Fronto smiled with actual, genuine relief. It was better than he could have hoped for. ‘What makes you think Ambiorix will come to you?’
‘He must, if he wishes to rule the Eburones. Currently his supporters number small bands of survivors from last winter’s war, while much of the surviving tribe are subject to my rule. My scouts tell me Ambiorix waits at this time on the Treveri, who rise once more against your general in the south, and then he will return to Eburone lands.’
‘And how do you intend to kill him? With the greatest of respect, he is much younger and stronger than you, and if it comes down to a clash of arms, he will not lead his small band against your larger one. He is not stupid enough for that.’
Again, Cativolcus chuckled. ‘One of the benefits of being old is that I have little left to lose. In fact, if it buys peace and security for my people, even my honour is for sale. I have a vial of poison so virulent that a single drop will kill. Ambiorix will parlay with me, as it is our right and duty as leaders of men. He will not walk away from that conversation.’
Fronto nodded slowly, surprised to find the old man so blasé on the use of poison. It seemed anathema to all the Gauls held dear to remove an opponent in such an underhand manner. Still, it suited Fronto perfectly.
‘I was about to offer our services in dealing with Ambiorix, but it sounds to me as though you already have things planned out better than I. I would dearly like to ask a few questions of Ambiorix before he dies, though. How fast will your poison work?’
The old man pursed his lips and removed a small earthenware container from his belt, peering at it in the low light. ‘That depends entirely upon the quantity. This brew is distilled from the yew tree in methods known only to the druids. It is extremely powerful, and - as I said - a single drop will kill. But slowly. For a quick death, much more must be administered. A single drop would suffice, though, and Ambiorix will linger for some time in exquisite agony. I have seen yew-juice taken before. He will shake like a wild horse, sweat like a running man and gasp like a throat-slashed one. He will have time to tell you what you need.’
‘And you have no problem with this interrogation?’
‘What care I how many of the rat’s secrets he spills to you. I care only for the security of my people.’
Fronto smiled and leaned forward, unfolding his arms and legs. ‘It would seem, king of the Eburones, that we have an understanding. We are in concord. Have you somewhere that we can stay while we await the inevitable arrival of your enemy?’
Cativolcus slouched into his chair. ‘Ullio will see to it. He sees to everything. Strange, the paths down which a man might tread, eh, Roman? That the Goddess deliver a Roman to me and he and I might find common purpose under my roof?’
Fronto smiled as he rose. ‘My own Goddess, Nemesis, had no small part in the process, I can assure you. Thank you for your time and your honesty, king of the Eburones. With the help of the Gods and our own strength, perhaps we can see a way through this to preserve the Eburones from the wrath of Rome and leave you as undisputed king with Caesar’s blessing.
Cativolcus once more smiled and waved Fronto away, closing his eyes and relaxing back into his seat. Fronto turned and gestured to the other three and they made their way back to the door. As they exited and Fronto closed the portal behind him, Palmatus whispered ‘Do you think we can trust him?’
‘He certainly seems to want Ambiorix out of the picture as much as we do,’ Fronto hissed back.
‘Beware just how far you trust,’ Masgava added, darkly.
‘What?’
‘He may have seemed resigned to his fate, but there were at least eight men on the floor above us in the dark, and I heard bow strings loosen as we left. One wrong word in there and we would have been pinned to the wall.’
Fronto nodded. ‘A king is allowed his protection. It’s expected, but to keep them hidden and secret is unusual, I’ll admit. You don’t think he was lying, and that Ambiorix is already here?’
Samognatos shook his head. ‘He was truthful on that account at least. And he has everything to gain and nothing to lose from Ambiorix’s death.’
‘Just remember that he might have other agendas too,’ added Palmatus.
The four men stepped out to rejoin the rest of the remaining singulares, Ullio standing ahead down the street a little.
‘The king would see us quartered for the night.’
