The Belgae

by S. J. A. Turney

  Off to the left, at the highest part, he could hear the lowing of cattle. So, the left would be rural woods and farmland, with the main centre of occupation down the slope toward the gates.

  He suddenly became aware of the presence of others around him. The four men were all here and ready.

  “Alright, Elitovius,” he addressed his Remi guide. “Lead on. Let’s see if we can find out what they’re up to.”

  With the two Remi auxiliaries at the front, they moved out from the cliff edge at a crouch, slipping like ghosts between the tree trunks toward the edge of the settlement. Lamplight danced in the windows of some of the buildings, but what light there was out here came mainly from the silvery moon above.

  Slowly, they picked their way through, moving lightly and making as little noise as possible, though there was no sign of movement nearby. As they reached the rear corner of the first building, Galronus drew them up in the lee of the walls.

  “We go in front; you behind. You no speak. Walk like you live here.”

  Priscus nodded. He had no intention of standing out. Taking a deep breath, he fell in with Mutiatus behind the Remi, and the four men strode out into the moonlit streets of Aduatuca. The roads here seemed quiet; not deserted, for they could hear the sounds of life and movement here and there, and lights flickered in buildings. But then, they were still on the edge of the settlement yet.

  The tension in the primus pilus grew with every step as the small group made their way down the gentle slope toward the centre. This was a sizeable oppidum; perhaps as large as Noviodunum, and remarkably civilised to Priscus’ mind, with guttering in the gravelled streets to carry away the rainwater. As they descended, the buildings became more densely packed and, after a few minutes, there were signs that they were approaching the centre.

  Rather than scattered houses with well-tended gardens, they were now passing buildings that directly fronted onto the street, and occasionally a shop or two. And then: the inevitable. Two Aduatuci, a young man and his girl, strolled up the street toward them. Priscus felt himself tense and his teeth clenched as he tried with all his being to walk in as relaxed a fashion as possible. Next to him, he noted a stiffness to Mutiatus. They must be so plainly Roman. Priscus had been a soldier since he’d been old enough to shave. He even slept at attention. How could then possibly pass as…

  He realised, with a start that almost made him laugh out loud, that he’d been so worried about ruining their ruse that he hadn’t noticed the couple pass them and go on their way. Suddenly, he found himself relaxing. Good thing really, he thought to himself, as he saw another pair of people appear from the main square ahead and walk toward them.

  Galronus elbowed him gently.

  “You see that?”

  Priscus frowned and squinted. The Remi officer could only be referring to the two men ahead. They looked like ordinary Belgic warriors, just carrying…

  He blinked.

  “What in the name of Mars and Bellona are they doing?”

  He squinted again. The men were each carrying piles of weapons bound together with cord. As he watched, the warriors turned into a side street.

  “That cannot be normal” Priscus demanded of his guides. Galronus shook his head.

  “We follow. Find out.”

  Priscus nodded, and the four men picked up the pace. Moments later, they reached that side street and peered carefully down it. The two warriors, now not far ahead, had separated and were entering two buildings facing each other across the road.

  “What the hell is going on?” Priscus asked in a whisper.

  “Not know” replied Galronus. “But we find out. Us take left. You take right.”

  Priscus nodded and he and Mutiatus veered off toward the right hand side of the road. Ahead, the door to the building stood open. With a quiet rasp, Priscus drew the unfamiliar Celtic blade and crept along the outside wall, Mutiatus following suit behind him. A few steps further and the primus pilus peered cautiously around the door frame. The building was a single room; a house by all appearances. And, inside, the warrior they had followed was fumbling at the far side of the room with a chest. Priscus frowned as he watched the man drop a bundle of weapons into the chest, close it up, and conceal it with a blanket, giving it the appearance of a seat.

  “What is he doing, sir?” asked Mutiatus at his shoulder. “Why are they hiding weapons?”

  Priscus clenched his teeth.

  “Let’s ask him, eh?”

