Marius' Mules II: The Belgae (54 page)

He kicked his
horse into an extra turn of speed and rode up the slope. The rain
was just as heavy, just as wet and just as cold but, for some
reason, not half as depressing when you were racing through it at
speed.

He was
starting to feel a little lighter and easier as he reached the top
of the hill and turned to view the long column snaking away behind
him so far that it disappeared into the grey murk. Perhaps things
would be a little easier if he continued to do this throughout the
journey. Maybe Procillus and Mettius would appreciate the
opportunity to leave the column... but probably not. The pair of
them were travelling in a covered wagon and had made no attempt to
venture out into the weather; not something a commanding officer
could do, really.

He sighed and
turned back to the view ahead.

“
Juno, what happened here?”

Labienus
stared at the dip beyond the ridge. To the left was the forest
they’d been skirting for the last hour and which had given rise to
his fantasies of tree-dwelling Belgae. To the right: a wide shallow
bowl that had played host to a large camp; perhaps as large as the
Belgae’s camp where Rufus had massacred the warriors of the
Atrebates.

Rough tents
and shelters formed from logs, branches and ferns formed the bulk
of the camp, with burnt-out grey campfires dotted around, the whole
thing arrayed around a central complex of buildings; presumably a
local farm.

But the camp
was not the issue.

The camp was
not empty.

“
Juno, Dis and Nemesis!”

The bodies lay
so thick in places that they were piled on top of one another. For
a moment he worried for his safety, the words of the tribune
echoing through his mind. No, he was in no danger. Nothing down
there was alive. Taking a deep breath, preparing for whatever fresh
horror lay ahead, he walked his horse down the slope and into the
depression.

He had barely
reached the edge of the distressing sight when he was forced to
pull his tunic up over his nose to try and block out the smell.
These bodies were fresh; fresher than those of the army back at the
river yesterday. They’d died during the night.

In fact, as he
walked his horse slowly and carefully in among the piles of the
dead, he realised that some of the fires were still smouldering
slightly. They had only been untended a few hours, but now the rain
was finishing them off.

So many
bodies. More than at the battlefield. Many more. So many dead.
And…

He drew a deep
breath and fought back a tear that threatened to run down his
cheek. Not a single warrior among them. Not a man between the age
of twelve and sixty. Mostly women and children. Girls of five or
six years old, covered in their own blood. Gutted.

He became
aware of shouting behind him. Turning, he realised the tribune had
brought a dozen cavalry over the slope. Of course he had. His
commander had gone off on his own.

“
Sir!”

Labienus
turned, his face ashen, and slowly walked his horse between the
fires and the bodies, back to the riders who sat waiting for him,
staring at the macabre array.

“
What happened here sir? The Aduatuci you think? Did they come
here and do this?”

Labienus shook
his head.

“
What is wrong with these people? With this world?”

“
Sir?” The tribune looked genuinely confused.

“
No one did this to them, tribune. They did it to
themselves.”

He stared at
the piles again.

“
Brother killing sister, father killing daughter. Must be well
over a hundred thousand of them here. More…”

The tribune
shook his head, his mouth open.

“
Because of us?”

Labienus
nodded.

“
Us and stupidity. They heard they’d lost. And our reputation
among the Celts is not the most savoury. They’d probably been told
we would come and rape and murder them. This is defiance, after a
fashion.”

The tribune
frowned.

“
What do we do, sir?”

Labienus wiped
the trickling rain from his brow.

“
We’re civilised men, tribune. What would you expect us to
do?”

The man stared
for a moment and then, nodding, turned to the trooper behind
him.

“
Get back to the column. Tell them to take an hour’s rest and
have the centurions form up three centuries for burial detail.
These civilians need a proper tumulus.”

The trooper
saluted and turned to ride back over the crest to the army.

Labienus
sighed and fished into the pocket of his breeches. His face taking
on a slightly bleaker appearance still, he withdrew Paetus’ signet
ring.

“
What a reputation we’re building for ourselves, eh
Lucius?”

With a deeper
sigh, he looked down sadly at the item in his hand and dropped
easily from his horse. A grim expression on his face, he strode
over to the nearest pile of corpses and stared down at it.

Crouching, he
located the body of a young girl and sadly, rolled her over on the
pile of people; likely her family. Her throat had been cut.
Possibly, looking at the jagged mess, she’d even done it herself.
The blood had soaked into the bodies beneath and her face was now
alabaster white.

Reaching out
he stroked her hair. She would be about the same age as his own
daughter. Ignoring the tear on his cheek and biting his lip, he
reached for her hand unfolded the fingers, turned it palm-up and
dropped Paetus’ ring into it. Smiling sadly, he gently but firmly
pushed the fingers closed on the ring and patted her on the
cheek.

“
We’re not all monsters, girl. One day your people will realise
that. If there are any of you left.”

He stood, took
a deep and heavy breath, and set his teeth together. Vaulting onto
his horse, he walked it back up the slope.

“
Come on. We have a job to do.”

As he passed
the centurions leading the burial parties back over the slope, he
gritted his teeth and glared down at them.

“
With respect. And no looting!”

The centurion,
clearly surprised, saluted.

“
Yessir!”

As Labienus
rode back to the column, he finally felt a little peace descending
on him. He’d not had his heart in this particular task. He’d envied
those men riding off to chastise the Aduatuci, but not now. Now his
purpose was really clear for the first time. Now he had a reason.
He had to bring peace at whatever cost. He had to bring the Gauls
and the Belgae into the fold. Not for Caesar; not even for Rome.
For themselves. What happened here must never happen again.

“
Never again.”

