards them. This was no ordinary Belgic attack. These men were unarmoured and carried only spears; moreover, they were forming into what looked like a phalanx.
“General?”
“Hmm?” Caesar turned to look at him.
“Something’s up. This is too stupid to be true, and I don’t believe they’re idiots.”
The general sighed.
“Just for once, Fronto, have a little faith in your own eyes. The terms are definitely favourable to us.”
They watched a moment longer until Caesar took a deep breath and bellowed out to the men “advance!”
Along the lines, centurions took up the call and their cornicens relayed the orders. Within moments, three legions: the Tenth, Eighth and Eleventh, began to march slowly, inexorably forwards with the crash of steel and the crunch of boots, closing on the relatively small phalanx of Belgae. Fronto watched with trepidation, his breath held. This was wrong.
The Roman lines rolled forward across the plain and, as he watched, suddenly the Belgae stopped in perfect order perhaps two hundred yards from the advancing legions. The front row with their spears went into a crouch as, behind them, two rows of men lifted bows, already strung and with arrows nocked. Calmly, smoothly, and with a discipline that would satisfy the strictest centurion, they drew back in unison and released. As the flight of perhaps two hundred arrows arced into the air and the Aduatuci fetched another arrow from their quiver, the next two rows behind them released another volley.
The legions, unprepared for missile attack, sustained dozens of casualties from the first assault. The lines faltered for only a moment before the centurions, ever professional, called for the testudo formation. The second flight of arrows struck home with brutal effect just as the legions reformed, a protective roof of shields going up just in time to save them from the third volley.
Caesar, satisfied that his legions were now protected, smiled as his men closed on the Belgae but once again, Fronto was startled to realise, the enemy were ahead of the game. They had stayed out of range of the Roman pila just long enough to launch a painful, stinging assault and now that their edge was gone, the formation merely broke and they ran back toward the oppidum, unencumbered and far faster than the pursuing legions.
“Cavalry to intercept!” Caesar shouted, but Fronto stepped in front and shook his head.
“Don’t, general.”
“What?”
“They’ll never get there in time. The cavalry are marshalled behind the legions. If they do catch them it’ll be right under the walls and they’ll drop boulders on us.”
Caesar ground his teeth for a moment and then snarled.
“Belay that order” he barked, and then, turning to Fronto: “They rile me now.”
The legate nodded.
“I suspect that’s what they’re trying to do. They’re goading you into foolish actions. Don’t fall for it. Just have the auxiliary archers posted to the front in case they try that again.”
Caesar glared into the distance for a while and then growled.
“Alright. Give me ideas, then.”
Beside Fronto, Tetricus shrugged. “How long do we have, Caesar?”
The general sighed, a harassed look crossing his face. He rubbed his forehead irritably and grumbled.
“Sabinus? Have a rider sent to Nemetocenna. Tell Labienus to start without me and that we’ll be along in due course.”
As the staff officer nodded and called over one of the clerks, the general turned to Tetricus.
“Very well. If time and manpower are no object, what is your best proposal?”
A gleam that Fronto knew very well came into the tribune’s eye. The legate smiled as the tribune began to talk, illustrating all of his points with waving arms and pointing fingers.
“Firstly, circumvallation. I’d wall them in. The oppidum is in the ‘v’ shape between two rivers. We build a rampart and ditch that seals them off, and place redoubts at regular intervals along the far river banks to make sure they don’t cross, though I think the Meuse will be too deep and fast for that anyway, but it’s better to be safe than to be sorry.”
Caesar blinked.
“That’s a sizeable rampart?”
Tetricus nodded.
“I’d say for safety six miles from bank to bank. And around twelve miles of interspaced redoubts across the water.”
Caesar frowned.
“How long?”
Tetricus shrugged.
“Given the manpower and peace in which to work, general, a day; maybe two. We’ll need quiet and undisturbed time after that, protected by the rampart you see, while we build the tower.”
“The tower?”
“Yes, sir. See, there’s no way we’re getting through those walls up the slope, so the only other way is up the rocks. Can’t climb them, and there’s no good materials for a ramp unless we quarry a few miles away and bring it here, which will take weeks and involve working within missile range of the top. So it’s a job for a tower. We can build it out of range and then move it close.”
Caesar frowned.
“Those cliffs are well over a hundred feet high, even in the easiest places. You’re talking about building a hundred foot tower?”
Tetricus shrugged.
“It’s been done before.”
“It has?”
The tribune nodded.
“The siege of Rhodes over two centuries ago. Their tower was one hundred and thirty feet in height. And that was built by Greeks. Engineering has come a long way since then. I would say our issue is not the height, but the other dimensions.”
“What?”
Fronto noted with a smile that Caesar’s face had taken on the same frustrated incomprehension that all officers seemed to acquire when talking to a passionate engineer.
“Well” Tetricus went on, “it will need to be massive in all other proportions, partially to maintain stability with the enormous height, but also because we need to be able to flood them with troops from the top of it, and not just a gentle trickle of men. Also, the bridge across at the top will have to be pretty immense on its own.”