The Belgae

by S. J. A. Turney

  He sighed and turned back to the view ahead.

  “Juno, what happened here?”

  Labienus stared at the dip beyond the ridge. To the left was the forest they’d been skirting for the last hour and which had given rise to his fantasies of tree-dwelling Belgae. To the right: a wide shallow bowl that had played host to a large camp; perhaps as large as the Belgae’s camp where Rufus had massacred the warriors of the Atrebates.

  Rough tents and shelters formed from logs, branches and ferns formed the bulk of the camp, with burnt-out grey campfires dotted around, the whole thing arrayed around a central complex of buildings; presumably a local farm.

  But the camp was not the issue.

  The camp was not empty.

  “Juno, Dis and Nemesis!”

  The bodies lay so thick in places that they were piled on top of one another. For a moment he worried for his safety, the words of the tribune echoing through his mind. No, he was in no danger. Nothing down there was alive. Taking a deep breath, preparing for whatever fresh horror lay ahead, he walked his horse down the slope and into the depression.

  He had barely reached the edge of the distressing sight when he was forced to pull his tunic up over his nose to try and block out the smell. These bodies were fresh; fresher than those of the army back at the river yesterday. They’d died during the night.

  In fact, as he walked his horse slowly and carefully in among the piles of the dead, he realised that some of the fires were still smouldering slightly. They had only been untended a few hours, but now the rain was finishing them off.

  So many bodies. More than at the battlefield. Many more. So many dead. And…

  He drew a deep breath and fought back a tear that threatened to run down his cheek. Not a single warrior among them. Not a man between the age of twelve and sixty. Mostly women and children. Girls of five or six years old, covered in their own blood. Gutted.

  He became aware of shouting behind him. Turning, he realised the tribune had brought a dozen cavalry over the slope. Of course he had. His commander had gone off on his own.

  “Sir!”

  Labienus turned, his face ashen, and slowly walked his horse between the fires and the bodies, back to the riders who sat waiting for him, staring at the macabre array.

  “What happened here sir? The Aduatuci you think? Did they come here and do this?”

  Labienus shook his head.

  “What is wrong with these people? With this world?”

  “Sir?” The tribune looked genuinely confused.

  “No one did this to them, tribune. They did it to themselves.”

  He stared at the piles again.

  “Brother killing sister, father killing daughter. Must be well over a hundred thousand of them here. More…”

  The tribune shook his head, his mouth open.

  “Because of us?”

  Labienus nodded.

  “Us and stupidity. They heard they’d lost. And our reputation among the Celts is not the most savoury. They’d probably been told we would come and rape and murder them. This is defiance, after a fashion.”

  The tribune frowned.

  “What do we do, sir?”

  Labienus wiped the trickling rain from his brow.

  “We’re civilised men, tribune. What would you expect us to do?”

  The man stared for a moment and then, nodding, turned to the trooper behind him.

  “Get back to the column. Tell them to take an hour’s rest and have the centurions form up three centuries for burial detail. These civilians need a proper tumulus.”

  The trooper saluted and turned to ride back over the crest to the army.

  Labienus sighed and fished into the pocket of his breeches. His face taking on a slightly bleaker appearance still, he withdrew Paetus’ signet ring.

  “What a reputation we’re building for ourselves, eh Lucius?”

  With a deeper sigh, he looked down sadly at the item in his hand and dropped easily from his horse. A grim expression on his face, he strode over to the nearest pile of corpses and stared down at it.

  Crouching, he located the body of a young girl and sadly, rolled her over on the pile of people; likely her family. Her throat had been cut. Possibly, looking at the jagged mess, she’d even done it herself. The blood had soaked into the bodies beneath and her face was now alabaster white.

  Reaching out he stroked her hair. She would be about the same age as his own daughter. Ignoring the tear on his cheek and biting his lip, he reached for her hand unfolded the fingers, turned it palm-up and dropped Paetus’ ring into it. Smiling sadly, he gently but firmly pushed the fingers closed on the ring and patted her on the cheek.

  “We’re not all monsters, girl. One day your people will realise that. If there are any of you left.”

  He stood, took a deep and heavy breath, and set his teeth together. Vaulting onto his horse, he walked it back up the slope.

  “Come on. We have a job to do.”

  As he passed the centurions leading the burial parties back over the slope, he gritted his teeth and glared down at them.

  “With respect. And no looting!”

  The centurion, clearly surprised, saluted.

  “Yessir!”

  As Labienus rode back to the column, he finally felt a little peace descending on him. He’d not had his heart in this particular task. He’d envied those men riding off to chastise the Aduatuci, but not now. Now his purpose was really clear for the first time. Now he had a reason. He had to bring peace at whatever cost. He had to bring the Gauls and the Belgae into the fold. Not for Caesar; not even for Rome. For themselves. What happened here must never happen again.

  “Never again.”

  He ignored the look of surprise his apropos-of-nothing comment raised from the tribunes.

  No… never again.

  Chapter 19

  (On the plain before the oppidum of Aduatuca)

  “Laqueus: a garrotte usually used by gladiators to restrain an opponent’s arm, but also occasionally used to cause death by strangulation.”

