Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (24 page)

Crispus smiled
and poured himself another drink.

“
So Caesar’s waiting for the forces to join up? Or just to have
them at the other side of the Belgae as a threat. Might be able to
end this entire campaign peacefully if we can trap the Belgae in a
vice and threaten them.”

Varus shook
his head.

“
We’ll still have a battle on our hands. I’ve seen these Belgae
in action now. They’ll not lie down and give in. The only way we’re
ever going to beat them in a straight fight without more legions is
by being inventive and out-thinking them.”

“
Agreed,” Fronto added. “I saw them at Bibrax, and they’re not
the sort of people to give up without a fight. We only succeeded
because of a few clever moves.”

Balbus
scratched his head, deep in thought.

“
So I assume Caesar set all this in motion long before we even
left Vesontio. The Aedui must have started moving the same time as
us.”

Fronto
nodded.

“
Caesar sent riders out to Divitiacus the same time he sent
those couriers to Rome; to his sister.”

He stopped for
a moment, frowning. Varus took a swig from his goblet.

“
Caesar sent riders to Rome?”

Fronto waved a
hand.

“
Hang on. Yes. It’s a long story and one you might be better
off not knowing.”

Balbus shook
his head.

“
Too late now. You’ve already told him enough.”

The older
legate turned to the cavalry commander.

“
Paetus; the camp prefect?”

Varus
nodded.

“
He’s involved with one of Caesar’s opposition in
Rome.”

Velius
spluttered over his wine as Varus stared.

“
True,” admitted Fronto. “Caesar was all for getting rid of him
one way or another, but it’s not really Paetus’ fault. He’s been
used; he’s not really a traitor, so we found a way to use him
ourselves. We turned him back on his patron in Rome. Caesar’s going
to have him…”

Suddenly,
Fronto stared and then slapped his head.

“
Balbus, I think I’ve been stupid.”

A questioning
frown.

“
I should have realised. When I talked to Caesar a while back
about Paetus and the couriers, for a moment he acted as though he
hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.”

He ground his
teeth.

“
And that’s because he hadn’t. He’d forgotten what he told me.
He never sent anyone to Rome. The couriers he sent out were to the
Aedui!”

Balbus’ frown
deepened.

“
That means that Paetus’ family are still in danger. No one’s
watching over them after all. Would Caesar really do that? Are you
sure about this, Marcus?”

Fronto started
to climb to his feet.

“
Quintus, I’m beyond sure. We’ve got to warn Paetus not to go
along with Caesar. He’ll be endangering his wife and
children.”

Balbus grasped
his wrist and pulled him back down to the cushions, a dark look on
his face.

“
Too late, Marcus. Caesar had Paetus send his messages to Rome
while you were off fighting at Bibrax…”

Fronto let out
a low animal growl.

“
That heartless, cold bastard.”

The vicious
edge to his voice made Varus and Crispus start with surprise.
Fronto slammed his fist on the floor.

“
The old bastard deliberately had Paetus put himself and his
family in danger. He could easily have stopped it, or protected
them as he said he would. But no! The miserable old bastard just
had Paetus sign a death warrant on his own family. If that Clodius
is as nasty a piece of work as I hear, he’ll not flinch from
gutting a woman and children.”

Balbus’ jaw
line hardened.

“
Not only that, but Caesar actually waited until you were
safely out of the way before he set it in motion. I expect he
thinks that you’d try and stop it.”

He sighed.

“
Which, of course, you would.”

Fronto
continued to growl quietly.

“
So do we tell Paetus?”

“
What good will that do?” replied Balbus. “There’s nothing he
can do about it now. I suppose it’s possible you could persuade
Caesar to send the riders that he never did, but I don’t think
so.”

Fronto shook
his head, a determined look on his face.

“
I can do one better than that. I just hope there’s still
time.”

He turned to
Varus.

“
I need half a dozen men with fast horses; Romans, too. Not
Gauls. Think you can spare them?”

Varus nodded,
uncertainly.

“
The cavalry strength reports are always a mess anyway. What
are you planning?”

“
I’ve got family in Rome as well, and a bored sister with
money. If Caesar won’t do anything to protect Paetus’ family, then
it’s up to me.”

Varus sat
back.

“
Pour me another wine. I suspect I’m going to need
it.”

* * * * *

As the sun
made its first appearance over the tree-lined hills to the east and
the dew settled into the damp grass, Varus vaulted into his saddle.
The cavalry section was quartered in a stockaded area near one end
of the defensive line, close to a wide causeway crossing, and the
pre-dawn morning had seen the camp alive with troopers, both
regular and auxiliary, preparing for action. Caesar had called
Varus to him in the middle of the night and the cavalry commander
had blearily attended to be informed that the cavalry would be
going into action first thing in the morning.

Since then,
Varus had had no time for sleep. Giving the call early, he had
managed to marshal the entire mounted division in front of their
stockade while it was still dark. Now, as he prepared to ride out
and attempt a repeat of the cavalry’s previous successes, he slung
his shield on its strap over his back and narrowed his eyes at the
five men sitting astride their horses awaiting orders.

“
Sorry to take you out of the action. I’m sure you were looking
forward to giving the Belgae a battering, but I need people I can
trust with this.”

Reaching into
his tunic, he withdrew a scroll in a protective leather wrap,
sealed with wax. Hesitating for a moment, he reached out and
proffered it to the nearest rider. As the man took the scroll and
tucked it away safely inside his cloak, Varus withdrew a second
item; a small purse of coins. Handing it to the men, he fixed them
with a serious gaze.

“
This should be enough to see to you Rome and back comfortably,
using mansios wherever you can. Remember: you’re couriers for a
legate, so steer clear of any trouble spots and stay as safe and
inconspicuous as possible. Repeat your orders for me?”

