Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt (59 page)

Though the king was shaking his head in refusal, already Vergasillaunus was reaching out and gesturing for the hunter to pass over the bow and cloak. As the man began to divest himself of his hunting kit, the king’s cousin stripped himself of his jewellery and accoutrements. His tunic and trousers were not dissimilar to Molacos’, though finer, and he should be able to pass easily enough for the other. After all, how likely were the Romans to be able to tell the difference between two lowly native hunters?

‘I presume there is a watch word?’

The hunter nodded as he handed over the greased wool cloak. ‘
Dementes
was the word for the night.’

Cavarinos rolled his eyes ‘
The crazy ones
. That figures. I cannot imagine how you managed to obtain their password, but I hope you covered your tracks well.’

The Cadurci hunter nodded professionally and, as Vergasillaunus fastened his cloak, settled the bow across his shoulder and took the leather case of arrows, he winked at Cavarinos.

‘Watch for the deployment and we will meet in the heart of the Roman line tomorrow. Time to unite the army.’

The king opened his mouth to forbid his cousin’s chosen course of action, but closed it again. The man was right, and they all knew it. And with his acute instincts and wit, Vergasillaunus stood as much chance of making it through the Roman lines as anyone.

As the army’s second in command turned and staggered down the hillside, the other rebel leaders watched him tensely. They would have to keep a close eye on that mass upon the hill opposite. The moment they moved, the trapped army would have to be ready.

* * * * *

Lucterius sat at the periphery of the circle while the commanders of the various contingents argued over the minutiae of inactivity. Various
important
matters under discussion included foraging for extra supplies over the ten miles or so south, east and north, the location of forward positions on the lower slopes to watch for potential Roman raids, the hierarchy of the gathered chieftains, and the closeness of their varied tribes to the central command area. Nothing that Lucterius considered worth opening his mouth for, even if he thought they might listen to him, which he knew they would not. It had become clear that his reputation had been thoroughly destroyed by Commius and the Aeduan magistrate. These gullible fools were bogging themselves down with idiocy in blind devotion to a former ally of Caesar, so newly come to the cause that some should still be doubting his motives, especially given his reluctance to commit any of the forces.

He shivered in a sudden breeze, despite the general warmth of the night and the blazing fire close by, and pulled his cloak about him.

‘The Romans send their scouts and foragers to the lower slopes of these very hills,’ announced the chieftain of the far northern Lexovii contingent, a man with as much wit as hair - and little of either. His men were camped closest to the Roman lines, and he appeared appropriately nervous.

‘Perhaps we should give them cause to stop sending their scouts?’ proposed the Leuci chief, earning him a nod of approval from Lucterius. At last someone had actually suggested action of some kind.

‘It would be better not to provoke the Romans.’ Commius countered, and Lucterius turned a disbelieving stare on him.
Not provoke
them?

‘If you are close to a sleeping bear and its paw twitches, you don’t poke the paw, do you?’ the army’s commander elucidated, miming the action to underline his meaning.

‘No,’ replied a hoarse voice from the darkness. ‘You take your sword and close on the creature, driving your blade through its brain before it has the chance to wake.’

The heads of several dozen chieftains turned in surprise at the voice as a figure emerged from the darkness into the light of the communal fire - no stranger should have been able to pass the guards encircling them at a respectable distance. Lucterius frowned into the gloom, and almost leapt as he recognised the figures of some of his own men following close on the speaker’s heels, all wearing the silver serpent arm ring of the Arverni, including the man who now cast aside a bow, let a quiver fall to the ground and discarded the dark, wool cloak he wore.

‘How dare you?’ snapped Commius, rising and quivering with rage. ‘Who do you think you are?’

‘That,’ replied Lucterius, also rising to his feet, ‘is Vergasillaunus of the Arverni, Vercingetorix’s cousin, chosen second, victor of Gergovia and commander of the army of free tribes.’

