Marius Mules III: Gallia Invicta (Marius' Mules) (31 page)

They could try diverting the river into a narrow channel and filling the wide ditch enough to cross. But then they’d still be working under the fire of the defenders, it would still take more than a day and, once again, the ground once they had reclaimed it from the water would be too soft for easy traversing and would be impossible for the wagons.

Caesar, along with his senior officers, had ridden half a mile ahead of the slowly-moving army and they were standing beside their horses, staring out at the oppidum ahead. As the two riders bore down on them and slowed to a walk and then a stop, Caesar turned and nodded at them.

“Ah… Tetricus. Good. Join us.”

The tribune dismounted and led his horse by the reins to join the officers. He smiled as he recognised the figure of Appius Coruncanius Mamurra, the engineer from Formia. To his eternal satisfaction, the great engineer nodded at him as one professional to another.

“Mamurra tells me there is no quick and simple way into Darioritum. I brought him on board because he, like you, is a man who likes to find solutions to impossible problems. I refuse to believe there is a problem of defence that cannot be overcome by the pair of you. Find me my quick way in.”

“A day either way; either to re-channel and reclaim the river, or to deforest and move in from the north. But either way we couldn’t get the artillery close.”

The officer nodded thoughtfully.

“We could perhaps speed things up with the river if we could get men across who could pull down the first wall and use it to fill the ditch?”

“Yes, but it’s still slow and they’d be in direct line of any fire from the walls. We’d lose a lot of men.” He shrugged. ”We could torch the woodland? It’s brutal, but a lot faster than men with axes.”

Mamurra shook his head.

“The ground and foliage are drying out, but they’ll still be very damp. If we burn it, it’ll smoke and smoulder for days. Too slow.”

“Of course, we don’t have to remove the whole woodland; just enough to get a column of men through. Once we can get a century or two at the front they can perhaps use wicker screens to cover the rest as they filter through into the open ground?”

Tetricus nodded.

“Then we should concentrate on the low edge near the river. The trees are sparser there and the men would be in less danger from the walls as they got closer. I’d be happier if we could get vineae to the front to cover the men. Wicker screens are a bit feeble. But then we’re back to being unable to move big, wheeled structures over the sawn stumps.”

“Oxen and ropes” Mamurra smiled.

“Better than axes.”

“And if they can tear the trees from the earth whole and with the roots intact, rather than just cutting them down, the ground can easily be levelled for the artillery carts.”

Caesar nodded.

“Good. Tetricus? Go back to the Tenth and bring them around to the north. We shall approach from that side.”

With a salute, the tribune shared a professional nod with Mamurra and then turned to ride back to the Tenth. It would still be a slow job but, with a little luck, they could be through the woods and able to begin the assault by the afternoon.

“Then we’ll find out what other little tricks they have in store for us.”

He just hoped like hell that Fronto and Balbus had secured those forts.

* * * * *

Centurion Atenos, commander of the Second Cohort and chief training officer of the Tenth Legion, glanced around him, taking stock of the situation. The depleted cohort, some of his men being on detached duty with the legate, had joined the First Cohort at the head of the Roman advance. Legionaries and officers stretched away on both sides of him, filling the deforested ground from the water’s edge along to the remaining tree line.

Behind, a detachment of engineers and legionaries moved around the denuded forest floor efficiently filling the holes left by the removed trees and levelling and packing the ground. Behind them, a dozen vineae trundled periodically forward as soon as the ground was readied for them, coming to a halt as they reached uneven earth once more.

Swinging his gaze back round to his left, he could see the river, wide and shallow at this point, washing away the debris cast from the dying forest by the multitude of workmen.

And finally back to the front.

Despite being the head of the army, the men of the Tenth were not the furthest forward at the moment. Ahead of them, soldiers of the engineering details strained, pushing the bellowing oxen as hard as they could until, with a horrendous tearing sound, another beech tree came loose, the huge root system snapping and creaking. As Atenos watched, the cart began to drag the tree toward the slope that dropped to the river so that the workmen could roll it down to the river with a quick push and watch it float out to the bay.

A call from ahead drew his attention again. Centurion Carbo, off to his left, took up the call. Only a few trees remained before the open space that lay between the woodland and the low outer wall of the oppidum. As carts lined up ready to remove the last boles and soldiers flattened out the ground behind them, the first two cohorts of the Tenth Legion moved forward, filtering past them and between the trees.

Atenos took a deep breath as his men stepped from the cover of the trees and into the open air once more.

“Shields!”

He was impressed by the speed and efficiency with which his new command put the order into action, the entire line raising and locking their shields and hunching over slightly as they advanced in order to present as small a target as possible to the enemy.

His call had been just in time, as the Veneti on the high walls let their first volley of arrows, stones and bullets go at that moment, the missiles rattling off shields and helmets or embedding themselves in wood with a ‘thunk’. Here and there, Atenos could hear the squawk of a man who had been unlucky; still, the manoeuvre had been smooth and resulted in fewer casualties than he’d expected from the first volley. The Tenth’s previous training officer had apparently done a good job.

