‘Well, Lucius Minucius Basilus, commander of whatever-you-said, have you any idea what you just did?’
‘Put the fear of the Gods into the Eburones?’ he said, weakly, it coming out more as a question than the proud statement he’d intended.
‘No, no, no,’ Fronto said, his brow lowering as he wagged the forefinger of his free hand in admonishment. ‘No, Basilus. What you have just done is ruined a month of my work, disrupted my hunt, laid waste to a settlement that was about to declare loyalty to Caesar and, prize of all your blunders this morning, spooked the traitor king Ambiorix into flight!’
Basilus felt panic set in and his stomach churned unpleasantly. He urinated a little.
‘Sir?’
‘Ambiorix was here. In my sights. In a matter of hours he would have been in my hands and spilling every secret he knew about rebellions in Gaul, while his brother king helped bring the Eburones back into the arms of Rome as an ally. Instead, you and your men blundered in from the forest and Ambiorix turned tail and fled, or so Ullio tells me.’
‘Ullio?’
‘The Eburone who has played host to my men and I in our sojourn here.’ Fronto thumbed a gesture towards a furious local, who was fiddling with the point of a wicked-looking knife. ‘Ullio could possibly track the villain, though he might be disinclined to try, given what YOU HAVE JUST DONE TO HIS KINSMEN!’ The spray of spittle that accompanied this last hoarse shout spattered across Basilus’ face and his bladder finally gave in and let go.
Fronto rolled his eyes and pushed the man aside.
‘Galronus, you’re now in charge of this debacle. Try and rein the men in and halt the madness. Take this piddling little moron with you and try and keep him out of trouble. I’m going to see Cativolcus and find out if there’s any way we can salvage anything from this.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Palmatus said quietly, emerging from the king’s house and shaking his head. ‘The king’s bodyguard are all dead and he appears to have taken the yew-poison meant for Ambiorix.’
Fronto reached up and cradled his forehead in his free hand.
‘Today just gets better and better.’ He gestured at Basilus with his sword. ‘Get out of my sight and do whatever Galronus tells you. If I see you again today, I might just gut you myself.’
He turned to Ullio as Galronus led the disconsolate, leaking commander away.
‘I cannot adequately express my regret for what happened here, Ullio. Hopefully we can halt the damage before it becomes absolute. I would like to lay the blame at Basilus’ feet, but for all his lunacy, he was acting on the general’s orders, and Caesar is unaware of what we know. I suspect the only hope for your tribe’s peace just evaporated.’
Ullio nodded. ‘There is now one undisputed king of the Eburones, and while many might not approve of him, while he has druids on his side, no one is going to challenge him. Perhaps if he were to meet his end, one of my lord Cativolcus’ kin would step in to rule us.’
‘I know I have no right to ask this of you, Ullio, especially after what just happened, but is there any way I can persuade you to helping us track Ambiorix down?’
The hunter sagged. ‘Ask me again later, after we have attended to the dead and the wounded and I have had my fill of beer. And,’ he cast an evil look at the retreating form of Basilus, ‘after I have looked for my sister-son and learned whether he and his family are alive.’
‘Would you like help?’
Ullio shook his head and turned, walking away down the street. Over the top of the chaos, the sound of Galronus’ call to muster outside the walls rang from a dozen horns.
‘Disaster,’ muttered Fronto.
‘So close,’ added Masgava. ‘We should get going and see if we can pick up his trail.’
Fronto shook his head and rubbed his thumping temple. ‘We stand virtually no chance in these woods. Our best hope is that Ullio will help us. He knows these lands like no other, but he must have today to recover and mourn before we consider trying to follow.’
‘What will happen to Basilus,’ asked Palmatus quietly.
Fronto felt the thumping head worsen. ‘Knowing Caesar, he’ll probably get a bloody decoration!’
Behind him, Aurelius peered off into the forest with a mixture of resignation and fear and made the signs to ward off evil.
