The Belgae

by S. J. A. Turney

  Once again, the line of the Belgae bulged, this time in three places. Lucilius rubbed his chin reflectively. They’d get one more charge or maybe two before the barbarians decided they couldn’t take it any more and broke formation.

  “Again, but quicker!”

  This time, he stayed on the lower reach of the slope and observed from a distance. The Belgae had best attack soon anyway. They only had enough javelins for probably three more volleys.

  He watched with satisfaction as the same manoeuvre produced the same result: hundreds of dead warriors and bloodthirsty pushing and shoving as the Belgae nobles fought to prevent their tribesmen running after the Roman horsemen. With a grin he surveyed the ground near the enemy line while his troopers returned. The repeated charges had churned up the wet grass leaving slick and dangerous mud. That should be helpful. A cavalry trooper would be much more stable in that mess than a foot soldier.

  He smiled at the officers as they steered the mounts with their knees and readied for another charge.

  “They’re ready to break. A dozen or so followed you last time. But I don’t want them following right across the field. Same drill again, but this time, when you’ve released the volley, retreat fifty yards, form up for action and draw swords.”

  The officers saluted and relayed the orders to their men.

  With the fourth charge, Lucilius accompanied the cavalry once more. The charge reached the churned mud, the horses whinnied to a halt, the javelins arced out, and the Belgae, with a deafening roar, broke their line and ran forward waving spears, swords and axes. As ordered, the cavalry pulled out of reach and formed up to await the onslaught.

  Clearly, the barbarian warriors had broken the orders of their chieftains. The boar-head standards and horns and the shining golden helmets of the few visible noblemen remained tightly in position. But hundreds had been unable to contain their rage any longer and had run forwards.

  As they ran, screaming, Lucilius watched with great interest, bordering on mirth. The warriors reached the churned mire left by the hooves of the Roman cavalry and many slid, tripped or fell. As they climbed to their feet, they were forced to move slowly and painfully through the thick, sucking mud, hauling their feet out and then sinking them back with a squelch. The entire bloodthirsty attack had slowed to an embarrassing plod.

  “Take them.”

  The men to either side walked their horses forward and began to swing with their longer cavalry blades, arcing like bloody scythes left and right, maiming and killed the desperate Belgae wherever they found them. It was a massacre, plain and simple; a harvest of living bodies.

  Lucilius watched as the barbarian attack dissolved into simple butchery. Within a couple of minutes the only Belgae who were left standing were the lucky few at the rear of the attack who were now fleeing the field back to their own line as quickly as the mud allowed. A few of the more eager troopers were advancing to take the stragglers.

  “Call for regroup!” Lucilius shouted.

  The cornu rang out a moment later and the troopers wheeled their horses and returned to their alae. With a satisfied smile, Lucilius calculated the numbers. He could assume at least a hundred dead from each of the four javelin volleys, and at least a couple of hundred more here in the mud. Six hundred Belgae dead at a very conservative estimate.

  He laughed out loud as he surveyed the muddy mess.

  For eight Romans. Now that was going to please the general. Mars be praised, it certainly please Lucilius.

  “Sound the withdrawal. There won’t be any more barbarian pushes for a while now. Time to head back to camp and report.”

  A decurion nearby laughed.

  “And maybe we can resupply with javelins and have another go!”

  As the cavalry reached the top of the slope, Lucilius smiled in surprise and saluted. Varus returned the gesture and eyed the returning cavalry with a raised eyebrow.

  “Had fun, Lucilius? Looks like you hardly got dirty?”

  “We’ve given them a fairly bloody lip, sir. I’ll tell you all about it on the way back.”

  Varus nodded as the two cavalry forces fell into formation together and began the trek back to Caesar’s camp.

  It was hours later when the third cavalry group finally came into sight of the main gate. Varus leaned over the parapet where he’d been waiting anxiously for word of his men and waved at the lieutenant.

  “What did you find?” he asked, eyeing with interest the tired but apparently undamaged cavalry force as they slowed to a walk.

  “Nothing, sir” the prefect reported, sighing. “We’ve been miles and miles and miles. No sign of anything. Just in case, I sent one ala off with orders to do a sweep over a ten mile radius beyond where we were, but if there’s more Belgae coming, they’re at least a day away.”

  “Did you have a more exciting time, sir?”

  Varus laughed.

  “It’s been a good day. We’ve dented the Belgae and confirmed we’re safe from reinforcements as yet. Get yourselves into camp and rest. I need to inform the general.”

  Chapter 8

  (Caesar’s camp by the Aisne River.)

  “Lilia (Lit. ‘Lilies’): defensive pits three feet deep with a sharpened stake at the bottom, disguised with undergrowth, to hamper attackers.”

  Fronto grumbled under his breath and leaned forward over the table, fixing Caesar with a steady gaze. As so often happened, the other officers in the room had melted into the background, trying to blend in with the tent leather in an attempt not to become involved in the argument.

  “But it’s a waste to play a defensive action now. We need to press the advantage we have!”

  The general glowered at his senior legate. His brow had furrowed and he had become quite pale; a sign that he was deeply angry and reaching the end of his tether.

