The Belgae

by S. J. A. Turney

  “I hope you’ve brought some wine, Fronto. This disaster is going to be hard to watch sober.”

  Fronto shook his head.

  “Sadly, no. I’m here to pick your brains.”

  “You can have them!”

  Fronto gave a weak laugh.

  “The only legate down there stupid enough to believe they can do it is Plancus. Everyone else is going to do what they can to preserve the men they have. I know damn well that Priscus is going to see that I haven’t joined him and take it very carefully. It’ll be over in a lot less than an hour, for certain. So you need to start thinking.”

  “What about?”

  Ways to get in there without wasting any more troops. This assault’s doomed and, as soon as Caesar realises that, we need to present him with the quickest possible way of taking the place before he decides on another frontal assault.

  “Oh shit. Will you look at that?”

  Fronto and Crispus turned as Tetricus pointed across the intervening ground to where the assault was taking place. The legions had reached the oppidum’s defences and the men were carefully skidding and dropping down into the wide ditch. It was like watching a waterfall of people disappearing over a horizon. But that wasn’t the thing that Tetricus was drawing their attention to. Somehow, during legions’ journey across the intervening space, Plancus had managed to manoeuvre the Fourteenth to the centre of the force, where Balbus’ Eighth should be.

  The green legion was marching across the causeway. Fronto watched with mounting dismay as the front lines reached the gate and began to mill about hopelessly waiting for the battering ram that was being slowly transferred through the force to the front. Men were dying so thick and fast there it looked like the Fourteenth might disappear altogether.

  To each side, men had crossed the deep ditch in reasonable formation and were now forming testudos to protect them from the many falling missiles dropped by the defenders. As they watched, soldiers hurled grapples toward the wall tops. Remarkably few reached the height of the walls and those that did were instantly dislodged and fell back into the ditch. The units of auxiliary archers had let off a few initial volleys, few of which had even crossed the parapet, but had now wisely packed away their bows and were also watching unhappily. Once the legions were in the ditch, they had fallen prey as much to the Roman arrows bouncing off the wall tops as to the defenders’ own missiles.

  As they watched, a massive rock was tipped over the parapet and fell out of sight into the ditch, where it likely killed several men and injured many more. Another glance at the causeway confirmed Fronto’s fears that the Fourteenth may well be gone before they could bring the ram to bear on the gate.

  “Screw this.”

  “What?” Crispus and Tetricus turned to look at him.

  “We’re going to get Caesar to stop this madness.” He turned to Tetricus. “And you are going to come up with some ideas on the way to impress him.”

  Without waiting for them, Fronto stormed at speed back down the slope toward Caesar.

  Arriving red-faced with his two companions, Fronto pulled himself up to his full height before the general.

  “What?” the man asked absently, looking past the legate at the distant fracas.

  “Right…” stated Fronto. “You hate being gainsaid, but you know me well enough to know that I always have good reasons for what I do.”

  Caesar nodded vaguely. Fronto carefully positioned himself so that he was in the way, aggravating the general a little more.

  “You have to stop this. It’s a disaster. If you don’t sound the recall now, in half an hour you’ll have six legions instead of seven and the ones you have left will be seriously under-strength. They’re getting massacred over there! A few days of siege and you could take the place without all of this.”

  Caesar was shaking his head.

  “Look, general. This is a waste of good men. If you lose half your army here, what’s going to happen when you meet another large army of Belgae? They’re dropping rocks the size of haystacks on your men!”

  “Plancus promised he’d take that gate!”

  Fronto grasped the general’s shoulders.

  “Plancus has the brain of a boiled herring! He’s lost about a thousand men in five bloody minutes down there. Stop them now!”

  Caesar stared in surprise at the officer who had dared to manhandle him. Suddenly, he seemed to wake from a daze.

  “You’re right, Fronto. You always are…”

  He turned to the cornicen standing behind him.

  “Sound the recall!”

