For moment, it looked like something had gone wrong. The huge bulk shuddered and groaned, but remained steadfastly grounded. The tiny movement among the legionaries that Fronto had noted was merely any give in the ropes and knots being taken up.
‘It’s too big. They should have tried building it already upright’ Fronto grumbled, shaking his head.
Crispus smiled.
‘They can’t do it that way. Look!’
As Fronto watched, his breath held, he noticed the tiniest lift along the immense carcass of the tower. The far end came up by a foot, and then two. More and more and, the further it rose from the ground, the easier it became, moving faster and faster. Fronto watched with fascination as Tetricus and two of his engineers continually darted around the scene like flies around a horse’s tail, making minor adjustments; slowing down one rope and then the other, issuing orders to the other engineering details to move a chock from beneath the corner. Gradually, as it lifted, it was manoeuvred carefully forward so that it rose square onto the wheeled platform.
Another call went up from a cornicen, and two more centuries of men marched from the gate and approached the rear of the tower, now straining at an impressive forty five degrees.
‘Hell, I’m glad that’s not my job’ breathed Fronto as he watched the men pass under the looming bulk and grasp two more ropes that had been attached to the back.
Crispus nodded.
‘Absolutely. Though without them, the tower would likely continue with its momentum, past the apex, and tip over onto the legionaries.’
Fronto nodded and tried not to think what it would be like being one of those men at the back, with several tons of wood towering over you, only held up by your friends that you could not see on the other side of the structure. He swallowed.
‘Sounds like the Aduatuci are enjoying the show.’
Crispus laughed.
‘They’ve probably never seen anything like it. They do construct their own ramparts and palisades, and they likely understand everything we’ve done so far, but this tower…’
He drew a deep breath as the tower reached its apex and wobbled perilously forward toward the men before settling with the men at the rear taking the strain on their own ropes.
‘This tower is bigger than anything even we have used in war since at least the defeat of Hannibal. It has to be impressing them, and almost certainly confusing them too.’
Fronto nodded. Not far away, Galronus of the Remi stood with his own officers. They seemed to be paying more attention to the oppidum than to the activity of the engineers.
‘Come with me’ Fronto nudged Crispus and the pair walked across to where the Belgic auxiliary officer stood. The man had a curious expression on his face; a mix of suspicion and humour.
‘Galronus. Finding Tetricus’ tower funny?’
The man, straight-backed and taller than Fronto and Crispus by a head, turned to look at them and harrumphed.
‘I do not like this. Aduatuci too smug.’
Fronto laughed.
‘Your Latin is improving all the time. Why smug?’
The nobleman gestured to the oppidum and, squinting, Fronto followed his finger. The walls atop the great rock were lined with Aduatuci, and not just warriors, but women and children too, all making a great noise and gesturing.
‘Aduatuci are clever’ Galronus stated flatly. ‘They know what tower is for. They know they trapped and outnumbered. So why they make fun of you.’
‘Make fun?’ Fronto stared.
‘They ask how such small men push such a big thing and they laugh.’
Fronto grumbled.
‘They’re entitled to their fun, I suppose. Bravery in the face of certain defeat is hardly unknown, and you Belgae are, if nothing else, a brave people.’
Galronus nodded.
‘Brave, true, but this stupid.’
He turned suddenly and grasped Fronto by the upper arms.
‘Do not trust Aduatuci. Something wrong.’
Fronto stared at Galronus, but his mind was whirling and he barely heard what the man had said to him. Instinctively, as the man grasped his arms, Fronto had flinched; with both arms! His left arm had twitched. He stared down at the limb as the nobleman let go and he tried to move it. It hurt like hell and felt like trying to lift an ox with his finger, but there was definite movement.
His arm was alive. Damn it all, his arm was healing!
He grinned, first at Galronus, then at Crispus, and then back at the auxiliary officer again. Laughing, he slapped the man on the shoulder and grinned.
‘Thank you, Galronus. Thank you very, very much!’
The man stared at him as though the legate had gone mad, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Fronto shook his head.
‘If they’re up to something we have to pre-empt them.’
He grasped Crispus and marched with him back toward the command party, where Caesar stood, flanked by Sabinus and Varus on the walkway near the gate.
‘What’s happening?’ Crispus asked as he rushed alongside his peer across the causeway and in through the gate. A short climb up the boarded steps and they reached the parapet of the rampart. Sabinus turned with a smile.
‘What’s got you so animated, Fronto?’
As the general and several of his staff officers turned to look at the two legates, Fronto pointed with his good arm, pausing only a moment to twitch his left, at the oppidum.
‘The Aduatuci are up to something. We’ve been speaking to Galronus, and he’s convinced of it. They’re up there laughing at us while we work on the engines of their destruction. They’re trapped and as good as dead, but they’re in high spirits. Whatever they’re planning we need to pre-empt it.’
‘And what do you suggest, Fronto?’
‘They’re laughing at us because they have a plan. We’ve already dealt with one almighty balls-up in this campaign because we underestimated them. Let’s not do it again. Get the legions back from across the river. Have the plates and bridge attached to the tower as fast as they can be. Tetricus said it would all be ready to go by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll bet if we pushed him, he could have it ready in the morning.’