  “We don’t have an advantage, Fronto. They outnumber us about five to one. Only an idiot charges into those odds!”

  The legate’s rumble rose to a steady growl and he barked back at his commander.

  “It’s five to one now! Wait until you’ve faffed for a while building walls and shuffling the legions around and you could find it’s ten to one. The advantage I’m talking about is that is not more than five to one! We should strike while the iron’s lukewarm!”

  Caesar’s eyelid flickered alarmingly. Tetricus, standing behind Fronto, could see the warning signs in the general’s demeanour, though Fronto apparently either couldn’t tell or didn’t care. Either way, this had to stop. Tetricus stepped forward to intervene, but the two arguing commanders ignored him.

  “Fronto, I put up with your astounding insolence because you really are one of the best legionary commanders Rome has to offer, but I’m rapidly reaching breaking point with you. There will come a time when you are more trouble than you’re worth.” He snarled. “Pray it’s not today!”

  “You…” Fronto drew a deep breath, ready to launch into a tirade. Tetricus reached out and grasped his shoulder, hauling him to the side and defusing the building stress in the man by slapping him so hard on the back he was momentarily winded.

  “Caesar,” the young tribune said calmly. “I believe we can put together very adequate defences in a few hours. I propose a compromise. Fronto may well be correct in his estimate that the Belgae will only get stronger, but I also see the wisdom in being as prepared as possible.”

  He glanced sideways at Fronto, who was staring angrily at him.

  “All we need is something we can fall back into if we run into serious trouble. Instead of fully enclosing stockades and gates, towers and so on, which would take more than a day, I propose this:”

  He leaned on the table where Fronto had previously been and drew an imaginary map of the terrain with his finger.

  “We’re sort of on a loop in the river here. In front of us is a nice flat area where we can marshal the troops. All we need is one good defence across it… say a nice deep and wide trench with just two or three causeways crossing it. Might even
put some lilia in place.”

  Caesar shook his head.

  “That’s not enough. If the Belgae come in force, they’ll just swarm over it. I will not allow my army to be destroyed in detail after all I’ve achieved.”

  Tetricus shrugged.

  “Once the ditch is there, and I think we can have a nice deep ditch that crosses the flat ground from riverbank to riverbank in about five hours, we can look at raising a palisade perhaps. More than that, if we install a small fort at each end of the ditch, we can have a nice crossfire of missiles in the middle.”

  Balbus stepped forward from the shadows around the edge of the tent.

  “He’s right, general. If we put our artillery in emplacements at either end there won’t be an inch of flat land that’s out of range of a shot. Once that’s done, we can look at the possibility of marching on the Belgae, but we know we’ll have a good safe line to fall back to.”

  Caesar rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his impressive nose.

  “Alright. I will concede to a reduction in the planned defences, but I have no intention in engaging in combat until we are clear that the advantage is ours and there is no viable alternative.”

  He turned to Tetricus.

  “You seem to be full of ideas, tribune. Gather your engineers and get to work.”

  As Tetricus saluted and made for the exit, the general regarded his legates.

  “I want every spare man working on this to get the defences as tight as possible and as fast as possible. While that’s happening, have your artillery from each legion taken to the left and right of the proposed site, so that they’re ready to move into place as soon as the platforms are ready.”

  He gestured at the door and the officers saluted, nodded and filed out.

  “And the cavalry, Caesar?”

  The general looked up to see Varus hovering in the doorway.

  “Form your men on the plain in front of the works. The entire infantry is going to be occupied with the construction, so the cavalry are the main defence against any sudden assault.”

  Varus nodded professionally, though Fronto noted the brief flash of disapproval on the man’s face.

  The general turned to the only figure remaining in his headquarters tent.

  “And you? Just get out of my sight!”

  Fronto saluted half-heartedly and muttered under his breath “gladly!”

  As he allowed the tent flap to drop back into position, he breathed deeply of the air outside the headquarters and then strode across the grass to where Labienus and three other members of the senior staff stood in deep conversation.

  Fronto wandered up and stood next to Labienus.

  “Maybe we should just go attack them anyway.”

  Labienus raised his eyes to the sky.

  “Fronto, your mouth is going to open too wide and swallow the rest of your head one day. I swear it must already have swallowed your brain. Crassus can get away with talking to Caesar like that, because he’s richer and his daddy is so important.”

  He gestured up and down at Fronto.

  “But you? Your command is all you really have. Don’t mess it up.”

  There was a chorus of nods from the others and Labienus laughed weakly.

  “I, for one, don’t relish the thought of fighting the rest of this campaign without your help.”

  Fronto kicked at the turf.

  “We need to persuade Caesar to attack; we can’t wait until every barbarian north of the Alps is gathered together against us. He’s too worried about how this all looks at home and not worried enough about what might happen right here.”

  Labienus shrugged.

  “Problem is, even if we could persuade him to attack, the ground around here is just not good for a battle. I couldn’t even begin to decide how to go about it.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “I know. Can’t just take an assault to them because of the marsh. Not enough room either side of the marsh to take seven legions without stringing them all out and making it simple for the Belgae. Can’t lure them onto the plain in front of the fort, cos they’ll not come. They’re just waiting and growing in numbers. The only option would be to actually decamp and move to see if we can find somewhere that’s less defensive.”

