Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica

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by Turney, S. J. A.


  * * *

  Biguro was a difficult proposition, clearly , and Fronto’s erstwhile imaginings of simply sweeping up the hill with his legion and swamping an unprepared enemy shattered . The oppidum rose from the wide swathes of forested land like the top of a domed skull, bare and forbidding. There were a number of small farms surrounding the place, their acreage of fields carved out of the woodlands, but the place itself was surrounded by only a few hundred paces of open land until the forest took over. The legion had marched slowly along a well-used trade road through the woodland, wide enough for four men comfortably, or a cart. But there was little or no space to form up an army to attack the pl ace. If the legion attempted to form in one of the farm lands, they would then have to break formation again to move through the trees to the target. And if they attempted to form ranks in that narrow verge below the fortress, they would be doing it within range of enemy archers. As for siege engines? Well there was precious little chance of getting any through all this.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Quite,’ Terpulo said with a nod. ‘They’ve chosen their place well. Maybe with a couple of days we can clear enough woodland to give us room to work?’

  Fronto shook his head with a grunt. ‘ No. They’ve been waiting for us. They know the land better than us and they’ve had time to prepare. There’s nowhere nearby we can encamp the whole legion for days. We’d have to camp in individual cohorts in the farms or some distance away . I don’t see us making it through the first night without a few really nasty surprises.’

  ‘Then what do we do?’

  ‘There was ample camping space where we crossed those two streams a couple of miles back. Most of the legion won’t have got there yet. Have the lead elements ret urn to that spot and pitch camp for the night . With any luck no one will have noticed us yet and they won’t know where we are.’

  Terpulo saluted.

  ‘And as soon as you’ve delivered the orders to Carbo, have all the seniors report here. We need a tactical discussion.’

  Another salute and , as Terpulo rushed off, Fronto sat beneath the gently swaying branches of the old beech tree and looked up the slope to where the solid defences of Biguro lay. It would be a tough fight, and the legion was already down to eighty percent manpower, having left a thousand men behind now to found new colonies. Perhaps the druid had been right and they shouldn’t have come. But then he could just picture the legion marching off into the foothills of the mountains, finding some crazed army of this smiling demon king and engaging them , only to be hit from behind by several thousand slavering Begerri. No. Military sense – even common sense – required that he remove any threat lurking behind them first, before moving on.

  His gaze took in the oppidum around which Terpulo and he had ridden over the past half hour, while the disapproving Aurelius and the advance scouts sat back beyond the trees out of sight. The army was moving up slowly around a mile back. But the two men had eased their horses along game trails and hunters’ tracks through the woodland, finding good positions periodically to observe Biguro. Nowhere had they smiled and decided that they had found their spot. The place was well protected.

  The whole oppidum sat on a natural north-south ridge, the plateaued hilltop sloping slightly down toward the east . The southern and eastern flanks of the hill were solidly bolstered with walls that were stronger than those of Benarno, if still not up to the strength of Belgic defences. Moreover, they were surrounded by a good ditch that had long since filled with brackish water, creating a swampy moat that would make access extremely difficult. The western side of the place was steep naturally and, when the rampart was added it would prove tough enough even without the addition of the ditch. And the north was hell. Steep slope with rocky protuberances below the rampart, a soggy area at the treeline below, and then nowhere to marshal an attack. Nature herself protected the north of Biguro.

  Fronto sat and stared , occasionally catching a glimpse of a figure or the flash of sunlight off bronze as warriors moved about the ramparts. In his mind he ran through everything they had with them. Bolt throwers. Given the angle of the slope and the ramparts at the top, they’d loose a thousand bolts to injure a single man. Hardly a worthwhile exercise. Siege tower ? Not a chance up that slope. Undermining and vineae? No, and besides, apart from artillery , they had nothing with them. It would all have to be constructed on site. Oh they would not be short of timber, but it would take a while, and if they wanted to construct anything close to where it would be used, they would be in danger from above while building. After all, there were almost certainly at least as many enemy warriors in Biguro as there were legionaries approaching, and probably more even than that.

