The Great Revolt

by S. J. A. Turney

  The legions were not laughing. The remaining manoeuvres as the Romans prepared to repel the enemy were carried out in sullen and unhappy silence, though it rapidly became apparent that the enemy were not coming. The day was over.

  They had lost.

  That very fact rattled around Fronto’s brain as he knew it did with every man present. Despite dreadful predicaments and awful odds, ambushes, traps and disasters, Caesar’s army had not suffered even one single defeat in their seven years in Gaul as far as anyone could remember. Oh yes, Cicero had been in trouble for a while, and Sabinus and Cotta had lost a legion in the forest, but they were individual actions by unprepared or foolhardy commanders, and notably never with Caesar present. Today was something different.

  It appeared that Caesar’s army could lose.

  Chapter 15

  Gergovia

  ‘Every man of those cohorts involved in the unwarranted assault on the oppidum will henceforth be punished thus: those men having excused duty status shall be returned to full active duty. All men - from the centurionate to the newest recruit - will be given the most menial duties your legion can offer for the foreseeable future. Your training and exercise time is doubled, excepting times when forced marches prevent it. Your rations are hereby reduced by a third and wine rations by half. Clearly you have grown insubordinate and undisciplined. You will prove to your commanders that you are worthy of the legion who houses, feeds and pays you, and you will train and work until you are fit to take your place at the fore once again.’

  The ranks upon ranks of gleaming legionaries remained silent in the sizzling morning sun, aware that the slightest noise could bring disastrous consequences.

  ‘That being said, I am aware that, as much as the blame for this debacle can be laid at the feet of your rashness, the terrain, the enemy’s unexpected retaliation, the inability to identify signals across the mountain and other smaller factors have to be taken into consideration, and so there shall be no other punishments.’

  The general glanced sidelong at Antonius, who nodded.

  ‘Indeed, I am, on a base level, proud of the daring and fearlessness of you all. For, though by your arrogant insubordination you brought about our defeat here, the manner in which it occurred will become a tale of heroism someday. For no terrain or enemy or even the walls of that great oppidum stopped you when your blood was up. So, from this, take away not a loss for our army, but the knowledge that only our own pride and fierceness brought about our downfall, not the strength or daring of our enemy.’

  There was an almost imperceptible straightening of backs. Fronto looked along the lines. The Tenth were only a little depleted after the battle on the hillside. The Thirteenth were missing a few among their numbers. But the Eighth had had their ranks ravaged as they fled down the slope. Across the army, the roll call this morning had confirmed just under a thousand men missing or dead, including forty six centurions, among them Carbo, Fabius and Furius. It had been a heavy blow, costing the army over half a legion’s worth of veteran officers.

  He looked across to where Atenos stood, stony faced, at the head of the Tenth, having stepped in to fill Carbo’s boots at Fronto’s request. The centurion looked as fierce as Fronto had ever seen such an officer. Gods help the Gauls if they did decide to follow up on their success… but he knew now that they would not do so. The legions bristled with steel, iron and bronze, arrayed not for parade, but for battle, some half mile from the large camp and facing the great bulk of Gergovia.

  The entire army had mobilized before dawn, striking camp. The majority of the men had gone about their business dejected and confused. They had expected to be disciplined by their officers, and to be instead given duties and left to it had worried them all. But this morning, they had packed all the tents and all the carts. The wagons, both supply and artillery, had moved to the river, where even now they were filtering across the rebuilt bridge to the east bank, where they would be safe from any enemy action. After all, how many times had an army been defeated in the field by the unexpected loss of their baggage train?

  And so by the time the morning sun had risen above the eastern hills to bake the grassland, the legions had been assembled there, along with the auxilia, the cavalry and every last unit present, ready for action and with their baggage safe.

