The Belgae

by S. J. A. Turney

  Carefully, she separated them out. He was expecting her to hurl them at his face, but instead the clothing was tossed gently over to him.

  “I’m going to trust you not to do anything stupid while I put these on.”

  Keeping a close watch on her and gripping the knife, he let the stick fall to the platform and used his free hand to pull on his breeches. He looked up in surprise to see the girl laughing.

  “Something funny?”

  “I think the water… it must be very cold, yes?”

  She laughed again and Fronto cursed the colour that rose involuntarily in his cheeks.

  “Hilarious, I’m sure.”

  He fixed her with a steady glance.

  “I have no intention of hurting you, young lady, and I can see that you’re intelligent, wealthy, and strong. So I’ll try not to be condescending.”

  A deep breath.

  “You have a choice. You can run. In fact, that’s probably your best choice. You’ll not catch up with your army, but you can probably make it to one of your allies’ oppida. The Remi, I’ve noted, are particularly friendly and generous.”

  He looked up the hill at the fort.

  “Actually, that’s not your best option. It’s your only option. You stay here and either one of the men will find you, which I can’t guarantee would be pleasant, or you’ll end up with the officers and Caesar will likely either take you as a hostage or make you a prize to go back to Rome.”

  He pointed east along the river.

  “Run away, girl. Run home.”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Many wolves around the hills. And bandits. I will not make it to a town. I come with you. You will protect me from your men.”

  Fronto laughed.

  “I think not. I’ve got enough to do. Enjoy your countryside.”

  With one long look at her, he sheathed his knife and shrugged into his tunic.

  Slipping his feet loosely into his boots, he tied the belt round his waist, closed the chest, and, ignoring the woman standing, bewildered, by the water, he turned and climbed the hill toward the fort.

  He was half way there before he became aware of the sounds of ragged breathing close by. He stopped and turned angrily.

  “Look, lady… will you just piss off back to your own people. I’m on a tight schedule.”

  The woman stopped in her tracks and stared at him. He let his gaze stay on her for a moment and then turned his back and walked on, to the crest and over the rampart where the palisade had been torn down. The camp was in chaos, tents being torn down and men on the move everywhere.

  Wherever Fronto passed, the legionaries halted in their work to stare. He was not in his armour, though his fine tunic with the embroidered edge marked him as an officer, but he was well aware of the reason for their stares, since they were not directed at him, so much as just behind him.

  Across the camp he strode, causing ripples of interest, until he reached the gate. The guards came to attention and foundered for a while, unsure of how to deal with the Belgae woman leaving their camp hot on the heels of a senior officer.

  Sure enough, Priscus had the Tenth formed up and ready to move, while the Eighth were falling in nearby under the shouted commands of Balventius. As Fronto strode towards them, Priscus stepped out from the front of the legion.

  “Sir?”

  He waited until he was out of earshot of the men.

  “What’s this?”

  Fronto shrugged.

  “She won’t stop following me. How ready is everyone?”

  Priscus gestured to the camp behind him.

  “Here come the Ninth now. We’ll be ready to move in ten minutes.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “I’ll be back by then.”

  Striding back into the camp, he made for his tent to finish getting ready. As he passed the rows of tents being struck, he spotted a familiar face: Felix, the primus pilus of the Eleventh Legion. With a sigh of relief, he stopped.

  “Felix?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve a favour to ask of your commander. Could you take this young lady to Crispus and ask him to look after her while the army moves out?”

  The woman started to shake her head, but Fronto grabbed her arm.

  “Look. If you won’t leave, then do as I say. We’re marching hard and fast into battle again. You need to stay with the baggage where it’s safe. The commander of the Eleventh is a friend and an exceptionally good man. He will look after you.”

  She looked unsure for a moment, but finally nodded, wearily. Fronto heaved a sigh of relief and strode off toward his tent. Women!

