‘A dozen, you say? This disfigured man… would he be wearing a mask?’
Cavarinos, coming vividly alert, stepped forward so forcefully that one of the tribunes dropped his hand to his sword hilt, but the Arvernian drew himself up in front of Brutus.
‘A cult mask? Gleaming glaze with a straight mouth and small horns?’
Brutus nodded. ‘He was a servant, they said, who’d been disfigured by the pox.’
‘He was disfigured by a cavalry sword at Alesia,’ Cavarinos said quietly, and turned to Fronto. ‘They’re here. They’re in Massilia now, and they had no trouble getting here. They had a Roman escort.’
Brutus looked across at Fronto.
‘Who are these people, then? These Sons of Taranis?’
‘Rebels, killers and lunatics,’ Fronto replied. Damn good job for you that you had the Twelfth around you, then. From what Cavarinos tells me, you’d probably be decorating a tree now if they’d found you on your own.’
Brutus’ frown deepened yet again as he turned to the Gaul.
‘Cavarinos? Of the Arverni?’
Cavarinos nodded.
‘I saw you at the surrender of Alesia. Fronto, you are keeping very odd company.’
‘Odd, but good. Brutus, do you know where those twelve will be now?’
The senior officer shook his head. ‘We parted ways at the city gate. They could be anywhere by now. Damn it. Something felt off about them all that way, but I just put it down to jumpiness, given what I was transporting. What are they doing here?’
Fronto opened his mouth to speak, but Cavarinos was there first. ‘Primarily trying to take ship, but while they’re in town I would be astonished if they don’t try and send Fronto here to meet his gods in person. And if you are, as you appear to be, Decimus Junius Brutus Albinus, Caesar’s cousin, then I would make very sure to keep a large guard of legionaries around you at all times. You will be every bit as tempting a target as Fronto.’
Brutus nodded. ‘The legion will be moving off towards Narbo when the ships depart, but after that we’ll have the marines to look after us. I think I’ll be safe. It’ll take a week to load the ships and prepare to sail, I reckon.’
‘I doubt the Sons of Taranis will stay in port that long,’ Cavarinos noted. ‘They will delay departure long enough to try and kill such valuable Roman officers, but their objective requires that they leave as early as possible, and they’ll want to get to Rome ahead of the convoy, as that will block up your port and draw a lot of gazes to incoming ships.’
Fronto crossed to stand in front of Brutus.
‘Alright, Decimus. You can’t take my cargo, but I tell you one thing. Once these bastards have run from Massilia, they’re heading for Rome, and I will follow them and put them down. So you’ll make space for me and mine on the ships or I will personally cripple enough of your men to make room.’
Brutus chortled. ‘Subtle as ever, Fronto. Alright. We’ll make sure to keep room for a few passengers. Just make sure you stay alive until we sail.’
Fronto smiled. ‘You stay safe with the Twelfth until we’re ready to leave, Decimus.’ He glanced across at Masgava. ‘In the meantime we need to secure the villa completely. No little shopping trips to the agora. No theatre visits or strolls along the coast path. Everyone stays in the villa under guard and everyone is armed. Even Catháin and the workmen. If a mouse farts in this place I want a man with a sword looking up its arse. Understood?’
As Masgava nodded his total agreement, Fronto turned to Cavarinos.
‘Meantime, you and I are going to spend a little time in the town and turn over a few rocks, see what crawls out.’
THE Cadurci oppidum of Uxellodunon rose from the mist like some behemoth of ancient legend, its ‘upturned boat’ shape inky black against the dusk sky. The fog was chilly, though the evening was far from cold, with spring enfolding the land in its warm blanket. The evenings were warm and the gentle broiling of the land resulted in the huge carpet of mist that rose from the rivers and streams and irrigation channels that surrounded the oppidum.
The bulk of the Romans would be safely tucked away inside their tents, expecting no trouble, but Lucterius knew from long experience that despite such things the Roman sentries and pickets would be far from complacent. And the officer who had chased them to this site seemed to be shrewd enough. He had concentrated his forces in three locations where they could react to any move in force and could concentrate their supplies and organisation, each camp with a solid cavalry element to speedily deal with anything for which the infantry would be too slow. But they had also created a cordon around the place, with men on watch so close that they could speak to one another. A message from the Roman commander could circuit the oppidum in perhaps a quarter of an hour. Worse still, the man had had a wicker fence thrown up around the entire circumference, excepting where features of nature prevented it.
Then they had settled in to lay siege.
There had been arguments in Uxellodunon.
Drapes – damn the man for the only chief who was senior enough to vie for control – had blamed Lucterius for being too slow and getting them trapped here. It mattered not how many times Lucterius explained that he had intended to tarry here anyway, with or without the Romans. Drapes had urged for a breakout in force and to continue their journey south.