  Caesar had spent the previous night alone in his tent, though every officer had occasionally heard his raised voice as he raved in private. But in that time, he had decided upon his course of action, and upon what needed to be said to the men to both scold them and yet not ruin the army’s morale entirely. And so this morning’s gathering had served a dual purpose: to allow Caesar to address the men, certainly, but because they were arrayed in battle formation and in full kit, they also presented a temptation to the enemy. Indeed, one of Varus’ cavalrymen had ridden bare-shouldered up to the oppidum gate just as the first rays of dawn had struck the walls and had cast a spear point first into the dirt, offering battle in the old manner.

  Nothing had happened. The Gauls had not attacked, lurking instead within their fortress and watching the Romans bake on the plain.

  ‘The enemy are not coming, Caesar,’ Antonius said quietly, the officers around him nodding their agreement. The general turned and looked up at the great bulk of Gergovia. It needled him deep, right down to the bone, to fail here. Not once in all their time in Gaul had his legions failed to take an oppidum. But Gergovia was unassailable by siege. It would take too long, and this rebellion had to be put down soon, before all the tribes of Gaul decided they could join in, and perhaps even the Germans and the settled citizens of Narbonensis. No. There was not time for a siege. And the Gauls seemed happy not to descend from the heights. They had no issue with delays, for the longer Caesar floundered, the stronger they would become. The only answer now was to abandon Gergovia and try to draw the rebels down into a proper fight. The general sighed and turned to his men, breathing in the fresh warm air.

  ‘The enemy are apparently afeared to meet us in battle and prefer to lurk behind their walls. See how without the slopes and walls they cannot face us? We must bring them to us, now, in order to defeat them. Labienus and his legions are dealing with the rebels’ allies in the north. The enemy yet hope for Aedui support, and we know that that tribe still waver. The army will now move into Aedui land. We will put down any rebellious spirit among that people and prevent the others who are subservient to them from joining the rebels. It is my belief that the Aedui are of such importance to the enemy leader that he will not allow us to do this and will come down from his eyrie to stop us.’

  It was a feasible plan. Fronto was not so sure the enemy would commit that easily, for they were ever wily, but it was the best they could do in the circumstances, and better that the army concentrate on a new direction for the campaign than sit for weeks beneath that oppidum, brooding on their failure.

  ‘Officers,’ Caesar bellowed, ‘note your positions in column and deploy your men. We march for Aedui lands.’

  * * * * *

  Cavarinos leaned back in his seat, stretching.

  ‘They are leaving,’ he sighed. ‘Against the odds, you made good on your word, my king. Gergovia stands and Caesar has fallen.’

  Vercingetorix nodded. ‘Caesar moves towards the Aedui now. He will impose his will upon them once more and thinks to undo our ties there. But he moves slowly and in force, and we will set his allies against him. Word comes from the north that Critognatos is bound for us with a further four thousand men, the final recruits of his mission. He has done well and our forces swell to almost the point where Gergovia cannot hold us.’

  The king smiled. ‘But here we stay for now. Litavicus the Aeduan is readying himself and his companions, along with ambassadors from all the tribes in our alliance. This morning, they will ride at speed by ways unknown to the Romans. He is bound for Bibracte, where he will finish the task of bringing his tribe to our banner. Other agents of his and ours will move on Noviodunum in Aedui lands, where the Ro
mans have established their supply base. When Caesar reaches his destination, he will find the Aedui arrayed against him and his supply system failed. By then our forces will be at their fullest and we will descend from Gergovia and move against him.’

  ‘You think to meet Caesar in battle?’ one of the Senone chiefs frowned.

  ‘I do. We will need to visit Aedui lands to settle our alliance with them, and we will defeat Caesar there. Or if he flees, which he may do due to his untenable supply situation, he will be forced to flee north, and we can push him back and back until we cut him down.’

  ‘We won here because the gods willed it,’ muttered the Senone. ‘This place is sacred to your Arvernus. He would not allow the Romans to take this place. What if Taranis does not feel the same on the plains? What if Toutatis does not favour us? The Senones have fallen to him more than once, despite our gods watching over us. What is different now?’

