‘And you two?’ the king said, gesturing at Cavarinos and Critognatos. ‘Take a couple of thousand of the best warriors you have and make at all speed for Avaricon. Help the weak Bituriges shore up their defences and prepare for Caesar. You will have plenty of time, since the Romans will be delayed by Novioduno. Hold Avaricon, whatever you do, and when we have the Aedui we will come for Caesar. If the gods are with us, we will grind the Romans to dust before its walls.’
Cavarinos looked across at his brother, whose eyes had begun to twinkle with that lust for combat that seemed to drive him above all. He sighed. After the fall of Vellaunoduno he had felt lucky to have got away without taking part in a brutal siege alongside his idiot brother. And now here he was being given a second chance. Wonderful.
‘What of the curse?’ he said quietly. ‘The army should know of it.’
‘They will soon enough. But let us finish building that army first.’
Cavarinos’ fingers crept unbidden to the leather bag at his belt which contained the tablet of Ogmios, and he chided himself for it as he realised.
Men and steel… that was what won wars.
Avaricon, then, would be the first true test of Caesar’s strength and, if things went right, his last, too.
Chapter 7
Northern lands of the Bituriges.
The oppidum of Novioduno was perhaps the oddest Fronto had seen in his time in Gaul. Less than four hundred paces across — little more than an overgrown village, really — Novioduno nestled defensively in a fork in the river, the landward approach obstructed by a canal linking the two waterways and effectively turning the place into an island, reachable only via its northern or southern bridges. Within this artificial island, the narrower, shallower channel to the north was further bolstered by a semi-circular earthwork, which contained the inhabited area and whose ends butted up against the bank of the southern channel.
Had there been a high wall of the usual form, with towers and a strong garrison atop it, the place might have posed something of a problem for the Roman forces. However, instead of the heavy timber-and-stone rampart system endemic of Gallic oppida, this place had apparently been considered so protected by nature that, barring the canal and the earthwork, the Bituriges’ only further concession to protection was a palisade fence of ageing timber.
Likely in their centuries-long disputes with their neighbouring tribes, the water and the fence had been more than adequate to keep them safe until other Bituriges could come to their aid. But then their ancient tribal enemies had not been armed with scorpions, ballistae, onagers and all the paraphernalia of the Roman army.
As the Roman column had appeared over the horizon, the inhabitants had made a spirited attempt to seal themselves off, succeeding in bringing down the bridge over the narrow northern river and turning the only method of access there into a pile of kindling — a move that had clarified the tribe’s true allegiance as far as the Roman command were concerned. Their attempts on the southern bridge, however, had been less successful, being interrupted by the cavalry vanguard of Caesar’s army before the bridge fell and being forced to retreat within the walls.
There had been a brief confab between the officers and the consensus had been that full siege works would be a waste of time and resources, given the meagre defences of the place. And so the Romans had crossed the twin rivers with ease some half mile upstream where they had become narrow and easily fordable, leaving three legions on the northern bank and one between the two channels, taking four more to the south where the remaining bridge stood. It had been argued that a single cohort could rush the gate across the bridge and crack open Novioduno like a nut, but the risk of significant losses had decided the matter. As the army set up its cordon around the town, not even bothering to raise a mound or dig a ditch, the four southern legions brought their siege engines across the fords, positioned them on appropriate flat areas of ground and, without pause, began to loose their missiles across the river and over the low palisade into the narrow streets of Novioduno. It took less than half an hour for the array of engines to find their aim and begin the systematic destruction of the place from a safe distance.
It had taken a further quarter hour for the dreadful honking — like a skein of geese trapped in a copper pipe and being slowly squeezed to death — to wail out from the city and announce the desire for parlay. Fronto had stood with his teeth gritted, listening to the horrible racket and contemplating that if ever there was a true and just cause for the invasion of Gaul, if had been to rid humanity of the inhuman sound of the carnyx. In answer to the defenders, Caesar had ordered a temporary ceasefire from the artillery barrage.
Now, as Fronto stood with the other staff and senior officers at the southern end of the bridge, Caesar looking as imperious as ever on his white horse, the gate in that palisade opened, wobbling a little from where its left-hand jamb had caught a stray rock during range-finding. A party of half a dozen well-dressed men emerged and strode manfully across the bridge in an impressive show of fearlessness, given the number of scorpions that followed their every move, training foot-long iron-tipped bolts on them as they approached.
The lead figure paused on the bridge and gave a curt bow from the waist, quickly straightening and rattling out a stream of words in his native tongue. Caesar glanced at one of the auxiliary cavalry officers — a noble of the Ambarri — sitting ahorse nearby, and nodded. The man cleared his throat and gave a brief summary of the local’s words.
‘The magistrate of this oppidum asks that Caesar remembers the Bituriges’ oath and their longstanding alliance and would ask that he spare his people, who have made no war upon Rome.’
Fronto snorted derisively, but held his tongue as Caesar responded in a clear, commanding tone.
’We are on a somewhat pressing schedule and cannot spare the time to adequately impress upon the Bituriges of Novioduno how disappointed we are that they have chosen to ignore the oath of which the magistrate speaks and instead send aid and warriors to the renegade Vercingetorix.’ He paused for the cavalry officer to translate his words, and then continued. ‘Consider yourselves fortunate indeed that we are so pressed for time and that I am a generous, merciful man, lest I decide to tarry long enough to leave your oppidum a pile of smoking rubble and corpses.’
Another pause, and Fronto was not surprised to note the look of worry that slid onto the magistrate’s face, and the uncomfortable shuffling of his companions.
‘Here are my terms. Due to your recent tendencies towards rebellion, my men will enter your town and impound every weapon they find, denying you the ability to supply further warriors to the enemy. All horses will be confiscated to prevent you sending riders to his aid. And finally, thirty hostages of your highest noble families will accompany a century of my veterans back to Agedincum, where they will remain until this rebellion is put down and I am satisfied. If there is further trouble from the Bituriges of this town, those thirty will be clapped in irons and transported to Rome for sale in the slave market. Do you understand?’
There was a pause for translation, and then a brief heated discussion between the locals before the magistrate nodded his unhappy acceptance of the terms. Fronto watched the man with a frown. He had almost been ready to refuse, despite the blatant mortal danger in which they stood.
Caesar nodded at him, and Fronto gestured to his primus pilus, who stood at the front of the Tenth nearby.
‘Carbo? Take two centuries of men and empty that place of weapons and horses.’
* * * * *
Lucterius of the Cadurci felt his heart sink as the three scouts who rode ahead of his cavalry force — which had kept up an almost dangerous breakneck pace all the way from Gorgobina — reined in by a stand of three elm trees and waved the signal for the column to halt. A sense of foreboding settling on him, the relief force’s commander picked up speed and raced up the gentle slope to the trees.