After a few minutes of running, Galronus slowed and came to a halt, breathing heavily. Priscus almost bumped into him.
“You lost?”
The Remi shook his head and pointed.
“Oh, shit.”
They were now close to where they had entered the oppidum and, squinting, he could see through the trees to where they had reached the top of the roped climb. Torches danced through the velvet night over there, blinking between the tree trunks.
“No escape that way.”
He frowned at Galronus.
“I take it you’re not good enough to make the climb down elsewhere?”
Galronus shook his head.
“Not in dark. Not without rope.”
Priscus nodded. It would be stupid to try.
“Then we’re trapped in the oppidum. We’re going to have to find a place to hide and work something out in the morning.
Down on the plain below, Fronto ran as though Pluto was breathing on his neck. His initial worry as he heard Belgic voices atop the cliff had become heart-stopping as the severed rope dropped to the ground by him. He had been wondering whether it was worth waiting there just in case when the Belgae had begun to drop rocks, speculatively, off the edge.
Now, he just had to get out of range of them and back to the Roman lines. Priscus and Galronus had gone with no results to show for it and the whole thing had been his damn idea. He would look like such an idiot when he admitted this to Caesar.
He ran through his head how he would approach the subject and then jerked, fell, tumbled and rolled to a stop, unconscious and bleeding on the grass. The rock that had caught him a glancing blow rolled to a halt beside him, glinting burgundy in the moonlight.
Chapter 21
(Oppidum of Aduatuca)
“ Mars Gravidus: an aspect of the Roman war god, ‘he who precedes the army in battle’, was the God prayed to when an army went to war.”
“ Ad aciem: military command essentially equivalent to ‘Battle stations!’.”
Caesar stood with Sabinus and Tetricus at the central gate in the defences and rubbed his hands in satisfaction. Though Fronto had been on edge and irritating as usual, there was something about his manner that had impressed itself on the general. Though the Tenth’s legate had disappeared in a huff, probably to imbibe alcohol until he could no longer see straight, a sense of unease had settled on the general ever since, and he had paced uncomfortably in his tent for some time before sending for Tetricus and requesting that all efforts be made to speed up the progress on the tower.
Indeed, he had had a night of fitful dreams; nightmares of betrayal and failure and, of all the dream fragments he remembered like polished shards this morning, the one that had left him with the deepest sense of grief was the tale his mind spun of Fronto dropping his sword to the ground and walking away, with Fortuna in all her glory at his shoulder.
But this morning, Tetricus had been the general’s first visitor. The torches had still blazed around Caesar’s tent where Ingenuus’ men remained on guard, sizzling in the faint drizzle that had started some time in the early hours, when the tribune knocked politely on the doorframe.
The general, renowned for his wakefulness even in the dead of night, was already dressed and tapping irritably on a map of the oppidum and its surroundings when he invited Tetricus in and the man had entered, a satisfied smile on his face. The engineers had worked throughout the night, drawing support from the rest of the legions and had completed the bridge and enough armour plates to cover at least two sides of the tower.
And now, as the pale, watery sun rose over the horizon and the staff officers stood watching in the fine rain, the tower began to move. The plates had been affixed and the bridge raised and attached in less than an hour, ladders being added for troop movement. The effect was truly monstrous. In the bright sunlight, the tower would be massive and powerful, but in this grey, misty drizzle, it also gained a glinting oppressiveness that added to the effect. Even Caesar, veteran of a great many campaigns and no stranger to the great works of military engineers, found himself drawing an awed breath.
Two cohorts, drawn from the Eighth and attached to the engineers for the night, hauled on the great ropes and slowly the tower rumbled forwards. The sheer size and weight of the machine shook the earth, and the ground vibrated beneath the officers’ feet as they watched.
Sabinus tapped his finger to his lip, unable to tear his gaze from the great tower.
“Do we send a legion up the main slope as well, Caesar? Try to divide their forces?”
The general shook his head.