  Cavarinos rolled his eyes and, noting the slight tinge of anger hovering on the edge of the king’s expression, he turned to the Senone chief. ‘We won here because Vercingetorix outthought Caesar and our army outfought him. Arvernus did nothing but watch the Romans suffer at the hands of men.’

  The difficult chieftain glanced nervously at the rough statue of Arvernus that dominated this large meeting hall, making signs of protection and warding. ‘Do not anger your gods, Arvernian. The gods only protect us when it is in their interest.’

  ‘And what of Ogmios?’ Cavarinos said sharply. Vercingetorix gave him a barely perceptible shake of the head, but he chose to ignore it. If these credulous fools would fight or fall on their belief in the gods’ support, then he had the means to bring it about. Teeth clenched, he reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew the bundle from within. The curse was still well-wrapped, unopened since the day the druid had passed it to him in the Carnute woodlands. Standing, he began to unwind the wrapping and let it fall to the ground, holding the slate tablet aloft.

  ‘Arvernus watches over the Arverni, for we are his children. But all the tribes pay our dues to Taranis, and to Toutatis, and to Cernunnos, and - of course - to Ogmios. And Ogmios favours us, for here is one of his legendary curses, gifted by the God himself through the druids of the Carnutes to us. When the time is right, it will be used to destroy our enemy. But know through this gift that Ogmios is with us, as are all the gods of the tribes, for we struggle to free their people from the Roman heel. Do you now doubt the validity of our cause? Do you doubt that we can win? Do you doubt that the gods are with us?’

  Cavarinos stopped, breathing heavily. He was not a public speaker by nature. He was a straightforward man and preferred a logical argument to rhetorical and theatrical speech, but something had surfaced within him and carried him on the crest of a wave of oratory. He looked around at the assembled chiefs of several dozen tribes, every gaze in the room locked on the heavy yet brittle prize he held above his head. He had them. At this very moment, he realised, they would do anything he asked. He could even depose Vercingetorix and command in his place. All he…

  Cavarinos blinked and lowered his arms, stooping to gather the wrappings and begin covering the tablet once more, finally slipping it into its leather container, while the silent masses around him watched his every move.

  He straightened, folding his arms.

  ‘We have beaten Caesar, who some said could not be beaten. We now number more than he, we are fighting for a just cause, and the gods watch over us. How can we lose?’

  He sat back as the room erupted, feeling the weight of the item at his belt more than ever before. Still, at least he had finally used it for something. As a talisman he had known it would have value and, looking around at the effect he had stirred, it seemed even he had underestimated that power.

  * * * * *

  Fronto slowed Bucephalus to a walk, rubbing his temple wearily as he fell in alongside Caesar on his white mare, red cloak rippling in the breeze. The general’s expression had not changed or softened once during the day they had ridden with the huge column of men and carts across the Elaver and northeast towards Aedui territory.

  ‘Is this a good idea, Caesar?’

  The general remained silent, and Fronto looked left and right again, away from the column. A sizeable force was moving off south, armour glinting in the hazy sunlight, officers at the head, supply wagons to the rear. To the left, northwards, two lone mounted figures rode steadily towards the crest of a hill.

  ‘I mean, splitting the army further,’ he added for clarification.

  The general glanced once, briefly, to the south, and turned his stony gaze on Fronto.

  ‘It is only the Narbonensis garrison and the two newly-raised young legions, and they are returning to their original task.’

  ‘But we can be fairly certain that now Vercingetorix’s army outnumbers ours, and yet you diminish our forces on a whim?’

  There was a flicker of annoyance in Caesar’s expression and Fronto noted it gladly. Better to have the general annoyed than this stilted, impassive silence that was so untouchable.

  ‘A whim? Fronto, every week more tribes in Gaul flock to the rebel’s banner. While I intend to crush his army here, I can no longer afford to leave our province unguarded. What if the man turns his gaze south? How long will the senate support my governorship if I allow Narbo to fall to the enemy? No. The Narbonensis garrison are going back where they belong. They have honed their craft in a useful campaign among the Arverni, and my cousin Lucius will use them well to hold our border against any incursion.’