  He frowned.

  “Why did Caesar choose somewhere like this? There was never any hope of conducting a proper battle here. It’s a place just made for defence.”

  Labienus shrugged.

  “Maybe Caesar never intended to fight here?”

  Fronto slapped his head in irritation.

  “That’s it. Should have realised the old bastard had something up his sleeve.”

  He realised the others were looking at him in expectation.

  “He’s waiting for something. He’s not bothered about the growing strength of the Belgae. Only an idiot would wait while they got stronger… unless he’s waiting for something more important, and whatever it is must be important enough that he thinks it’ll make this battle either easy or unnecessary.”

  With a smiled, he patted Labienus on the shoulder.

  “I’m going to find out what it is.”

  The senior staff officer grasped Fronto by the shoulder.

  “Be careful and deferential. If you go blundering in there with accusations and demands you’re going to find yourself shipped off back to Rome by the end of the day.”

  Fronto smiled.

  “I wouldn’t go. You all need me too much.”

  Labienus raised his eyes skywards again as the legate turned and strode back towards Caesar’s tent. Without knocking or calling out, he lifted the flap and entered. The general was still sitting behind his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose as though suffering from a powerful headache. Caesar looked up at the sudden intrusion.

  “What is the name of Venus do you think you’re doing, Fronto?”

  The legate smiled what he hoped was a disarming smile, actually the one his sister always said made him look constipated.

  “Alright, Caesar. I’ve worked it out. I know you’re waiting for something, but we really need to know what. Your officers are quite capable of planning actions both offensive and defensive, but if we don’t know what’s going on, we can’t plan for anything.”

  Caesar narrowed his eyes, and Fronto continued.

  “Look, I don’t know what the secrecy is about, but I can tell you that just wandering along as though you haven’t a care in the world, settling in behind fortifications while the population of the northern world gathers nearby is just going to make you look either indecisive or cowardly.”

  Caesar’s eyes flashed dangerously.

  “I’m not saying that’s what you are, general, but that’s what people are going to think. If, as I assume, you have a good reason for waiting here, you need to tell people what it is.”

  The general shook his head.

  “I cannot afford to have certain things become common knowledge ahead of time, Fronto. My army is riddled with treacherous Romans trying to undermine me and Gallic sympathisers who leak information to the Belgae. I trust most of my officers, but this incident with Paetus has just made me question how far that trust can really be extended.”

  Caesar sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

  “You, Fronto, are the most insolent, arrogant and obstinate man in my army. And don’t think I haven’t contemplated sending you back, many times…”

  He leaned forward.

  “After all, no commander, no matter how clever he is, is worth the trouble we have to put up with from you. But that’s only half of it. There is hardly an officer in my army I can trust fully. All of them have some political game going on at some level… except you. And that’s why I can’t have you arguing with me and gainsaying me in front of the others. I need them to know you’re with me and to understand why I don’t send you home.”

  Fronto shrugged.

  “If that’s the case then at least confide in me. You know damn well I�
��m not going to go shouting your plans to the Belgae or sending letters to the senate.”

  He laughed.

  “Hell, I never even get round to sending a letter to my sister!”

  Caesar sat back again, thoughtfully.

  “The reason, Fronto, that I was getting so damned angry with you just now, is that you already know the answer to this! And you are the only person in the whole army that does already know. Focus, man. What could I be waiting for?”

  Fronto blinked.

  “What?”

  “The Aedui” Caesar said with a sigh. “Divitiacus and his tribesmen are busy hacking and burning their way through the lands of the Bellovaci. They’re closing on our position as we speak.”

  Fronto grinned.

  “Caught between two armies. Now I see what’s happening. You want to hold off until the Aedui are close and you can pin them and crush them in one fell swoop!”

  Caesar sighed.

  “When will you realise that I’m not completely helpless, Fronto?”

  * * * * *

  Fronto stood on the causeway with Tetricus and Priscus, peering up and down the defensive trench that cut a line across the flat ground before the fort, just under a mile away. The shadow in the trench was dark and deep as the sun sank quickly now toward the western horizon.

  “Are we really going to hole up here and wait for the Belgae to get stronger?” Priscus grumbled. “You may have had your fun at Bibrax, but my lads are itching to kick a few Belgae.”

  Fronto smiled.

  “I’m sure you’ll get the chance shortly. Caesar’s got something up his sleeve. Just be patient.”

  Once more he shaded his eyes and examined Tetricus’ handiwork. The ditch was wide enough to roll a cart back and forth across the bottom and deep enough that a man could break his leg if he fell. It really was impressive for only a few hours work. Now, men were working on the inner side shaping a rampart from the excavated earth and planting a palisade atop it. On the berm between the mound and the ditch, men in small groups worked to dig and disguise lilia. At each end of the fortification, a small but heavily defensible fortlet protected artillery platforms onto which the ballistae and onagers were now being manoeuvred. All in all it was impressive. Probably unnecessary, given the approaching Aedui force, but then only he and Caesar knew that.