Marius' Mules VIII: Sons of Taranis

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘There is a supply depot at Segeta. That is on a major Roman route, and officers there will be well-informed.’ Molacos frowned. ‘Where is Catubodua?’

  ‘Out stalking some legionary she saw from the window.’

  The nightmare-faced warrior snarled. ‘Idiot woman. Go bring her back. We must move on before our actions are noted and we bring two centuries down upon us. She knows better than that.’

  ‘You know the widow. If she has two heartbeats to put together she will use them to kill a Roman.’

  Molacos grinned, the effect something demonic and horrible. ‘Give me an army of Catuboduas and I would eradicate Rome altogether. Still, her vengeance must wait, or our task will fail. Go fetch her while we ready the horses. Segeta awaits us.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘THE legions look positively eager,’ Brutus noted, wiping a hand across his face and flicking the excess rain away. With a sour look he reached up and pulled back the hood of his cloak, which was now so sodden that the hair beneath it was soaked.

  ‘Of course they look eager,’ Varus replied in an acid tone. ‘They’ve all heard of Caesar’s largesse with the Eleventh and the Thirteenth. Now every man in the Sixth and the Fourteenth is anticipating a similar donative. Let’s hope the Carnutes have a few silver mines as well, or the general might end up out of pocket on this trip.’

  Brutus gave a humourless chuckle. Upon their return to winter quarters, following the restoration of the Bituriges, Caesar had codified the payouts to the legions involved so that those men who had received less of the spoils had been topped up from the general’s own funds. The legionaries and cavalrymen had been granted two hundred sesterces – a bonus worth two months’ pay. The centurions had received two thousand apiece. Now, those two legions were back at their bases, living a wild and comfortable life and still managing to put away a little towards their retirement.

  The general, his staff and the cavalry had returned to Bibracte, where the general opened proceedings for his assizes and patronage as though Gaul were already a province and the Aedui capital a provincial city in the manner of Aquileia or Salona.

  Then, mere weeks after the resettling of the legions, deputations had arrived once more from the Bituriges. Having again taken control of their own cities following the rising of the rebel elements within their own tribe, it seemed that their ever-difficult northern neighbours, the Carnutes, had taken advantage of their weakness and unpreparedness and begun to campaign in Bituriges lands, capturing their settlements and taking slaves and booty wherever possible.

  It beggared belief that the army had barely had time to take an evening meal after aiding the Bituriges and there they were again, asking for more help. In other times, Varus might have suspected a trap or some other foul play, or at least some deep, subtle manoeuvring. But the simple fact was that the Bituriges were in trouble and, having lost more than two thirds of their warrior class against Rome, they were in no position to defend themselves. And the Carnutes were a troublesome bunch, for certain. Two years ago, it had been that tribe who had triggered the great revolt with the savage destruction of Cenabum.

  So the general had nodded seriously and reassured the Biturige loyalists that he would not allow them to suffer while Rome was here to protect them. Varus had felt just an inkling of suspicion at the general’s reaction. Caesar had not been remotely surprised. It was quite possible, of course, given the man’s legendary agile mind, that he had already thought through this possibility. Or perhaps, Varus thought maliciously, the general had been stirring something up in order to provide another excuse to march out from camp. The war was essentially over, and the only plunder to be had now would be against the few remaining rebels. It was an unworthy thought for a Roman officer to have about a peer, but Varus couldn’t help remembering all the talk back at the start of the campaign that Caesar had managed to manipulate the Helvetii into fleeing into Gaul purely as an excuse to invade the fertile and rich land that had so long been anathema to Rome.

  And so in early Februarius the general had agreed to let the Thirteenth and Eleventh rest and recuperate, and had sent for the Sixth and the Fourteenth legions from Cavillonum, a day’s march southeast, where they had been in charge of grain storage, gathering and distribution. As soon as the legions had reached Bibracte and mustered, Varus and the cavalry had joined them once more and the army had begun the all-too-familiar journey west into Biturige lands.

