The Belgae

by S. J. A. Turney

  The last few words came out as a growl and Plancus flinched.

  “Sir, we came as fast as I deemed sensible. Troops who are tired from running cannot fight as well on the field.”

  The general stared at him.

  “You left us all to die because you wanted your men well rested? Get out of my sight, Plancus, and be grateful I’m not sending you home.”

  * * * * *

  Baculus sighed and lay back on the sheet that was his temporary resting place. There had not been enough time to construct even a makeshift hospital and the wounded were being treated on carts where there was room and the ground elsewhere. Blankets and sheets from the medical supplies had been draped over the clear portions of grass at the top of the southern slope and here lay those soldiers who had now been dealt with by the medical staff, but were too wounded to return to duty.

  “What the hell?” a voice asked suddenly to his left.

  He blinked and turned his head painfully. Legate Fronto of the Tenth was rubbing his head with his right arm.

  “Where am I?”

  Baculus smiled.

  “With the wounded heroes, legate.”

  Fronto turned and tried to focus on him.

  “Baculus, yes? From the Twelfth?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Looks like they really did a job on you.”

  Baculus laughed and then winced.

  “You too.”

  Fronto nodded as best he could.

  “So does this mean it’s over? We won?”

  The centurion smiled.

  “Pretty much. There were still a lot of them when I was taken away, but they were dying in droves by then.”

  “Good.” The legate sighed and tried, unsuccessfully, to move his left arm. “I suppose this serves me right for asking why the Belgae were all pushovers!”

  Baculus rubbed his eye.

  “You might want to leave that arm alone, sir. I heard the doc talking. He’s only fifty-fifty that you’ll ever use it again and prodding and moving it probably won’t help.”

  “Layabouts!” a voice cut across them.

  They both craned painfully to look down past their feet at the source of the voice. Priscus stood in front of them shaking his head.

  “Thought I’d best update you on the situation.”

  Fronto nodded as best he could manage.

  “Go on.”

  “We lost about seven hundred men. Not done a full head count yet, but that’s a good estimate. Among them were five centurions, three optios, a signifer and one of the tribunes.”

  Fronto sighed.

  “Not good.”

  “It gets worse,” Priscus said, his voice dark. “Velius has gone. Not found him yet, but we’re searching the bodies and we’re not hopeful.”

  “Where are the lads now?”

  “I’ve got some of them looting the enemy camp with the other legions. The rest are either collecting the bodies or herding the few prisoners we took. There aren’t very many… maybe five thousand, all told. They fought to the death.”

  Fronto sighed again and Baculus frowned.

  “I don’t suppose you know of the Twelfth’s status.”

  Priscus nodded sombrely.

  “Unfortunately, yes. They’ve already turned in a headcount. Your numbers are down to nine hundred and twelve, including officers. Only three centurions made it, and seven optios.”

  Baculus collapsed back to the floor.

  “This was a total bloody shambles.”

  “Could be worse,” Priscus sighed. “The outriders spotted scouts from the Aduatuci. They were only an hour away, and there were thousands more of them. They’ve turned round and run back to their own lands.”

  “Good,” Fronto grumbled. “I’m rapidly getting sick of the Belgae.”

  * * * * *

  Paetus cowered and shrank back amongst the Belgic warriors being herded like cattle between the trees and back toward the partially-constructed camp. Dozens of warriors, along with their druid, had left the field and disappeared into the woodland with a view to escaping the battle and finding somewhere they could recuperate before returning to their home. Paetus had gone with them. What else could he do?

  All the way through those dark woods he had been deciding how best to deal with this. If he stayed with the Belgae, they would skin him alive when they reached safety; indeed, he was surprised they’d left him this long. But on his own, he’d not survive long either. The other option, to return to the army and deny any knowledge of what had happened, would be difficult to achieve convincingly. Plus it would leave that taste of bile in his throat.

  But all his deliberation had been a waste of effort, for the moment they broke cover from the woods, Varus and a cavalry unit had them surrounded. Paetus had wondered what the druid intended to do about it, but somehow the man had vanished before the cavalry sprung their trap.

  And now here he was. It was a testament to how much he’d changed in recent days that the cavalry had herded him along without a second glance, assuming him to be one of the enemy. Things had fallen apart once more for him, and yet he was still alive; and as long as he was alive, that fiery thirst for revenge deep in his heart would continue to drive him.

  Chapter 18

  (Battlefield by the Selle River)

  “Kalends: the first day of the Roman month, based on the new moon with the ‘nones’ being the half moon around the 5th-7th of the month and the ‘ides’ being the full moon around the 13th-15th.”

  “Haruspex (pl. Haruspices): A religious official who confirms the will of the Gods through signs and by inspecting the entrails of animals.”

  In the hastily-erected headquarters tent, Caesar leaned forward and cradled his fingers.

  “Are we going to have to spend the next few months repeatedly pacifying every Belgic tribe that still has a complaint against us? I was under the impression that the Belgae’s alliance would collapse if we broke the back of the Nervii?”

  Galronus of the Remi shook his head gently.