  * * * * *

  Fronto carried the wax tablet across the ground by the hastily-erected command tent to where Caesar stood, looking unhappy. He tried to ignore the glare he was receiving from Plancus, despite the fact that it gave him such a warm glow.

  “Apologies, Caesar. It’s not good news.”

  The general ignored the sounds of the legionary camp being assembled around him. The seven legions and associated extras had split off and were each constructing their own camp in a circuit around the large hill that was the oppidum of Noviodunum. All the legates and staff officers were, however, here in the camp of the Tenth.

  “We lost over two thousand men in ten minutes?” Caesar said despairingly as he examined the figures. “That’s the heaviest loss I think I’ve ever heard of in such a short time.”

  Fronto nodded soberly.

  “Tetricus has drawn extra men from the legions and started work on all fronts. There are more vineae being constructed as we speak. By noon tomorrow, we could probably shelter a legion under them. He’s got three towers being constructed too… one for each gate. We should be able to get them close enough, so long as we keep throwing water on them, so the Belgae can’t set fire to them. But he’s most concerned with his ramp.”

  “Ramp?”

  Caesar frowned. “He never mentioned a ramp before.”

  “That’s what he took the existing vineae for, Caesar. He used them to build basically an ‘above-ground tunnel’ that goes from out of the enemy’s range right to the edge of the ditch.”

  “What for?” Caesar looked nonplussed.

  “For the ramp, sir…”

  He smiled.

  “Tetricus is having tons of rubble transported under the vineae to the ditch, where it’s being tipped in. He’s filling the ditch in, but more than that, he’s starting to angle it up so that by the time it’s crossed the ditch it’ll be at the top of the wall nearly.”

  The general stared at him.

  “But that would take weeks, wouldn’t it?”

  Fronto grinned.

  “Tetricus says three days. And it’s nice and safe, as the men are all working under cover of the vineae. He reckons that by noon three days from now, we can hit them at each gateway with a tower, and should be able to get men in their hundreds up his ramp and over the wall under cover all the way. It’s worth the slight delay.”

  The general nodded, still bewildered.

  “A ramp?”

  “Yes, Caesar… a ramp. He says the Belgae keep gathering on the walls and pointing.”

  “I’ll bet they do. I’ve heard of siege ramps before. Seen one used once, even. But never seen a ramp built across a ditch before…”

  “He’s a clever bugger, that Tetricus” Fronto agreed.

  As Caesar stood quietly, staring down at the casualty figures in his hands, Plancus cleared his throat.

  “If I may, Caesar…”

  “Mmm?”

  “I think it would do the morale of the Fourteenth good if you were to thank them for their efforts earlier. We may not have succeeded, but they fought hard.”

  Caesar frowned.

  “I don’t think so, Plancus. That would demean the other legions, and to be honest, I’m really not in the mood to give a rousing speech.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “And when you’ve known soldiers a little longer, you’ll know what they appreciate, Plancus.” He turned to the gene
ral. “Caesar? Permission to break out wine rations for all off-duty legionaries as soon as the camps are complete?”

  Caesar nodded.

  “Good idea. Let’s regroup and try to turn today to some good. And when Tetricus is done for the day, can you ask him to visit me? I’d like him to go over his plans with me in detail.”

  Fronto nodded and strode away, once more basking in the vicious looks Plancus was casting at him. It occurred to him that it did a man good to have someone to hate; defined him in some important way. Normally, it would be Crassus of course, but with the man being out west or possibly dead, it was nice that Plancus had stepped up to take his place.

  He was still pondering on the differences between the two equally dislikeable officers as he headed for the quartermaster, when he heard his name being called from behind. Turning, he spotted Balbus and Sabinus walking fast to catch up with him. He waited for them and smiled as they fell into step.

  “Do you really have to wind Plancus up like that?” Balbus asked lightly. “It means he spends the next three hours bumbling around miserably, looking for someone else to take it out on.”

  Sabinus laughed.