  Crispus frowned.

  “I cannot decide whether they have a very ego-centric world-view or merely no imagination.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “I see what you mean. The Aduatuci who live in Aduatuca.”

  Crispus laughed.

  “No… they have no name for their town. I am informed by our Remi friends that they just call it ‘home’. Aduatuca is a name others have given to it, for ease of description.”

  Fronto frowned.

  “So they believe themselves to be the centre of the world? That’s a little big-headed isn’t it?”

  Another light laugh from Crispus.

  “Whereas our ‘Mare Nostrum’ shows no such weakness in character, eh?”

  Fronto frowned blankly at him and then gave up, shrugged, and turned back to examine the oppidum they had travelled so many days to find.

  Aduatuca, as the Belgae had named it, was a plateau with only one truly accessible side. The town stood atop cliffs and rocks that were jagged and uneven, and would make most siege techniques difficult. The remaining option would be to march directly up the one shallow slope, which was perhaps a hundred yards across, and assault the impressively-constructed double walls, crowned with piles of heavy stones with which to crush any attackers, and surrounded by sharpened stakes jutting from the ground and the walls like a bristling and deadly beard.

  The legions had been hot on the trail of the Aduatuci ever since they’d left the Selle River and marched east but, no matter that the Romans had stripped out the slowest part of the army and travelled only with fast and healthy troops, the Aduatuci had simply travelled like the wind, managing to easily stay ahead of Caesar and almost taunting him. And now the Roman army assembled in units on the plain in sight of the oppidum but out of range.

  Fronto sighed.

  “Ah well. Best go see what the general has in mind.”

  Crispus nodded and the two legates strode off
to join the staff, who were gathering at the front with their commander. Caesar was rubbing his temples irritably.

  “Alright, gentlemen. It’s quite simple. I may have underestimated the time to get here and deal with the enemy and so we need to deal with this fast. I want to be at Nemetocenna by the kalends of September for the meeting of the tribes.”

  Sabinus shook his head.

  “Sir, rushing these things is asking for trouble. Every time we’ve rushed a siege so far we’ve failed and taken heavy losses. Labienus can argue your position, especially with the diplomats you sent. You need to concentrate on this. Take Aduatuca with as few risks and losses as possible.”

  Fronto nodded. “The legions are severely depleted.”

  Behind him he heard the familiar nasal whine that announced Plancus was winding himself up to say something stupid.

  “They’re right, sir. Think of how expensive it will already be to restore the manpower of the legions. It will cost a fortune, sir.”

  Fronto frowned. To think of the men of the legions in terms of a mere commodity irritated him on both professional and personal levels. But the man had added to their point and any angle that might make Caesar careful should be attacked. The general frowned.

  “So what do you all suggest? Talk to me.”

  Fronto cleared his throat.

  “Can’t assault that slope. Remember Noviodunum? I’ll bet Plancus does. We could take the gates, but it would cost us a quarter of the army doing it, and that’s too high a price to pay.”

  “So you expect our men to climb the cliffs, Fronto?”

  The legate shrugged.

  “I’m just warning you off a really dangerous attack. What you need is Tetricus. He’ll have ideas.”

  “Then get him.” Caesar continued to rub his temple, wincing.

  As Fronto turned and strode back to the ranks of the Tenth, he pondered on his patron. The more time he spent with Caesar, the less he liked him. The man had always had his vicious side, certainly, which had shown on several occasions during the Spanish campaign, but he seemed to be getting worse. Indeed, his mood, his health and his judgment all seemed to have declined over the last year or more.

  Perhaps life would be easier if he left Caesar’s clientele and found someone else? It wasn’t like he needed the money or the political leg up. He served with Caesar, as he always had, because the general often left him alone to do his job and he could soldier on in his own way. Maybe Pompey would have use for him?

  He shook his head. He was Caesar’s man. So the general was going through a bad patch. A man who changed his allegiance for ease and comfort was… well wasn’t Fronto. Besides, he knew he was a moderating influence on the general and, without him, how many good men would die in fruitless pursuit of glory?

  Tetricus smiled as he approached.

  “Had a feeling you might be sending for me, sir.”

  Fronto smiled.

  “Get your thinking head on. Caesar’s in a hurry as usual, but I don’t want to lose too many men.”

  “Yes,” the tribune smiled. “Already had some thoughts.”

  The two men turned and strode toward the command unit when a shout suddenly went up. Squinting into the distance, they began to run as they saw a flood of men pouring down the slope from the gate of the oppidum. Calls went up from the various cornicens and the legions tightened formation into solid shield walls, waiting for the order to attack. Fronto and Tetricus veered off and made a beeline for the staff who were now pulling back between the legions to a position of safety at the rear.

  As they reached the group of officers, Fronto frowned.

  “There’s only a few thousand of them. What can they possibly hope to achieve in open battle?”

  Caesar smiled.

  “It matters not. The legions will obliterate them and then we will besiege their town.”

  Fronto remained unconvinced and, as the command party reached a small rise where they could observe events, he studied the enemy warriors pouring across the turf towards them. This was no ordinary Belgic attack. These men were unarmoured and carried only spears; moreover, they were forming into what looked like a phalanx.

