Gallia Invicta mm-3

by S. J. A. Turney

  The legate glared at him.

  “They are Gauls. They are used to serving under a Gaulish commander. I fear you have a grip on your men that no Roman could break.”

  Galronus laughed.

  “It’s called trust and respect, legate.”

  Crassus nodded, his face expressionless.

  “Very well” Galronus said, standing and stretching slowly. “I will have to insist that the disposition of the cavalry becomes my responsibility alone, though. You have seen now how shared authority works out.”

  Crassus nodded again.

  “Agreed. Return to your men, then, commander, and prepare them. We may need to contain attempts to flee, and we will certainly require numerous scout patrols in the coming hours and days.”

  As the Remi officer rolled his shoulders, he grinned and pointed out toward the oppidum.

  “And you, I suspect, will be busy too, legate. If I’m not mistaken, that looks like their leaders riding out to parlay with you.”

  Galronus patted the neck of his steed and stroked her mane as he watched the procedure. The surrender had been civilised and swift, the half dozen top men of the Sotiates riding out to meet the Roman officers and requesting terms. Crassus had, as he had intimated he would to Galronus, offered almost unprecedented good terms, ordering the Gauls to deliver up their arms for disposal, take the oath of allegiance to Rome and forbidding them to take up arms except in the defence of Rome or against mutual enemies. In return, no repercussions would be felt by the Sotiates for their resistance, no hostages taken and no slavery or looting. That last had been particularly surprising, given Crassus’ reputation and the disfavour such an edict would bring on him from his men.

  Rusca, the senior tribune, had been placed in charge of processing the surrendering Gauls, collecting their arms and administering the oath. The man seemed to have a knack for organisation and the whole affair was ordered and efficient, the population leaving the oppidum by the main gate, passing before Rusca and his guard, giving their names and professions and surrendering their weapons before moving off to assemble in ordered rows on the plain below the walls, where they would later take the oath before being free to return to their homes.

  Galronus sighed. Perhaps the young legate’s thirst for bloodshed had finally been slaked and he was settling into the role of the praetor in a traditional Roman fashion. Still, it would be a long time before the Remi chieftain would be comfortable giving Crassus the benefit of the doubt.

  The auxiliary cavalry sat ahorse in large units, keeping a watchful eye on events and upon the assembling unarmed Gauls. He felt some sympathy for them as he glanced up and down the rows, the pride still evident in their eyes, unbroken. Pride was hard to come by in Gaul these days.

  A call drew his attention and he turned to see two of his men escorting one of the more important Sotiate warriors toward him. The man was still dressed for battle, his chain shirt a deep grey, the golden torc slung around his neck above it drawing the attention. Though disarmed, the man had retained his armour and the trappings of his rank, sitting astride a horse several hands taller than Galronus’ own.

  The man nodded in familiar salute, his long, white-blond hair dropping across his face and hiding the bushy moustache and the steel grey eyes.

  “Sir, this man asked to speak to you.”

  Galronus smiled at the trooper and then nodded to the Gaulish leader.

  “Thank you soldier. You can leave us.”

  The troopers trotted off, leaving the two horsemen alone in the summer haze.

  “You were once a Gaul.”

  Galronus laughed and slipped with ease into his own language, a much different dialect, but close enough to converse easily.

  “How incredibly closed-minded of you. I am still a Gaul.”

  “You look like a Roman now. Where is your beard? Where is your torc? You wear the uniform of Rome and you talk like them. Even speaking our language, you have their accent.”

  Galronus shrugged.

  “All things change, my friend. I shave and wear their armour, but my friend who leads their Tenth legion rarely shaves and wears a Belgic torc over his Roman trappings. The tribes could never unite to become one Gaul, and so instead we shall become one Roman Gaul.”

  The leader shook his head sadly.

  “It may well be as you say, but I will continue to mourn the passing of our freedom.”

  “Come,” Galronus prompted, “you did not request to see me to discuss our cultural differences.”

  The man straightened in his saddle.

  “You are right, of course… I come to bring you a warning. If I am to take an oath of allegiance I would have a clear conscience and not have broken the oath while still uttering it.”

  The Remi officer narrowed his eyes.

  “You know of some treachery?”

  “Six men lead the Sotiates into war. If you look at the horsemen from where I just came, you will see that only five of us have left the city.”

  Galronus’ frown deepened.

  “One of you intends to bar the town to us again? He would have to be mad.”

  “The Sotiates have offered you their surrender, but Adcantuannus and his ‘soldurii’ have refused to accept the terms and lurk inside the town. I offer you this information in the name of your commander’s generous terms.”

  The cavalry officer stared past him at the town.

  “What are these ‘soldurii’?”

  “They are Adcantuannus’ personal war band: thirty score of warriors loyal to him rather than to the tribe. Since Adcantuannus has refused the terms, then so have the soldurii.”

  Galronus sighed.

  “These men are aware that they endanger the terms granted everyone else by continuing to resist?”

  The man nodded wearily.

  “They will likely run to join the coalition.”

  The Remi officer’s head snapped round sharply.

  “The what?”

