Varus and his three cavalry wing commanders were all familiar, though it was interesting to see young Volcatius, who had commanded the bridge over the Rhenus, among them. Thinking about them and why Volcatius had been drafted in brought home once more the missing shape of Galronus in proceedings. After all these years it seemed inconceivable to be on campaign without him. Fronto hoped against hope that all was going well down in Campania.
The camp prefect stood slightly apart, as though he felt that his difference in rank made him less valuable. That Felix had been made Camp Prefect gave Fronto something of a smile. The veteran centurion deserved nothing less, though he had his work cut out with this lot.
And in addition to that motley crowd of officers on the slope, three staff officers were present, standing behind Caesar like some theatrical chorus from a Greek play. Roscius and Calenus he could understand, but how Plancus had been elevated to the staff instead of sent home with his thumb still up his arse was beyond Fronto.
Fifteen men, representing almost the entire command system of the army above tribunate level. One good ambush from an ambitious enemy and…
His eyes strayed to his singulares, standing ready for trouble only a few paces from the slope, mirrored by Aulus Ingenuus and his praetorian horse guard, who waited patiently close by, eyes on the surrounding landscape, searching for signs of danger.
‘We’re a little in the dark here,’ Caesar hummed. ‘My only officers with a working knowledge of Cenabum are both gone — Crassus in the Parthian desert, and Cita probably in one of the mass graves down there. All we know is what we can see.’
They examined the city once more. On the north bank of the wide Liger River, Cenabum itself was a heavily walled place, without the advantage of nature’s heights, but more than protected by the labours of man. The defences were thick and high, with strong towers. The only gate in the walls led out onto the perhaps thirty-pace-wide dock area that ran the full length of the town along the bank, and opened out directly opposite a strong, wide bridge that marched out across the water to what must have been the Roman trade depot on the far bank.
Little remained of that place, barring ruined sheds and a torn and fallen stockade. Half a dozen large, grassy mounds bore silent witness to the death that had been dealt here. Looking at those burials in the knowledge that they were filled with mostly Roman civilians, but also housed a man with whom Fronto had argued affably over the availability of wine for half a decade, the legate of the Tenth felt a distinct pull toward retribution, his fingers reaching up to the ivory figurine of Nemesis at his neck and playing across the cold curves. While it would be better in almost all ways to resolve the war in Gaul peacefully, the Carnutes were now another matter. They could go hang for what they did here, and Fronto would happily knot the rope for them.
Images of Cita’s obstinate, argumentative face and his ample bulk swam through Fronto’s mind, and he found himself picturing that same face slashed across and mangled by blade and arrow. He realised that his teeth were clenched and his wrist tendons taut as he gripped his patron goddess tight for, unnoticed in his mind’s gallery, that face of Cita — murdered by the Carnutes — had morphed into that of poor young Crispus, brutally dispatched by the traitor Dumnorix of the Aedui two years hence.
His attention was dragged back by a sharp snap, and he realised with some vexation that he had gripped his beloved ivory Nemesis so tightly in his anger that he had snapped off her legs below the knees, such was the delicacy of the carving. He was still staring at the broken piece in his raw palm as he realised the officers were talking again.
‘We can seal them in easily enough,’ Plancus shrugged. ‘Ship a legion across the river somewhere upstream and out of sight and they can seal off the far end of the bridge. Then we surround them here. Starve them into submission.’
Caesar shook his head. ‘The theory is good, but we are now starting to feel the pinch of time, gentlemen. Vercingetorix does not tarry, I am sure, and a siege here will take too long. Cenabum is a hub for grain the same as Vellaunoduno, and their stores would permit them to withstand a siege for months. We need to secure this city fast. They will not submit the way the Senones did, for they know we will revenge ourselves upon them and they imagine that their tribe and the Arverni will come to save them. We must be quick and efficient.’
Rufio tapped his lip, musing. ‘So we cannot afford the time to besiege them, but we will lose a lot of men needlessly storming that heavy wall. Throwing away half a legion on their defences will not send the message of Roman strength that we need the Carnutes to witness. So, we draw them out, then?’
‘Precisely. But how?’
‘Fear,’ Fronto growled, peering at the city yet seeing only mangled Romans, his fingers rolling broken ivory.
‘What?’
‘Fear will draw them out. We set up the camps around the perimeter on the north bank as though we are prepared to besiege them. We start building large engines so that they know we mean business. We set up the artillery and fire-archers and start setting fire to the place, as though we don’t care about the grain inside. In fact, if we can set fire to a granary all the better. We do everything we can to terrify them, such that they are under no illusions that their time has come.’
Caesar nodded. ‘But they must already know that we will not give them quarter, so why would they leave the city?’
Fronto pointed down at the bridge. ‘Because that will be unguarded. They will have an escape route. We don’t need the whole city to flee. If just a few panic and try to bolt across the bridge, and we are ready for them, the city is ours.’
The general nodded his understanding. ‘Then we must be careful with our positioning. Fronto, you organise a force to keep watch from a hidden point on the far bank. Whether they run or not, I don’t want them to escape. The Tenth have the bridge. The other seven legions will encamp in a semi-circle around the city, setting up a cordon of pickets with torches by nightfall to ensure nothing leaves Cenabum. I want each officer here to begin dragging all their artillery into position and start constructing ladders, vineae and even a siege tower if we can source enough timber and hide. Frighten the life from the devils. And as soon as the archers and artillery are in place, I want a constant barrage, day and night, to keep them in a state of constant nervous tension. As soon as the city gates are secured, your men can stand down and rest. The rest of the legions will move in to clear the streets.’
Fronto nodded and cleared his throat. ‘Given the width and openness of the dock area, Caesar, we might want to deploy part of the legion there to prevent any flight by water.’
‘Very well,’ the general announced. ‘Have the army hold position until Fronto’s men cross the river.’
* * * * *
It was eerie. If there was one thing in the whole of the world that was not for Fronto, it was waterborne travel. The fact that the boat upon which he sat was moored and had not moved more than a few feet back and forth throughout the day did little to improve matters. He felt faintly ill and was well aware that his skin had its usual waxy grey sheen, despite being hidden by the darkness. He tried not to listen to the rhythmic slop, slop, slop of the water being compressed between the boat’s hull and the dockside, not to breathe in too deeply the smell of dead fish that lingered unpleasantly around the dock area.