He gestured at the burning city again.
‘Despite our proud warriors’ burning of the city’s granaries, be assured that Caesar will find enough food in the city to feed his army for a week or more. The Aedui need a little longer to foment, and Caesar’s army needs to be made to starve once again, despite this brief respite. It is my intention, therefore, to fortify our position such that the Romans cannot conceivably consider attacking us, yet sit a mere five miles from them, threatening them. We will continue to deal with any attempts to resupply their army, aiding them in their starvation. They will not be able to attack us, but nor will they be willing to leave, given our strength and proximity. As I had originally advocated before I was drawn off to this place, we will continue to starve the Romans while pursuing the Aedui as an ally. Do I hear any dissent on this matter?’
He was greeted again by stony silence. The defiance of his will had proved disastrous once. None of the assembled leaders was willing to risk disobedience again.
‘When the Aedui are with us, we will convene the Gallic Assembly, as the Romans call it, at Bibracte, and every state and nation will throw in their lot and swear their allegiance to us. This will be done at Bibracte, the very centre of power.’
He rolled his shoulders. ‘In the meantime, take your lead from the Roman engineers. Each of the nations present on this hill will be assigned a sector to defend. I expect ramparts that even the Romans would envy. Anywhere not too swampy will have a ditch. There will be a palisade with towers. And inside, other groups will construct timber buildings to shelter us from the weather. We may be here for weeks yet, and we may be tested by the Romans. I wish us to pass every test thrown at us.’
He gestured to Vergasillaunus, who stepped forward. ‘My noble cousin here will assign each leader here his respective area of duty and responsibility. Obey him as you would me.’
With a nod to the assembly, the king stepped out of the centre, striding across to the rear of the gathering, where Cavarinos and Critognatos stood, weary and filthy and wet.
‘Cavarinos, if you would join me?’
The leader of the Gallic army walked off through the throng to the tent raised for him and pulled aside the flap, shrugging off his damp cloak inside and warming his hands over a brazier. As Cavarinos stumbled in behind him, he reached into a bag on the table and pulled from it a handful of glinting coins. Turning, he grabbed Cavarinos’ hand and twisted it palm-up, tipping the coins into it.
‘Roman coins, and not provincial ones, either. No fakes, no clipping. They are worth their face value to any trader. There are enough in this bag to buy a dozen good horses and hire riders for them.’
‘You wish me to hire cavalry?’ frowned the younger man, peering at the coins in his hand, each one showing unfamiliar gods and short-haired men with hooked noses.
‘No. I wish you to take them, along with half a cart-load more, to our friends among the Aedui. You have been among them before. You know our people there. Among the supply carts we took from the north was a wagon carrying the fortune and personal effects of one of their senior officers. It contains armour, weapons, jewellery and furnishings befitting a king, as well as enough money to equip a small army. It is a gift for our people among the Aedui to use to help tip the balance. Cultivate friendships with those most important and play and twist those most gullible or susceptible. Your goal is simple: bring the Aedui to me. They are as close as can be, but I cannot march on Caesar until we have them.’
Cavarinos sighed. He was in no rush to scurry off into the clutches of the Aedui again, but the importance of the task could hardly escape him, and the fact that he was the man Vercingetorix had chosen of the entire gathering was not lost, either. But then there were other issues preying on his mind, too.
‘Is it not time to reveal the curse tablet to the chieftains, my king? The weaker ones waver and knowledge of its existence would bring them fresh heart. The value of the thing is in its effect on the army, not as some mystical weapon. You know that.’
Vercingetorix shook his head. ‘Its prime value for me is that the druids believe in it, and as long as we continue to accede to their wishes, when it is not damaging, they will continue to lend us their support, which brings to our cause the more credulous of the tribes. You say they told you to keep it until the time came to use it? Then that is what you must do. I will not risk pushing away their support.’
Again, Cavarinos sighed. At least he would be given a breather from being under attack by the Romans. To be among friendly tribes and not looking out at siege towers might be quite nice for a change.
‘I will leave in the morning. Will I have a guard with me, considering the cargo?’