  No. Best to dismiss all thoughts of traditional sieges. Ramps and tunnels and engines and so on. All pretty much useless in this situation. And he wanted to take Biguro down quickly and move south while the going was good. Every day gave this madman in the mountains more time to prepare.

  He was still fuming over the impossibilities and impracticability of the whole thing when the officers began to arrive half an hour later with Terpulo leading them . As they closed along the narrow trail , he pulled back from the edge of the woods and joined them in the little clearing forty paces or so into the trees where the scouts and Aurelius waited .

  ‘I’m trying not to let them know we’re here yet, though they’re bound to find out soon enough. In the meantime, though, I’ll tell you what Terpulo and I have seen of the place, then I want you one by one to head to the treeline and have a look. Then, when you’ve acquainted yourself with Biguro, we’ll talk tactics. ’

  For the next quarter hour, Fronto went over everything they had seen, with interjections periodically from Terpulo and occasional input from the native scouts that were standing nearby . Then another half hour passed as the various officers and t he eight remaining senior centurions stalked through the undergrowth to take a look at Biguro. Finally, as the last man returned, scratching his chin, Fronto took a breath.

  ‘Here’s how I see it. We cannot afford to tarry here more than a couple of days, if we want to keep our momentum up and move into the mountains. I don’t want to still be here in three days, for certain. And that means we cannot consider clearing out stretches of the woodland, constructing heavy siege engines or suchlike. Our artillery will barely make it over those ramparts, and the archers will be little better off, because of the distance and gradient. The only places to marshal enough men for a proper push are far enough back that all formation would be nullified by having to move through more forest, or so close that they would be forming under enemy barrages. I am more or less stumped. In previous years, I might add, when I have witnessed the best and most successful sieges in the history of Gaul, most of them have been the brainchildren either of Caesar or of his engineer Mamurra. Both of them are such ingenious lateral thinkers that they can overcome this kind of issue. So I’m hoping there’s someone here has that same kind of mind as them. Find me a way into Biguro, gentlemen.’

  There was a short silence, and eventually one of the centurions cleared his throat. ‘Undermine the ramparts, sir? Then we don’t need to form up the men anywhere special. We would have a breach to go for, and could push men in by the century.’

  Fronto shook his head. ‘Tunnelling up that gradient into rocky ground is unfeasible. I’ve already ruled out ramps and tunnels and the like.’

  ‘Subterfuge?’ Carbo murmured. ‘We have natives – or as near as damn it – with the army. Maybe we can get men inside and open it from within?’

  ‘They’ll be too watchful. They’ve drawn us here, remember, so they know what’s going on. As soon as they know we’re here they’ll be on to it like dogs down a rabbit hole. ’

  ‘We can form the men into contubernia in the trees , ’ said another voice, ‘ then they can each join ranks quickly in the open and move up.’

  Fronto smiled at Pulcher. ‘Best suggestion so far. Unfortunately, I don’t think there’d be room to marshal more t
han a cohort that way. I think we’d be feeding troops at the walls too slowly to make an effective assault.’

  Arruntius coughed meaningfully, and Fronto turned. ‘Thoughts, centurion?’

  ‘You don’t think a cohort could make an effective assault, sir?’

  ‘I think it would be dangerously irresponsible to try. There’s an extremely high probability that it would just be a case of throwing away men. With less than four thousand to take against the mountains, I can’t afford to risk too many men here, and with defenders and ramparts like this, anything short of a full-scale assault is too risky.’

  ‘Begging to differ in my opinion, L egate, but I think that’s crap.’

  Fronto raised his brow. ‘Oh?’

  ‘You know those chests you’re carrying in the carts? The ones with Caesar’s bull on them and enough locks to keep out Alexander himself?’

  ‘The coin chests, yes.’

  ‘Would you be willing to devote one of those to opening up Biguro?’

  Fronto’s brow sank into a furrow. ‘I doubt they’re open to bribes.’

  ‘Are you willing, sir?’

