Chapter 15
(Iunius: Inland Aquitania, two months prior to Caesar’s victory over the Veneti at the battle of Darioritum )
Gaius Pinarius Rusca, senior tribune of the Seventh Legion, shuffled in his saddle.
‘What are we waiting for, sir?’
Crassus shot him an irritable glance; the man asked too many questions. Still, while Rusca was as military-minded as a bag of brassica, a fresh-faced political ‘would be’ from Rome, he would likely be gone within the year and, after all, being surrounded by such idiots did one’s own image no harm.
‘Reinforcements, tribune.’
‘Sir?’
Crassus sighed.
‘We are a single legion, as you may have noted, Rusca, not a force of three or four such as those being led in the north.’
Galronus of the Remi, leader of the strong auxiliary cavalry force accompanying the Seventh Legion, rolled his eyes, his own irritation barely contained behind clenched teeth. Throughout the three week march south into Aquitanian lands, the legate of the Seventh, a man Fronto had told him to be careful of, had persisted with the attitude that the Seventh Legion were effectively a noble and veteran force, moving alone through hostile territory, while the numerous detachments of Gallic cavalry were little more than a hindrance that blocked an otherwise impressive view.
Rusca looked taken aback.
‘Of course, sir. But one legion was enough for you to crush the north west.’
Oh good. Stupid and sycophantic.
‘Rusca, the Armorican tribes were relatively civilised Gauls in small groups, with their own internecine wars to attend to. Conquering them was like laying down the law to a group of squabbling children by comparison with this.’
At least Galronus could agree with him on that point.
‘Aquitania constitutes fully a third of Gaulish territory, Rusca. We are not talking about a few squabbling tribes here, but what amounts to an entire nation. There may be many tribes in Aquitania, but there are a few very powerful ones at the top of the heap who maintain power in the region. If we wish to control Aquitania, we must first seek to control those tribes.’
He squinted into the distance and gave a small half-smile.
‘Don’t forget, Rusca, that very clever and powerful men have fallen foul of this place over the last century and more. Praeconinus and his army died here. Manilius barely escaped back to Narbonensis with his life. We will find no allies here and no friendly supplies. Make no mistake: in Aquitania, the Seventh Legion is utterly alone.’
Again, Galronus ground his teeth as he glanced over his shoulder at the assembled mass of thousands of Gallic cavalry, but his attention was drawn back to the legate as the man laughed.
‘So we must be prepared. And like all good commanders, I prepared as much as possible before we even left Vindunum. I sent a few requests and messages ahead with some trusted couriers. See how my preparations begin to pay off?’
He pointed to the saddle further down the valley, the few flitting clouds casting patchy shadows along the ridge. As Galronus and the tribune watched, men began to pour over the rise in their direction.
Galronus frowned.
‘With respect, legate, may I ask how you managed to arrange such a large force of reinforcements?’
Crassus shrugged.
‘I have a not-inconsiderable supply of money and influence. Add to that the authority of Caesar and you’d be surprised how easy it is to raise an army. I can only imagine how the decurions of Tolosa, Narbo and Carcaso must have panicked and fallen over one another to provide my troops and supplies in time.’
Galronus narrowed his eyes.
‘The general authorised extra troops, sir?’
Crassus turned an angry look on him.
‘Beware the pit trap of insolence, commander. I authorised them in the general’s name. Such authority is implied in my command. The general would rather we cost him a little inconvenience and succeeded in our task than we lost him an entire legion in the wilds of Aquitania; of that I’m certain.’
Galronus turned his astonished gaze back to the army pouring over the crest and down the valley toward them.
‘There are thousands of them!’
‘Somewhere in the region of three thousand, if my requests have all been met; mostly archers and spear men, along with a good supply train of grain and other goods.’
Crassus smiled smugly as he watched the army pouring toward them to almost double the size of his force.
‘Let’s move on and pick up our new allies. They are, after all, solid Roman stock of Narbonensis who have had a long journey to join us.’
Galronus glared at the legate as he turned his back, wheeled his horse and threw up an arm to signal the army forward. ‘Solid Roman stock’ indeed… the men of Narbo were almost as Gallic as the Remi; had been less than a century ago.
As the legion and its auxiliary support moved off, the senior officers moving ahead with Crassus, Galronus walked his horse out to the side, deliberately detaching from the column.
He was surprised when, a moment later, one of the five remaining tribunes of the Seventh trotted out to join him. As the army marched on, Galronus looked the man up and down.
He had seen the tribune, as he had seen them all during the journey, usually with their heads up the legate’s backside. This one, one of the juniors, was surprisingly elderly to be filling such a post. From what Galronus understood, the tribunate was almost exclusively filled with young politicians climbing their ladder to success, alongside just a few clever veterans who stayed in the position in the hope of securing the command of a legion when the previous legate moved on.
This man, however, would be perhaps fifty years old or more. His hair was peppered black and white, his face lined and displaying a weariness that had little to do with physical exertion. The officer gave him a sad smile and pulled alongside.