  * * * * *

  Fronto watched as a rider raced back towards him. The valley was peaceful and the afternoon sun had burned off the mist of the morning and left an exceedingly pleasant day to march through. During the journey, Fronto had been disturbed to discover several times that he had drifted off into his own private little dream world that often involved the young lady from the river bank. He growled to himself.

  “Must be going soft.”

  He looked up at the horseman as he thundered to a halt.

  “What is it, trooper?”

  The man bowed awkwardly on horseback as the legate stepped out to the side of the column, which continued to march past at double speed.

  “Commander Varus begs to report that the Belgae are splitting up. The front of the army seems to be making for an oppidum we can see in the distance. Basically fleeing, sir. The back end is being harried by us, sir, but the commander is going to break off and try and intercept the vanguard before they can hole up in the town. He asks if the legions can pick up pace and close on the rear of the force to trap them?”

  Fronto nodded.

  “I think we can manage that. How far behind are we now?”

  The man pointed at a low hill around half a mile distant.

  “Just beyond there sir. Shall I convey your acknowledgement to Varus?”

  Fronto nodded. “Get going. We’ll be along in a few minutes.”

  He turned to one of the soldiers marching along closest to him.

  “Fall out of rank. Go find commander Labienus and tell him we’re only half a mile away and Varus needs us to close in on the rear now.”

  The legionary saluted and ran off. Fronto jogged back to the front of the Tenth, the vanguard of the army, and found the primus pilus staring rigidly ahead.

  “Priscus? We’ve half a mile to cover in a few minutes. Get the men into a run, but keep it together. I’m going to warn Balbus and Rufus and get them to catch up.”

  The primus pilus nodded and turned to his men.

  “Time to engage lads. Triple time, now. No dawdling! We’ve got Belgae to flatten!”

  The Tenth broke into an accelerated pace, racing now toward the hill that obscured the force of Belgae. Fronto jogged back along the lines of his men to the head of the Eighth Legion. Balbus waved as he approached. The Eighth were already moving apace.

  “We saw your lads pick up, so thought we’d best join in. Just ahead then, yes?”

  Fronto nodded. “Past that hill. Can you drop a message back to Rufus?”

  “Already done it,” the older legate grinned. “Let’s get a battle line formed.”

  Turning from Fronto, he addressed his men.

  “Pull out to the left, alongside the tenth! Quadruple time!”

  Fronto grinned as he watched the Eighth peel out to double the line. Balbus smiled.

  ”I’ll drop word to Rufus and get him to pull right. Let’s be ready, eh?”

  Ten minutes later, the legions finally caught their prey. By the time ranks had closed and formations made, the Belgae had fled as fast as they could. Varus and his cavalry were out of sight in the distance, harrying the Belgic vanguard, but the bulk of their army, almost a hundred-thousand strong ran for their lives toward the high walls of the distant oppidum.

  Fronto turned to Priscus as they jogged.

  “Shield wall time. Let’
s run over them like a cart over a rabbit.”

  Priscus grinned.

  “Form up as you run… Ad aciem!”

  With the practiced ease of a veteran legion, the Tenth, having marched fast for half a day with no rest, and still at a run, rearranged into solid battle lines. The command was echoed to left and right, and the Ninth and Eighth joined the line.

  Taking advantage of the tiny gap left for them, Fronto and Priscus fell into the line and formed up with the rest. The Belgae were fleeing, but in a disordered rabble, which slowed and confused their ranks.

  With a roar, the lines of legionaries, Shields locked and swords ready, barged into the retreating lines of Belgae. Those few who resisted the panic and realised the sudden added threat turned to face their pursuers, wielding their heavy Celtic blades, but to no real avail.

  The charge was immense. Swords jabbed and slashed as the shield wall suddenly met resistance but continued to move, regardless. The legionaries did not delay to check whether their opponents were finished as they fell to an initial blow, but rather marched over the fallen bodies and on to the next warrior they found, leaving the wounded Belgae to be trampled to death by the stomping feet of fifteen thousand men.