  Fronto nodded hesitantly. To some extent, he agreed. The garrison had done more than expected, and the idea of Arverni rebels stomping around Narbo - a second home to Fronto - chilled him. But not quite as much as the possibility of the legions finding themselves facing two-to-one odds suddenly. ‘Then perhaps we should meet up with Labienus?’ he suggested. ‘He must have dealt with the northern risings by now.’

  ‘We will combine with Labienus in due course, Fronto. For now, let us stick with the plan. I wish to secure the Aedui, even if it does not draw the rebels down to us.’

  Fronto turned his gaze once more on the two horsemen as they disappeared over the rise. The Aeduans who had brought the enemy cavalry back to them: Eporedirix and Viridomarus. Of all the Aedui, they surely must be the most trustworthy considering their earlier actions, and yet something about the two riding off without any Roman influence over them sat badly with him. The pair rode for Noviodunum, where the new supply base was now fully operational, supporting the army’s campaign in the field. He shuddered despite the heat.

  With a squeeze shut of his eyes, Fronto reached up and clutched the figure of Fortuna around his neck. His bad feelings had been wrong before, hadn’t they?

  * * * * *

  Noviodunum seethed. The two riders reined in on the slope of the Liger’s south bank and looked across the wide bridge at the place. The last time either of them had been here, the bridge had been sturdy and wide enough to drive across a fully-laden cart. The new bridge was twice that wide and more, constructed on timber piles the size of which was truly impressive. The Romans had brought their engineering to the Aedui oppidum.

  It appeared that the town, which rose atop a low hill on the north bank, had more or less been given over to the Roman depot. Instead of forming a new palisaded enclosure outside as was normally the case, the Aedui had been made to abandon more than half the place, the occupants either moved to whatever housing was available or sent to take part in the cavalry force that even now rode with Caesar. The entire western half of the walled oppidum - the lower part in fact, nearer the bridge - seemed to have been demolished and then filled with Roman warehouses in ordered lines. It looked appalling. There was little Gallic about the place any more. Only half the town remained, and that would probably be playing host to the Roman personnel. The rest of it resembled little more than a Roman fort.

  ‘What are we doing?’ Viridomarus breathed quietly.

  ‘What we must. We t
ook an oath, my friend,’ Eporedirix replied, though the sight of this place soured his soul too.

  ‘But Vercingetorix beat Caesar. It is becoming clear that we gave our oath to the wrong man. Look at what Rome is doing to our lands.’

  Eporedirix opened his mouth to defend his position, but his heart simply wasn’t in it. Caesar was losing. Only three days ago the man had sent his own cousin with many cohorts south to defend Roman lands in case the rebels decided to turn south. And the rebel forces continued to grow, despite the Aedui remaining loyal to their oath. Caesar had lost his first battle, and now he looked to defend rather than attack. The tide had begun to turn, and the longer the Aedui held to an oath that doomed them, the more they stood to lose when Caesar’s army was finally driven back south.

  ‘How can we break an oath? It is the worst thing a man can do. I fought against my conscience when we informed Caesar of Litavicus’ treachery. But I held to my vow, despite the damage it did us.’

  ‘An oath to an enemy of our people is no oath to keep, Eporedirix.’

  The two men rode slowly across the wide bridge. As they passed a small Roman guard post at the city’s gate they were questioned, as though they were passing into Roman lands and not into an oppidum belonging to their own tribe. Eporedirix told the men whence they had come, showing the documents with Caesar’s own bull seal, which saw them past with no difficulty, but the very necessity of doing so rankled. This was their homeland.

  Separating the main area of Roman activity from the older oppidum structures was a huge corral full of horses with Roman tack and blankets. Men in Roman tunics moved among them, as well as what appeared to be Hispanic men speaking in their thick, languid accents. What had become of the place?