Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (58 page)

A commotion in
the distance caught their attention, shouts from the walls of the
oppidum. Ignoring what appeared to be jeering from the Aduatuci,
Tetricus raised his hand and dropped it as a signal. A cornicen
relayed the orders and the three hundred men took up the two ropes
and leaned into the task. A second call, and the men began, slowly
and with a great deal of grunting and sweating, to inch forward,
heaving on the ropes.

For almost a
minute, 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 couldn’t 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 towards 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 second 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’d 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 glass panes. Oh, it was rough stuff, not being the
forte of military manufacturers, but it 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’d 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.