‘Pick five men and take them. Any more will draw too much attention to you. And here is an extra carrot to dangle in front of the Aedui: my scouts tell me that Teutomarus of the Nitiobriges is riding to join us with two thousand Aquitanian horse, defying his tribe’s longstanding allegiance with Rome. Teutomarus completes our southern complement. Now, all the tribes who border Roman Narbonensis and once paid service to the Roman senate - the Ruteni, The Nitiobriges, the Cadurci, the Volcae and others - have all flocked to our banner. The Aedui are among the last of the people who still submit to Roman control.’
Cavarinos nodded. If, as Vercingetorix believed, the Aedui were swaying in their allegiance, the knowledge that almost all of the tribes stood against them would certainly go some way to persuading them. A feeling of curious peace crept across him: a week or more without Critognatos’ endless belligerence and stupidity would be more refreshing than anything else.
‘And my brother?’
‘I have other tasks in mind for your brother. As soon as we have clothed, fed and consoled the survivors of Avaricon and taken them into our forces as appropriate, Critognatos will ride to all those tribes within a hundred miles that have committed to us with orders to levy new quotas of warriors, including infantry, in which we are currently a little lacking, and every man who owns a bow and can use it. When we next meet, I will have bled our strongest tribes dry of their warriors. The end of this war is drawing nigh, Cavarinos, and I will not be found wanting when the last battle comes around.’
‘Then I will bring you the Aedui if they can be brought.’
‘I know you will, my friend. There is no one else I could trust to do this. Good luck. Teutatus watch over you.’
* * * * *
Marcus Antonius belched long and loud and, with a chuckle, tried to form the name of Bacchus from the deep resonance. The other officers in the tent snorted their humour, apart from Varus, who had been asleep for an hour now.
‘But seriously, Fronto, your man Samognatos is to be congratulated. He saved enough grain to feed a legion for a week. If he were a Roman he’d be up for a decoration. Caesar wants me to find out what we can do for him to show our appreciation.’
Fronto closed an eye in order to see only one Antonius and shrugged. ‘He’s been very modest over the whole affair, but I imagine a few coins wouldn’t go amiss.’
Samognatos had returned to Fronto’s singulares following the fall of Avaricon, bringing with him the details of two Arverni leaders - Cavarinos and Critognatos - who had been sent to the oppidum by Vercingetorix and who had been instrumental in the impressive attempts at holding off the legions. No one knew what had happened to them, but their bodies had not yet turned up among the dead. Remembering the pair from erstwhile encounters, Fronto felt sure the two had safely fled Avaricon before the appalling aftermath. Despite the order to take no prisoners, a few slaves had been roped up and sent northeast, back to Agedincum. They might starve on the journey, of course, but if they reached the Roman stronghold they would fetch a few coins for the men. Perhaps three hundred Bituriges there in total. And an estimated hundred escaped into the swamps. And that out of many thousands of inhabitants. One could hardly count the dead for the piles awaiting burning were so huge.
Also, the Condrusi scout had brought back estimates of the G
allic army’s numbers in terms of cavalry, archers and infantry, which tribes constituted the force, and even rumours that had filtered through the army of Vercingetorix’s long-term plans. The scout had performed so well in his task that Fronto had taken him directly to Caesar for debriefing, and the general had praised and lauded the man. The meeting had only been made funnier when Plancus had stormed in, spluttering with complaints that his personal baggage had been lost along with the latest supply train, only for Caesar to chide him through a sly smile for being careless.
Additionally, the city had delivered up a goodly amount of financial gain for Rome, and to please his tired and hungry men, Caesar had given up every part of the reward to the army in plunder. More importantly it had supplied not only one and a half filled granaries, but also an extra grain store from a merchant’s halls, masses of other foodstuffs, and a sizeable haul of livestock. The army had eaten better in one evening than in weeks previously, stuffing their faces and washing down roasted boar meat and mutton with wine and beer.