“No, but we do threaten to. We move the Thirteenth into position, below the walls but just out of range, and supply them with siege weaponry. As we move the tower and the vineae against the cliff, the Thirteenth put out calls and shuffle their men around as though they’re preparing to attack. They may even have to take the occasional shot with the artillery and run up and down the slope as a testudo to keep the Aduatuci’s attention. I need them to believe we’re going to attack on that front too.”
Sabinus nodded.
“Makes sense. Can I suggest that we have the Fourteenth begin to cross the Meuse on their rafts too? The enemy might not believe they’re really going to do anything but, if the men are in full kit, they’ll have to divide their forces just in case. They can’t take the risk we’re about to do something unexpected from across the river.”
The general smiled.
“Yes, see to it. I…”
He stopped mid conversation as the sound of horns cut through the air.
“What’s that?”
Sabinus shrugged.
“Whatever it is, it’s coming from the oppidum. Do we go and find out?”
Caesar nodded and turned to the guards behind him, their commander present and stiffly at attention.
“Ingenuus? Have two turmae of the guard form up to escort us to the oppidum.”
The young officer saluted and began to bark orders to his men. The bleating of the Belgic horns continued in the background and there was clearly some activity on the walls. Sabinus sighed.
“Looks like a call to parlay. Maybe we can end this peacefully after all. Perhaps Fronto was wrong?”
Caesar frowned.
“Perhaps… perhaps not. I feel uneasy.” He drew a deep breath and shrugged, as though shaking off a cloak of oppression. “Regardless, let us go and see what the Aduatuci want.”
The two men turned to see that Ingenuus already had two turmae of cavalry lined up and ready to move, along with the two officers’ horses ready to mount. Caesar swung himself into the saddle with practised ease as Sabinus climbed onto his own steed. Then, with a quick glance round to make sure all were present and correct, the general signalled with a dropped hand and the mounted column moved off, past the great, hulking tower and toward the slope of the oppidum.
The high walls of the Aduatuci were well constructed, heavy and strong, with an outer work of pointed stakes and pits. As they rode carefully between the obstacles, Sabinus found himself hoping that the enemy were about to cave in and that no assault would be required. The Thirteenth legion would be thinned out like the culling of a herd if they had to march up this slope.
He looked up as they approached the first line of defensive works.
“I think we should stop here, Caesar. They have bows, slings, spears and rocks, so let’s be sure we’re out of range.”
The general nodded and raised his hand to halt the column.
“Sound thinking, Sabinus. Now, what do we have?”
The defences of Aduatuca were punctuated with heavy, square towers, only a little taller than the walls themselves, but strong and projecting enough to make enfilade fire a possibility. The main gate of the oppidum was flanked by two such towers and surmounted by a walkway. The gates themselves were enormous, constructed apparently of shaped tree trunks bound with iron. Inordinately strong for a Celtic town, Sabinus considered, but then again, Aduatuca had walls on only one side, relying on cliffs elsewhere.
On the walkway above the gate standards waved with tapering streamers, and men with huge bronze horns shaped like wolf mouths blew tuneless tunes. Men in glinting armour and helms watched the officers and their guard approach and, as Caesar’s column halted, one of their number stepped out forwards.
“You are Caesar, general of the Romans.”
A statement, rather than a question. There was no uncertainty in his voice and no fear that Sabinus could detect. He sounded confident and strong.
“I am” called the general. “And this is Quintus Titurius Sabinus, my lieutenant, and the rest are my honour guard. To whom am I speaking?”
The man drew his great Celtic blade and dropped the tip to the floor.
“I am Damiacus, chieftain of this place and leader of the Aduatuci in time of war.”
“You speak our language well” the general noted with interest.
The man shrugged.
“Rome seems to think we Celts are like hogs, floundering in our own swill and unable to read or learn. One would think that after two years of carving a path through our world that you, at least, would now know different. We are Belgae; proud and strong.”
Caesar sighed.
“I had no idea this was just a meeting for you to posture. You waste my time.”
Damiacus laughed.
“Were we to meet under different circumstances, Lord Caesar, I fear you would find we have much in common. Like you, I abhor unnecessary posturing. I wish to see the Aduatuci victorious and strong.”