  “The Vocates and the Tarusates’ army. You have not heard of this?”

  Galronus straightened again, his blood pumping fast.

  “Army?”

  The man smiled now, a smug smile that worried Galronus.

  “The Vocates and their neighbours have been sending for allies since your legion first crossed the Charanta river. They have sent their warriors and leaders to mass an army in the mountains, where the Spanish tribes will join them.”

  Galronus blinked.

  “The Spanish tribes?”

  The man laughed.

  “It would appear we will not have to hold to our oath for too long.”

  Galronus’ gaze passed swiftly across the field until he spied Crassus, standing with the other tribunes and a couple of centurions by his hastily-erected command tent, deep in conversation.

  “Go over there and relay this to the legate. He may be very generous.”

  The man shrugged.

  “I tell you this not for my own gain, but because it is right to do so and because your knowing your own doom will not change it.”

  Galronus glared at him.

  “Just go and tell everything to the commander.”

  For a moment, he watched the man ride off, and then wheeled his horse and trotted across to two large gatherings of cavalry, sitting ahorse as they monitored the passage of the tribesfolk. As he reined in, he gestured to two of the officers.

  “You, gather fully half the cavalry and have them split and posted around all the other entrances to the oppidum. Be prepared for anyone trying to leave and stop them any way you have to.”

  The officer saluted and rode off, and Galronus turned to the other man.

  “I want you to take a detachment of five hundred men. Have half of them dismount. We’re going into the city. Meet me at the main gate when you have the men.”

  The officer saluted and rode across to his juniors and Galronus sighed. Nothing was ever easy. Sparing a brief glance for the command tent and the Sotiate noble riding toward it, he wh
eeled once again and rode swiftly across the open space before the gathering tribe. The tribune was deeply involved in his bureaucracy, lines of gleaming legionaries overseeing the disarming process.

  “Tribune?” he called as he reined in again and dismounted.

  “Commander?”

  Rusca gestured to the line to halt and lowered his wax tablet and stylus.

  “I have a favour to ask.”

  “Go on?”

  “I need some heavy troops used to fighting on foot. Could I requisition two of your centuries and their officers? We may be looking at trouble in the town.”

  The man frowned and tapped his lip with the stylus.

  “It’s most irregular. Requests like that should go through the chain of command and come down to me from the legate.”

  Galronus nodded.

  “I appreciate that, but the matter is of some urgency.”

  Rusca glanced past him at the dismounted cavalry, their mounted comrades riding alongside them as they descended on the gate.

  “If it’s serious, take the Second and Fourth centuries. Their centurions are over by the gate.”

  Galronus nodded and gave a half-hearted salute, handing his horse’s reins to a legionary and striding across to the centurions.

  “You two have been assigned to me for a short time.”

  The centurions shared a surprised glance and saluted as the cavalry began to arrive.

  “Alright” the officer addressed his mixed force. “We have a rogue leader somewhere in the oppidum, likely trying to break out and make for the mountains. He has a fanatically loyal guard of some six hundred men. If we can get them to surrender without a fight, all to the good, but whatever happens, they don’t leave the settlement except under our guard. We’re going inside and each time we pass a side street, I want mixed parties of legionaries, horsemen and dismounted cavalry to clear the area. You know your ground tactics better than I, but six hundred men should not be hard to find. They can hardly hide in a house.”

  The centurions saluted and turned to the cornicen and signifers nearby, calling out their orders.

  Galronus gazed through the gate at the broad street beyond. At least this place was small.

  The oppidum was even smaller inside than Galronus had expected, the streets forming roughly concentric circles around a central square, with major thoroughfares crossing them and leading from the centre toward the gates, curving and bending as necessary to make their way around structures that had been present before the road system was formed.

  It was unusual in Gaulish settlements, but Galronus had seen similar forms before. At some time in the recent decades, fire must have ravaged the oppidum and the town had been rebuilt with more spacious streets in an almost Roman style, allowing for the buildings that had survived the catastrophe to remain.

  Whether that was the cause of the layout or not, Galronus was thankful of it. Sweeping the streets of the town with his troops had been made considerably easier by the simple shape they took. Here and there they had come across groups of tribesmen who were making for the main gate to comply with the legate’s terms, though already most of the population had left.

  It had taken less than half an hour to sweep most of the settlement clear and now, as the entire scattered force began to join up once again, closing in on the remaining section of town, Galronus was beginning to wonder whether he had been the victim of a strange trick.

  His doubts were assuaged, however, as the cavalryman at the front of his small force was suddenly plucked from his saddle and thrown with a shriek against the squat, timber wall of the house behind him.

  Before the cry of alarm went up, more arrows struck, peppering the mixed force. Half a dozen men had fallen before the legionaries filtered through the mass to the front, raising their heavy shields and forming a barrier to the deadly hail.

  Galronus ran forward, waving a signal to the cavalry officer ahead. While the mounted troops were good for searching the streets and chasing down survivors, they would be of precious little use in harsh fighting at street level. Responding instantly to his orders, the officer called to his men and they raced on past the side street from which the arrows had issued before dismounting and hurriedly finding something to which to tie their reins so they could fall in on foot and join the fight.

