Sons of Taranis (13 page)

These days it seemed that Caesar’s officer corps was filled with young hopefuls from Rome seeking glory, sycophants who saw the victorious general purely as a source of wealth, and old worn-out nobles who cared little for anything other than getting through this last year and securing a lucrative position when Caesar was made consul.

Brutus might be the only man left who could argue Caesar away from a course of mass pillage at the expense of Gaul’s future. But Brutus was tied to Caesar by blood, and consequently had made no move to do so.

Would Gaul even be worth turning into a province by the time Caesar had returned to Rome?

Varus set his sights on the approaching oppidum, grinding his teeth. There would be at least a week yet of Hirtius’ company as they systematically stripped the four richest Carnute settlements before returning to the army where, the commander was sure, Caesar would pronounce the rebels beaten and fled, and the campaign another victory, and would then return to winter quarters richer than ever.

Gods help any other tribe who might come to his attention…

* * * * *

‘Is it true?’

Brutus looked up from his mouthful of warm bread and butter. ‘Hmm?’

‘Is it true?’ Varus repeated. ‘Are the Bellovaci really rising against us?’

‘That’s the information we have. You heard the details at the briefing. And the news came from the Remi, who are – as you rightly know – the only tribe in the entire land who have been staunchly allied to Rome since the day we met.’

Varus stared sourly down into his cup of well-watered wine. The cavalry had been back from their
glorious victory
over the Carnutes for three days now and still the spoils were being logged and secured for transport to Massilia and beyond. Varus had been so irked at being used as a sanctioned thief that he had rarely crawled out from the amphora since returning to camp. He thought briefly of Fronto in his early days here and began to understand how his friend’s prodigious drinking had started. Perhaps long-term exposure to Caesar did that to a moral man?

Once again, at the command meeting this morning, word of another minor rebellion had been received. The Bellovaci, up among the Belgae, were reported to be raising an army for an invasion of their neighbours, the Suessiones. And with the Suessiones having declared themselves subjects of Rome and loyal to Caesar, of course, the army would march on the Bellovaci to put things right. No doubt, in the process, a few of the richest Bellovaci towns would render unto Caesar that which he most desired.

Consequently, Caesar had decided to exercise another group of legions. The Belgae being generally stronger and more tenacious than these central and western tribes, Caesar would take four legions to maintain the Pax Romana. The Seventh were being sent for, where they currently wintered under Trebonius’ command, along with Rufio’s Eleventh and the Eighth and Ninth, who were currently under the combined command of Fabius. Trebonius would maintain Cenabum with the Tenth and Twelfth, who were marching here with all speed, while the men who had marched into Carnute lands two weeks ago would return to their winter quarters, wealthy and rested.

Yet the timing was all too convenient. At the projected date for the army to depart – two days from now – the two new garrison legions for Cenabum must already have been on the way, which suggested strongly that Caesar knew beforehand that he was going to be leaving and taking the army with him.

‘It just seems too coincidental that the Bituriges have a little rebellion, and a matter of days after the legions return to quarters, the Carnutes have their rebellion. We don’t even get to chastise them, since they just evaporate into the wilds. Then the legions have a little rest before the Bellovaci rise up and we have to march again. And each time we return with wagon loads of spoils. Doesn’t it strike you as a little convenient?’

Brutus shrugged. ‘There is the possibility that someone is actively stirring up trouble? It seems the most likely to me.’

‘I’ll admit that the notion had occurred to me too, Brutus. But isn’t the general fortunate that those tribes who are rising up and who we have to go quash are ones who have made it through these years of war with a few solid resources remaining, and we’re now capturing those resources. The Carnutes are an important tribe and both they and the Bituriges, despite having been at the heart of the warfare, are so involved in inter-tribal river trade that their economy has survived. And the Bellovaci have been largely untouched for six years now, so I’ll wager they’re a ripe fruit hanging tantalisingly low now too. But poor tribes like the Menapii and the Cadurci, the Arverni and the Mediomatrici, who have given up everything they could to Rome and lost anything else to war itself, are peaceful and require no Roman presence. There’s logic there, yes, but it’s still suspicious.’