  ‘Well, yes. For certain. What have you in mind?’

  Arruntius turned to Terpulo. ‘You’ve got the authority. Can you ride to the baggage train and secure one of those chests for me?’ Terpulo grinned, touched his fingers to his forehead , mounted and rode off back toward the column. As the others followed on, Fronto gestured at the elderly centurion.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Incentive, sir. Incentive.’

  * * *

  Fronto followed Arruntius and the cornicen from the centurion’s unit as they approached the cart standing in the open space around the standards, surrounded by a sea of legionaries taking the rare opportun ity for an unscheduled rest, mid-build. The half-completed ramparts surrounded them, and no tents had yet been raised . Arruntius was all purpose and energy, which was nothing new. Despite the centurion’s advanced years , Fronto had never seen him anything less than entirely active. Arruntius vaulted up on t o the cart with an agi lity rare in a man half his age and , trying not to feel irritated by it, Fronto clambered up behind him, praying his knee would not give way in the process. Arruntius stepped to the front of the cart and gestured down to his cornicen by the rear board, who took a deep breath and blew a short staccato burst of notes. Every face across that green field turned to face the sound .

  Fronto watched the faces of the men around them, men drawn from eleven legions working remarkably well as one independent unit. There was interest on display, and respect, and relief.

  ‘ Sit down, all of you ,’ the centurion shouted, his voice carrying easily over the wide, flat ground , and the legion gratefully sank to the turf . ‘There may yet be some of you who are unaware of our current destination. We are bound for an oppidum by the name of Biguro to put boot to backside in th at special way that only we know . The Begerri, who are waiting for us, are the ones who have butchered Roman merchants in the area, as well as engineering parties. They have given over their service to an enemy of Rome, and sent their civilians away. Biguro is a tough place and every man in it is a warrior with our names etched on his blade.’

  There was a murmur of acknowledgement. Though there had been as yet no official briefing about what was to come, word spread throughout a legion like a forest fire, and this was news to no one.

  ‘There is a small problem, however, in that we cannot bring siege works or engines against the place, and there is precious little room to marshal a force to storm the ramparts for these endless bloody trees. The legate here is dubious about committing a single cohort, as he doesn’t believe a cohort can take the place and he doesn’t want to throw away your lives.’ Fronto glared at the centurion. He didn’t like the way this speech was going.

  ‘All very laudable,’ Arruntius continued , ‘but I think I know you mad, hard bastards well enough. I think a cohort of you lot could take Biguro , even if you went in naked and blindfold ed .’

  He fell silent and the atmosphere was one of tense but positive energy. There were nods of heads around the field. Fronto clasped his hands behind his back so the men couldn’t see him fidgeting. It was starting to look like this entire legion was as barking mad as the old centurion. Arruntius bent and flung open the chest on the cart, pulling out a small handful of silver coins. Straightening, he held it up so that the spring sunlight glinted on the money.

  ‘This is what you fight for. Oh , I know we fight for Rome and for the general and for the eagle and for the gods and so on, but this is the cold, hard remuneration that sees you all through. You’re each due four thousand sesterces with your honesta missio, some of you a little more. This chest contains somewhere in the region of five hundred thousand sesterces at a guess, and the generous legate is offering to add it to the retirement fund of a single cohort if they’ll help me take Biguro. That’s an extra thousand sesterces a man. I want six full centuries , including officers, so that’s f our hundred and eighty legionary volunteers. I shall also want five more centurions, six men to serve as optios , and one cornicen . Stand now if you’re with me. ’

  There was an odd pause, and then men started to rise. Arruntius lowered his hand and cast the fistful of silver coins into the crowd, where laughing legionaries caught them and examined them. More men rose, and Arruntius leaned down from the cart to a soldier in just his tunic with a tablet and stilus. ‘Headcount, please , Silvanus.’

  The clerk waited until each man was standing and then climbed up onto the cart to see over the heads of the men, where he began to count and mark off on his tablet. After some time, he clicked his tongue and ran down the tallies.