  Mutiatus nodded, and the two men crept as quietly as they could into the doorway. It was a novel experience for the primus pilus to be entering into a fight without several pounds of armour about his person, and he flexed his muscles, enjoying the freedom of movement. Mutiatus, with the physique of an acrobat, moved like a cat.

  The two men crossed the threshold close together and then separated, each moving to the side like the horns of a bull. The warrior finished adjusting the blanket and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Looking up, he noticed a human shadow cast in the flickering lamp light and turned toward Priscus, opening his mouth to shout a warning, just as Mutiatus dived on him, his hand going over the warrior’s mouth as he slammed him to the floor, driving the breath from his chest. Priscus grinned.

  “Now let’s go see Galronus and question this sack of crap.”

  As he turned, his companion bashed the Aduatuci warrior’s head on the floor, knocking him unconscious, and heaved the limp form onto his muscular shoulders. Moments later, having checked the street was clear, the two men with their burden crossed the road and entered the building opposite. The Remi auxiliaries had the other Aduatuci warrior on the floor and were busy binding and gagging him.

  “Galronus? Care to interrogate them?”

  The man nodded.

  “We interrogate, but not here. We go back. Safety. Take both.”

  Priscus nodded and turned to Mutiatus.

  “We’ll have to use the smallest backstreets we can to get back to the cliff, if we’re taking these two with us.”

  Mutiatus nodded, the unconscious warrior still draped across his shoulder.

  As Priscus helped the two Remi sling the other captive over Elitovius’ shoulder, Mutiatus lifted the eyelid of his own burden.

  “Flat out. He’ll be gone for an hour or more, sir.”

  “Good. Then we can get them to the cliff and threaten to throw them off.”

  Mutiatus grinned at him.

  “Let’s see,” Priscus said quietly, “exactly what sort of arms they’re hiding here.”

  “We’ll check the street, sir” the legionary said.

  As Mutiatus and Elitovius moved toward the door with their unconscious and bound prisoners, Galronus and Priscus crouched over the hidden cache of arms behind the chair in the corner of the room. The bundle contained mostly swords and axes, with a number of slings and a bag of shot tied in along with them.

  “Whatever they’re planning, it’s got to be in the oppidum.” Priscus frowned. “No bows, so it’s got to be close range, and no spears, so not in open ground. I really don’t like the look of this. Let’s…”

  His head suddenly snapped round at a commotion. Their two companions, along with the prisoners, had stepped out into the street where clearly someone had seen them. A shout went up in the Belgic tongue and the call went from voice to voice. Priscus stared through the door at the other two and Mutiatus made an urgent motion at him to run.

  The primus pilus snarled and turned to Galronus.

  “They’ve been seen. We’ve got to get away and warn the army.”

  Galronus nodded. The sound of running feet was getting close outside and, as he watched, Elitovius and Mutiatus dropped their burdens and drew their swords. The legionary turned his head and nodded; the least conspicuous salute he could manage, and then, roaring, he ran off down the street with the Remi auxiliary at his side.

  “Shit!”

  Priscus’ head snapped back and forth as he tried to decide on a course of action.

 
“Can you find our way back?”

  Galronus nodded.

  “Think so.”

  Priscus took a deep breath, ran to the side wall, and threw himself unceremoniously through a window. Galronus was hot on his tail and, as the primus pilus picked himself up and disappeared toward the backs of the houses, his Remi companion hit the earth, rolled and came upright into a run.

  At the rear of the building, Priscus looked around desperately. There were several other houses, some lit, some not, and he could see, not far away, the burning torches on the top of the oppidum’s defensive wall. They were surprisingly close to the main gate.

  “This way!”

  He turned at Galronus’ voice and raced away up the grass behind the houses. Behind them, close to the central square, the commotion was now audible over everything else. The Aduatuci were shouting; Guards were calling to each other. Briefly there was a scream; just the one, and Priscus found himself wondering which of their companions got the worst of it: the one that had just died, or the one that hadn’t?