A quick glance to either side, unimpeded by the cohort who were, to a man, at least a head shorter than he, told him that the entire line had moved into position, presenting a solid shield wall to the enemy from the water’s edge across to the eaves of the remaining woodland. More missiles rattled off iron and bronze.

“Screens!” came the call from the primus pilus to his left.

Atenos waited tensely as huge wicker screens, rejected as the main defence of the Roman lines, but very useful as a temporary measure to shield the men working behind, were raised by the second and third line and then filtered through to the front. Within half a minute, the whole shield wall now stood behind a row of eight foot wicker screens that blocked a number of the incoming shots. The screen supports were jammed into place and then the second group of screens were brought forward, raised to form a higher level of the wall and held in place by straining legionaries.

The First and Second Cohorts were in place, forming the first line, guarding the workmen and protecting them from enemy attack while they cleared the passage.

Behind, the ox carts were already working on the last few trees. Atenos glanced across at Carbo as, behind him, a young oak was violently torn from the earth and dragged away. The eaves of the wood were disappearing. Even as he waited tensely, he could hear the creak and groan and then the crack and crash of more trees being removed. The intensity of missile fire increased as the Veneti realised that the Roman attackers had forged a clear passage through the woodland.

“Watch yourselves. Step back from the screens three paces.”

Carbo, off to his left, cast him a quizzical glance, but echoed the order to his own men. As the confused legionaries stepped back and lowered the top row of screens, one of the men close by cleared his throat.

“Sir?”

Atenos shrugged nonchalantly and fell into place just as the first fire arrow hit the wicker screens and burst into a fiery orange ball that sent tongues of flame licking across the face of the wicker defence.

“Clearly none of you have studied the tongue of your enemy this past two years. At least learn enough to understand what their commands mean!”

The legionary blinked.

“Yes, sir.”

Atenos stood silent and afforded a quick glance at the primus pilus. Carbo was nodding at him appreciatively. Behind, the last trees had gone and workmen were moving up, filling in the few remaining holes. As they neared the last victims of the ox carts, the fire intensified yet again and a few blows struck home, taking the labouring legionaries through thighs and torsos as they worked.

Carbo nodded to him and, simultaneously, the two lead centurions gave their cohorts the order to fall back and protect the workers in close order. With perfect timing, the shield wall retreated a dozen paces and then, directed by a few gestures from their officers, split off into groups to produce individual shield screens for the work gangs as they flattened the forest floor.

At extreme range fewer of the missiles reached their targets and the instances of wounding decreased as the defences were reconfigured. The men worked under the shelter of the Tenth’s shields and slowly the vineae, huge wheeled shelters, rumbled toward them. Beneath the protective roofs of the vehicles, the rest of the Tenth Legion moved toward the walls of Darioritum, the other legions preparing to move on after.

Atenos glanced around once more to make sure everything was in position and, raising his shield against the possibility of a lucky strike, marched across the uneven ground to where Carbo stood, directing the shield wall around a work party that had just completed the infill of another hole.

“Sir, when the rest pull forward this place is going to be seething with troops. I’d like permission to try something before it becomes impossible.”

Carbo frowned.

“Something dangerous?”

“I want to take the Second Cohort around the outside of the outer walls and try and get to the port. If the legates should fail and the fleet don’t make it into the bay, we could do with trying to prevent the Veneti from boarding their ships the way they usually do. Even if the fleet
do
get here, it would be better for our marines if the enemy ships weren’t packed to the rail with escaped warriors. Better to keep the numbers weighed in our favour.”

“Space will be quite restrictive down there. There may be too many of us already, sir. If you’re alright with that, I’ll move the men out as soon as the workmen have finished.”

“Good luck.”

Saluting, Atenos strode back to his men, watching as the last workmen packed down the former forest floor to prepare the way for the rolling vineae and the bulk of Caesar’s army that came with them.

The Second Cohort would miss out on the glorious assault and watching as the first Roman standard waved from the top of that high wall, but the enormous Gaul had served as a mercenary in some of the most hellish and deadly wars the world had to offer and he knew how much more satisfaction there was to be had by being an aged healthy veteran with a history of quiet successes than to be a crippled soldier after only half a campaign with a few proud medals to show for it.

Gritting his teeth as the men charged toward him, he set his sights on the low wall that ran along the river bank toward the bay, just a narrow strip of sloping land.

“Time to move.”

* * * * *

Carbo watched as the Second Cohort with their hulking giant of a chief centurion moved at triple time across the open ground to the low wall and began to move along it, staying as close as possible to the structure itself and moving toward the bay. As the primus pilus watched, he realised just how dangerous the run truly was. Almost everywhere along the route the Second Cohort was open to fire from the high walls above and had to run with their shields overhead like a high speed testudo. Even as he watched, three men fell foul of well placed shots and disappeared into the river and even as he turned away he saw two more topple.