  “It’s funny the way he keeps putting himself forward for things. He seems to be completely unaware that everyone knows he’s an idiot. What’s on your agenda, Fronto? It seems to me that we lucky ones have actual free time. Perhaps we could relax with a drink somewhere?”

  Fronto smiled and nodded, his gaze straying back up the slope to the officers gathered in a knot around Caesar and coming to rest on Crispus, who had left the group and was strolling in their direction.

  “There’s nothing I’d like more, but I have something to do first. My tent should be up and furnished within the hour. I’ll meet you there then.”

  The others nodded and went off their own ways, leaving Fronto standing quietly as Crispus caught up with him.

  “What’s up?”

  The young legate smiled.

  “I think, perhaps, that we need to discuss your ‘captive’?”

  Fronto went blank for a moment, frowning, and then light dawned on him.

  “Hardly a captive. More like a limpet. Where is she at the moment?”

  He turned and walked on toward the supply wagons where Cita would be surveying the store situation as Crispus fell in beside him.

  “I have two of the tribunes of the Eleventh keeping her safe and sound and a couple of the immunes tending to her needs.” He smiled a sly smile. “Or perhaps you would rather tend to her needs, Marcus?”

  Fronto glared at his companion and rolled his eyes.

  “I’m not looking for someone to jump on and ravish, Crispus. I’m in the middle of a campaign. Besides, I suspect my mother and sister would have a heart attack if I brought home a Celtic girl.”

  Crispus laughed.

  “I was not aware that you cared that much about improprieties, Marcus.”

  “Shut up.”

  Crispus’ face became serious for a moment.

  “You do need to decide what to do with her, though, Marcus. We cannot campaign with one of the enemy under our protection, no matter how pretty she might be.”

  Fronto nodded.

  “I’ve been thinking about that, but it all depends on the next stage or two of the campaign. I can’t just release her into the wilderness. That would be cruel, with wolves and bears out there. But we can’t take her with us. If, when we’ve taken Noviodunum, we can subdue the Suessiones without having to raze the place and enslave them all, I can deliver her to them to look after. They’re all Belgae, so they’ll probably look after her until she can go home one day. Unless they decided that death is better than being allies with Rome.”

  Crispus nodded thoughtfully.

  “That’s a pretty big if, Marcus. We have to take the place first and, since they have already cost us several thousand men, I cannot see Caesar edging toward the merciful.”

  Fronto frowned as he thought of the general and his mind flipped back through past victories, coming to settle as it often did, particularly in the night, on the image of that day last year by the Saone where the Tigurine had been slowly and methodically executed under Caesar’s orders.

  “Then we will either have to persuade him, or she’ll have to stay with us until the next tribe or town we deal with that can and will take her.”

  The two fell silent for a moment and Fronto looked up as they approached the supply wagons.

  “Cita? The general has agreed to a requisition of wine stores for the legions. Can you arrange it?”

  The quartermaster’s jaw firmed.

  “For Bacchus’ sake, Fronto, don’t you ever think of anything other than wine? You do know we’re on campaign here? I have a very limited stock of luxuries like wine and it’s a massive pain in the backside trying to replenish my stocks.”

  “So?”

  “Every time you requisition wine, I have to send a resupply list back with an empty cart all the way to Vesontio, where I had the foresight to set up a storage camp. They send us the wine and then do the same thing, sending their list to the decurions of Geneva, who actually sell us the wine, at a reduced military rate if they’re feeling generous. Then they buy in more wine from Cisalpine Gaul, across the Alps.”

  Fronto shrugged.

  “Your point being?”

  “My point being that every time you withdraw more than a few amphorae of wine, we have to utilize a massive resupply system that relies on more than a hundred people, stretches fully half a thousand miles and, by the time that wine is in your hand, it’s cost a month’s pay for many people. Think about the cost and difficulties before you start blithely handing out luxury goods to the men!”

  Fronto smiled.