* * * * *
Caesar rubbed tired eyes, sagging in his campaign chair as the officers assembled on the low grassy bank beside the Rhenus. The past few days had not been good for the general. Half a week it had taken to bridge the great river - a speed and efficiency that had stunned even those who achieved it. The bridge was every bit as strong and wide and powerful as the one they had both built and dismantled upriver a few years ago, and this one was planned to stay, at least until the season ended.
As soon as the bridge was complete, Caesar had marched across it with his officers and the Tenth Legion’s First Cohort and met with the local Ubii leaders, who had gathered there, curious to ask the general why he had once more bridged their river.
The Ubii had confirmed that the Suevi had retreated into their great forest, skirmishing with the locals as they passed, likely frustrated at being cheated of battle, victory and spoils to the south. They had also assured Caesar that Ambiorix had not crossed the Rhenus anywhere in their territory or that of their allies. Caesar had drawn from them renewed oaths and the promise that if Ambiorix appeared anywhere in their lands they would send the general his head. All had seemed to be to the good, especially when that same day the advance scouts of Labienus’ army had arrived from the south, the rest of the three legions and the baggage hoving into view during the afternoon.
Then things had begun to decline.
Caesar had avowed his intent to move into the great forest of the Suevi and chastise them for thinking to invade Roman-protected lands, but the Ubii had made their own signs against evil and had warned Caesar in fearful voices not to pursue the Suevi into the great forest of Baceni.
The general had sneered at their superstitious attitude and announced that he held no fear of Gods-protected Germanic forests. If the domain of Arduenna held no fear for him, then neither would this forest. The Ubii had shaken their heads and intimated that this had nothing to do with Gods, as the Suevi believed only in blood, death, meat and what they could touch and see. The Baceni forest, they said, was a place haunted by evil things and even the Ubii who lived within its shadow would not go beneath its canopy willingly.
Scoffing, Caesar had dismissed the Ubii and taken three of his legions into the woods, along with a few cavalry scouts and the senior staff. Priscus had seen nothing to suggest the presence of spirits or monsters among the twisted, densely-packed boles of the forest, but something about the oppressive darkness of the woodland and the constant cracks and scuttles of wildlife made it… eerie in some way. The men of the legions had certainly shown their colours beneath its unhallowed boughs, every soldier clutching his luck charm or divine pendant, uttering prayers in an almost constant stream.
When they had come across a wooden frame some twenty feet long, decorated with the disembowelled and charred bodies of the Suevi’s latest victims, the general uneasiness among the soldiery had blossomed into genuine fear.
And yet still, even a day’s march into the forest, there had been no sign of the Suevi or their settlements. That morning, Caesar had called Priscus and Antonius to his tent, pitched in the widest space between the trees, and had admitted to feeling exceedingly unwell. He had not slept during the night and had become pale and drawn, vomiting up anything he attempted to consume.
That morning, only an hour from camp, the general had passed out in the saddle and only the quick reflexes of Aulus Ingenuus had prevented a bad fall. A brief confab between the officers had resulted in the decision to abandon the Suevi to their endless forest and to turn back to the Rhenus. Even Priscus, wishing to buy Fronto as much time as he could, had been grateful when the general, barely able to lift his head, had finally nodded his a
ssent to their recommendation.
The army had managed to return from the forest in half the time it had taken to push within - a testament to the intense desire among the men to be away from its oppressive darkness and evils.
Rumours were rife among the men that the Suevi had somehow cursed the general and that he had succumbed to the evils of the Baceni forest. Caesar, too weak to walk among the men, tried to assure them that he had succumbed only to a perfectly natural fever brought on by exhaustion and the damp, unhealthy conditions of the lands they had recently traversed. The medicus had confirmed this diagnosis, assuring the officers and men that in a matter of days Caesar would return to full health, and the fact that many of the men were suffering from some form of fever or foot-rot supported the announcement, but soldiers will be soldiers, and they will always be superstitious.
Now, back at the Rhenus, the general was still too weak to walk for long or move among the men, and his colour was still lacking, but his appetite had begun to return, and he had picked at a plain meal that morning. Some of the sparkle had also returned to his eye.