Caesar let out another sigh.
“Posturing, you see.”
Damiacus laughed again.
“However, also like you, I detest waste. The Aduatuci are the last Belgic tribe to stand against you and, whatever may become of us, we will always have that. We were the last. But we can see clearly, and only a fool fights on when there is no hope. I would rather the Aduatuci lived to be proud that they were the last than they slip from history in one glorious fight to extinction. I have sons I wish to see grow.”
Caesar nodded.
“An attitude that does you credit, Damiacus, but please come to the point.”
The chieftain smiled.
“There are so many more of you than us. We have strong walls and high cliffs, but you have with you the means to destroy our walls and, in only a few days, you have constructed a machine of nightmare dimensions that can reach our town and deliver your troops. We have no hope of victory.”
He drew a deep breath, and Caesar was about to comment, when the Aduatuci leader cast his great sword from the wall to the ground before them. As the general blinked in surprise, other warriors across the line of walls cast their weapons to the ground.
“We ask you to accept our surrender, general Caesar. We give you our oath, as your other Belgic allies have. We wish an end to hostilities and would ask that you treat with us as you have with others, as an ally. In return, our weapons are yours.”
As he said this, bundles of swords, spears and bows were tipped from the walls and towers onto the grass below, gradually building a mound of discarded weaponry.
“Say the word and the gates of our oppidum will be thrown open to you. Will you accept peace with the Aduatuci?”
Caesar turned to Sabinus, whose look of relief was clear.
“You wanted peace, Quintus. It appears you have it.”
He turned back to the wall.
“The word is given. We will ask for a small measure of booty and in return we will accept you as an ally, Damiacus of the Aduatuci. I shall return with my men at noon.”
The Aduatuci chief bowed from the wall.
Sabinus smiled as the Roman column turned and rode back toward the legions.
“Tetricus must be starting to feel very unfulfilled. Every time he builds something impressive for battle, the enemy surrenders as soon as they see it, and it never gets used.”
Caesar sighed with relief.
“Frankly, I’m glad of it. We’ve lost so many men in these last few months it’ll take a great deal of money and effort to refill the ranks.”
The two men rode with their escort across the damp grass and past the great bulk of the glistening war tower. Ahead, the legions were being massed before the rampart. Clearly, in the general’s absence, someone had decided that the enemy fanfares meant activity one way or the other and had put the legions on alert. Caesar smiled. That was why his army was more effective than that of Pompey or the elder Crassus. His unique approach to military command, associating set officers with particular legions on a semi-permanent basis, meant that his army was capable of functioning well even without orders from the top. That was why men like Fronto and Balbus were worth a hundred Pompeys.
Cicero, in full dress armour and looking uncomfortable in the damp and drizzle, came striding out from the colour party of the Tenth Legion, their flags and standard flapping and waving in the wet breeze, the signifers weighted down with soggy wolf pelts over their helms.
“Caesar? What news? Tetricus informed us that you’d gone to parlay, so I put the legions on standby.”
The general nodded.
“Perhaps a little premature, but a good decision nonetheless. The Aduatuci have surrendered and are discarding their weapons and opening their gates. We will wait the morning out and hope that the weather lifts. At noon, we will ride with the first cohort of each legion and enter the oppidum. I want the place occupied. This Damiacus is far too sure of himself and Fronto’s staunch belief that they’re up to something has set my neck itching. I’ll accept their surrender and oath, but only when we’ve got the town thoroughly under our control.”
Cicero nodded.
“I was wondering whether perhaps legate Fronto was with you, sir?”
Caesar shook his head.
“I very much suspect the legate will have been practicing debauchery and drink last night. Check his tent.”
The officer’s face took on a worried look.
“Begging your pardon, Caesar, but we already have. I don’t think he slept there last night. And the chief signifer for the Tenth, Petrosidius, says they’ve not seen their Primus Pilus all morning either.”
Caesar smiled.
“Fronto and Priscus? Find the empty amphora, Cicero, and follow the trail. Be sure they’re at the end of it.”