Ullio nodded and gestured on down the path. Fronto turned to the others. ‘Well, we’re closer than ever. Ambiorix is lurking to the south, but is almost in our grasp. Let’s just hope Labienus can put the Treveri down first.’
Chapter Fourteen
Hillside in Treveri lands.
Andesaros of the Treveri brushed aside the stray braid that continually hovered on the periphery of his vision and sat on a wide, flat rock, peering down into the valley ahead. Behind him, his warbands took advantage of the pause in the journey to eat, drink, share jokes and boast about what they would do to the Romans when they had overwhelmed them.
Two small groups had broken off from the sizeable army and were making their way forward to him. One of his loyal bodyguards stepped close to him, putting a meaty hand on this hilt of his sword, but Andesaros waved him away negligently. It was only the other two chieftains come to interfere yet again. Besides, what use were these impressive bodyguards? They hadn’t done much to save his uncle’s life, after all. There was in fact every chance that this big man fondling his sword pommel was one of those who had attempted to claim Roman gold for Indutiomarus’ head. Andesaros had long-since decided to keep such men at a good distance, relying on his own solitude, wits and reflexes rather than the muscle of others.
‘Why have we stopped?’ snapped Dunohorix of the Mediomatrici, sliding from the back of his horse angrily. ‘Every hour we stop for something. You promised us Roman blood and Roman spoils!’
Behind him, also dismounting, Solemnis of the Tribocci was nodding his agreement. Solemnis was a weasel who simply agreed with whichever greater man stood next to him at the time, but Dunohorix was a necessity. Without him, the army would halve.
‘My scouts ride back at speed, see? I would know what spurs them to such pace before I walk into it.’
The Mediomatrici chieftain harrumphed, but fell silent and stood poised. Unity was needed and they all knew it. Soon, the tribes from across the Rhenus would join them, and their ranks would swell immensely, but the three chieftains would have to work in close consort or risk losing control of the army to the madmen of the Suevi and their battle-crazed allies. Once or twice, Andesaros had regretted accepting that lunatic Ambiorix’s advice and making pacts with the dogs from across the river. He had almost ten thousand men right now, with the elements of the other two tribes added to his own. He should be able to destroy that one legion easily without the aid of the Germanic lunatics, but Ambiorix had been cautious and talked him into a treaty that would seriously diminish potential spoils and glory, but would treble the size of his army. Whatever it took. His uncle would be avenged. This ‘Labienus’ - a womanish peace-lover’ they said - would pay for the dishonourable demise of Indutiomarus, beheaded in a ford by traitors with a lust for Roman coin.
‘How far are we from the legion?’ Solemnis asked, betraying what sounded like a hint of nerves to Andesaros.
‘Four hours,’ he replied calmly. ‘Across the river on a rise.’
The men fell silent once more, waiting as the four scouts galloped across the open grassland and up the slope towards the leaders of the army. Andesaros stood and smoothed his clothes, making sure his torc and arm rings were in clear view.
‘My lord,’ the lead scout greeted him, bowing his head in the saddle. The other three followed suit, breathing heavily from their ride.
‘What news do you bring me?’ he demanded of the men.
‘The crows gather, my lord.’ The scout gestured off to the west. ‘More legions approach, along with artillery, supply wagons and their traitorous Gaul allies
.’
Andesaros closed his eyes for a moment.
‘What now?’ demanded Solemnis of the Tribocci in a voice edged with panic.
‘Yes,’ sneered Dunohorix. ‘What now, leader of warriors?’
Andesaros sighed. ‘How far away are these new legions?’
‘A day, lord, maybe two.’
The chieftain pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘An estimate of numbers?’
‘Fifteen thousand at a guess, with support.’
‘Too many for us,’ Solemnis trembled.
‘Without the tribes beyond the Rhenus,’ nodded Dunohorix. How far away are your Germanic friends?’