And a small, select gathering of the officers had retired to Fronto’s tent to recover from the exertions of the day and from their belt-straining guts following such a grand meal. Now, as Priscus loosened his belt another notch and poured himself a cup of wine without missing too badly, Antonius frowned. ‘Where were we, anyway?’
‘Palmatus, I think.’
Antonius turned a serious face on the singulares officer and Fronto grinned. ‘Beware. He’s good at this.’
Antonius narrowed his eyes.
‘You, Palmatus of the Pompeian Roman slums, are a festering, disease-ridden pus-sack of a filthy whore’s crotch after a bad dose of the clap!’
Priscus choked on his wine and as the man coughed liquid through his nose and snorted in the background, Palmatus fixed Antonius with a steady glare.
‘You, Marcus Antonius, are an inbred, Curio-humping, dissolute and profligate knob-end, with the grace and charm of a sheep’s rear end after a Sicilian farmer’s enjoyed himself too much.’
Priscus, still recovering from his choking, suddenly exploded in red-faced laughter and, as Fronto caught the look on Antonius’ face, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud. ‘I warned you,’ he grinned.
‘Curio-humping?’
‘Oh come on,’ Palmatus shrugged, ‘everyone within a thousand miles of Rome heard that rumour!’
Antonius’ eyes bulged. ‘Inbred?’
‘All patricians are inbred,’ Palmatus said flatly, his eyes slipping sideways to Fronto, who simply grinned. ‘Nice if you’re aiming it at me,’ the legate replied, ‘but Antonius’ family are plebs, my friend. Like you, but with more money.’
‘And cleaner,’ laughed Antonius, the slight apparently already forgotten by the unpredictable officer.
‘Alright. That’s one to Palmatus, I suppose. Your turn then, man. Try Priscus.’
‘Too easy.’
Priscus narrowed his eyes, as his body still shook with dissipating coughs. ‘Go on, then.’
‘You, Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus,’ Palmatus began, and then grinned. ‘Inbred patrician,’ a pause for Fronto and Antonius to chuckle, ‘are a stinking hog’s pizzle with…’
He was interrupted by a clatter at the tent’s door.
‘Come,’ called Fronto over the sounds of officers snorting with laughter.
The tent flap was pulled aside to reveal the intimidating shape of Masgava, Fronto’s other singulares commander - a former gladiator of Numidian birth, the man was huge and dangerous.
‘Good,’ Fronto grinned. ‘I told you to join us earlier. You’ve a few rounds to catch up on. Don’t take anything too personally, or it’s going to be a bad night for someone.’
Masgava shook his head. ‘Not here for a social, I’m afraid, sir. Message from the general. He’d like to see you in the command tent. Same goes for commanders Antonius, Varus and Priscus.’
Fronto rolled his eyes. ‘The general never bloody sleeps, does he?’
‘I’m not sure I can stand,’ Priscus said quietly, and Antonius rose to his feet steadily, crossed the tent and reached a hand down to help the prefect from the ground. ‘How can you stand too, Antonius? You’ve put away at least two mugs to my one, and I never saw the water jug pass close to you!’
‘Strong constitution,’ Antonius chuckled. ‘Plebeian, you see? Look at Palmatus over there. He’s sober as a iudex, too.’
Priscus glared at Palmatus, but the bodyguard simply shrugged and rose steadily.
‘Bastard. And I’ve yet to meet a sober judge.’
‘Any idea what this is about?’ Fronto asked Antonius as he wobbled to his feet, throwing out an arm to Palmatus, who grabbed it and held him steady.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ the senior officer replied. ‘Though earlier he was debating our next move. Perhaps he’s decided. He was noting the fact that the frost and the cold seemed to have finally given up and told me that rain was no impediment to a campaign. Maybe he’s planning to march us on the rebel army, or draw them out to us, for preference.’
‘I don’t think we’re ready to take on Vercingetorix yet,’ Fronto replied. ‘The odds are still too uncertain.’
As Palmatus and Masgava roused Varus from sleep as gently, yet quickly, as they could, the other three officers stepped out into the fresh air, which hit Fronto like a cart full of amphorae, filling his head with thumping and thought-strangling fuzziness.