  “Nah. That’s your job, Cita. Mine’s to keep the men happy.”

  He ignored the glare he was receiving from the quartermaster and his grin widened.

  “But, on the other hand, since it’s costing so much each time, we’d best make it worth it. Have another five or six amphorae sent to my tent, will you?”

  As Cita started to shake, slowly, Fronto tossed him a loose sestertius and turned with Crispus to wander back toward his headquarters area.

  Several hours later, Fronto exploded with laughter and had to wipe the wine from his chin as Sabinus ended a tale of misspent youth with a side-splitting punch line. The officers seated around the legate’s tent rocked with mirth.

  Sabinus grinned at his companions. By the time Fronto’s tent had been put up and his gear set out inside, almost a dozen officers had gathered to relax in the notorious officer’s company. Crispus wheezed and took a deep breath but, as he opened his mouth to speak, there was a heavy knock at the door.

  Fronto cleared his throat.

  “Yes?”

  A legionary, ruddy-faced and out of breath, leaned in through the doorway.

  “Sir? We have movement at the gate of Noviodunum. The duty centurion asked me to find you…”

  Fronto stood, wobbling gently, his legs unsteady after an hour cross-legged on the floor.

  “Thank you. We’ll be along presently.”

  As the soldier retreated and let the tent flap fall shut, Fronto struggled into his boots and the men around him hurriedly replaced their drinks on the table and hauled themselves upright.

  “What do you suppose this is?” Crispus queried. “They can’t be trying sorties against us, surely?”

  Fronto shook his head.

  “No. Let’s go have a look.”

  The officers finished suiting up, adjusted their accoutrements, and strode in a businesslike fashion out of the tent and through the newly completed camp. A minute later they arrived at the gate and gazed across the grass to the impressive oppidum. A small party of men, three of them on horseback, were slowly approaching the Roman force.

  Squinting, Fronto spied the traditional animal standards and bronze equipment of Belgic noblemen and their guards. Likely these were top men among the Suessiones. Briefly his memory
flashed back to Bibrax.

  “Gods, I hope someone there speaks Latin.”

  The officers gathered around the open gate parted as the familiar voice of Labienus called out “make way for Caesar!”

  The general strode out to the front to stand between Sabinus and Fronto.

  “Ambassadors. They perhaps hope to make terms?”

  Fronto shrugged. He fervently hoped so. A siege was a messy way to make war, and they could do with the tribes in the south all being at peace with Rome. He looked up again as the Belgae closed and reined in. One of the three riders, an old man with white-grey braided hair raised his spear in a non-threatening fashion, holding it sideways and casting it to the floor in front of the group.

  “Roman. The Suessiones seek an end to this. Call off your war dogs and we will discuss peace.”

  Caesar smiled his empty smile.

  “Why should we discuss peace with an enemy when we have the advantage? You seek peace only because you see our ramp, our towers and our determination. You know Noviodunum will fall soon and fear drives you to bargain.”

  The old man’s brow furrowed.

  “You would keep fighting? So that the Suessiones are no more? Be sure that if you do, many Romans will not leave here. We are Belgae and brave. We offer peace but if you insist on war we will make the price of our oppidum the highest Rome will ever pay.”

  Caesar frowned.

  “My terms are simple, then: total and unconditional surrender of the entire tribe to the will of Rome. Then we call off our attack.”

  The old nobleman sighed.

  “And our most beautiful women, our strongest men…” he sneered unpleasantly “… and our prettiest boys will be sent to Rome as slaves. This is less acceptable than death. We will agree peaceful terms, but we will not sell ourselves, Roman.”

  Caesar took a deep breath and gave a feral smile.

  “Equally, when we are in such a strong position, you would not expect us to clasp arms with you and forget our thousands of dead? I will retire to consider what I am willing to accept and return within the hour. You,” he said arrogantly, “will wait here until I return. If you do not, then I will consider that to be a decision to fight on and we will recommence our siege.”