  In addition to the trouble from the Carnutes, Februarius had also brought rain and a daily blanket of morning fog, and the journey through the oft-marshy lands of the Bituriges was an eerie, white and wet trek, full of nerve-wracking shadowy shapes and muffled noises.

  The first few days had been a tiring and dispiriting slog through dismal and sparsely-populated lands. Those settlements the Biturige envoys had announced to be under Carnute attack had been cold and deserted when the legions reached them. The enemy had clearly been there and had stripped the poorly-defended oppida of humanity, livestock and all valuable goods. All that remained was a land of ghosts and the skeletons of towns mouldering in the landscape, picked clean by the Carnute crows.

  On one particularly soul destroying morning the cavalry had ridden out ahead to check another silent, lifeless oppidum, and Varus had recognised with a heavy heart one of the fortresses they had been forced to besiege the previous month. A settlement which had been saved from rapine on Caesar’s orders and which had thereafter been returned to its legal rulers. The Roman move to save the city’s goods and populace from their own traitors had been worthless – they had simply preserved the Bituriges’ value to make them a valid target for the marauding Carnutes instead.

  As soon as it became clear that the armies were too late to do anything about the raids, the nature of the campaign changed. Disregarding the last few westernmost Biturige towns, Caesar had turned his army north and the legions had marched from ravaged Bituriges territory into that of the Carnutes who had so recently raided them.

  Half a day into those lands now, the army had passed four former Carnute settlements, all now long-destroyed, their charred timbers testament to punitive campaigns under Plancus, Marcus Antonius and Caesar himself, as well as the effects of having had legions wintered here over several years. It appeared that few of the Carnute towns remained habitable, and the army found traces more than once of gigantic nomadic sites where large numbers of people had camped for months in a huddle of makeshift temporary shelters.

  Varus had been grudgingly opened to the possibility that the very reason the Carnutes were now preying upon their ravaged neighbours might be because the once troublesome tribe now had nothing but the clothes on their backs. If the Carnutes had been forced to change to a temporary nomadic lifestyle with no personal wealth, then raiding the weak would become a natural move for survival. Had Rome’s seemingly endless war in Gaul been so ruinous? How could the land ever hope to recover from this? It simply accentuated the folly of continued rebellion.

  And now, in the mid-afternoon of the first day among the Carnutes, finally there were signs of life.

  Blesio was not one of the tribe’s largest or most powerful oppida, yet it had the distinction of being one of few that apparently remained intact. Settled on the north bank of the Liger on a low rise, its walls remained intact and, though they were few and far between, there were occasional columns of smoke wavering up into the wet, grey sky.

  The near bank was a glorious wide field of green grass sloping gently to the river. Yet even here, so close to a surviving oppidum, there were signs that a shanty-town of a thousand or more had spent some time in residence opposite the walled settlement. Ahead of the legions, Caesar and a small group of senior officers walked their horses between the areas of dead grass that had been beneath tent leather mere days earlier.

  ‘Looks to me like this lot moved on recently,’ Brutus murmured.

  ‘Do you think they were the ones who destroyed the Bituriges cities?’ asked the quiet figure of Lucius Caesar,
cousin of the general and legate of the Sixth.

  The proconsul pursed his lips and shook the rain from his thinning hair. ‘This could well have been a warband of some sort, Lucius. There is little sign of civilian life here. It would certainly explain their recent disappearance, with the legions approaching.’

  Varus nodded and pointed down to the nearest of the patches of dead grass.

  ‘Look there. Twisted rope. Part of a slave’s bindings, I’d say. Looks like the Carnutes came back this way with a column of captives.’

  ‘But why camp here when there is a perfectly serviceable oppidum across the river?’ the general’s cousin frowned.

  Varus sighed. The stick-like Lucius Julius Caesar was a perfectly acceptable commander, and he seemed to know his work, but despite serving last year during the height of the troubles, he was yet to become familiar with Gaul and its workings.

  ‘Likely not all the Carnutes are ravaging their neighbours. Those who still have a town and a population are probably content to simply try and survive the winter long enough to rebuild their lives. I would be willing to wager that the raiders who camped here were refused admittance to the oppidum. Any Carnute leader with his mind on the future will weigh up his options and come down on any side that doesn’t bring the legions to his hearth.’