Caesar stared at him.
‘Fronto, you are the man who keeps telling me to listen to the engineers and to slow down and not throw troops away. And now you want me to launch a massive barely-prepared attack ahead of schedule? Is this one of your ‘bad feelings’ again?’
Fronto glared at him.
‘Don’t make me sound like a superstitious lunatic, general. This is logical. Sensible even. Galronus knows these people better than all of us. He thinks they’re up to something, and I think he’s right. Hell, if there were plates on that tower, I’d launch the attack right now.’
Caesar shook his head.
‘Whether it be logic or the Gods you think are driving you, Fronto, we’re not prepared for the attack. If it keeps you happy, treble the watch tonight and have everyone on standby, but we move when things are in position as planned.’
Fronto’s teeth ground together, but the general’s face was set. He would not be persuaded. The legate turned and marched back down the slope and out of the gate, toward the First Cohort of the Tenth, standing in parade formation beside the tower, which was now upright and being secured onto its wheeled base. Locating the primus pilus at one end of the front line, he strode across, blinking as he passed suddenly from the sunlight into the deep shadow of the enormous tower, and then back out again.
‘Priscus!’
The primus pilus of the Tenth, already at attention, saluted.
‘Sir?’
‘Come with me.’
Priscus exchanged brief words with his signifer and then strode across to join the legate, who had walked back across the grass and was gesturing at Galronus. The three men converged at a spot not far from the impressive tower.
‘Fronto?’ A combined greeting and question from the Remi officer.
Fronto grinned at the two men with
him.
‘I have another suicidally reckless mission, and I’m looking for volunteers.’
* * * * *
Labienus took a deep breath, acutely aware that he was, right now, not a staff officer, general, legate or any sort of soldier, but the very embodiment and representation of Rome herself. What happened at this council could shape the future of Gaul, the Belgae and Rome. And it was all down to him. Well, in truth there were others, but the responsibility rested in him. Procillus and Mettius would take on the minutia, dealing with the details, but it was up to him to make the impression.
And so, this morning, once he had been informed that the last of the chieftains had arrived, he had been to check over his preparations once again. In the six days since the fort was completed, all of the interior buildings had been replaced with permanent wooden structures. An aqueduct had been dug, lined and paved from a spring a quarter of a mile to the north, and even now a bathhouse was almost complete outside the walls.
But despite these great advances, there was a more important achievement.
He, Pomponius, and an Aedui auxiliary cavalry prefect by the name of Septimius had entered the oppidum of Nemetocenna that second morning, entirely alone; no honour guard or legionaries; on foot and unarmed. The surprise that registered on the faces of the Atrebates inhabitants had made him smile. The three men, in their best dress uniforms, had found their way to the centre of the oppidum and located the council hut, or chief’s hut, or whatever they called it. Septimius, a Gaul who could speak their tongue, had accosted a frightened-looking fish seller and asked who was currently in charge. After much conversation, the man hurried off and brought back an old man; a nobleman presumably, who had been too old to go to war. He had limped into the square and stopped in front of the Romans. And so, Labienus had made contact with the Atrebates on a personal level.
They had asked permission, politely, of the old man, to use the long building for the upcoming council and the man had shrugged and, somewhat bitterly, told them to do whatever they wanted.
So, as Labienus had planned, he now walked in to a council chamber that was both Belgic and Roman. He had had two of the engineers manufacture close fitting shutters that let in the light and kept out the wind. Consequently the interior was light and warm, the fire pit in the centre blazing away.
By the door there were two tables on which stood flasks of beer and amphorae of good wine from the famous vineyards of Pompeii. Glasses and mugs rested there waiting to be filled. A trough of clean water for washing sat close by, and two more tables, awaiting food that would be provided by the soldiers later.
The most important change that he had wrung from this building, though, was the furniture. Previously the walls had been decorated with the standards and armaments of the Atrebates, while the floor was covered with skins and furs to sit on while looking up at the great wooden throne of the chief. These were gone. Well, not entirely; one wall retained the symbols of Belgic pride and power. The other held Roman standards and maps of both the Empire and of Gallic and Belgic territory. And between these two symbols stood a ring of seats, equal in size and quality; one for each of the chiefs that had been summoned and five for he, Procillus, Mettius, Pomponius and Septimius.
The door swung shut behind the Roman contingent, and Labienus cast his gaze around the room. The leaders of the tribes turned in their seats to look at him. He was saddened by the fact that several of them were either far too old to have fought in the battles, or much younger than one would expect. Several of these men had only ruled their people for a matter of weeks, and several had few people to rule.
‘Good morning’ he announced loudly. ‘I understand that many of you cannot speak my language, so prefect Septimius here will translate for those of you who cannot.’
Next to him, the Aeduan auxiliary rattled off the translation in a passable Belgic dialect. Silence greeted both his words and their echo. Hoping this was not a sign of things to come, Labienus strode through the room and found a free seat. The other Romans also sat, flanking him.