  Fronto looked to his left, where he stood in the second line, stabbing out between his men’s shoulders, and saw Priscus, laughing like a demon, as he waded into the enemy. He sighed and settled into the routine of a legionary advance. It was so familiar and simple after weeks of commanding unusual units in strange circumstances. He’d almost forgotten what it was like and what to do when placed on a real battlefield with regular veterans.

  Priscus shouted at him.

  “We’ll never manage to stop them getting to the town!”

  Fronto shook his head in the press.

  “No, but we can whittle down their numbers by quite a few thousand before they get there.”

  The advance of the line had now slowed. The press of men ahead was too great and tightly packed, and the legions dropped back to the traditional slow advance of the shield wall, systematically butchering anyone before them.

  Nodding to himself with satisfaction, Fronto allowed his legion to pass around him and retreated through the ranks until he reached the rear of the Tenth, where he stepped out into the open air with the relief of a long-confined man. Just ahead he could see Labienus on horseback, accompanied by several tribunes, watching the advance.

  “Titus… Sorry I didn’t give you the opportunity to give the orders. There just wasn’t time.”

  Labienus nodded, frowning.

  “Not a problem, Fronto. I’m a little chilled by this butchery though. The Roman way is to face them head on and fight like men. It doesn’t sit well with me attacking fleeing warriors.”

  Fronto sighed.

  “I do know what you mean, but they still outnumber us at least five to one. We need to even the numbers a little. It’s not like they sued for peace, after all. They’re just falling back and the moment they group together again, they could hit us like a hammer!”

  The two men watched the carnage below and it took a moment for them to notice the small group of riders thundering back toward them.

  “Is that Varus?”

  Labienus frowned and shaded his eyes.

  “I believe it is.”

  They sat and watched as the half-dozen cavalrymen made their way to the command unit and finally came to a halt, breathing heavily, their horses snorting and stamping.

  “Gentlemen?”

  “What’s happening, Varus?”

  “The Belgae are falling apart now. A large bunch; the Suessiones, I assume, made it to the oppidum, though we must have killed hundreds on the way. The Bellovaci are out of reach, way ahead and making for their own lands, but we can leave them to the Aedui if what Caesar says is true. What you have below is about sixty thousand warriors from mixed tribes but, if you look ahead, they’re already splitting up and going their own way. We can’t follow them all.”

  Fronto nodded. Already, the force Priscus was busy pushing into was fragmenting, the Belgic warriors running in a dozen different directions. The shield wall was stretching to reach the enemy. At the top of his voice, he bellowed “Melee!”

  Below, the legions bust forth into individual combat, fighting any target that presented itself, but even that would shortly be useless. He shrugged. They had reduced the Belgae by thousands in one afternoon with hardly any casualties to show for it. Why did it worry him that he felt less satisfaction with it that when he’d led a few non-Roman archers to victory at Bibrax?

  “Well, I suppose we make camp in the valley until Caesar arrives. Let’s hope he’s in a better mood this time.”

  Chapter 11

  (On the plain outside Noviodunum.)

  “Vineae: moveable wattle and leather wheeled shelters that covered siege works and attacking soldiers from enemy fire.”

  “Immunes: legionary soldiers who possessed specialist skills and were consequently excused the basic more onerous duties.”

  Caesar tapped his fingers irritably on his belt as he strode up and down before the staff officers. Fronto sighed once again as he looked past the general to the seven legions marshalled in readiness between the officers and the walls of the Suessiones’ oppidum.

  “Time is of the essence, gentlemen. I want Noviodunum in our hands by nightfall. The other tribes are fleeing back to their lands and we need to move against them before they have enough time to prepare for another full engagement. We do not have time for a great siege or protracted campaign of starvation. I need the men to get in there as soon as possible.”

  Fronto cleared his throat.