  “General?”

  “Hmm?” Caesar turned to look at him.

  “Something’s up. This is too stupid to be true, and I don’t believe they’re idiots.”

  The general sighed.

  “Just for once, Fronto, have a little faith in your own eyes. The terms are definitely favourable to us.”

  They watched a moment longer until Caesar took a deep breath and bellowed out to the men “advance!”

  Along the lines, centurions took up the call and their cornicens relayed the orders. Within moments, three legions: the Tenth, Eighth and Eleventh, began to march slowly, inexorably forwards with the crash of steel and the crunch of boots, closing on the relatively small phalanx of Belgae. Fronto watched with trepidation, his breath held. This was wrong.

  The Roman lines rolled forward across the plain and, as he watched, suddenly the Belgae stopped in perfect order perhaps two hundred yards from the advancing legions. The front row with their spears went into a crouch as, behind them, two rows of men lifted bows, already strung and with arrows nocked. Calmly, smoothly, and with a discipline that would satisfy the strictest centurion, they drew back in unison and released. As the flight of perhaps two hundred arrows arced into the air and the Aduatuci fetched another arrow from their quiver, the next two rows behind them released another volley.

  The legions, unprepared for missile attack, sustained dozens of casualties from the first assault. The lines faltered for only a moment before the centurions, ever professional, called for the testudo formation. The second flight of arrows struck home with brutal effect just as the legions reformed, a protective roof of shields going up just in time to save them from the third volley.

  Caesar, satisfied that his legions were now protected, smiled as his men closed on the Belgae but once again, Fronto was startled to realise, the enemy were ahead of the game. They had stayed out of range of the Roman pila just long enough to launch a painful, stinging assault and now that their edge was gone, the formation merely broke and they ran back toward the oppidum, unencumbered and far faster than the pursuing legions.

  “Cavalry to intercept!” Caesar shouted, but Fronto stepped in front and shook his head.

  “Don’t, general.”

  “What?”

  “They’ll never get there in time. The cavalry are marshalled behind the legions. If they do catch them it’ll be right under the walls and they’ll drop boulders on us.”

  Caesar ground his teeth for a moment and then snarled.

  “Belay that order” he barked, and then, turning to Fronto: “They rile me now.”

  The legate nodded.

  “I suspect that’s what they’re trying to do. They’re goading you into foolish actions. Don’t fall for it. Just have the auxiliary archers posted to the front in case they try that again.”

  Caesar glared into the distance for a while and then growled.

  “Alright. Give me ideas, then.”

  Beside Fronto, Tetricus shrugged. “How long do we have, Caesar?”

  The general sighed, a harassed look crossing his face. He rubbed his forehead irritably and grumbled.

  “Sabinus? Have a rider sent to Nemetocenna. Tell Labienus to start without me and that we’ll be along in due course.”

  As the staff officer nodded and called over one of the clerks, the general turned to Tetricus.

  “Very well. If time and manpower are no object, what is your best proposal?”

  A gleam that Fronto knew very well came into the tribune’s eye. The legate smiled as the tribune began to talk, illustrating all of his points with waving arms and pointing fingers.

  “Firstly, circumvallation. I’d wall them in. The oppidum is in the ‘v’ shape between two rivers. We build a rampart and ditch that seals them off, and place redoubts at regular intervals along the far river ba
nks to make sure they don’t cross, though I think the Meuse will be too deep and fast for that anyway, but it’s better to be safe than to be sorry.”

  Caesar blinked.

  “That’s a sizeable rampart?”

  Tetricus nodded.

  “I’d say for safety six miles from bank to bank. And around twelve miles of interspaced redoubts across the water.”

  Caesar frowned.

  “How long?”

  Tetricus shrugged.

  “Given the manpower and peace in which to work, general, a day; maybe two. We’ll need quiet and undisturbed time after that, protected by the rampart you see, while we build the tower.”

  “The tower?”

  “Yes, sir. See, there’s no way we’re getting through those walls up the slope, so the only other way is up the rocks. Can’t climb them, and there’s no good materials for a ramp unless we quarry a few miles away and bring it here, which will take weeks and involve working within missile range of the top. So it’s a job for a tower. We can build it out of range and then move it close.”

  Caesar frowned.

  “Those cliffs are well over a hundred feet high, even in the easiest places. You’re talking about building a hundred foot tower?”

  Tetricus shrugged.

  “It’s been done before.”

  “It has?”

  The tribune nodded.

  “The siege of Rhodes over two centuries ago. Their tower was one hundred and thirty feet in height. And that was built by Greeks. Engineering has come a long way since then. I would say our issue is not the height, but the other dimensions.”

  “What?”

  Fronto noted with a smile that Caesar’s face had taken on the same frustrated incomprehension that all officers seemed to acquire when talking to a passionate engineer.

  “Well” Tetricus went on, “it will need to be massive in all other proportions, partially to maintain stability with the enormous height, but also because we need to be able to flood them with troops from the top of it, and not just a gentle trickle of men. Also, the bridge across at the top will have to be pretty immense on its own.”