The effect on the assembled nobles was impressive. Perhaps half of them bowed sharply, or even sank to their knees in deference to this notable leader who had helped the Arverni king engineer a war against Rome. The rest dithered, but the look of awe on most of their faces confirmed the immediate shift of power. Lucterius smiled as Commius spluttered in anger.

‘You have no authority here!’ the man snarled at the new arrival.

‘I beg to differ,’ Lucterius grinned. ‘I suspect you will find that it’s
you
who lacks authority.’ He turned to Vergasillaunus. ‘Your arrival is timely.’

The king’s cousin nodded his head respectfully at Lucterius and looked around the gathering. ‘Each man here has the count of twenty to decide whether he follows me against Rome or takes his forces and goes home. Make your choice, but bear in mind that those who are not with us might well be regarded as our enemy.’

The gathered chieftains gazed in awe at the commanding Arvernian and Commius heaved in angry breath after angry breath. ‘This is
my
army.’

‘No it isn’t,’ Vergasillaunus replied, calmly and evenly. ‘Your inclusion in this war is greatly encouraging, Commius of the Atrebates, and your strength at arms and noble lineage does not escape my cousin and I. But
I
command this army; do not be mistaken about that.’

The Arvernian’s hard features softened slightly, a calculating look in his eyes.

‘However, there are forces here of such vast numbers that they must by necessity be split among leaders. Lucterius is more than capable of commanding a sizeable force, as are several others. I would hope, Commius, that you would join them in leading such a host under my command?’

Without waiting for a reply to his acutely political offer, he turned back to the gathering. ’We must hit the Roman forces hard. If we deploy below the slope in the morning, and my king in Alesia forms a second force simultaneously, the Romans will do all they can to prevent the two attacks coinciding. They will be forced to send out their cavalry to deal with us first. And once they commit outside their defences, we will crush their horse.’

The chieftain of the Bituriges, his face painted with unease, cleared his throat. ‘I think you underestimate their cavalry. They break us time and again. We lost Novioduno because of them, and they annihilated our horse at Borvo. We all know that our tribes provide the best horsemen, but don’t forget that the Romans
use
our tribes, and their strange tactics are unstoppable.’

Vergasillaunus smiled coldly. ‘Far from it, my friend. Learn from your enemies. The Romans are disciplined, but they are also unpredictable, because they always have a trick up their sleeve. Well so do I. Fear not, for Caesar’s cavalry will rue the decision to deploy tomorrow, mark my words.’

Leaving the Biturige chief slightly less perturbed, Vergasillaunus stepped back and addressed the entire gathering.

‘No one appears to have left the fire, and so I will assume you are all content to serve under me. Very well. I will come among you in the next hour and tell each of you what is required. We move with the rising sun, so see to your forces. It is time to make Caesar bleed.’

Chapter 20

Fronto felt odd, riding in these circumstances. In previous years, he had eschewed the saddle on most occasions, only calling upon Bucephalus when there were great distances to be eaten up or speed was of the essence. Then, as those few extra years began to make their presence known, he had finally acceded to the nagging of both his centurions and his joints and begun to ride Bucephalus even on a slow march. But still he had never ridden within the army’s fortifications while they were settled. It had seemed the height of laziness.

The system of fortifications around Alesia, however, were so immense in scale and covered such a distance of varying terrain that had he not kept his horse to hand, he would have spent most of the day walking just to exchange words with his peers. And so he kicked the big black animal to a trot as he ascended the slopes of the southern hill upon which Caesar had constructed his camp. To both left and right, the turf-sloped ramparts seethed with activity, men on watch all along the wicker wall - faster to construct than a timber palisade and surprisingly protective from sword and axe blows - and atop the high timber towers. Behind them, in the wide gap between the two walls, centuries of men bustled around under the watchful eyes of their officers, carrying supplies to positions, bringing timber and tools for repair work, handing out rations to those who sat at rest and sweating in the morning sun, even this early. The night’s chill had had little effect on the searing orb that rose the next day, and perspiration had become the norm. Centurions shouted orders, optios batted men’s calves with their poles to instil discipline. The sound of hammering and the buzz of camp life filled the air.