The man with
the tightly-wrapped scroll nodded.

“
We’re to deliver this to the House of the Falerii opposite the
temple of Bona Dea on the Aventine. It’s to go only into the hands
of one of the two ladies of the house; no servants. Get there as
fast as we can and then return to Durocorteron to find out where
the army has moved to. Talk to no one about where we’re going, what
we’re doing or who we’re doing it for.”

Varus
nodded.

“
And if neither of the Falerii ladies are there?”

“
Then we’re to ride on to their villa in Puteoli and deliver
the message there.”

Again Varus
nodded, satisfied.

“
This is very important. Lives rest on your success. Now get
going, and good luck.”

The men
saluted and then rode from the stockade towards the bridge across
the Aisne at the rear of the huge camp. Varus watched them go and
sighed. How the hell did he get caught up in intrigue like this? It
was Fronto, he thought, almost laughing. The man was like a hub
around which trouble gathered. Gods would be frightened to get too
deeply involved with Fronto.

Another smile,
and he turned and rode back to join the cavalry prefects behind
him.

“
Alright, gentlemen. Let’s go and show the Belgae how we make
war.”

Squaring his
shoulders, he kicked his horse into motion and led the large
cavalry contingent of Caesar’s army, fully equipped for battle,
through the gate in the stockade and toward the crossing point of
the ditch.

The mile or so
to the marsh passed peacefully, the dawn chorus twittering its song
to the thousands of riders as they trotted, grim-faced, past
nature’s morning spectacle. As the sun gradually rose higher, it
washed the landscape of gentle rolling hills with a pale, watery
light.

Varus prepared
himself. Though he’d seen the lay of the land several times and
knew the Belgic position well, until he reached the scene, he
really couldn’t decide how to proceed. Would it be best to attempt
a repeat of Lucilius’ action to the east? Perhaps it would be best
to take the army round to the west and try to skirt them until they
could reach appropriate ground beyond the ridge? He was even
tempted to send a few scouts into the marsh to see if it was
shallower than it looked. If the cavalry could cross the marsh it
would certainly make things easier, though that was extremely
doubtful.

His face
hardened as they reached the plain where two of the recent actions
had taken place. In the hours since the last attack, the Belgae had
retrieved their dead, presumably to bury them and raise a mound
somewhere back near their encampment. The Roman dead, of course,
remained where they fell, starting to putrefy. The sooner they
could get the Belgae to fight, the sooner this would be over and
they could retrieve their own dead and give them a proper
funeral.

He mused
again. His orders were to try and get the Belgae to march on the
Roman lines but, if they continued to refuse, to harry them and
reduce their numbers. Easier said than done, given this
terrain.

As they
reached the foot of the low hill, he looked up at the familiar line
of poplars and then turned back to his men. Signalling a halt, he
gestured to the senior prefects and together the officers rode to
the top of the hill to confer and make plans.

The line of
poplars offered some protection and a clear view across the marsh
at the lines of the Belgae. As Varus reached the crest, he drew up
sharply.

“
What the?”

The prefect by
his side stared.

“
Where the hell are they?”

Ahead, the
marsh stretched out as a barrier of dangerous ground. Beyond lay
the camp of the Belgae, stretching across the plain, almost empty
and seemingly abandoned. Peering at the mess and squinting, Varus
could make out a number of warriors gathered in small groups.

“
There can’t be more than a few thousand men there in the whole
bloody camp!”

The man by his
side said, in much the same shocked voice “but where have the rest
gone?”

‘
Good question’, the commander thought to himself.

“
They can’t have got far” he murmured as he squinted at the
camp. “There are far too many fires burning there for them to have
been travelling for long. They can’t have been gone more than two
or three hours, I’d say.”

This was the
highest point within reasonable reach, but the view was fairly
restricted by the charred and blackened areas of woodland and thick
undergrowth to either side. Frowning, he glanced round at his
officers.

“
Any of you men good at climbing trees?”

There was a
lot of metaphorical shuffling of feet and finally Septimius, the
prefect of the Eighth’s cavalry sighed.

“
Alright, sir. I’ll see what I can do.”

Walking his
horse a few steps, he hoisted himself up until he was standing on
the saddle and reached for the nearest solid branch of the tree.
With a grunt, he hauled himself up into it. Varus watched him
climb, deftly, higher, quickly reaching the narrower, more flexible
branches. Above the commander the tree swayed, twigs and leaves
dropping and fluttering down among the officers. After a moment,
Varus stepped his horse back, so that he could see the armoured
figure hauling himself ever higher. With a crack, Septimius
stopped, having reached the highest safe point.

“
What can you see?” shouted the commander.

“
Shit!”

“
What?”

“
They’re on the other side of the river!”

There was a
great deal of rustling and cracking as the prefect clambered and
slid back down among the branches, heedless of the cuts and
scratches he was acquiring.

“
They’re what?” demanded Varus incredulously.

The prefect
dropped lightly from the lowest branches and landed on the grass
with bent knees before standing straight.

“
They must have found somewhere safe upstream and crossed
during the night. They’re maybe an hour away from the bridge at the
most on the other side!”

“
Oh shit.” Varus spat on the floor. “They’ll be able to sever
our supply lines and cause havoc.”

In the privacy
of his head he offered a quick prayer to Fortuna and added ‘…and
hopefully they haven’t intercepted Fronto’s couriers!’

He turned back
to Lucilius.

“
You did a nice job here yesterday. Think you can repeat your
success and clear up?”

The prefect
nodded.

“
Give me a few alae and I’ll leave that camp charred and
covered with Belgic bodies!”