Marius' Mules VI: Caesar's Vow (20 page)

Caesar nodded his agreement and the two men turned back to the scene as the third victim, this time a woman, was dropped to the bloody, wet earth on her knees.

‘Where is Ambiorix, king of the Eburones?’

A repeat in translation.

The woman spat a string of words at Caesar and received a slap to the cheek from the knife-wielding legionary. The slap was hard enough to break cheek or jaw, as the loud crack announced, and the woman slumped slightly. Caesar threw a questioning look at the Remi translator, but he shook his head and replied that the woman had simply cursed Caesar for a devil.

‘And now she is useless anyway since she cannot answer through her ruined jaw,’ the general added irritably. At a gesture, the centurion gave the order and her throat was opened.

Fronto watched impassively along with the other officers, including the slightly pale Crassus, while the next few farmers and their wives were brought out, questioned, and executed quickly and efficiently. Crassus muttered his gratitude that the Ninth had been vanguard and therefore given this grisly task, and not his Tenth. Fronto fought the irritation at that last part, but could only echo the young legate’s gratitude that the Tenth had not been set to executing farmers.

Seven dead now, their bodies blazing in the inferno of one of their homes.

Crassus gave a sharp intake of breath as he watched a boy of perhaps seven summers being dragged from the pen. The lad’s parents were shouting desperately and clawing at the hard legionaries holding them back.

‘Where is Ambiorix of the Eburones?’

‘Surely he cannot know?’ Crassus whispered in a hollow voice.

‘Unlikely,’ Antonius nodded, ‘but his parents might, and it could shock some sense into them all.’

Crassus watched in horror as the boy shook, making his throat-cutting a difficult chore, but the legionary was a professional, and held the boy’s head while he was dispatched. The rising wails and shrieks from the corral confirmed the effect this brutal display had had upon the locals.

Caesar gestured, and the centurion gave the commands, but the Remi translator waved his hand and shouted something to Galronus. The cavalry officer turned to Caesar and raised his own arm to pause the string of deaths.

‘Three of the Nervii are shouting Avenna,’ he said quietly.

‘And what is Avenna?’ Caesar asked.

‘The Nervii are quite advanced for a Belgic tribe,’ Galronus said, with what appeared to be grudging respect. ‘Almost as advanced as the Remi,’ he added pointedly. ‘They have a council, like the Roman senate and a capital city like Rome, which is the heart of their tribe. Avenna is less than a day’s march north of here.’

‘Avenna sounds as likely a place to find Ambiorix as anywhere else, then,’ Antonius noted.

‘More likely than most,’ agreed Caesar. ‘Very well.’ He returned his attention to the centurion and raised his voice. ‘End it. We are done here and ready to move on.’

The centurion nodded and began shouting his orders to the men. As the last of the livestock and grain was being loaded, the huts burning down now to orange embers billowing with black smoke, the rest of the villagers were roped together at neck and wrist and sent off with three centuries of men to lead them back to Samarobriva and a future of slavery, the profits of which would supplement the income of the army by a minute sum.

‘It seems almost too good to be true,’ Fronto noted to Antonius. ‘To pin the bugger down so quickly, I mean.’

‘Agreed,’ the other officer replied. ‘With any luck we’ll deal with him in short order and the army can be moved out into garrisons to deal with these various other threats we keep hearing about.

Fronto nodded, though he couldn’t help but fear that this was far from over yet. Something was still nagging him about that Arverni noble back in Bibracte and the way the man had spoken of Ambiorix. There was mystery wrapped up in all of this and he couldn’t believe it would all be this easy.

* * * * *

Avenna was, Fronto had to admit, impressive. As far as Gallic or Belgic defended settlements went, it ranked up there with the best. It was not large, being perhaps a third of a mile across at the widest point, and claimed no benefit from the topography, lying fairly low in an area of even lower, featureless ground.

But its defences were solid.

A low earth rampart had been topped with a wall of the type they now knew was typical of the Gallic peoples: constructed from a framework of wooden beams, the outer of which was faced with heavy stones between the supporting timber, the inner backed by a solid, earthen bank, and the framework itself packed throughout with a core of rubble and dirt.