And this was just the open ground between the two defensive lines. The actual camps were busier still with units coming and going on rotations to rest, bathe, repair armour and clean kit. The inner fortification gradually fell away to the left, where it followed the small river along the valley below the oppidum, while the outer line of rampart climbed the hill to the redoubts and camps that commanded the best view of the enemy city. Mere weeks ago, much of this hillside had been heavily wooded, though now the majority of those antique trunks had been cut, sawn, adzed, nailed and roped into the defensive system and the slopes were almost bare, allowing the Romans a clear view of the entire siege area.

The camp of Caesar which towered over the landscape afforded an excellent view of the oppidum and the twin lines of fortifications around it, but the curve of the hill kept the western range that played host to the Gallic reinforcements largely out of sight. The camp was not especially large, despite being home to the Tenth and Eleventh legions, the lion’s share of personnel being distributed on regular rotation along the stretches of rampart to either side of this camp in the same manner as the other garrisons around the oppidum. The camp did not follow the traditional form of such installations, its walls curved to fit with the contours of the hill and as Fronto rode towards the gate - a hive of activity in itself - he could see the figures of officers atop the wall walk, beneath the timber watch tower. One of them, gleaming and with a tell-tale crimson cloak, was clearly Caesar, and Fronto saluted as he approached.

Clopping through the gate, Fronto dismounted and handed the reins to one of the legionaries to take to the stables. Without pause, he climbed the rampart steps and joined Rufio, Caesar and Priscus atop the gate.

‘General.’

‘We were wondering where you’d got to, Fronto. It appears we should expect action this morning.’ The general gestured towards the plain from which Fronto had just ridden. The legate of the Tenth peered down the slope into the shade at the western lea of the oppidum where the sun would not touch the grass for hours yet. A force of several hundred Gauls were busy descending the lower slopes with carts and beasts of burden, approaching the water-filled ditch that had been drawn north to south between the two small rivers.

‘They’re not the big problem Caesar. Varus called me down to the cavalry forts. The Gallic reserve is on the move.’

Caesar pursed his lips. ‘A full deployment?’

‘We can’t be sure yet, general. They’ve lined up a huge cavalry force on the plain, across the river and out of range of our weapons, and a few smaller groups of foot have moved down with them, but the majority of the infantry are still gathered some way behind them on the slopes. It smacks of an attack. Varus wants to know your orders, sir.’

The general remained silent, chewing on his lower lip as he watched the small force of defenders from the oppidum. Within moments, the Gauls reached the water-filled channel and began to tip carts of earth into it, drawing out long planks and posts and creating rickety, dangerous bridges.

‘It would appear that the two forces are hoping to work in concert.’

A horn blared out from the defences on the plain, and after a half dozen heartbeats, artillery began to loose from the ramparts. Most of the shots fell far short of the trench and even the few that managed to find a range close to the targets were sent in such arcs that their destination was more luck than judgement and only one in the first forty or fifty shots actually struck a Gaul. Just as Fronto was about to complain about the artillerists wasting ammunition another horn call ended the attempted barrage.

‘I fear we should have placed the channel and the ramparts closer together. The Gauls will fill in whole sections of the ditch without trouble from us.’

Caesar nodded. ‘Hindsight is always effective. Can you see activity atop the hill, also?’

The officers peered up at Alesia, trying to pick out details in the early morning sun. Finally, Priscus pointed at the western promontory. ‘The concentration of men on the western walls has increased. I’d be willing to put money on a large force gathered inside that end.’

‘Then they
will
attempt an attack in concert,’ Caesar mused. ‘And it is dangerous to draw too many forces from other areas in preparation, lest this turn out to be a feint that endangers another sector.’ He straightened. ‘Fronto, take the rest of your Tenth out of camp and bolster the defences down on the plain. Rufio’s Eleventh will keep this garrison secure. Send a rider to Antonius at Mons Rea and ask him to send the rest of the Fifteenth in to aid you as well. If both those forces hit on the plain, you could be in for a difficult tussle.’