But it was too early. Molacos had been insistent that he would retrieve the great king and return him at the appointed place on the Roman border on the first day of the month of
Qutios
. Lucterius was no fool, though, and he knew to add a month to that, for Molacos was being proud and boastful as was right in such a great warrior. Lucterius had agreed to meet Molacos and the king with his new army on the eve of the festival of
Lugnasa
, which marked the start of the harvest season. Thus he had intended to come here, to his hometown, to train this new army and rest and prepare. Then, at the end of Qutios, they would begin to move south. They would meet Molacos and the great king at the edge of Roman lands and would then sweep down and destroy Narbo. He felt sure that the tribes in Narbonensis would rally to the cause of freedom if the local authorities and garrison were destroyed. And when those tribes – the Volcae, the Ruteni, the Tectosages and various others – joined the cause, it would almost certainly bring the taciturn and reluctant Aquitani tribes of the mountain country down to join in.
The northern and the eastern tribes had been smashed – there was no hope of a new rebellion being born there – but the south and east remained strong. They only had to be shown the way, shown that Rome could be beaten and driven out, and then they would rise. The burning of Narbo and the triumph of the once-defeated Arverni king would do that.
Of course, the presence of these two legions under the man Caninius had thrown a stick in the wheel spokes of the plan. But sticks could be removed. And Lucterius still had over a month until he had originally intended to move south anyway. Drapes had worried that the Romans would send for reinforcements, but Lucterius had prepared everything. The north was still rising with every man they could muster. They were little more than a gad fly biting the hide of Rome, but they were keeping Caesar and his other generals busy. It was simply bad luck that this Caninius had run to help the Lemovices while Drapes had been there. Otherwise the plan would be moving forward without Roman interference.
Still, he was confident that they would win. He had as many men as the Romans and as long as he could meet them on favourable terms, he would win the day. There could be no pitched battle in open land, for that was where Rome became ascendant. And attacking the Roman defences was foolish – they had learned that at Alesia.
So there was one way. An army was only as good as its supplies.
Uxellodunon had good stores of grain and a source of water. Half the plateau was given to the cultivation of vegetables and fruit and the husbandry of animals. Uxellodunon could hold out for as long as they wanted it to. And the men would never go hungry during all that time. They would eat well. But the Romans had chased them here without the usual wagon train, and that meant that they were reliant upon forage. They must be running very short now of the meagre supplies they had brought with them, and would be hunting animals and sending forage parties out to locate farms.
They would be unlucky. The war had taken its toll on the tribes and few farms had yielded a healthy harvest for two years now. Unless they found the supply dump at
Serpent Ford
, six or seven miles southwest of the oppidum, that was. It had originally been stored there with the intention of being brought inside the ramparts when the army arrived, but the Romans had been too close and so the supplies remained where they had been left.
If the Romans found it they would be well fed for long enough to ruin the plan. But two more weeks without adequate supplies and the Romans would be forced to quit the siege and move back north to where their own supplies were. Then the Cadurci would move on. Or, if he was one of the more belligerent of the Roman commanders, this Caninius would judge his position untenable and decide to launch a desperate attack. And if he did that, Lucterius would win easily and destroy two legions into the bargain.
It was all dependent upon his men remaining strong and well fed while the Romans starved and weakened.
When he had told Drapes about the cache of food, the man had strained at his leash, wanting to rush the enemy lines and either retrieve or burn the supplies to make sure the Romans did not get them. Lucterius had been calm and organised and had explained that he had a plan.
He would take five hundred men and retrieve the supplies. There could be no
more
than five hundred, lest the Romans notice them sneaking past and bring them to battle. Then he would lose. But five hundred men he could get through the Roman lines. Then they would bring the supplies back to the oppidum, not only weakening the chances of the enemy but strengthening their own.
Drapes had lost his temper and roared his distrust into Lucterius’ face. Not only had Lucterius led them into a siege and got them trapped by two legions all because of some faint timeline to which he was working, but now he proposed to sneak out of the oppidum and run, leaving Drapes to his fate.
Lucterius had put on his most patient voice and explained once more that he was simply going to fetch the supplies, but Drapes had the bit between his teeth and accused him repeatedly of trying to flee now that things had gone wrong. And the more Drapes spat and raged, the more the lesser chiefs had nodded and begun to look at Lucterius with distrust.
It was madness. Was he not the architect of this whole plan? Was he not behind the renewed dream of freeing the tribes from the Roman yoke? But in the face of bile and invective, all the idiots could see was that Lucterius planned to leave the oppidum. In the end, he had been forced to acquiesce and agree to Drapes joining him on the mission. They would take the five hundred men – two hundred of his loyal Cadurci and two hundred of Drapes’ Senones. And several of the more nervous, distrustful lesser chiefs would come with a dozen or so men each. It was utterly ridiculous. The bulk of the new rebel army remained well fed and rested, training in the oppidum under the command of one of the smallest and least important chiefs in this army. Meanwhile anyone with any influence was busy sneaking out of the place to retrieve stored grain.