‘Who can say? Who can ever predict the Suevi? They could be beyond that rise or still by the river.’ He sighed and straightened. ‘But the Romans do not know we are coming, so we are not pressed for time. We cannot run the risk of being overwhelmed, and we are still a good distance from the Roman camp, so we shall wait here for our allies before we commit.’ He gestured to the scouts. ‘Keep track of the Roman reinforcements, but send out men to the east and north. I want to know where the Suevi are and how soon they will be here.’
As the scouts nodded again and turned their mounts to carry out the orders, Dunohorix narrowed his eyes at Andesaros. ‘We could destroy the Romans and leave before their reinforcements arrive. And they might already be aware of us. They seem to know everything.’
‘Calm yourself,’ the Treveri’s new leader smiled. ‘With only a small advantage in numbers we could end up mired in a siege like my uncle did, and would then be at the mercy of their new legions. They do not know of us, my friend. I have men among the horse in their camp. I know their thoughts and moves before they do. We stay here, wait for the Suevi, and then we wipe this Labienus from the land forever.
* * * * *
‘I am giving serious thought to having you strapped into your cot,’ snapped Labienus, watching the grey face of Baculus as he stumped across the mud towards them.
‘I heard a commotion, sir. Horses too.’
Labienus nodded wearily. ‘Scouts have arrived with news.’
‘Important news. It sounds to me, sir, like you’re mobilising the legion for war.’
‘I am, Baculus. But I am not mobilising the hospital. Your presence will not be required.’
‘But…’
‘Stay here, centurion. That is an order which I will not see disobeyed.’
Baculus sagged, only partially intentionally. ‘The Treveri?’
‘Yes, centurion. The Treveri.’
‘I warned against leniency.’
‘Yes, thank you, Baculus. I stand by my decision. Because it failed in this instance does not necessarily make it the wrong decision.’
‘We can beat them?’ Baculus enquired, assuming this was the case, given the legion’s mobilisation.
‘I very much hope so, centurion. My spies in their camp tell me they are but fifteen miles from here and they outnumber us by perhaps two-to-one.’
‘Sounds like a dangerous option to me, sir,’ Baculus muttered.
‘It is an informed decision, centurion. My scouts also tell me that two legions - the Seventh under Plancus and the Ninth under Trebonius - are perhaps a matter of hours away to the west, but other scouts also tell me that a force of Germanic warriors that outnumber them are also hours away to the northeast. Thus it becomes something of a race. I am working on the assumption that the Germanic tribes are coming at the behest of the Treveri, and if I can remove those Treveri from this equation before they get here, I can perhaps prevent a bloodbath on a scale none of us really want to witness. I face twice my number now, or at best we end up besieged in camp by nightfall, with three legions against fifty thousand men - that’s at best. At the worst the Germans get here first and we end up trapped, with the other legions unable to reach us. You see? My decision is rather made for me. We march out to defeat the Treveri while we can and send out riders to the reinforcement legions to join us with all haste.’
Baculus nodded unhappily. ‘The odds are still not good. You would be better with a few veteran centurions among your number, sir.’
‘I have them, Baculus. Just get back to your cot and get better. You still look like the recently-excavated dead.’
Baculus shook his head miserably and turned, tottering a little, to head back towards his sick bed, listening to the sounds of the legion and their support and auxilia preparing for the march. The idea of them moving into battle without him was unbearable.
Labienus had better flatten the whole damn tribe this time.
* * * * *
Quadratus peered off into the distance, watching the hillside beyond the river, where several thousand Gallic warriors were encamped. They were perhaps half a mile away, with the deep, fast river cutting through the land half way between them, creating a dangerous barrier, with its steep slopes on both banks and the torrent at the bottom. Even though it was officially a ford, he wouldn’t want to try crossing it on foot, especially within range of the enemy. Any attempt to cross in sight of the opposition was doomed to heavy casualties, which was why both armies were arrayed within plain sight, and yet neither moved.