  “I’ve spoken to both Tetricus and Pomponius and they are adamant that any assault against that place without proper preparations is a complete waste of time.”

  Caesar stopped pacing and glared at him.

  “It’s not my fault, general,” Fronto spread his hands defensively, “but the engineers know what they’re talking about. I know you’re in a hurry to move on, but the job will just have to be done a certain way.”

  There was a low rumbling from Caesar’s throat.

  “No, Fronto. Today! It has to be today. Now, in fact… so give me ideas, not arguments.”

  Fronto settled into a growl once again. This was sheer idiocy.

  “The only ideas we have involve siege engines, general. There’s just no way to cross that ditch safely. It’s too deep and too wide. And the walls beyond are too thick and too high. You can throw a million men against the place and you’ll just waste a million men.”

  Plancus raised a hand and stepped forward, causing Fronto to shake his head in dismay.

  “Then we must concentrate on the causeways across to the gates in the wall. Battering rams. We can break down the gates.”

  Caesar nodded appreciatively, but Fronto’s growl resumed.

  “Bollocks.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Plancus demanded in a high-pitched shriek.

  “Those causeways are wide enough for forty men abreast at most. Factor in a battering ram and you’ve barely got room for the men on either side to operate it. And no one to protect them.”

  Caesar was looking back and forth between the two of them quietly.

  “So use vineae!” screeched Plancus.

  “If you could fit bloody vineae over those causeways, do you not think I’d have mentioned it? The causeway is too narrow!”

  He turned to the silent officers behind him.

  “Am I repeating myself, or am I actually not saying anything? Can you hear me? Are any words coming out?”

  The legate of the fourteenth had gone purple.

  “So we’ll have the men on either side of the rams form a roof with their shields then!”

  Fronto grinned. He was starting to enjoy this.

  “While the battering ram trundles on propelled by what? Moles? The breeze? Listen to me, Plancus…”

  He illustrated his words by speaking with exaggerated slowness
and waving his arms.

  “The… cause… way… is… too… na… rrow!”

  Plancus was actually vibrating slightly.

  “Then what do you suggest, Fronto?”

  He smiled.

  “You know the answer to that. A siege.”

  Caesar shook his head.

  “No, Fronto. That’s not good enough. I want Noviodunum today. We will conduct a grand assault with all seven legions against the main gate. The auxiliary units will provide fire to pick off the defenders atop the walls. The legions will cross the causeway and the ditch wherever they can and we will have that gate down with a ram as soon as it can be brought across, and the walls down with grapples. It can be done. To your units, gentlemen.”

  Fronto and Crispus stalked away from the general under the aggravated gaze of Plancus, as the legate of the Tenth kicked at the ground irritably.

  “It can’t be done. I’ve known the engineers long enough to know that when they say it’s a waste of time, it’s not wise to ignore them.”

  Crispus nodded unhappily as the command cornicens behind them blew out a series of commands. Fronto watched the legions ahead begin to move slowly forward, the auxiliary archers rushing around the edge to find positions they could fire from. A huge tree-trunk ram was being manhandled by a century of men and taken down to the rear of the regulars as they moved. Fronto slowed his walk and Crispus raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re not joining your men, Marcus?”

  Fronto growled again.

  “Waste of time. I can’t do anything to help and Priscus knows how to keep the men as safe as possible. Frankly, I want nothing to do with this.”

  For a moment he pondered, then lightly punched Crispus in the upper arm.

  “Unless you feel the urgent need to die in a ditch with your men, come with me.”

  Crispus frowned and turned to follow Fronto as he veered off to the side. On a slight rise to the east stood the supply train and wagons of the army. Sitting, looking rather bored amid carts full of dissembled machinery, were the members of the legions’ engineering details assigned to the wagons and, as Fronto expected, Tetricus stood atop the nearest, staring in dismay at the legions marching on the high walls of Noviodunum. He saw the two legates approaching and sighed.