It was at times like this when Fronto missed the companionship of his Belgic friend, Galronus, who always seemed to have some insight into their surroundings. For a moment he wondered whether the Remi noble had returned to Massilia yet, or whether he was still in Campania. Galronus and Fronto’s sister had been very coy and evasive when they had planned their journey, citing the need to visit her mother and discuss a match.
A small flurry of snowflakes dusted his face and halted his reverie.
Fronto, for once grateful to be on horseback, though he feared for Bucephalus’ health with every bone-jolting shiver, rode up from the rear of the column where he had been discussing the issue of stolen supplies with Oppius Proculus, the quartermaster who had accompanied the column from Aquileia. His singulares followed a short way behind, limited by the terrain and weather to trudging in his wake. Kicking Bucephalus into a little extra speed and praying to every god he could name that the foot-and-a-half deep snow concealed no sudden drops or animal bolt-holes, he raced to the van, where he could now see the scouts and the lead elements of the unnamed legion gathered in a group. The entire column was shuffling to a halt in response to the sudden stoppage at the fore, and the men stamped their feet on the spot despite the lack of forward movement, determined to keep as warm as they could.
Fronto neared the lead elements and began to slow his mount as they approached the slight rise in the saddle between white-clad peaks. The men had halted at the very crest and Fronto reined in beside them, taking a moment to scan the area before addressing the hold-up. Caesar was towards the rear still, in discussion with Aristius and Priscus over the need to up the training of the troops on the journey, despite the conditions. He could hear his singulares catching up. Palmatus and Masgava would berate him for charging out ahead without them, but only nature and the gods stood to ruin Fronto’s day here, and the best gladiator in the world could not beat them.
His eyes took in the view directly ahead, where the pass crossed the highest region of the mountain range. The trail ahead, to which they had been directed by those same few locals they had managed to interrogate, was as invisible as that behind, submerged beneath a white sheet that blanketed the world, fresh flakes already beginning to fall and add to it after a three hour lull in the blizzards. To the left, a deep valley plunged down into the abyss, its lowest reaches concealed by a freezing fog that denied them clear vision. To the right, a set of jagged peaks rose one after the other, as though shadowing the beleaguered army on its journey.
‘Why have we stopped,’ he asked irritably.
‘Respectfully, sir, we don’t see how we can get past that.’
Fronto frowned at the man who had spoken. He was an ordinary legionary, though a little older than many of the recent recruits, and the ochre-coloured focale, or scarf, he wore around his neck, tucked beneath the armour and almost concealed under his heavy wool cloak, identified him as a sapper or a man with at least some engineering experience. Fronto had been about to retort angrily to the man, given the differences in rank, but years in the army had taught him that while engineers might well be the weirdest bunch ever to grace the world with their peculiar presence, if they had an opinion it was always worth hearing them out.
‘Explain.’
The man frowned as though Fronto had asked him to explain why up was above you. ‘Well, look at it, sir.’
Fronto did as he was asked, and once more saw the white blanket that had buried the landscape. ‘It looks exactly the same as the last two or three stretches between peaks. And we’re not far from the point where the descent begins according to the locals.’
‘Erm… look again, sir.’
Fronto was starting to get irritated now.
‘Snow. I’ve seen it.’
‘But in the snow, sir.’
Fronto, utterly bewildered now and wondering whether they were somehow looking in different directions, peered into the white, trying to ignore the increasing fresh deluge trying to conceal the view. ‘There’s little shrubs and bushes sticking out of it here and there. That’s good. Tells us that there’s no hidden drop.’
The engineer gave him another look as though a chicken had just pushed its way out of his ear, confused by Fronto’s apparent oblivion. One of the scouts leaned closer from his horse and cleared his throat.
‘They’re not bushes, Legate. They’re the tips of trees. Firs of some kind, in fact. Fully grown ones, too.’
Fronto turned his unbelieving gaze back to the path ahead. They did look suspiciously like treetops. ‘But if that’s true then that path is under anything between ten and forty feet of snow! That’s not possible.’
‘It’s quite possible, sir. Your own eyes can confirm it for you.’
‘It’s not quite as deep as you might think, though,’ announced the voice of Priscus as the prefect slowed his mount, arriving at the van along with Brutus, Aristius and Caesar himself, Palmatus and Masgava sitting respectfully to the side with their men.
‘I remember this part from the other direction. The path through the pass actually runs to the left of the trees and is probably only six or seven feet deep. Yes,’ he added, squinting into the snow. ‘The Helvii mark their individual territories with posts that display tribal signs - we’ve seen half a dozen of them as we passed. Unless I’m very much mistaken, I can see another down there to the left of the trees.’
Fronto nodded slowly. There was at least a mile of that snow, possibly as much as two. It was a daunting prospect, especially for an army that was already freezing and falling foul of sickness from the conditions. ‘Well we can hardly go back, and so we must go on. You,’ he went on, pointing at the engineer. ‘How fast can you and your men manage to clear snow?’