‘Two of my men at the back will be coming round as we converse, offering you local beer or wine brought from Italia. I urge you to try the wine, but will understand if you do not. Meats, cheese, and bread will be brought at noon.’
Again, as Septimius’ echo died away, the room remained stony silent.
‘Very well, I can see that none of you is interested in entering into neighbourly negotiations. I can entirely understand that, but let me lay out a few truths for you…’
Next to him, Septimius continued to translate. The looks on several of the older chiefs hardened.
‘You are a proud people and you see us as an occupying enemy. To a point, you are correct. However, I will point this out: Rome currently has treaties with most of the tribes of Gaul and legate Crassus has taken the eagle as far as the western sea. Caesar is, as we speak, completing his campaign. Rome is here, and no matter how much you may wish it or pray to your Gods for it, Rome is not going to go away.’
He waited for Septimius to catch up.
‘But there are benefits we bring. With Rome as your partner, you need never fear incursions from across the Rhine again. You will prosper. Our traders will bring exotic goods from desert lands further than any Celt has ever travelled, and in return will purchase your own wares.’
Another pause.
‘Rome brings peace and prosperity… but…’ he smiled. ‘For those of you who just like to fight, we can use a good warrior!’
As Septimius translated that last, a laugh actually went up from a few of the chiefs, and low muttered conversation started here and there. Labienus waited for a moment. This was the breakthrough, but he mustn’t waste it. He could lose them any moment.
‘Quite seriously, my lords,’ he said, giving that last the most respect his could muster, ‘we are at a junction. We have warred against you and, without wanting to play any naming games, the Belgae initiated hostilities.’
He noted the change in several of the chief’s faces. He almost ruined it there, but it needed to be said. They must be aware of everything pertinent to this meeting.
‘But that war is over. And while there will always be those who will seek confrontation, I myself have seen firsthand both the horrors and stupidity that go hand in hand with the glory and booty.’
He took a deep breath. Here was the other point where he could lose them.
‘Six miles north of where we fought a hard battle against worthy opponents, including your own warriors, we found the elderly, the women and the children of your people who live south of that field. Every single person there had taken their own life rather than co-exist with Rome, which is, frankly, idiotic.’
The room had gone quiet once again.
‘Traditionally, Rome has taken slaves after a campaign, yes. And yes, it still happens, but we do not rape and murder, nor do we enslave entire peoples. So, as I say, the war is over. As far as Rome is concerned, we have peace with you all. What you do with that peace is up to you, but I urge you to think on this: You have all lost greatly. What you need now is time to grow and heal once again, and Rome is willing to help you and support you in this.’
There were gentle murmurings around the room.
‘Rome is not a city; it is an idea. An idea that encompasses all who let it. The tribes of the Alps or the southern coast have considered themselves part of that idea for generations now and they have wine, and aqueducts and theatres and arenas and…’ he gestured at the walls of the hut. ‘And windows… and most of all, they have peace.’
He leaned back in his seat.
‘I have the authority to represent Caesar and Rome, and I am here to open negotiations with you. My proposal is this:’
He stood.
‘Each tribe signs a treaty with Rome. Each tribe will donate money and goods to Caesar’s army, in quantities to be determined later, but that will not exceed what each tribe can easily spare. Each tribe will supply troops for the army, proportio
nate to both the size of the tribe and the current manpower available. Each tribe will open their gates to Rome and its couriers, soldiers and merchants.’
He noted the sourness to the silence now.
‘In return, Rome will, as we are currently doing with a few of your tribes, train your warriors in the art of Roman warfare. We will give you engineers that will help you improve your lot. We will grant trade concessions such that you will pay no tax on imports from Roman merchants. You will receive the protection of our army and limited rights under Roman law. Once your levies and tithes are made there will be a consolidation period of three years during which you can heal your land and your people and return to strength before a standard provincial tax is levied, by which time you will be able to afford it.’
He smiled.
‘Nemetocenna will become the focus of Roman influence here; a garrison town and a capital, but each of your civitas… your most important oppida will receive attention, to help them grow and become strong and important. In short, we need to take, but we also wish to give. Not a conquest, but a partnership.’
One of the older chieftains waved a hand at him and rattled something off in their own tongue. Septimius translated quickly.
‘He says that what you offer is for them to stop being Belgae and become Romans, and that is no choice.’
Labienus shook his head.
‘Rome is an embracing mother. Some of our peoples speak Greek rather than Latin. Some speak their own African languages. We do not stop them worshipping their own Gods… indeed, we take their Gods into our own pantheon. You have a sacred grove here in Nemetocenna. It may have escaped your notice, but if you watch, you will see our men going to pour libations and make offerings there. We do not seek to stamp out your culture, but to learn from it and embrace it.’
He laughed.
‘One of my good friends, a senior officer in our army, has lost his taste for good Campanian wine, favouring Gallic beer. This partnership I speak of can only succeed if we try to make it so, but it will also only fail if you make it. Now, the whole point of negotiation is that all points are flexible. I have made the opening offer. Tell me what it is that you seek, and we will find an arrangement that suits us all.’
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 94