All because of Drapes’ distrust.
Idiocy.
Carefully, he lifted his foot out of the brackish water and gestured to the tangled root that had almost tripped him so that the men following on behind would not fall foul of it.
This place, which in his childhood they had called the
marsh of dead horses
for some unknown reason, was the only place a breakout could be achieved. To the southwest of the oppidum, towards where the river plunged into a narrow valley, the two tributary streams that fed into that river met in a tangled swampy woodland. The ground was so soft and flat here that the streams flooded the woodland and created a troubling marsh. The Romans might have created a bulge in their cordon to enclose the whole thing, but that would have meant taking it right back towards the river, and the sense of order and neatness that seemed endemic of the Roman mind would not allow for that. Instead, the cordon went to one side of the marsh, where a sentry sat at the driest point he could find, and picked up again with a similar man on the far side.
The marsh was not wide. The pickets might not be able to see each other, but they were close enough to shout to one another, as the escaping warriors had confirmed when they were treated to a shouted ribald story about some Syracusan whore. Fortunately, the flow of the streams through the undergrowth mixed with the vast array of marshy wildlife created a constant murmur of watery movement, and the sound of five hundred men moving very slowly and carefully through the hidden ways between them remained unnoticed by the pickets. And, of course, the mist helped to dampen sound anyway.
Drapes had actually, when he’d heard about this place, suggested that the whole army move through it and escape. He genuinely believed they could get the army past the Roman cordon and be halfway to Narbo before Caninius knew they had gone. Which only went to show that Drapes
was
an idiot. Five hundred men through here was dangerous enough. Many thousands would stand no chance.
Indeed, he would have had no nerves crossing this place with his five hundred Cadurci, all of whom knew Uxellodunon and this marsh and could navigate it with their eyes closed. These various Senone and other allied idiots, though, were making so much noise it was amazing they hadn’t already drawn the attention of the sentries.
It was at that moment that Lucterius’ new plan formed.
When they got to the supplies, he would suggest that he remain with his men to guard the dump while Drapes began ferrying the grain back to the oppidum. There was not a jot of doubt in his mind as to the idiot’s reaction to that. Drapes would narrow his eyes suspiciously and decide that
he
would guard the supplies while
Lucterius
ferried them back, for the Senone chief would worry that Lucterius would flee as soon as his back was turned and leave them in the lurch.
Far from it.
If he could leave Drapes with the last vestiges of the supply dump while he transported the rest into Uxellodunon, he would effectively have removed the stupid thorn from his side. Drapes would be outside with two hundred men or so, while Lucterius had the entire army in the oppidum. He might even then be tempted to alert the Romans and let them deal with Drapes appropriately.
Someone pushed him in the back and his thoughts came back to his present situation as he turned an angry glare on the man behind him. Tarbos, a lesser chief of the Petrocorii, was urging him on, his lip drawn back in a snarl. If he had dared to speak, Lucterius would have pointed out to the turd behind him that the reason he was moving slow was because he was currently traversing an area of slimy stones beneath the surface of the water. He resolved not to point to them and hoped the man would slip under the water in his mail shirt and drown.
If Drapes was the hunter (which was something of a reach for a man with the intellect of a root vegetable), then he had three hounds. Bimmos of the Santoni would be the one to reach the prey and bring it down without the need for his master. When the war actually began again, Bimmos would be effective, if he could be dragged out from beneath Drapes. Lugurix of the Pictones would be the hound who did exactly what was asked of him; no more and no less. He would bring back the bird Drapes had brought down.
Tarbos of the Petrocorii – the moron currently sloshing along behind Lucterius – was the third hound. He would be the one unaware even of where they were, who simply spent all his time curled into a ball, licking his own arse.
Behind him, Tarbos slipped on the slimy stones and almost cried out, but grabbed hold of Lucterius’ back to stop himself falling. Lucterius resisted the urge to turn and knife the man. He was nothing but a liability.
With considerable relief, Lucterius saw the gradient begin to rise and the boles of the trees that came ghosting out of the mist thinned out gradually. They were at the edge of the marsh of dead horses. They were past the Roman sentries. As he climbed out of the water and through a short section of sucking mud to the springy turf of the valley side, he kept low.
The Romans would not be paying a great deal of attention to this area. It was outside their cordon of watchers, but one of the three main Roman camps sat on the gentle slope only a few hundred paces away at the confluence of the watercourses. He could just see the faint flicker of the Roman torches far off in the mist. Turning his glare on Tarbos again he motioned for him and the stream of men following to keep as quiet as possible.
Holding his breath, aware that this was the most dangerous part, he kept low and stalked across the grass until he reached the shelter of a small copse of chestnut trees that marked the end of the perilous journey. From there on, they would have the shelter of trees and hedges until they were around the first bend of the river and out of sight of the Roman lines.