  ‘Three hundred and twenty five men, sir, including four optios and e ight centurions from the crests . ’

  Arruntius nodded and cleared his throat, addressing the crowd once more. ‘Too many centurions. Caetronius, Menenius, Hirrius, Vivianus and Tullius, you’re in. The other three will have to keep their swords sheathed and play with themselves until we find the next tribe. Are any of you lot cornicen?’

  Two men raised their hands.

  ‘Alright, I’ll take you both. Everyone move off to the side and be ready to give your name and unit to Silvanus here. ’ As the men filtered out of the crowd, the centurion smiled. ‘ I want another hundred and fifty five legionaries and two optios. How about the legate sweetens the pot. I’m sure he won’t mind you keeping all the loot from Biguro and any slaves we take , without the usual apportionment.’ He turned a meaningful look on Fronto who, irritated at being put on the spot, was left with no option but an easy nod.

  ‘There you go. The choice pickings from Biguro, too. Anyone else with me?’

  Slowly another fifty or so men rose from the seated legionaries. Arruntius grunted his irritation. ‘ You’re disappointing me and embarrassing me in front of the legate.’ Another twenty or thirty men rose, and finally the centurion pulled at his ear. ‘Very well. I make that four hundred and ten or so men altogether. That’ll be enough. We’ll rip the bastards out of Biguro for you, L egate. Keep your eye out for a standard up on the ramparts – we’ll filter through the woods during the last watch of the night and launch the assault at first light.’

  Fronto grinned. ‘You might well be insane Arruntius, but you truly are mad if you think I’m not coming with you.’

  ‘ We’ve had this talk before, sir,’ the centurion said seriously. ‘I won’t have you endangering yourself and ruining my unit cohesion.’

  ‘You won’t have unit cohesion,’ Fronto retorted. These men are from all over different units.’

  ‘Respectfully, L egate, so is the whole legion and we’re doing just fine so far.’

  ‘I’m still coming. Get used to the idea.’

  Arruntius held Fronto’s fierce gaze for some time, and finally gave a tiny, curt nod. ‘Very well, but this is my assault. You command the army, but once the cohort breaks cover on that hill I am in charge , and if you want to come
on my assault, you do as I say.’

  Fronto narrowed his eyes in the face of that eye-watering gaze, but finally relented and nodded. ‘Alright. What do you want me to do.’

  ‘We’re down one optio. You can take optio role in the sixth century. That means you will be the rearmost man. You can use that vine staff I see you carry sometimes like you’re a centurion to smack the arse of any dawdlers. But you stay at the back where I put you, and if I’ve misjudged this and everything goes completely tits-up, you run back down that hill like your arse is on fire and get back to the legion.’

  Fronto briefly considered arguing the point, but the look in Arruntius’ eye suggested that he woul d get no further, so he nodded, wondering what plan the old centurion had in mind to take so few men against so many and yet achieve victory.

  Tomorrow morning would tell, anyway. For now, he needed food and wine and then a good night. Even right at the back, Biguro would probably be a hard fight and he would need to be as well rested as he could.

  Mid Maius

  THE king concentrated hard, frowning at the scarred face staring back out of the bronze mirror . He paused, aware that he’d not always looked like this. Long ago he’d been hailed a handsome man . He regarded the grainy, dark stubble still covering the left side of his face. He knew the rest of his men – even those he considered close and trustworthy – disapproved of his shaved face, but he wouldn’t grow a beard, e ven if he realistically could.

  With a grunt of self-loathing, he picked up the heavy, razor-edged dagger once more, dipped it in the bronze bowl of water, and began to scrape away the stubble from his neck, slowly working up to the jawline. There, he felt it move with the undulations of his flesh from the wound that no one ever noticed. His face, he knew, was so striking that few ever looked beyond it. But there, beneath the jaw, were the marks still left by the rope garrotte. A regular pattern around his entire neck. Carefully, he worked around the damage, then took a breath, rinsed off the blade, and began on his cheek just below the eye, dragging the steel across the hairs.

 

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