‘Can I help you, tribune?’
The man glanced ahead, but the command party had picked up the pace to meet the new troops and was clearly out of audible distance, even if they had been listening.
‘Watch yourself carefully, commander.’
Galronus frowned.
‘I already was, tribune.’
‘More carefully. Young Crassus has taken a very personal dislike to you and you may find yourself in a great deal of danger unless you tread lightly.’
Galronus sighed.
‘I am used to dealing with prejudice, tribune. The officers of Caesar’s army mostly see me as an barbarian warrior given too much authority for my own good.’
‘Not like Crassus. He despises your cavalry and even their commander, Varus. He would never move against Varus, for the man is of noble Roman blood, but you…?’
The Remi commander nodded sadly.
‘Do you know, tribune, that I spent the winter in Rome? I had only a loose command of Latin before my time there, and much the same even when I first arrived. And yet, in the city itself, no one treated me as anything other than another face in the street. No prejudice. The distrust of the Gallic peoples seems to be the province of the military alone.’
The tribune chuckled.
‘Give them a little room there. They’ve spent the last two years fighting Gauls, so there’s bound to be a certain uneasiness. Things will change in time, but not until the army stops campaigning here. In the meantime, mark my words and watch your back. I will do what I can to help, but I will not, you understand, defy the legate for you.’
Galronus nodded.
‘I would not expect it. I am surprised to find a tribune in the Seventh who would lower himself enough to speak to an auxiliary commander, let alone one of your… experience.’
The man laughed.
‘’Age’, you mean. Yes, I’m no young hopeful, I’m aware.’
He held out a hand.
‘Publius Tertullus. I have the esteemed honour of being young master Crassus’ uncle, through marriage.’
Galronus raised his bro
w.
‘And you serve as a tribune?’
Tertullus laughed.
‘I am not the most popular man of my line. I fear the lad’s father keeps me close to look after him.’
The Remi officer smiled and took the proffered hand.
‘It is good to know that someone of apparently good honest sense has a commanding role in this campaign. This role is not one of my choosing. I would have been back among my own people serving under Labienus if commander Varus had been willing to take this command instead.’
Again, the older tribune gave a light laugh.
‘I must return to the others. I may be required when we meet up with these new reinforcements. Remember my words, though, Galronus of the Remi.’
The cavalry officer smiled and nodded.
He would remember.
* * * * *
The army had been travelling through the lands of the Sotiates for a day now, and Galronus had begun to feel distinctly tense, jumping at each unexpected sound. The officers in their accustomed position in the vanguard seemed to be treating the whole expedition as some sort of jaunt through the country, laughing and joking, pausing the army’s march to take a meal on a hill with a particularly splendid view and riding out on small forays to hunt as the army travelled.
The Remi commander had met a number of men like this in his winter sojourn in Rome with Fronto, men more interested in themselves than their assigned task. Men who were heading for a fall.
The scenery here was stunning, though, he had to admit. As a man from the largely low and flat lands of the Remi, Galronus had little experience of terrain like this. Aquitania seemed to consist largely of deep valleys and gorges, thick woodland and high waterfalls, separated by high rock formations and bald moorlands. The landscape reminded him of the folds and dips in a cloak cast uncaringly to the floor.
Also, since leaving Vindunum and separating from Caesar’s army, the weather had been improving the further south they travelled, leading to blue skies and warm sun among the Aquitanian hills, the buzz and hum of bees and the twitter of birds a constant companion.
But no amount of breathtaking scenery or stunning weather could shake the mood from the cavalry commander.
Three days into what was considered to be Aquitania and no sign of anything but a few small hamlets and lonely woodcutters’ huts. One full day into the lands of the Sotiates, the largest tribe of this land, and nothing to show for it but a tanned face and the smell of summer flowers.
Galronus had approached the legate and suggested a number of measures, almost all of which had been ignored out of hand.
Crassus did not deem these woodcutters worth interrogating, though Galronus had seen the look in their eyes as they had watched the legion pass. They knew something and each gaze he met set his nerves a notch higher. The legate refused to reorganise the army’s marching order so as to be less predictable; the Seventh were apparently invincible in Crassus’ eyes. Even the suggestion that they change their route and make for some of the smaller tribes first to gain more of an idea of what they were facing fell on deaf ears. Finally the two men had agreed on roving scouts provided by the Gallic auxiliary cavalry, but even that seemed but a tiny measure to the Remi commander.
A noise cleared the cobwebs from his head.
He was relieved, as usual, to hear the double blast on the Gallic horn that announced the return of the scouts. To his left, the hillside sloped away sharply, becoming a gradient far too steep for horses as it plunged down to a narrow river valley. Ahead, a more gentle and civilised slope led down the valley side, their route to the river they would be following to its confluence.
The scouts appeared to the right flank of the column, where the hillside continued to rise to a lush, grassy moor, punctuated by white rocks that created unusual and fascinating formations on the crest.
From among those white rocks the riders returned, scattered rather than in formation, and at a casual pace. The two blasts on the horn indicated that they were rejoining the column to report, and that the land hereabouts was still clear.