Now, as the staff assembled, he looked almost eager.
‘Ah good,’ he said in a tired but enthusiastic voice. ‘Is everyone here?’
Priscus nodded and Antonius went to help as Caesar struggled from his seat, but the general waved his assistance away and stood, swaying slightly for a moment.
‘I am returning to health, gentlemen.’
A slight stagger forced him to grip his chair and force himself upright again.
‘I intend to begin moving into the Arduenna forest on the morrow, but I have been thinking about our position. It seems to be the opinion of natives, officers and scouts alike that the great forest is not suitable terrain for the army to move in its traditional form, with horse, baggage carts and artillery.’
Nods all round.
‘And the continued threat of the Suevi, who remain unchastised, must not be underestimated.’
More nods. No one wanted to move against the Eburones with the possibility of the Germanic peoples following on their heel.
‘This crossing point must therefore be defended against incursions. I intend to garrison the area against continued threat.’ He peered around the officers assembled and his gaze settled on a man in the uniform of a senior tribune. Priscus recognised him vaguely as a long-standing tribune of the Ninth. ‘Volcatius Tullus?’
The officer, perhaps in his mid to late twenties, neat haired and clean shaven with an old white-line scar that ran from one ear across his cheek and dented his nose, stepped forward. ‘General?’
‘Tullus. You held that fort in Lusitania for me for weeks against improbable odds. Care to repeat your success?’
The tribune bowed his head with a smile, and Priscus frowned. He didn’t know the man particularly, but he had vivid memories of that campaign, only two years before they first came to Gaul, and the stories of the siege of Centum Cellas had been blood-curdling. That this young, fresh faced officer had been the man commanding that fortress seemed ridiculous, and yet it was clearly the case. Priscus found himself looking at the tribune with a great deal of respect.
‘I am giving you a vexillatory command of twelve cohorts, drawn from across all the legions, auxiliaries and cavalry present. Dismantle the far end of the bridge and use the materials to fortify the structure. This will be your base of operations, but I would advise further fortlets along the river for perhaps thirty miles in each direction. Spread out your men. If the Suevi come, you will have a hard fight, but history tells me you will be up to the task.’
Tullus nodded his head again. ‘If I may, Caesar, why not simply dismantle the whole bridge?’
‘Because, Tullus, when I have dealt with the Eburones and their rat-holed king, I may decide to return to the Suevi issue, and then I will need the bridge.’
Again, Tullus nodded.
‘Very well,’ Caesar paused a moment, wincing as his strength began to falter, seeping out with such an unaccustomed long period on his feet. ‘Basilus is priming the lands of the Eburones for our coming. Tullus will protect our back from the Germanic tribes. Cicero? You will take command of the Fourteenth Legion, the artillery, and the baggage train. Take them downriver and then west past the deeper forest. We are only a matter of days away from the site of Sabinus and Cotta’s camp where Ambiorix won his great victory. I will have you reoccupy the camp, make use of the existing fortifications and create new ones. That place is a symbol of Ambiorix’s success, but you are a symbol of ours. You are the legate he and his men could not overcome. You will keep all our baggage safe there as a symbol that Rome can come back from any misfortune and will not bow our heads to barbarian power.’
Cicero’s expression momentarily faltered, displaying his disappointment at being given such a quiet, inglorious command, but he hid it well and bowed his acceptance.
‘You will also take the wounded of all legions with you. They will be better off with the baggage train than defending the Rhenus against Suevi or hacking their way through the deep forest.’
Again, Cicero saluted.
‘Labienus?’ the general asked, and then smiled as the hero of the Treveri war stepped forward. ‘You will take the Tenth, the Eleventh and the newly-raised Fifteenth, pushing ahead of Cicero downriver, but you will then move into the Arduenna forest from the north, seeking Ambiorix, and razing, killing and burning everything in your path.’
Labienus saluted, the distaste at this policy of burning the land sitting badly with him. Ignoring his expression, Caesar gestured to Trebonius.