  After a few minutes of running, Galronus slowed and came to a halt, breathing heavily. Priscus almost bumped into him.

  “You lost?”

  The Remi shook his head and pointed.

  “Oh, shit.”

  They were now close to where they had entered the oppidum and, squinting, he could see through the trees to where they had reached the top of the roped climb. Torches danced through the velvet night over there, blinking between the tree trunks.

  “No escape that way.”

  He frowned at Galronus.

  “I take it you’re not good enough to make the climb down elsewhere?”

  Galronus shook his head.

  “Not in dark. Not without rope.”

  Priscus nodded. It would be stupid to try.

  “Then we’re trapped in the oppidum. We’re going to have to find a place to hide and work something out in the morning.

  Down on the plain below, Fronto ran as though Pluto was breathing on his neck. His initial worry as he heard Belgic voices atop the cliff had become heart-stopping as the severed rope dropped to the ground by him. He had been wondering whether it was worth waiting there just in case when the Belgae had begun to drop rocks, speculatively, off the edge.

  Now, he just had to get out of range of them and back to the Roman lines. Priscus and Galronus had gone with no results to show for it and the whole thing had been his damn idea. He would look like such an idiot when he admitted this to Caesar.

  He ran through his head how he would approach the subject and then jerked, fell, tumbled and rolled to a stop, unconscious and bleeding on the grass. The rock that had caught him a glancing blow rolled to a halt beside him, glinting burgundy in the moonlight.

  Chapter 21

  (Oppidum of Aduatuca)

  “Mars Gravidus: an aspect of the Roman war god, ‘he who precedes the army in battle’, was the God prayed to when an army went to war.”

  “Ad aciem: military command essentially equivalent to ‘Battle stations!’.”

  Caesar stood with Sabinus and Tetricus at the central gate in the defences and rubbed his hands in satisfaction. Though Fronto had been on edge and irritating as usual, there was something about his manner that had impressed itself on the general. Though the Tenth’s legate had disappeared in a huff, probably to imbibe alcohol until he could no longer see straight, a sense of unease had settled on the general ever since, and he had paced uncomfortably in his tent for some time before sending for Tetricus and requesting that all efforts be made to speed up the progress on the tower.

  Indeed, he had had a night of fitful dreams; nightmares of betrayal and failure and, of all the dream fragments he remembered like polished shards this morning, the one that had left him with the deepest sense of grief was the tale his mind spun of Fronto dropping his sword to the ground and walking away, with Fortuna in all her glory at his shoulder.

  But this morning, Tetricus had been the general’s first visitor. The torches had still blazed around Caesar’s tent where Ingenuus’ men remained on guard, sizzling in the faint drizzle that had started some time in the early hours, when the tribune knocked politely on the doorframe.

  The general, renowned for his wakefulness even in the dead of night, was already dressed and tapping irritably on a map of the oppidum and its surroundings when he invited Tetricus in and the man had entered, a satisfied smile on his face. The engineers had worked throughout the night, drawing support from the rest of the legions and had completed the bridge and enough armour plates to cover at least two sides of the tower.

  And now, as the pale, watery sun rose over the horizon and the staff officers stood watching in the fine rain, the tower began to move. The plates had been affixed and the bridge raised and attached in less than an hour, ladders being added for troop movement. The effect was truly monstrous. In the bright sunlight, the tower would be massive and powerful, but in this grey, misty drizzle, it also gained a glinting oppressiveness that added to the effect. Even Caesar, veteran of a great many campaigns and no stranger to the great works of military engineers, found himself drawing an awed breath.

  Two cohorts, drawn from the Eighth and attached to the engineers for the night, hauled on the great ropes and slowly the tower rumbled forwards. The sheer size and weight of the machine shook the earth, and the ground vibrated beneath the officers’ feet as they watched.