‘Sounds like you’re trying to accuse Caesar of engineering wars for profit.’

‘
Juno
, Brutus, keep your damned voice down. That sort of comment gets men in the deepest of shit.’

‘True, though. Is that what you believe, Varus?’

‘It’s not far-fetched, let’s put it that way.’

Brutus mused over the matter as he took another bite of his buttered bread. ‘It may be as you say. It may not. Either way it makes no difference. If that is what he’s doing, it is his prerogative. He has the authority and entitlement to do as he sees fit, and everything he’s done has been for the good of the army, and of Rome.’

‘And of himself.’

‘That’s an unworthy comment, Varus. The fact remains that the only people who have suffered are the Gauls, and if they stay loyal they will prosper.’

‘Tell that to the Bituriges.’

‘If this bothers you, Varus, try to turn a blind eye to it for a few more months. Soon the general will be heading back to Rome, the army will disband, and this new province will become the command of some fat, selfish senatorial governor. If Caesar left Gaul a rich and prosperous land, his successor would only rake off all the profit into his coffers anyway.’

‘I still don’t like it.’

Brutus washed down his bread and coughed in the cold air. ‘Then here’s a little rumour to help put your fears at ease, Varus. Nothing has been confirmed yet, but I spoke to one of the scouts this morning who had, in turn, been speaking to the Remi riders that brought us the news. The man told me that the name behind the rising that is being spoken up in the Belgae lands is “Commius”.’

‘Commius?’ Varus cast his mind back. The king of the Atrebates had been an ally of Rome since the early days, immediately after that near disaster at the Sabis River, but had turned from Rome and thrown his lot in with Vercingetorix last year, only to leave Alesia unharmed and return to the north. How odd it was that Caesar had never expressed the need to locate and punish the man. Uncharacteristic, in fact. Still, the linking of Commius with the new troubles gave it more legitimacy than the two previous risings.

‘Yes,’ Brutus replied, sipping from his cup. ‘They say that Commius has been stirring up the Bellovaci. And clearly we cannot leave that treacherous scum to his own devices. Two days and we ride north-east. I understand that Caesar is intending to march from depot to depot and station to station and supply as we go. That way we could make Bellovaci lands in four days, maybe even three, not tied to the speed of the wagons.’

‘Alright. I’ll grant that this sounds a little more serious, but watch what happens when we get there. I’ll give you my villa at Antium if we deal with the Bellovaci and don’t come out of it with a train of loot-wagons.’

Brutus chuckled. ‘I’ll remember that. Antium’s lovely in the autumn.’

* * * * *

Five days later Varus found himself deep in Bellovaci lands with three alae of cavalry a day ahead of the army, sweeping through deserted oppida and small settlements, trying to ascertain anything concrete concerning Commius and this army of his. Further information from the Remi had added another name to the list of conspirators – one Correus, a Bellovaci noble – and also the names of several smaller surrounding tribes who had thrown in their lot with the rebels.

So the cavalry had been sent ahead to discover what they could of the enemy, and Varus had consequently split his force into large scout parties that passed through the region seeking news.

But in five hours of passing through Bellovaci oppida, Varus had yet to see a human face. The settlements were deserted, all the livestock and goods removed from them. They were mere empty shells, devoid of life and value. Not simply abandoned like the ruined towns of the Bituriges and the Carnutes, but methodically emptied by its own populace, its entire contents moved elsewhere. It was almost a shame that he didn’t have Hirtius hovering over him like a vulture this time, since the man would be twitching at the lack of plunder to be had.

He tried not to imagine himself handing over the deeds to his favourite summer villa to Brutus.

In perhaps half an hour the force would have to turn back and meet up with the rest of the cavalry before returning to Bellomagos, where they would encamp and await the arrival of the legions. Varus slammed his fist on the horn of his saddle in irritation. Surely the Bellovaci, if they were building so large an army, would not have melted away into hiding like the Carnutes? So where were they?

