Ingenuus saluted, tearing his eyes from the new recruits back to the huge map on the wall, where they picked out the names of the known tribes north of Narbo. There seemed to him to be an awful lot of them between Roman territory and the Arverni, not to mention apparently a range of mountains.
He muttered a silent prayer to Minerva as he bowed his acquiescence to the proconsul.
Chapter 2
The Bituriges oppidum of Avaricon (Modern Bourges)
Vercingetorix stretched and scratched his chin thoughtfully, keen eyes peering out into the chilly, damp morning. ‘What is the word from the scouts?’
Vergasillaunus rubbed tired eyes, but his expression was full of alertness and energy as he dragged his gaze from the oppidum in front of them and across to his cousin and ruler.
‘It seems that we have them sealed in tight.’
‘With the exception of the riders.’
Vergasillaunus nodded and Critognatos, who stood with his usual glower, curled a sneering lip. ‘You were foolish to let those horsemen go.’
The two cousins turned their gaze on the third chieftain present. ‘Everything I do is for a reason, Critognatos,’ the Arverni king said calmly, his smooth voice given counterpoint by the crows that filled the trees above the camp and cawed out their displeasure at this intrusion into their world.
‘Your reasoning baffles me, Vercingetorix. Those riders were sent to seek aid for the Bituriges before we had them trapped. We could have had this place sealed up tighter than a Roman’s arse and the populace in a panic, but because you let them get past, the men of Avaricon simply sit smug and await the arrival of the Aedui to save them.’
Vergasillaunus grinned. ‘You think the Aedui will rush to their aid?’
‘Of course they will. And it’s been two days now. I’m surprised they’re not here already, trying to stick spears in us. The Bituriges owe their allegiance to the Aedui, and they’re all oathbound to Rome. We’ve a strong army here, but it won’t be when we get trapped between the walls of Avaricon and the Aedui rescue force and ground like meal in a grindstone.’
Vercingetorix peered across at the oppidum, rising from the mist that concealed unpleasant, sucking death. He and his sizeable force had encamped on a hill to the east of the Bituriges’ capital with a view across the intervening shallow valley. The Biturige oppidum was well positioned on a hill situated within the confluence of two rivers which spread out and meandered to turn much of the surrounding landscape into marshland that was effectively uncrossable by an army. Nature had given Avaricon superb defences, and the Bituriges had augmented them with powerful walls and towers surrounding the hill and the settlement upon it. It was said that the granaries of Avaricon were so full and rich that the city would live a year without a fresh harvest. The only true access for an attacking army was this one: from the hill where they now stood, down into the valley and back up the other side, where they would dash themselves to pieces on the heavy walls while the Bituriges dropped rocks on them. It was a siege that no commander would wish to undertake, and Vercingetorix had no more wish to throw his army on those walls than any other general.
And so the bulk of the Gallic army had settled here, on the damp slope, sending out forays to set up small camps and patrols in a circuit around the place and make sure no further defenders managed to sneak out between the swamps and marshes. The riders’ escape had been part of the plan, but now isolation and uncertainty were required among the Bituriges within those walls. They had to be primed ready for the surprise the Arverni leader had in store.
With the enduring patience he saved for his more outspoken and imprudent chieftains, Vercingetorix turned to Critognatos again and smiled reassuringly. ‘There is little chance of that happening, my friend.’ He was beginning to have concerns over the wisdom of putting such a potentially unstable man in command of one of the army’s component forces, but Critognatos was popular with the older warriors and there was no denying his bravery or skill in battle. If only he would think a little harder before speaking or acting. ‘We are not here for battle, however it may appear. Even if we were successful and with negligible losses, the attack would be futile. We need the Bituriges with us, not strewn across the hillside, festering in the cold air and awaiting the carrion feeders.’
‘And you do that by allowing them extra support from those Rome-loving arseholes the Aedui?’
Vergasillaunus glanced at his cousin and saw the leader of the army counting silently under his breath, trying to keep his irritation contained. Perhaps they should have kept Cavarinos here. The soft-spoken young chief seemed to have the knack of keeping his brother under better control, for all their constant low-level argument. Since he had been gone, Critognatos had become ever more vocal and difficult. Before his cousin could lose his temper, Vergasillaunus leaned closer.
‘Our task is to bring all the tribes to us before the spring. That includes the Aedui, and they are a difficult proposition, so we take a lesson from the Romans who are experts at this. We play tribes and kings off against each other in the game of power and politics. And if we have planned our moves right, just as Caesar uses tribes to subdue one another without a drop of Roman blood spilled, we will bring all these tribes to our side without the need to take a sword to any of them.’
Critognatos’ sneer jacked up a notch as he put a thumb to his nostril and blew out a wad of snot, bringing sharp looks of disapproval from his companions. ‘I still don’t see how trebling their numbers and trapping us against their walls will achieve that.’
Vergasillaunus opened his mouth to answer but Vercingetorix, finally losing his patience, stepped forward. ‘Just trust us instead of all this constant complaint and gainsaying. We have planned this entire campaign down to the last thread, and within the next few days the Bituriges will be ours without a blow delivered. Have you not even an inkling as to what is happening?’
‘We’re sitting here and waiting.’
‘I mean as to where your brother has gone, for instance?’
Critognatos shook his head, showing no sign of inquisitiveness at all — was the man that unimaginative? ‘Probably rutting with some boy in a field somewhere.’
‘Gah!’ Turning his back on the stocky chieftain from Nemossos, the commander of the army and soon to be King of all the tribes strode off away from the irritating noble, his cousin pacing along at his side.
‘I am starting to worry over timing, mind, cousin,’ Vergasillaunus muttered quietly, eying the vast encampment as they walked and noting the signs of tension and ennui here and there. ‘He was right that they have had long enough.’
Vercingetorix looked across at his second-in-command. ‘All proceeds as planned, I am sure.’
A crow above echoed his word with a croak.
‘I hope so. We pin much upon one traitor and one kinsman. And I had thought they would be here by now. Half this army or more will be thinking along the same lines as Critognatos. He may be a borderline lunatic and short on imagination, but he is a good yardstick with which to measure the mood of the army.’
‘The traitor will do as we commanded. And if by some miracle he does not, Cavarinos can be trusted to put things back on track. Our friend may have only half the battle-skill of his brother, but he received more than his share of the brains. However the traitor plans to achieve his goal, be sure Cavarinos will keep things right, and we have our part of the plan in place.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ The two men turned their gaze back upon Avaricon, seething in a sea of miasmic fug. ‘I want them on our side, cousin. I would pay a good gold torc just to see Caesar’s face if he has to take this city from us.’