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.”
* * * * *
Priscus stretched his shoulders. The night had been surprisingly cold and with dawn had come a change in the weather. The cold drizzle would have been numbing had he and Galronus not located an apparently unused shed in a pig farm not far from the ropes but, even here, after waiting half the morning they were starting to feel chilled.
They had watched the area of cliff where they had arrived for an hour or more last night, waiting for the group of warriors to abandon the place. There was no doubt they’d take the rope with them anyway, but Priscus would have liked to check whether Fronto was still hidden near the bottom or had left. Unfortunately, the warriors had set up camp there and spent the night. Indeed, as the night progressed, the hidden investigators saw pairs of Aduatuci warriors taking up positions all along the cliff, presumably watching for any further intrepid Roman scouts.
The primus pilus crawled across the small hut and peered out through the cracks in the battered wooden door. Behind him, Galronus shivered.