It was a solid system and a good one, very hard to bring down with siege engines.

The oppidum seemed to have been constructed in three sections, with a separate enclosure to the west, consisting of perhaps a quarter of the whole, with its own west-facing gate, while the main enclosure with its southern entrance contained a further individual and double-walled hill at its easternmost edge.

‘Why the three sections?’ Antonius mused.

Fronto, however, had spent years traipsing around similar fortifications all over Gaul. He shrugged. ‘There’s very little uniformity in the Gauls’ settlements, even within the same tribe, so unless you get in and have a look, there’s no knowing for sure, but I’d wager that the separate western enclosure is a sacred druid grove. You can see even from here that there’s no smoke from household fires rising over the top, and there seem to be a lot of treetops there. If not religious, then it’s perhaps some sort of animal and farming compound? The main section is the city itself - you can see the chimney smoke rising. The heavily fortified hill is interesting. I’d expect that’s where their council meets, and their leaders live.’

Antonius nodded. ‘Seems a fair assessment. And here’s mine: this place is too bloody strong by far. It’ll take a week to demolish enough of those defences to get inside in sufficient numbers. The cavalry are no use, and any infantry assault is going to be extremely costly. Have you seen that gate?’

Fronto grunted an affirmative as he squinted into the slightly misty cold air. The huge, heavy walls - easily the height of two men - turned sharply inwards, forming a wide approach to the gatehouse, which was set back some way, providing a killing zone perhaps twenty paces wide and as deep before any attacker could reach the huge double gated entrance with its tower above. An attack there would invite death from a hundred arrows, bullets and rocks. Not that the rest of the defences would be any easier, of course. Antonius was right about the cost in manpower.

‘Then let’s hope we don’t need to breach it then, eh?’

Ahead, Caesar gave the signal and the knot of mounted officers, along with Caesar’s bodyguard under the command of young Ingenuus, trotted out ahead of the slowly assembling army, making for the gate. Fronto glanced to the side to see his own bodyguard drawn up behind Masgava and Palmatus. They looked somewhat unhappy at remaining with the legions, but Fronto had put his foot down and refused to let them join the staff officers. The general kept giving him funny looks and he was sure it was something to do with his new singulares unit. What he really
didn’t
need at the moment was something else to irritate Caesar. The man still barely acknowledged Fronto’s existence, despite Antonius’ frequent attempts to bring him around. If this went on for much longer, it would hardly be worth remaining in Gaul.

Grumbling under his breath, Fronto rode on with the other officers, sticking close to Priscus and Antonius as they approached the solid, defiant ramparts of the Avenna oppidum. Already the walls were thronged with Nervii, standing with spears or bows and watching the assembling might of the Republic on the plain before them. It had to be a daunting sight, and yet there appeared to be no trace of fear or panic emanating from the city.

As the party approached the gatehouse, more and more figures appeared on the ramparts above and around them, and Fronto began to spy that killing zone before the gates with some trepidation. For a moment he wondered whether Caesar intended to ride straight into that deadly space, but then the general held up his hand and the column halted, Ingenuus and three of his men riding to the front to flank their commander.

There was a long, pregnant pause, and then a groan and a series of thumps as the gate was unbarred and swung open ponderously. A small party of Nervii strode out through the portal on foot, armoured in mail and Gallic helmets, with russet coloured or grey or brown woollen trousers and a variety of equally dour tunics and cloaks. They wore little in the way of jewellery or accoutrements, barring a few torcs or arm rings that indicated their noble rank or their worth as warriors. Three men behind them carried standards bearing stylised wolves and boars, and another group held the huge carnyx horns aloft, preparing themselves. Fronto clenched his teeth against what he knew was coming, and just in time, as the horns started blarting out their ‘dying bovine’ song of discord.

Antonius, next to him, paled.

‘If that is their idea of a fanfare, then the whole world should thank us for trying to silence them for good!’

Fronto shook his head. ‘That’s
tuneful
. You should hear the songs of the Armorican tribes. It’s like a swan trying to swallow a tuba! Or a dog having one inserted from the rear, perhaps.’ He grinned, his teeth grinding slightly.