  Caesar nodded. ‘Let us not tar the whole tribe with the deeds of a vicious few. Come. There is a ferry ahead. We will speak to the locals.’

  At the general’s order, Varus and Brutus rode forth, along with Lucius Caesar and Glabrio, the two legates in the force. Behind them, close and protective as always, rode Aulus Ingenuus and a dozen of his best Praetorian cavalrymen. The ferry across the Liger that served the Carnute oppidum was little more than an oversized raft with a tethering rail and two burly natives with oars. Varus eyed the vessel suspiciously as they approached. It might feasibly carry four men and their horses across the river, on the assumption that the horses stood perfectly still, the raft was entirely sturdy, and the two men were trustworthy. He would not put money on it. The men looked extremely fidgety and nervous, and well they might, with roughly twelve thousand Romans descending upon them.

  ‘General, you can’t go on that.’

  Caesar turned with a curious smile. ‘I most certainly can, Varus, and I most certainly will. How can I expect my legions to perform the unthinkable with heart and aplomb if I am not willing to risk a rickety ferry ride? Besides, I am labouring under no misapprehension that Aulus here would let me go without the continued presence of a guardsman. Would you care to make up a third passenger, Varus?’

  The cavalry commander sighed. The general was ever one to play up to the troops and show off, and now his unnecessary bravado had placed Varus in the position of either appearing cowardly or trusting to the raft. ‘Of course, General.’ He watched Caesar’s eyes sparkle as the man laughed with carefree ease. There was a growing group among the officers who worried that Caesar was beginning to believe in the rumours that he was indestructible. The way he acted sometimes suggested as much.

  ‘Come.’

  The Proconsul of Gaul and Illyricum swung from his mount and slid to the ground, walking his horse down to the riverside where the two ferrymen waited beneath the eaves of their small hut.

  ‘Good day, gentlemen. Do either of you speak Latin?’

  The two men frowned in incomprehension, and Caesar smiled. ‘Ingenuus, you can come over on the second trip. I want your man with the local dialect with me on this journey.’

  Varus caught Ingenuus’ expression and was under no illusion as to what the bodyguard officer thought of the idea, but they had all been around Caesar long enough to know how little chance there was of changing his mind. The only man who’d ever had that kind of influence was Fronto, and he was probably busy now swimming in a pool of the money he’d made in Massilia.

  The Praetorian trooper in question, one Sidonius, rode forward at his commander’s signal and, at a nod from Caesar, rattled out a question in the local language. The ferrymen looked at one another and stuttered out a reply.

  ‘They have not a word of Latin, general. They claim loyalty to Rome and to be men of Blesio across the river, which they say is also loyal to its Roman vows.’

  Caesar nodded and favoured the two men with an easy smile. ‘Ask them how much they charge for a man with his horse?’

  The trooper did so, and cleared his throat before replying ‘One copper coin apiece, general, but they say there will be no charge for the Roman commander and his officers.’

  Caesar laughed lightly. ‘Nonsense. With the current state of Gaul, every denarius counts for these people. Tell him that we have eighteen riders to ferry across in six trips. If he can do it without incident, he will receive one good Roman silver sestertius for each man from my own purse. Brutus? Have word sent to the legions to make camp on the south bank tonight, pending a decision on our course tomorrow.’

  As Brutus nodded and turned, the news was relayed to the ferry owners and the two locals’ eyes widened as they bowed sycophantically. Without waiting, Caesar gestured to Varus and Sidonius, who dismounted and followed the general to the raft. As the two ferrymen readied for the journey – the Liger was a wide river here, and fast-flowing – Caesar and the other Romans tied their nervous horses’ reins to the bar and held on tight while the raft shook and juddered off the mud and slowly out into the current. Varus couldn’t help but note the look of anxious disapproval on Ingenuus’ face as he watched from the bank, where he prepared to come across next with Brutus and another of the praetorians.