  Arrows continued to pound the shields of the legionaries as Galronus appeared between the dismounted cavalry and peered round the corner.

  The street was seething with men. The Remi commander’s sharp eyes picked out the four important facets of the enemy force in moments. The near side was formed of perhaps a hundred men with spears and bows, defending the rear of Adcantuannus’ soldurii. Far ahead, he could see another smaller group of perhaps fifty or so men making for the postern gate at the end of the road, a plausible route to escape the city. The leader himself was clearly distinguishable, gleaming in bronze and gold, toward the far end of the street with half a dozen burly men around him. The last group that made up the force were the bulk of the ‘soldurii’ gathered at the centre, close by their leader and ready to fight or flee depending upon the circumstances.

  Galronus frowned.

  This street was a side street that shouldn’t lead to a gate. He’d been round the periphery of the oppidum earlier and marked the location of all the gates with his forces. This gate shouldn’t exist, damn it.

  Gritting his teeth, he turned to one of the legionaries, crouching behind his large shield in the third row.

  “Give me that!”

  The soldier relinquished his shield unhappily and shuffled closer to the man beside him and Galronus mimicked the stance of a defending legionary, hunkering down behind his shield as he squeezed his way through the crowd and out to the front.

  As he reached open space, he risked glancing over the rim and immediately ducked back as two arrows thudded into the wood and leather.

  “Adcantuannus!”

  There was a pause during which the only sound was the occasional thud of arrows against shields and then slowly the firing stopped. Galronus risked another look. The archers stood ready with their arrows nocked, tensing.

  “What is it, Roman?”

  With a smile, Galronus switched to his native tongue.

  “There is nowhere to go, Adcantuannus. The cavalry have you penned in outside. I have more than twice your number here…” a lie, though the man couldn’t know, “and your countrymen are being treated with honour and care. Stop this madness while you can.”

  The warrior with the gleaming bronze helm appeared above the crowd, standing high on something unseen. He stood silent for a long moment as, not far behind him, the advance group of warriors had unbarred the gate and were heaving it open.

  Adcantuannus turned, gesturing expansively with his outstretched arm. Galronus couldn’t see too much detail but would be willing to bet that the man was grinning.

  “See, Roman, how we have a secret exit, unseen from without. Your troops will not be on us before we melt into the landscape and disappear. You will see us again, though, soon enough.”

  Galronus smiled.

  “I fear you are mistaken, my chief.”

  As the gate swung open, a roar erupted outside. The Remi officer couldn’t see past the occupants of the street, but that battle cry from the unseen force beyond the gate was all too familiar to the man who had taught it to the auxilia. Somehow, though he’d not seen the gate on their earlier foray, someone had.

  The roar died away, but not the noise, as the cavalry’s voices were replaced by the ground-shaking thunder of their hooves. Galronus almost chuckled as he could see, at the far end of the street, the warriors desperately forcing the gate shut once again, panicked urgency gripping them.

  Adcantuannus turned back to him.

  “We will still take the head of every man here before we fall.”

  Galronus ground his teeth. What was it with these lunatics? There was everything to be said for pride, bravery and honour, but to throw oneself awa
y in the face in hopeless odds was far more suicidal than brave.

  Taking a deep breath, he dropped the shield.

  He could almost hear the strain of the bows as the archers fought their own instincts to fire.

  “Adcantuannus? Don’t be wasteful and short sighted. If Rome is destined to take Aquitania, then the sacrifice of your soldurii will do little to prevent it, other than leaving your wives alone and your children fatherless. If this gathering of warriors in the mountains is destined to stop us, then they can do it without you and the soldurii will still be here when we are gone.”

  He sighed.

  “Use your head, man!”

  There was a thickness to the atmosphere that one could almost cut with a sword.

  “There can be no going back for us now. We have denied your terms and your commander will not be lenient. The name of Crassus, the hammer of Armorica, is known to us.”

  Galronus took a relieved breath. The tone of the man had shifted barely perceptibly from defiance to defeat. A Roman would not have been able to pick up on it, but a native speaker could spot it in the language, and if they felt defeated, he had them.

  With a smile, he looked back down at the shield he had discarded and threw his sword down to join it.

  “I give you my word as both a commander in the army of Rome under the praetor Julius Caesar, and as Galronus, a chieftain of the Remi tribe in the lands of the Belgae. I will speak to the legate on your behalf and I promise to secure you the same terms as your brethren who you have spurned, if you will halt this violence and join the other townsfolk in their disarming.”

  Adcantuannus paused again and Galronus could still hear the strain of the bow strings.

  “You are of the Belgae? It is said the Belgae surpass all the northern peoples in battle?”

  “We do” Galronus said in a matter of fact voice. “Now give me your word and I won’t have to tear your men limb from limb with my bare hands!”

  The enemy chief barked out a genuine laugh.

  “Very well. You secure those terms for us and we will march out and take your oath. If the Belgae can live with the shame, then I suppose we can.”

  The creaking stopped as the arrows were removed and the bows lowered. Galronus sighed again.