The party of Nervian nobles stopped some twenty paces from the Romans, safely within the reach of their own archers and right in the centre of the killing zone, Fronto noticed. Whatever you could accuse the Nervii of, they apparently were not daft.

‘Say your piece, Caesar of the Romans, and begone!’ barked out one of the Nervii in surprisingly good Latin. Studying the crowd, Fronto picked out the ubiquitous druid, safely lodged amid the nobles, wearing a dirty grey robe and clutching a staff like some sort of badge of office.

‘Arrogant sods, aren’t they?’ muttered Antonius. ‘Do they not see the thirty thousand men lining up behind us?’

‘Ridiculously, they’re not afraid,’ Fronto replied. ‘Even if there were only ten of them, they’d show no fear. The Belgic tribes are all mad, and the Nervii are the worst of them. You’ve met Galronus, yes?’

Caesar raised himself slightly in the saddle, though he already towered over the horseless Nervian nobles.

‘You afford us neither fear, nor respect,’ he said loudly, ‘not that I expected any such thing. But if you think to turn us away so easily, you are not simply brave, but deluded.’

He waited for the words to sink in. The general always knew how to treat with his opposing numbers, and a meaningful pause was only one weapon in his verbal arsenal.

‘The Nervii have proved themselves to be repetitive enemies of Rome, rising against our armies time and again, despite the fact that we are here legitimately and at the behest of the Gallic assembly. It is the considered advice of many of my better officers and some of the senators of our Republic that it is time for the Nervii to be removed from the world of men altogether, and left as nothing but a hollow memory of a people.’

Another pause to let that sink in, and Fronto noted a few heads turning at the implication of these words.

‘I took a significant step towards agreeing with them when news reached me that our great enemy, the traitor
king,
’ - the word spat almost as an insult - ‘Ambiorix of the Eburones, has entered into negotiations with the Nervii, among other tribes. Since I know that you are aware of the damage dealt to our legions by the traitor only short months ago - you yourself being involved to a great extent - you will know just how much we owe Ambiorix. This army will not stop killing and burning until he is found and made to suffer the consequences of his actions, and anyone who stands in the way of that retribution is begging to become a part of it.’

An uncomfortable silence.

Perhaps, despite their legendary bravery, the Nervii were realising now just how much they were putting their own necks on the line by maintaining an alliance with the fallen Eburones’ king.

‘Despite everything, in the hope that the lands of the Belgae can once more be settled into peace and harmony, I am willing to overlook the treacherous decision of your leaders to ally with this snake. If you deliver him to us - or give us the details of his whereabouts if he is not here - I will personally guarantee the life of each and every occupant of Avenna. If you do not comply, I will not leave this place until the charred remains of the houses are indistinguishable from the charred remains of your tribe. You know me as a man of my word, so consider this your final ultimatum. You have the count of one hundred to oblige or I give the order to cut down, burn, kill, rape and crucify every living thing my legions find in Avenna.’

Fronto found himself nodding at the sense of this. While the ultimatum was brutal and impossibly harsh, with the Nervii little other than the threat of utter annihilation would even make them blink. But Caesar had judged his words carefully before he gave them, and the deliberate, slow delivery had produced the desired effect: the small party of nobles were muttering among themselves. While displaying no obvious fear, they were clearly considering the clear threat to their very existence that the gathering legions posed.

The general turned to his standard bearer, holding aloft the ‘Taurus’ bull emblem of Caesar’s command party. ‘Give them the count out loud. Let’s keep their nerves frayed.’

As the signifer began to count down from one hundred in a loud, clear voice, the activity among the Nervian nobles became a little more frenetic and Antonius grinned. ‘He was always this good at playing people, you know? Even when I was a boy, he had my family at his beck and call.’

‘I know.’ Fronto sighed. ‘Look at the poor bastards. They know they’re done for. They’re just trying to decide whether they have any room to negotiate.’

The signifer had reached ‘thirty six’ when the Nervians turned back to the Roman party and the apparent ‘spokesman’ stepped out front. The druid, Fronto noted, had pushed his way angrily out of the rear of the party and was even now making for the gate.