‘I only hope the legions are ready to move quickly, then. It can take a while after they’ve spent months languishing in winter quarters.’
* * * * *
‘Will the legions be ready so soon? ’
Marcus Antonius, along with Labienus the most senior of Caesar’s officers at Agedincum, idly scratched himself as he gulped down the last of his wine by the flickering firelight before replying.
‘The commanders here aren’t daft, Fronto. They’ve known trouble is afoot. A Boii scout called Bennacos arrived over a month ago bearing Cita’s family seal. He’d witnessed the downfall of Cenabum and his news put the whole army on high alert. Labienus has made no overt move without a missive from Caesar, but the winter quarters’ defences have been strengthened, and the legions have been ready to deploy for weeks now, their spring training schedule implemented early, deep in winter. Any one of those men out there can march out tomorrow as fit and ready and equipped as if they hadn’t been called to action weeks before the campaign season even begins.’
Fronto nodded and drained his own wine cup as the senior officer refilled his and then passed over the jar. ‘This changes things a little, though,’ the legate grumbled. ‘The scout’s news, I mean. If the Carnutes have flattened Cenabum and everything in it, we can hardly use it as a supply base now.’
‘It changes nothing, Fronto. The grain will still be there, just feeding the rebels instead of us. Now we have extra incentive to take the place, for Nemesis watches us with a blazing eye. Cita and the garrison should not go unavenged.’
Nodding his acceptance of the comment, Fronto bent to rub his knee and flexed his leg a few times.
‘Joint trouble?’
‘Old knee injury. Started to play up again when the weather’s cold and wet.’
‘That,’ Masgava grunted, ‘is because you don’t train as much as you should any more. It is weakening again.’
‘Can you not lay off me for even one evening,’ sighed Fronto, but he noted Palmatus nodding his agreement and made a mental note to make time for a little more exercise. If it didn’t strengthen his knee at least it would diminish Masgava’s nagging.
‘The Tenth have been itching to head over to Cenabum for the past few weeks and teach the Carnutes a lesson,’ Atenos, the huge, muscular centurion said with an ominous tone. Carbo tried to argue the commanders into letting us go three times, but Labienus was having none of it.’
Carbo nodded. ‘Kept bringing up phrases like ‘duty’, ‘chain of command’, ‘better safe than sorry’ and so on. I understand why he’s not moved, and maybe he was sensible, but the men would appreciate the chance to use their winter training to avenge the Cenabum garrison. Some of them were our own lads, after all.’
Antonius chuckled. ‘At least the Tenth did as they were told,’ he snorted, sipping his wine. ‘Varus had rather more trouble.’
Fronto frowned as he turned his gaze on the cavalry commander. ‘What with?’
Varus sighed as he scratched his head. ‘We’ve got a new unit of German auxiliary cavalry. Drawn from three different tribes, but all trained up by the best officers we’ve got and equipped with the top gear they can draw. They look like a Roman unit, though bigger and hairier. But… well, you can take the warrior out of Germania, but you cannot take Germania out of the warrior, apparently. No matter how much we try and train them, they’re more or less primitive head-hunters with an overwhelming thirst for blood and little interest in authority.’
‘They sound delightful,’ Fronto muttered.
‘They’re bloody dangerous,’ Atenos noted.
‘And possibly just as much to us as to the enemy,’ added Carbo.
‘It seems,’ Varus said with a quirky smile, ‘that one of your men, who had a cousin killed at Cenabum and had taken it rather badly, was mouthing off about the need for revenge. He was rather steamed, you see — barely able to stand, and angry-drunk. And he happened to be near a few of the German cavalry.’
‘For whom angry-drunk is the normal state,’ chuckled Atenos.
‘Indeed, Varus acceded. ‘Well about two dozen of the Germanics decided to try out their new horse kit on the Carnutes in revenge, despite Labienus’ orders to the contrary. My boys had to chase them down over eight miles from here to stop them, and two regular cavalry troopers were wounded bringing them back in. They’re rabid. Hard to contain, but I can’t wait to see what they do when they’re given free rein on a battlefield.’
‘I can,’ shuddered Carbo. ‘I hope they’re nowhere near me at the time. I foresee them being a little indiscriminate.’
The tent fell silent for a moment as Antonius topped up his wine again, tipping the jug upside down to drain the last few drops. ‘Shall I get another?’
‘I think we ought to call it a night now,’ Fronto murmured, with a hint of regret. ‘We move out to Vellaunoduno early in the morning.’
‘Besides,’ Palmatus added, nudging Masgava, ‘our unit is dangerously undermanned. We need to go through the Tenth’s records tonight and see which of Carbo’s best men we can purloin.’
Chapter 5
Close to Aedui lands, by the river Liger.
Vercingetorix wiped the chill drizzle from his face and watched the lead elements of the other army break off from the main force, as they descended from the low hillside and the protection of the trees that covered it.
‘Do we sound the carnyx?’ Vergasillaunus asked quietly. Behind them the Arverni and their allied forces spread out across the plain and back as far as the river, where they were still funnelling across the bridge in the miserable damp blanket of grey.
The Arvernian king shook his head. ‘They are riding out to talk, whoever they are. Besides, while they are a large force, we are larger by far. They cannot think to attack us. Wait until we can identify their insignia.’
The two men sat on their heavy steeds at the head of the vast sprawl of warriors, watching intently. ‘What standards do you see?’ the king murmured to his cousin, a man renowned for, among other things, impressive eyesight. Vergasillaunus squinted into the obfuscating mist, shaking his head. ‘Just the usual boars, I think… though… wait.’ He rubbed his eyes and squinted more. ‘Crosses and the one-eyed head.’
‘Cadurci!’
Despite the realisation that the approaching army was a force of allies rather than enemies, they were equally unexpected, and their arrival could portend nothing good. The Cadurci were supposed to be busy freeing the tribes of Roman Narbonensis now.
‘Come,’ the king said, and kicked his horse into motion, trotting down the sodden slope with his cousin quickly coming alongside, some of the nobles and chiefs of his army following close behind, uninvited. Some quarter of a mile away, as the two groups of riders converged on a small stand of trees, the opposing commander and his companion rode ahead to meet them. The fine, cold drizzle filtered down from the leaden clouds above creating a grey world that chilled the bones, and the general atmosphere matched the mood of Lucterius of the Cadurci, judging by his expression.
‘Narbo remains unconquered?’ Vercingetorix was keeping a tight control of his temper, his cousin realised. The king was not a man given to outbursts or fits of uncontrolled rage, but the two things he despised, even above failure, were treachery and cowardice. That the Cadurci might be here, apparently unharmed, smacked of one of the other.
Lucterius bowed his head, but his eyes when he straightened again showed signs of neither treason nor fear. The leader of the Cadurci simply sighed.
‘My king, I bring dire news.’
‘Go on.’
‘Despite all our precautions and every care that we all took, something has gone wrong. We arrived in the Roman province to find Caesar there, mobilising the local garrison and with what appeared to be two well-equipped legions. They were already moving north when we came across them in the foothills.’