  “Nervii, Atrebates and Viromandui are greatest of Belgic tribes…” He paused, and looked a little saddened to Fronto. “Were greatest. And you destroy them. There is hardly man left who can fight; just women, children, old men. They not come to seek peace, for they broken and frightened, but you nothing to fear from them.”

  He pointed at the map on the wall.

  “Now all of Belgae will take Rome as friend… except Aduatuci. You understand why?”

  Sabinus, sitting to one side of the table, nodded.

  “I think I understand. The Aduatuci are the last proud Belgae. They know that we are aware of their part in this, and they believe that we will not seek peace, yes?”

  Fronto shook his head.

  “It’s more than that. The Aduatuci will shun the Belgae now and join the Germanic tribes. They descend from German blood and are as much German as they are Belgae. You’ve eliminated all the Belgic resistance now and I think you can safely say that The Belgae are tamed. You can arrange terms and so on, but the Aduatuci will join with the Germans instead. Problem is: we need to deal with them before they get that chance.”

  Caesar shook his head.

  “The Aduatuci have abandoned all the forts between here and their home. They’ve retreated to their oppidum. It makes no great matter whether they call themselves Belgae or German, or even Samnite or Greek. The fact remains that they are in no position to resist us now and they know it. Given enough time to see the hopelessness of their position, they will fall before us and ask for peace.”

  Fronto glanced across at Galronus who was shaking his head.

  “I don’t think so, Caesar.”

  “What?”

  Fronto tried to heave himself out of his chair, but he was still too weak from the battle and, with only one working arm, he just didn’t have the strength or the leverage. He sighed.

  “If the Aduatuci consider themselves basically a Germanic tribe and so do the Germans, there’s
a good chance that they will ally with the tribes across the Rhine against us. The Germans have had a problem with us since last year, and I can’t see the Aduatuci having to do much prodding to push those tribes into open war again.”

  He looked around the room at the number of officers currently displaying wounds.

  “And, given the fact that we just got the living snot kicked out of us and are operating very much below strength, we really can’t afford to have another Ariovistus pop up and decide that Rome’s getting too close to the Rhine again. If they rose against us, there’s still time for them to come west before winter.”

  Caesar frowned.

  “A worrying possibility, I will concede.”

  Fronto shook his head.

  “It’s very simple. We’ve got to get to the Aduatuci and take them out of the picture before they involve the Germans.”

  The general stood for a time, tapping his finger on his lower lip and finally nodded.

  “Agreed. I was hoping this war was finally over, but we have to finish it before it becomes a German matter.”

  He looked around at the officers under his command.

  “Labienus? I need you to take a force from the army. Not a full legion, as we may need them, but enough cohorts from wherever they can be spared to make half a legion, along with a few scouts and cavalry. Procillus and Mettius, I want you with him. The three of you, with a reasonable force, need to find and deal with the remnants of the Nervii and their allies. Send scouts out to every major oppidum of the Belgae and tell them Caesar calls their leaders to council at…” He paused and examined the map again.

  “Nemetocenna is the main oppidum of the Atrebates and very much at the heart of the resisting area so far. Call all the tribes to a council at Nemetocenna by the kalends of September. I am taking the rest of the army as soon as things are settled here to deal with the Aduatuci and we shall aim to return by then.”

  Labienus frowned.

  “Caesar, is it not more important that you are here to deal with the politics of victory? Any number of us can take the battle to the Aduatuci.”

  The general shook his head.

  “I have defeated, or allied with, all of the main tribes of the Belgae. When I return to Cisalpine Gaul and then Rome for the winter, I will have it known that Caesar has defeated the greatest of all the peoples of the north. My political enemies will be forced to acknowledge this. How will it look if I leave things incomplete and one of my subordinates fights the final battle for me?”

  He looked around the room. Fronto tried very hard to become invisible, as he was sure his face would betray his own opinions on the matter.

  “No. I will finish this myself. Labienus, you will send out your scouts and then take your force along with most of the baggage train and all of the wounded and journey to Nemetocenna. When you arrive you will impose Roman law on the oppidum. You will construct not just a temporary camp, but a fortress like those we built in Spain, with defences, high walls and buildings within, rather than tents. Given the location of Nemetocenna at the heart of the Belgae, I want you to make a statement.”

  He smiled that hollow and humourless smile once again.

  “And, when I return, I shall bring either the head of the Aduatuci, or the head of the head of the Aduatuci!”

  He waved his hand dismissively.

  “Go about your business, gentlemen. Every healthy man will be forming up under either Labienus or myself and leaving first thing in the morning. Labienus? I will leave you to deal with the post-battle matters. I need to plan.”

  The officers hurried out of the tent, Fronto moving as fast as he could to avoid being waylaid by the general. Outside, just out of audible range of the tent, Labienus was grumbling.

  “What’s up?”

  “Too much to do with too few men. I think we need our own planning meeting.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the various officers marching away down the hill.

  “All officers to assemble in the remains of the Nervian camp opposite in ten minutes. Be there, or I’ll find you!”