His eyes strayed to the northern horizon, wondering where the next major oppidum was and whether they would have time to reach it before turning back.

He blinked, and gestured to a decurion he knew well.

‘Avelius? You have better eyes than me. Sweep your gaze around the area and concentrate on the small stand of trees on the hillside. Don’t look straight at it, but just catch it in passing and tell me what you see.’

The decurion did so and returned his gaze to his commander. ‘Two men on horseback in the shade of the trees.’

‘Good. I’d only seen one. But not an army, anyway. We’d have spotted traces of that kind of force. They’re watching us, keeping tabs on us. If we want to know anything, those are our men up on the hill.’

‘What do we do, sir?’

‘We make a show of looking around for a moment longer, then we turn and ride back for Bellomagos. As soon as we drop down into the narrow valley we passed on the way here, you and I, along with your turma of men, peel off and hide there, waiting for them.’

‘What if they don’t follow us, sir?’

‘Then we lose them, but I think we’ll be fine. I’ve felt uneasy all day, and I think they’ve been watching us since we crossed into Bellovaci lands. They’re just good enough that we hadn’t seen them ‘til now.’

The decurion nodded and went back to inform his men, and Varus called over his officers, explaining what they were about to do. Then, while the cavalry commander sat visibly fuming, gesturing at the empty houses of this small settlement, the men went about searching everywhere thoroughly for the look of the thing. Then, another quarter hour having passed, the alae formed up and moved out in formation, making for the rendezvous to the southwest. Varus felt his nerves twanging as his force dropped down into the defile and then rose to crest the far side of the narrow stream valley, riding on away from the enemy. But the retreating force was not quite complete, for in the bottom of that narrow way, clogged with undergrowth and ancient trees, thirty men paused, listening to the thundering hooves of their compatriots riding away.

Using gestures only, Varus gave out his orders and the unit split into three groups. Ten men, led by Avelius, moved behind a knot of trees out of sight. Another ten, led by the man’s second, followed suit behind another makeshift screen. Varus took the remaining ten and they dismounted, tying their horses behind trees and undergrowth, away from the churned earth that marked the cavalry’s passage. They then drew their blades and moved into hiding places to either side of the track along which the enemy would have to come if they hoped to track the Romans.

A quarter of an hour passed, tense and silent, but finally, just as Varus was beginning to worry that the decurion had been correct and that the enemy were not coming, he discerned the sound of horses above the rustle of wind-whipped leaves and scrambling wildlife and the gurgle of slow-flowing water around stones.

The riders neared the stream gulley and, though still out of sight, Varus counted what he believed to be three horses. Sure enough, a moment later, as he pondered on how far afield his thundering heart could be heard, three mounted shapes appeared at the lip and descended quickly to the stream bed, following the beaten earth and the prints of hundreds of Roman horses.

He opened his mouth to give the order and almost exploded as one of the cavalrymen leapt from behind a tree and shouted for the men to stop. The moron! Ambushes fail with over-excitement.

Entirely predictably, the three riders reacted instantly, their own alertness heightened by the danger of their task and driving them to action without the customary moments of dither and panic an ambush usually creates. However
alert
they might be, though, they were not
prepared
.

One man with long blond hair and a helmet bearing a boar at the crest burst forward, racing up the slope ahead, away from danger and on in pursuit of the retreating cavalry force. Another, a bare-headed and bald man with a face like a pomegranate, wheeled and raced back up the slope from whence he came, presumably thinking to carry warning to the army. The third, his horse bucking, swept down with his blade and cleaved the stupid cavalry trooper through the shoulder. As the thrashing, agonised form of the dismounted rider fell to the frosty, churned ground, his arm flopping uselessly and crimson pumping into the cold air from the chasm in his flesh, Varus raced from cover. Gritting his teeth, he threw himself at the mounted Gaul in a dive, using his slightly elevated position to his advantage, hitting him in the midriff and knocking him from his horse. The commander landed with his target in the mud and, while Varus had the wind knocked from him, the man on the ground had clearly broken something from the bony cracks as they hit.