  The raft was sturdy, and despite the size and speed of the river its surface was remarkably calm, and soon Varus found his fears of capsizing or destruction fading. The general gestured to Sidonius.

  ‘Would you ask them if a large band of rebels recently passed through here, perhaps with loot and captives?’

  The trooper relayed the question and the two men, their faces revealing their nervous state, nodded and rushed out a reply.

  ‘Several hundred Carnute warriors, general. And many dozens of captives with them, as well as three carts of booty.’

  Caesar smiled. ‘At least they know enough not to lie on such a blatant fact. Ask them how they crossed and where they went? I cannot imagine they brought wagons of supplies across on this ferry.’

  A brief exchange followed, with lots of nodding from Sidonius, who translated the reply.

  ‘According to the ferrymen, a few leaders and warriors crossed the river, but were refused entry to Blesio. They made off north afterwards. The rest of the force with the loot and slaves set off downstream two days ago, making for the ford at Ambasso, where they will cross and head north to join with the leaders.’

  Caesar nodded. ‘I know of Ambasso. A vexillation of ours camped beside the oppidum there following the siege of Avaricon last year. The ford is supposed to be easy in the summer season, but often submerged in the winter. Still, it has been a mild, if cold, winter, and obviously the locals consider it passable. Once we have spoken to the nobles in Blesio, we will return to camp and the legions can work their way west to cross at Ambasso.’

  ‘We will pursue them, then, Caesar?’ Varus presumed.

  ‘If there is any hope of us catching them, yes. They could be fast-moving, compared with our baggage train speed. But they are heading north, and north is Cenabum, which has always been the heart of both Carnute pride and their druids’ religion. If the enemy will ever stand to face us, they will do so at Cenabum.’

  Varus nodded, though somewhere deep down he remembered hearing that Autricon was their true seat of political power. It had not escaped Varus’ notice, though, that Cenabum, while not their true heart, was their great trade centre, and the richest settlement in Carnute lands.

  * * * * *

  Varus eyed Hirtius suspiciously. The addition of Caesar’s secretary on any detached duty was cause for unease as far as the cavalry commander was concerned. The last time it had happened, Hirtius had been instrumen
tal in seizing the mines of the Bituriges on the flimsiest of pretences. And now the bird-like figure was once more riding alongside the cavalry as the force neared the Carnute oppidum of Tascio.

  ‘If the rebels did flee here, it looks to me like they went on running,’ the cavalry commander murmured.

  ‘Our intelligence says that this is the location of one of four sightings of the Carnute warbands,’ Hirtius replied primly. ‘Are you suggesting we ignore the matter?’

  Varus glared at the man, who he was beginning to see as little more than an extension of Caesar’s grip. In his personal opinion, the Carnute raids had been just that: raids. They were not a campaign of invasion as the Biturige envoys had put it to the general in their panic and desperation. The Carnutes, like most other of the more belligerent tribes, had lost so many fighting men in these last few years that they could hardly hope to mount an invasion. The warlords had simply seen an opportunity and begun to raid their weaker neighbours. It was going to be hard to survive the coming year, and easing the tribe’s suffering by taking from weaker groups would make a noticeable difference.

  Something in his subconscious suggested that there might be more to it than that, of course. It was tempting to see conspiracies and strategy in everything these days, after what had happened over the past two years. Could it be that some new Vercingetorix was setting fires in the hearts of the more aggressive tribes to keep the Romans off-balance? It had happened a year or so before Alesia, after all. And in more than a month, the general and his armies had spent their time rushing around solving small problems rather than resting and preparing for the season ahead. Coincidence?

  He shook his head. Logic suggested the former.

  Having failed to catch up with the enemy at Ambasso, Caesar had taken the entire force to Cenabum, where he had found traces in both memory and physicality of the recent passage of warbands with slave chains. Helpful ‘loyal’ Carnutes – could there be such a thing? – had given Caesar details of four such groups that had passed through Cenabum heading northeast and southwest, doubling back past the pursuing army. While the general had settled the two legions in the oppidum that had so recently been the site of a massacre and a brutal punitive siege, he had sent out the cavalry.