  Fronto laughed.

  “Don’t know what you’re giggling about” grumbled the staff officer. “You’re coming too.”

  Labienus looked around at the expectant faces of the officers. The walk across the battlefield had not been a pleasant one. Many of the bodies still lay where they had fallen, including some Romans. Here, beyond the opposite ridge, the camp of the Nervii had been cleared of corpses when the men had looted it, but there was still an acrid and sickly-sweet smell that didn’t bear too much thinking about.

  However, not only was this sufficiently far away from the headquarters for them to be undisturbed by the general, it was also away from where the men were busy clearing up the worst of the mess.

  “Alright, tell me what the situation is. First of all, what’s our total count of healthy regulars?”

  Sabinus shrugged and opened the wax tablets he’d brought with him.

  “I can break it down for you, but the grand total is now sixteen thousand men fit for active duty out of a strength on paper of almost thirty six thousand.”

  Labienus shook his head despairingly.

  “Gods! I know we were already under strength to start with, but that means we lost roughly half the army this morning!”

  Sabinus nodded silently. Every officer had been keeping himself occupied so as not to think too much on the numbers.

  “There are so many dead, along with the auxilia,” Rufus noted quietly, “that they’re being separated into four groups for burning and burial to make it easier for digging the ditches and raising the mounds.”

  Sabinus straightened.

  “Alright then. I’ll take around three thousand of the men. I’ll draw five centuries from each of the six stronger legions and take the entire Twelfth.” He looked up at Galba. “I’m not meaning to take any glory away from you, my friend, but I rather believe that your men will appreciate the rest.”

  The stocky legate nodded.

  “I agree entirely. But will you need three thousand? There should be no armies left to raise in the west.”

  Labienus nodded.

  “Caesar probably hasn’t thought it all out yet, but we’ll have ninety per cent of the wagon train to guard, as he’ll be wanting to travel fast and light. We’ll have all of the wounded, which is a lot, to look after. He wants us to impose ourselves on Nemetocenna, which would be hard to do with a handful of men. He wants us to build a sizeable fortress…”

  He suddenly stopped and tapped his temple.

  “That means I’ll need some good engineers.”

  Fronto smiled.

  “I can provide them for you.”

  “Good. And, of course, there’ll be prisoners to guard and booty to transport. To be honest, I think three thousand men’s stretching things a little thin.”

  The group went silent again.

  “How long til the legions have cleared away the bodies and buried everyone?”

  Fronto shrugged and almost bit through his tongue at the horrifying pain in his arm.

  “A few more hours. My lads are moving through the Roman dead like a swarm of locusts, looking for our training centurion.”

  Sabinus raised an eyebrow.

  “Velius?”

  Fronto nodded. Not been seen since we pushed into the Atrebates. I suspect he’ll be found shortly.

  “Sad.”

  The officers all lowered their gaze and eventually Labienus sighed and took a deep breath.

  “Very well. Prisoners. How many have we taken today, and how many do we have in total?”

  Crispus stepped forward from where he’d been hovering on the periphery.

  “I’m not at all sure how many we had originally. The moment we left Samarobriva, Caesar had the walking wounded and some of the Gallic levies escort the prisoners back to Vesontio. I expect they are already on the way to the slave markets in Rome.”

  Labienus nodded.

  “So now
?”

  “Now we have around six and a half thousand prisoners; a mixture of Viromandui, Atrebates and Nervii. Mostly Viromandui, though, since the others fought almost to extinction. Varus captured the command party, by the looks of it. He found the head man of the Nervii trying to sneak away through the woods along with some of his warriors.”

  Labienus laughed.

  “Good. That should lend some weight to our demands when we get to Nemetocenna.”

  Fronto cleared his throat.

  “Be prepared to carry out the peace on your own while Caesar carries out the war. I’ve seen the maps and I know these Belgae and their sieges. I can’t see a chance in hell of the general being back before at least the nones of September, if not the ides.”

  Labienus smiled.

  “Then I’ll have to delegate some of it to you.”

  “Me?” Fronto shook his head.

  “Yes, you. You’re wounded and with only one working arm. You get to go with us.”

  Fronto grinned.

  “If you think for one minute a broken arm is keeping me out of battle to sit and be talked to death by dozens of native chieftains, you've got another thing coming!"

  * * * * *

  Fronto stood impatiently watching his tent being erected. His furniture, such as it was, lay close by, waiting to be positioned inside. He’d stopped them removing it all from the cart, though. Just the cot and a chair. It was hardly worth moving any more since the whole army would be departing at first light in one direction or the other and everything would have to be taken down and stowed in around ten hours.

  Sabinus, given the task of overseeing the camp’s creation in the absence of the trained and experienced camp prefect Paetus, strode across the open ground and watched with interest as the leather tent panels were fastened together and stretched across the wooden frame.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

  Fronto turned and raised an eyebrow. He realised he was absent-mindedly rubbing his bad arm again. How the hell could he not even waggle it slightly? It was obviously still alive, or it wouldn’t hurt so bloody much.