Despite the news, Galronus’ heart still pounded; something was going to happen. He could feel it in his bones and in his blood… something was up. He turned to the cavalry officers trotting along behind him at the head of their units.
‘Be prepared.’
The men, mostly Gallic auxiliaries themselves, a number of them from the Remi tribe, looked at one another in confused concern. While they had no reason to suspect trouble, they knew, to a man, how much they could trust and rely on their commander.
Quiet commands were passed out among the cavalry and Galronus picked up a little speed on his mount, riding ahead to the van.
Tertullus sat at the rear of the tribunes and smiled at the Remi commander as he approached.
‘Good morning, Galronus. You have news?’
Crassus turned and cast a look of supreme disinterest at the horseman.
‘Something is happening’ Galronus said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘I don’t know what it is, but there is something in the air. The legion should stand to, legate.’
Crassus sniffed and turned away again.
‘Take your superstitious mutterings back to the cavalry, Gaul.’
Galronus ground his teeth again and, narrowing his eyes, made a suggestive motion to Tertullus before turning and riding back to his men, each of whom now had a firm grip on his spear, shield strapped on ready for combat.
The scouts were now trotting down the hillside toward the column and Galronus began to become angry with himself. A sense of foreboding was no use without a direction for it. The scouts had given the all clear to the right, and the landscape was visible in all other directions. Unless the legends of old were true and the sky was about to fall, there was no evidence of trouble. The scouts would…
He frowned.
The scouts had been circling in units of a dozen men, three out at all times, covering the landscape ahead and all around them. How the three units had met up to their right and…
‘Sound the alarm!’ he bellowed.
Men all around him stared.
‘They’re not our scouts! Sound the damn alarm!’
As chaos broke out around him, Galronus kicked his horse to life and rode ahead. Sure enough, there were more and more riders pouring over the crest of the hill. A hundred or more men already, and the numbers were thickening all the time. And here the legion and their support were trapped, the hill from which the enemy poured rising to their right, a steep drop to their left, which no man with a sense of self preservation would attempt with anything other than critical, slow care.
The enemy had learned their call code, which means they had already captured and interrogated the scouts and had waited until the Roman force was at its most vulnerable.
By the time Galronus reached the vanguard, the fighting had already begun. The tribunes and their legate were busy bellowing desperate commands, the cornicens and signifers relaying the orders as the legion tried to reorganise from a line six men abreast, into a solid shield wall facing the enemy. By sheer chance, either happy or unhappy depending on the viewer, the bulk of the cavalry were travelling on the army’s left flank and were now cut off from the enemy by the beleaguered legion, trapped between the Seventh and the steep drop to the valley below.
‘Legate: pull the legion back to the brink of the precipice, and I’ll have my cavalry ride out to the rear out of the way.’
‘What?’
Crassus sounded incredulous.
‘The enemy riders will have to be very careful on horseback close to that drop. Your men can arrest their fall quickly if they go over the edge, but a mounted warrior has no such chance.’
Crassus glared at him.
‘I will not take the brunt of a battle against an enemy that used your own cavalry to surprise us while you take your men and slink off somewhere safe!’
Galronus blinked, and the legate snarled at him.
‘Now get your men r
ound behind them and fight as though you were Romans.’
The Gaulish officer stared in disbelief at his commander. Had Varus been the man here and now, he would likely have defied the legate, but Varus had the benefit of being both a senior commander, appointed by Caesar, and a Roman nobleman who theoretically outranked Crassus. Galronus had no such advantage and was well aware of his tenuous grip on command. Should he push Crassus too far, the man would simply remove him from his position and place one of the tribunes in control of the auxiliary cavalry.
‘Very well, sir.’ With an exaggerated salute, he turned and rode back to his men who, already and without the need for such an order, had begun to move back toward the rear of the column.
‘Come on. Let’s get out there and flank them before they do too much damage.’
The units of Gallic horsemen kicked their steeds into a stronger pace and raced along the side of the legion, who were holding the line well and paying no heed to their own cavalry detachment behind them.
As he rode, Galronus frowned. Something was still not right. There must be a thousand or more enemy riders over there; probably two thousand. But that was nowhere near enough to take on an army this size. What did the Sotiates think they were doing?
The legion, now facing the enemy and the rocky hillside behind, formed a shield wall, supported by five further lines of men. The Sotiates, in traditional fashion, had ridden in sharply, cast a first spear into the lines, and then wheeled away before they met the shield wall. That initial volley had caused a reasonable amount of damage but, in the grand scheme of the army, had hardly made a difference, many of the spears being knocked aside with shields or falling short.
Since then the enemy had taken to riding forth in small groups, racing along the line of solid steel, jabbing down with their remaining spears in an overhand manner and then wrenching it back before riding away to rest as another group came forth. The same was happening all along the line. Here and there a spear blow would strike muscle and bone and a legionary would collapse, screaming, back among his fellows, but the vast majority of blows were caught and turned aside with the heavy legionary shields.
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 133