The man tapped his finger on his chin. ‘If we have to bring it down to clear ground and wide enough for the supply wagons, it’s going to be a very slow job. Half a week, perhaps, depending on conditions as we go.’
Fronto pursed his lips. ‘And how fast if it’s for an infantry column?’
‘Two men wide, sir? If there’s no vehicles we only need to take it down roughly to a foot or so. The rest will soon get trampled down. Much faster. A day. Maybe two.’
‘Get to work. You’re in charge.’ He turned to Caesar, who was watching him with interest. ‘General?’
‘Do as you think best, Fronto.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ He pointed at the engineer. ‘You just got commissioned, centurion. It’s your project. I’m granting you the authority to use every soldier in this army if you have to, barring a couple of centuries I’m commandeering. Rotate the men for rest breaks, but get that pass opened for a narrow column of infantry.’
He turned to the general again.
‘We’re going to have to leave the wagons, sir.’
Caesar nodded. ‘It is only perhaps thirty miles to the lower slopes now. We will soon be in Arverni lands and once we are among them, we will take everything we need and burn the rest, replacing our lost provisions. Now we need to move fast.’
‘Agreed, sir. We will have to distribute the most important supplies from the wagons among the men to carry, though we can use the beasts that have been hauling the cart if we unhook them.’
‘Every effort must be made, as well as every sacrifice,’ Caesar said loudly as he hauled himself from the saddle and slid down to the ground, where his expensive gorgon-embossed boots sank into the snow. ‘Every rider in the column is hereby ordered to give up his beast for the transport of supplies. We will all walk until we are out of the snow.’
Fronto couldn’t help but smile. The general sometimes drove him to the very edge of his temper with his unyielding attitude, but on the occasions when he shone, the man shone so bright the sun would envy him.
* * * * *
Samognatos, the scout of the Condrusi tribe who had now been attached to Fronto’s bodyguard for almost a year and on this most difficult journey had become something of a preferred figure among the scouts for his intuition and inside kn
owledge of the workings of the Gallic mind, reined in his sweating, snorting steed and nodded to his commander and to the general.
‘What have you found?’
The scout gestured out across the rolling hills ahead, a range of green mountains sprinkled with white in the distance to the north. The dreadful conditions of the snow-clogged passage through the Cevenna had taken its toll on the forces of Caesar, and every man had been grateful and thrown up thanks and promises to the Gods when they had left behind the whitened treeline and descended into the low hills of the Arverni lands.
‘A settlement beyond the hill. Not large and without defences. Perhaps thirty houses and a few outlying farms. Something near a quarter of a mile from edge to edge. There are signs of current occupation, but not more than a hundred inhabitants at an estimate and the only horses I spotted were farm beasts.’
Fronto and Caesar both looked at Priscus, who shrugged. ‘When we came through here, we tried to stay as far away from built-up areas as possible. We came down a valley to the west of here.’
Behind him, Fabius and Furius exchanged looks and the latter cleared his throat. ‘When we were at Gergovia, I remember Pixtilos,’ he noted Fronto’s frown and paused to explain, ‘a tame Arvernian merchant we dealt with,’ and back to Priscus, ‘Pixtilos named three settlements heading south between Gergovia and the mountains.’
Priscus nodded. ‘I remember Briva. We had to give that place a wide berth.’
‘Right. And south from there are Revessio and Condate. He said Condate was in the lower mountain valleys. He used to deliver grain there. We’re past that area now, so maybe this is Revessio.’
Caesar pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘This is all very fascinating, but I am more concerned with the lie of the land than its nomenclature. We are in a race against time here, along with Vercingetorix. I have no doubt that he works to strengthen his forces, while ours remain spread thin. We have to gain the upper hand - combine our forces and harry him - to turn the tables on this Arverni rebel.’
‘And how do we do that?’ Fronto huffed in a cloud of chilled breath.
‘It begins here, gentlemen. As a concerted force, we wipe this settlement from the face of Gaul, so all that remains is a column of smoke visible for ten miles, but we make sure we allow a few to escape and carry the word of our work. I will leave the infantry here under the command of…’ he paused, his eyes on Fronto for a moment until he shook his head and moved on. ‘…Brutus. You will take the remaining seven thousand new legionaries and the Narbonensis garrison under Aristius. I will leave you a few alae of cavalry and I expect you to continue the men’s training while they work. Your remit is simple: move around the entire Arverni region, ravaging and destroying. Make sure you leave survivors to tell the tale. I want word of this wanton destruction to reach the ears of their King. He will not be able to resist coming to deal with you.’
‘Respectfully, Caesar, if he does that, we are in serious trouble,’ Brutus said quietly.
‘That is why I want you to be lightly-equipped and highly mobile. You will hit places and then run. Move on all the time. Stay out of reach of any army sent after you, but keep needling this Arvernian by destroying his people. You will need to travel light, so no supplies or heavy equipment. Live in the field and train the men in the art of forage survival.’ Brutus nodded his understanding, Aristius straight faced beside him.
‘While we do what?’ asked Fronto.