  Sabinus tapped his finger to his lip, unable to tear his gaze from the great tower.

  “Do we send a legion up the main slope as well, Caesar? Try to divide their forces?”

  The general shook his head.

  “No, but we do threaten to. We move the Thirteenth into position, below the walls but just out of range, and supply them with siege weaponry. As we move the tower and the vineae against the cliff, the Thirteenth put out calls and shuffle their men around as though they’re preparing to attack. They may even have to take the occasional shot with the artillery and run up and down the slope as a testudo to keep the Aduatuci’s attention. I need them to believe we’re going to attack on that front too.”

  Sabinus nodded.

  “Makes sense. Can I suggest that we have the Fourteenth begin to cross the Meuse on their rafts too? The enemy might not believe they’re really going to do anything but, if the men are in full kit, they’ll have to divide their forces just in case. They can’t take the risk we’re about to do something unexpected from across the river.”

  The general smiled.

  “Yes, see to it. I…”

  He stopped mid conversation as the sound of horns cut through the air.

  “What’s that?”

  Sabinus shrugged.

  “Whatever it is, it’s coming from the oppidum. Do we go and find out?”

  Caesar nodded and turned to the guards behind him, their commander present and stiffly at attention.

  “Ingenuus? Have two turmae of the guard form up to escort us to the oppidum.”

  The young officer saluted and began to bark orders to his men. The bleating of the Belgic horns continued in the background and there was clearly some activity on the walls. Sabinus sighed.

  “Looks like a call to parlay. Maybe we can end this peacefully after all. Perhaps Fronto was wrong?”

  Caesar frowned.

  “Perhaps… perhaps not. I feel uneasy.” He drew a deep breath and shrugged, as though shaking off a cloak of oppression. “Regardless, let us go and see what the Aduatuci want.”

  The two men turned to see that Ingenuus already had two turmae of cavalry lined up and ready to move, along with the two officers’ horses ready to mount. Caesar swung himself into the saddle with practised ease as Sabinus climbed onto his own steed. Then, with a quick glance round to make sure all were present and correct, the general signalled with a dropped hand and the mounted column moved off, past the great, hulking tower and toward the slope of the oppidum.

  The high walls of the Aduatuci were well constructed, heavy and strong, with a
n outer work of pointed stakes and pits. As they rode carefully between the obstacles, Sabinus found himself hoping that the enemy were about to cave in and that no assault would be required. The Thirteenth legion would be thinned out like the culling of a herd if they had to march up this slope.

  He looked up as they approached the first line of defensive works.

  “I think we should stop here, Caesar. They have bows, slings, spears and rocks, so let’s be sure we’re out of range.”

  The general nodded and raised his hand to halt the column.

  “Sound thinking, Sabinus. Now, what do we have?”

  The defences of Aduatuca were punctuated with heavy, square towers, only a little taller than the walls themselves, but strong and projecting enough to make enfilade fire a possibility. The main gate of the oppidum was flanked by two such towers and surmounted by a walkway. The gates themselves were enormous, constructed apparently of shaped tree trunks bound with iron. Inordinately strong for a Celtic town, Sabinus considered, but then again, Aduatuca had walls on only one side, relying on cliffs elsewhere.

  On the walkway above the gate standards waved with tapering streamers, and men with huge bronze horns shaped like wolf mouths blew tuneless tunes. Men in glinting armour and helms watched the officers and their guard approach and, as Caesar’s column halted, one of their number stepped out forwards.

  “You are Caesar, general of the Romans.”

  A statement, rather than a question. There was no uncertainty in his voice and no fear that Sabinus could detect. He sounded confident and strong.

  “I am” called the general. “And this is Quintus Titurius Sabinus, my lieutenant, and the rest are my honour guard. To whom am I speaking?”

  The man drew his great Celtic blade and dropped the tip to the floor.

  “I am Damiacus, chieftain of this place and leader of the Aduatuci in time of war.”