He ignored the
look of surprise his apropos-of-nothing comment raised from the
tribunes.

No… never
again.

Chapter 19

(On the plain
before the oppidum of Aduatuca)

“
Laqueus: a garrotte usually used by gladiators to restrain an
opponent’s arm, but also occasionally used to cause death by
strangulation.”

Crispus
frowned.

“
I cannot decide whether they have a very ego-centric
world-view or merely no imagination.”

Fronto
nodded.

“
I see what you mean. The Aduatuci who live in
Aduatuca.”

Crispus
laughed.

“
No… they have no name for their town. I am informed by our
Remi friends that they just call it ‘home’. Aduatuca is a name
others have given to it, for ease of description.”

Fronto
frowned.

“
So they believe themselves to be the centre of the world?
That’s a little big-headed isn’t it?”

Another light
laugh from Crispus.

“
Whereas our ‘Mare Nostrum’ shows no such weakness in
character, eh?”

Fronto frowned
blankly at him and then gave up, shrugged, and turned back to
examine the oppidum they had travelled so many days to find.

Aduatuca, as
the Belgae had named it, was a plateau with only one truly
accessible side. The town stood atop cliffs and rocks that were
jagged and uneven, and would make most siege techniques difficult.
The remaining option would be to march directly up the one shallow
slope, which was perhaps a hundred yards across, and assault the
impressively-constructed double walls, crowned with piles of heavy
stones with which to crush any attackers, and surrounded by
sharpened stakes jutting from the ground and the walls like a
bristling and deadly beard.

The legions
had been hot on the trail of the Aduatuci ever since they’d left
the Selle River and marched east but, no matter that the Romans had
stripped out the slowest part of the army and travelled only with
fast and healthy troops, the Aduatuci had simply travelled like the
wind, managing to easily stay ahead of Caesar and almost taunting
him. And now the Roman army assembled in units on the plain in
sight of the oppidum but out of range.

Fronto
sighed.

“
Ah well. Best go see what the general has in mind.”

Crispus nodded
and the two legates strode off to join the staff, who were
gathering at the front with their commander. Caesar was rubbing his
temples irritably.

“
Alright, gentlemen. It’s quite simple. I may have
underestimated the time to get here and deal with the enemy and so
we need to deal with this fast. I want to be at Nemetocenna by the
kalends of September for the meeting of the tribes.”

Sabinus shook
his head.

“
Sir, rushing these things is asking for trouble. Every time
we’ve rushed a siege so far we’ve failed and taken heavy losses.
Labienus can argue your position, especially with the diplomats you
sent. You need to concentrate on this. Take Aduatuca with as few
risks and losses as possible.”

Fronto nodded.
“The legions are severely depleted.”

Behind him he
heard the familiar nasal whine that announced Plancus was winding
himself up to say something stupid.

“
They’re right, sir. Think of how expensive it will already be
to restore the manpower of the legions. It will cost a fortune,
sir.”

Fronto
frowned. To think of the men of the legions in terms of a mere
commodity irritated him on both professional and personal levels.
But the man had added to their point and any angle that might make
Caesar careful should be attacked. The general frowned.

“
So what do you all suggest? Talk to me.”

Fronto cleared
his throat.

“
Can’t assault that slope. Remember Noviodunum? I’ll bet
Plancus does. We could take the gates, but it would cost us a
quarter of the army doing it, and that’s too high a price to
pay.”

“
So you expect our men to climb the cliffs, Fronto?”

The legate
shrugged.

“
I’m just warning you off a really dangerous attack. What you
need is Tetricus. He’ll have ideas.”

“
Then get him.” Caesar continued to rub his temple,
wincing.

As Fronto
turned and strode back to the ranks of the Tenth, he pondered on
his patron. The more time he spent with Caesar, the less he liked
him. The man had always had his vicious side, certainly, which had
shown on several occasions during the Spanish campaign, but he
seemed to be getting worse. Indeed, his mood, his health and his
judgment all seemed to have declined over the last year or
more.

Perhaps life
would be easier if he left Caesar’s clientele and found someone
else? It wasn’t like he needed the money or the political leg up.
He served with Caesar, as he always had, because the general often
left him alone to do his job and he could soldier on in his own
way. Maybe Pompey would have use for him?

He shook his
head. He was Caesar’s man. So the general was going through a bad
patch. A man who changed his allegiance for ease and comfort was…
well wasn’t Fronto. Besides, he knew he was a moderating influence
on the general and, without him, how many good men would die in
fruitless pursuit of glory?

Tetricus
smiled as he approached.

“
Had a feeling you might be sending for me, sir.”

Fronto
smiled.

“
Get your thinking head on. Caesar’s in a hurry as usual, but I
don’t want to lose too many men.”

“
Yes,” the tribune smiled. “Already had some
thoughts.”

The two men
turned and strode toward the command unit when a shout suddenly
went up. Squinting into the distance, they began to run as they saw
a flood of men pouring down the slope from the gate of the oppidum.
Calls went up from the various cornicens and the legions tightened
formation into solid shield walls, waiting for the order to attack.
Fronto and Tetricus veered off and made a beeline for the staff who
were now pulling back between the legions to a position of safety
at the rear.

As they
reached the group of officers, Fronto frowned.

“
There’s only a few thousand of them. What can they possibly
hope to achieve in open battle?”

Caesar
smiled.

“
It matters not. The legions will obliterate them and then we
will besiege their town.”

Fronto
remained unconvinced and, as the command party reached a small rise
where they could observe events, he studied the enemy warriors
pouring across the turf towards them. This was no ordinary Belgic
attack. These men were unarmoured and carried only spears;
moreover, they were forming into what looked like a phalanx.