‘I fear I may have to be rather sick,’ he announced.
‘Then try and do it on the way and not in the general’s tent,’ grinned Antonius. The three stood breathing the night air deeply, waiting for Varus. The storm had passed just before sunset, leaving the world breathing a sigh of relief, with fresh, cool air beneath the first clear sky they had seen in weeks.
‘He might be right about the weather,’ Priscus noted. ‘Campaigning in this will be a breeze after the last couple of months.’
The other two nodded their agreement as the bleary, yawning form of Varus appeared through the tent’s doorway. ‘I was having a nice dream about a young woman.’
‘Shake it off, then. Time to go see old beaky.’
The four officers traipsed across the wet, muddy hillside towards the large tent, whose doorway glowed with flickering golden light, illuminating the two cavalry guardsmen standing outside. The pair nodded their recognition at the four officers as they arrived and gestured for them to enter.
Inside, Caesar sat in his chair with Labienus and Plancus facing him. The general nodded to free seats, and the new arrivals wandered over and sat. As they took their places, Roscius and Calenus, the other officers on the staff, arrived, bowing, and took their seats.
‘I have made my decision about our next move, gentlemen,’ Caesar announced, rubbing his temple. ‘Despite my desire to bring war to the enemy at our earliest convenience, I received a deputation this evening from the Aedui, and I find my hand forced and the decision made for me.’
‘What news do they bring?’ Plancus asked, urgently.
‘Their state is in chaos, according to our friends. They have two men vying for control, splitting the Aedui in two. They have entreated me to adjudicate and heal their state.’
Antonius gave a loud cough, drawing all eyes. ‘Is that really more important than the enemy, who are encamped not five miles from here?’
Caesar fixed his friend with a level look. ‘Frankly, yes. The Aedui are the most numerous, richest and most powerful of the tribes of Gaul. Over the past seven years, no matter who we have fought, we have been allied with the Aedui. They have sent us men and supplies, and we have made them rich and powerful in return. If we cannot control what happens to their government, I foresee at least half of their tribe running into the waiting arms of Vercingetorix. If you think his army is strong now, wait ‘til the Aedui join him and bring a dozen other tribes who currently owe their allegiance to us. No. We must deal with this immediately.’
‘Can they not send their trouble here for you to adjudicate,
Caesar?’ asked Calenus.
‘I’m afraid that’s not an option. By their laws, the chief magistrate of their people cannot leave their tribe’s lands. A sensible law, in my opinion, for all the difficulties it might currently be causing me.’
‘And are you planning to uproot the army and take them along with you?’ Fronto asked, ignoring the pounding of his head. ‘Because I’d not recommend marching off to the Aedui poorly-accompanied. What happens if they’ve already thrown in their lot with the rebels before you get there?’
Caesar tapped his temple knowingly. ‘That had occurred to me. Also, Bibracte is eighty miles from here, which means a side-trip of more than a week even at full pace. So I have compromised. Two legions will accompany the baggage back across the Liger River. The other four, unconstrained by baggage, will accompany the staff and myself to Decetio, which is the nearest Aedui oppidum with a forum space where the council and the rival candidates can attend. I sent the ambassadors back with instructions for the parties concerned to meet us there.
‘You mention only six legions,’ Fronto frowned. ‘What of the other two.’
Caesar turned and pointed at the large map hanging on the back wall. ‘According to the information gleaned from your scout while he was among the enemy, Vercingetorix is expecting a large number of reinforcements from the northern tribes and their absence thus far is largely what has stopped him moving against us. While we move east to negate the Aedui danger, Labienus will be taking the Seventh and the Twelfth to the north, collecting the First and the Fifteenth from Agedincum and the cohorts from Vellaunoduno and Cenabum. Armed with four good legions, he will crush the rebel spirit from the Carnutes, the Parisi and all the other northern tribes.’ He turned to Labienus. ‘You can do this with four legions?’
‘With those four, I could depopulate most of Gaul,’ nodded Labienus.
The Great Revolt Page 23