‘You will take the Ninth, the Twelfth and the Thirteenth to the south, where the Condrusi and Segni lie. You will then push into the great forest from the south. Your orders are the same. Hunt, kill, burn.’
Trebonius saluted.
‘I will take veteran legions only - the First, the Seventh and the Eighth - and move at a forced march to the Sambre, where we will press into the forest from the west. The three forces will scour the forest and squeeze Ambiorix between us until we have him. It must be a quick campaign, though. To have all our legions out of touch beneath the great forest is tactically dangerous, so we will all return by the kalends of Quintilis, meeting at Cicero’s camp. By my reckoning that should give us near two weeks to move into the forest and find the recalcitrant king, allowing Cicero a week to reach camp and then a further week to put things in order, provide extra fortifications, annexes, hospital complexes and the like.’
He sank back gratefully into his chair.
‘Additionally, couriers and scouts will spread word of an offer. The Eburones have a history of violence like few others among the Belgae, and consequently many old enemies. Each and every tribe in the region is to be given free license to raid and kill among the Eburones with Rome’s blessing. Any tribe that offers information on Ambiorix that proves useful will be rewarded and relieved of their troop supply obligations for the next season. The Eburones will remember this season as the day their Gods abandoned them.’
He smiled and his smile was tired, but cold and dangerous.
‘This matter will be brought to a close within the month. Ambiorix’s time is up, as is that of his tribe. Are there any questions or comments?’
The officers shook their heads in silence. Caesar’s plan was well-founded and timed to a tee. If the army ever stood a chance of rooting out Ambiorix, this would be it.
Priscus cleared his throat. ‘While you’re all burning and scything your way through the forest, remember to be on the lookout for Fronto and his men. They are still in there somewhere - to the south at the last mention.’
Caesar and Antonius nodded their agreement.
‘Very well,’ the general said. ‘Brief your men and prepare for the off. We will end this Belgic campaigning season early, by the kalends of Quintilis, and then decide whether to press on against the Suevi’
Priscus could not help but picture Fronto and his small band, somewhere deep in that forest as the mig
ht of Rome began to squeeze from all sides. He threw up a quick glance to the heavens and formed a mental image of the lady Fortuna.
‘You’ve always looked after him,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t stop now.’
Chapter Sixteen
By the Rhenus River, a day’s march north of the confluence with the Mosella.
‘Fabulous timing!’ Gaius Volcatius Tullus grumbled as he hurriedly strapped on his cuirass with the help of his body slave. The waiting tribune, drawn from the Thirteenth among the cohorts that had remained by the great river, was clearly nervous about rousing his commanding officer, and with good reason. Tullus knew from bitter experience that a defensive position in daily danger of siege by a vastly numerically-superior army could hardly be allowed any leeway in their lives. He knew his reputation was already that of a martinet, and he was aware of some of the names the men had assigned to him, but he also knew that, should the worst happen and the entire Germanic race cross the river in force, the only chance they stood was with rock-hard discipline.
‘I do not believe they are here to challenge us sir.’
‘Clearly not, tribune. Had they intended violence, they would likely have battered you with rocks and not words. Still, the fact remains that it has been mere days and the fortifications are far from ready. I care not what they wish to discuss, I would rather do it from a position of utmost security, sure that we can hold them off if things turn ugly. You say they are Ubii?’
‘They say they are, sir.’
Tullus nodded and followed the tribune out of his command tent, across the muddy, busy camp, filled with work parties and men coming off duty, even at this early hour. Past the duty centurion, who saluted sharply and gestured his men out of the way, along the timber structure - one of the strongest, most stable bridges Tullus had seen constructed in a single campaign, and testament to the skill of Caesar’s engineers. The far end of the bridge had been torn up, only the stumps of the piles rising like wooden fangs from the swift torrent, and a gap of some hundred paces lay between the jagged timber bridge-end with its hastily constructed palisade of stakes and planks and the grassy bank upon which stood the ambassadors, for such Tullus had to assume they were.
Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow Page 37