Around him, the army was still manoeuvring, preparing for battle. The legion had settled into cohorts in preparation, standing in ordered rows with gleaming mail and bright shields presented towards an enemy who showed no signs of movement. The auxiliary cavalry were in position, Quadratus among them, to one side and near the front of a field with a gentle slope the river, bounded by trees and scrub and a low rise behind.
Quadratus was nervous. From what he heard, there were many thousands of blood-hungry Suevi bearing down on them, and two legions somewhere close by. Labienus had sent riders out to the Seventh and Ninth and Quadratus has assumed the others were to join them here for the attack. And yet there had been no sign of the reinforcements, though they’d had ample time to meet up. Had they been directed to the camp instead, in case the Suevi hit there while the army was absent? He had asked Labienus, but the commander had simply smiled knowingly and tapped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial manner as was his wont.
‘I don’t like this.’
The cavalry decurion close by frowned. ‘Sir?’
‘We’re outnumbered and our reinforcements have disappeared into thin air. Half the Germanic nations are descending on us and we prepare for battle here. The Treveri won’t attack across that river. They’d have to be insane to try it. So what do we do? Sit here and wait until the Suevi arrive to carve us into small pieces?’
The decurion nodded nervously.
‘And this terrain?’ Quadratus grumbled. ‘Facing the river on a slope towards the enemy, but with the hill and the woods at our rear. It’s almost as though Labienus is trying to sacrifice us all.’
‘The commander always knows what he’s doing, sir.’
‘I certainly hope so. We’ve been here over an hour. If the Treveri were going to attack, they’d have done so by now, while we were still manoeuvring into position and setting up. With the Suevi closing every moment, the situation is getting untenable. We’re going to have to decamp soon and return to the fort, else we’ll be butchered here.’
‘Here he comes, sir.’
Quadratus straightened as he saw Labienus walking his horse forward to where the cavalry sat on the periphery of the army. ‘Sir,’ he saluted as the senior commander approached.
‘What do you think?’ Labienus asked, his voice clear and unshaken.
Quadratus could almost have kicked the man. To display apparent indecision in front of the ordinary soldiers was never a good move for morale, but in front of the native horse, it could lead to mass desertion.
‘Sir?’
‘What do you think? I am thinking that they will not come for us?’
Quadratus, teeth grinding, nodded. ‘Could have told you that earlier, sir. They have no reason to. Our reinforcements are nowhere to be seen, but the Suevi cannot be more than an hour or two away. All the Tre
veri have to do is sit tight on that hill and watch us die.’
Labienus took a deep breath and turned it into a sigh. ‘I am beginning to think you are right. We are endangering ourselves with every breath we wait here. Time to return to the fort and hope the other legions join us before the Treveri and their Germanic allies.’
He raised his hand in defeat.
‘Very well, give the orders. We fall back.’
Quadratus, his eyes burning with irritation, nodded and began to give the orders. As his signifers, musicians and decurions relayed the commands, Labienus waved to him.
‘Walk with me, Quadratus.’
The cavalry prefect walked his horse forward as the commander began to amble gently back across the field, the legions already responding to signals and turning, marching back across the slope towards the rise and the woods, beyond which, at some fourteen miles distance, lay their fort. What a disastrous waste of effort. Quadratus could almost scream with frustration.
‘You disapprove of my decisions, prefect?’
‘Never, sir.’ Yes… yes I do!
‘And despite having served under my command for more than a season, you do not think to question why I push for such pointless advances only to abandon my position and retreat without forcing the issue?’
‘Sir?’
‘Quadratus, I never do anything uninformed or without serious contemplation of all possible results first. Unfortunately, I cannot always make my intentions clear, even to such as yourself.’
Quadratus frowned again as they approached the rear edge of the field, where the army was already moving away from the river, across the ridge and back towards the fort.
‘Respectfully, sir, if you’re going to metaphorically pull a dove out of my arse, I would appreciate enough warning to metaphorically drop my underwear first.’
Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow Page 33