‘While we rendezvous with the rest of the army. We are now far enough north that we will be past the bulk of the enemy who watch the Rhodanus valley, and if Brutus does his job here with adequate zeal and vigour, all rebel eyes will be upon him. While he ravages, we will make for Vienna, move up the Rhodanus, picking up the legions in the two smaller winter camps and head for Agedincum where we shall mass the army. On the journey we will take only Ingenuus and his praetorians, and each of us will be mounted, so we will move much faster than the Arvernian and his force.’
‘And then?’
Caesar smiled hawkishly. ‘And then, while the rebel has been forced to halt his recruiting and deal with the trouble in his southern lands, we will begin the work of suppressing the north, removing his power bases. We will isolate him from his allies, the Carnutes, and then begin to drive south, pinning him against the mountains and our other forces. We have an opportunity here to trick the man into a dangerous position and finish him off. We will not waste it.’
He looked across once more at Brutus. ‘I will take my guard and depart now with appropriate officers. Begin your work, Brutus, and draw the eye of the rebel south.’
* * * * *
Marcus Aristius, newly-raised tribune commanding the Narbonensis garrison, leaned around the tree and peered at the settlement below. The collection of huts and houses that they had named Revessio - whether it was or not - lay peaceful, almost slumbering. No more than a hundred folk could live there, including women, children and the elderly.
He glanced back over his shoulder. Once Caesar and his officers and guard had departed, the noble Brutus had quickly taken stock of the situation and decided that it was time to begin assessing the capabilities of the new units, but in concert with one another. Aristius had been given the task of destroying the settlement and allowing no more than half a dozen survivors to flee, making sure to drive them north, towards Vercingetorix and his army.
With an estimated hundred residents, Aristius had settled upon only a small force as a first test. One century of the garrison troops under a centurion who had cut his teeth on Spanish tribal wars, one century of the new legionaries with a centurion who’d just come out of retirement, but had fought in Caesar’s first year in Gaul, and a single ala of thirty two horse. Just short of two hundred men. Plenty for the task. The place would likely have the usual contingent of fighting men found in any Gallic settlement, but not many. Most would be farm folk.
With a series of signals that he hoped were not open to misinterpretation, he sent the lighter-armed garrison troops down to the right, into the valley, held his hand up to the legionaries to remain in position, and gestured for the cavalry to move down into the other valley on their left and behind the screen of trees that bordered the stream which ran along the bottom of it.
Despite his position in the military government of Narbonensis and his apparently-advancing rank, Aristius had never yet in his career commanded a unit in action, and he found his heart racing. It was not the fear of battle or combat - he would not be expected to do any actual fighting, he was sure - it was the fear of failing in his first command. Of making a fool of himself. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched the two departing units moving into position in the valleys and as soon as both had stopped moving, he had the standard bearer wave commands to the three forces.
So far, so good.
In response to the signal, the legionaries behind him began to approach with the measured step of trained soldiers, their mail chinking and their boots crunching on the cold ground where the grass of the hilltop was still hard with morning frost. They looked every bit the veteran legion. He could only hope they fought like one.
The garrison, to his dismay, were already falling behind, unable to pull together into a cohesive unit and keep pace. He could just make out the optio smacking legs and backs with his staff, pulling the unit into vague order. To his relief, they moved to quick pace and began to catch up, slowing once more as they pulled level and forming better lines.
As per orders, the cavalry waited until the two infantry forces began to move on the village and the standard waved again, and then burst into activity, racing along the treeline and making for the outlying houses and farm buildings.
Aristius opened his mouth as he felt the gradient start to pull him at speed towards the enemy, but it seemed the centurions were already ahead of the game as the man with the transverse crest a dozen paces to his left yelled out the command for quick time.
As the cavalry raced in, converging from the left and the
garrison troops picked up the pace on their right, two things happened simultaneously: a shout of alarm went up in the settlement with a bell ringing in desperation, and chaos struck the force descending the hill behind Aristius. The new legionaries marched well, but as the pace suddenly increased at the same time as the gradient, the men - unused to such activity and unable to maintain formation, suddenly broke apart. Two men in the second row lost their footing and fell, bringing down the legionaries in front of them. Those behind largely veered around the chaos, but their own change of direction impacted on other files of men and caused further falls and collisions. In moments, half the century was rolling down the hill in the clatter and crash of armour and weapons, shields splintering and chain-mail hooks snapping. The other half were leaping over fallen bodies or swerving wide to pass them.
Aristius fought the irritation at this display of novice incompetence, noting with a small spark of pride that his own garrison troops were now managing to hold tight formation as they moved into a charge and bore down on the terrified Gauls.
The centurion called out new commands and as the slope became gentler once more the legionaries who had kept their feet reformed into a tight unit and moved into a charge. The optio, left behind on the lower slope, was beating his staff down on the hapless fallen men, yelling at them to get up and run. Gradually the flounderers dragged themselves into a run with no formation at all, following on in the wake of their compatriots, hungry to redeem themselves.
The Great Revolt Page 9