* * * * *
Galronus peered through the crack in the door at the rear of the building and then stared down at the body at his feet.
“What’s all the commotion?” he whispered.
Priscus, at the other side of the house, peered out between the mostly-closed wooden shutters. The central square was lined with people, even in front of this building, only a few feet from where he crouched.
“I think they’re getting ready for a ceremony or something. That particular noise you’re talking about, though, is legionaries. I know that sound anywhere. That’s a hell of a lot of legionaries coming up the main street.”
Galronus growled quietly and wiped his bloody knife on the body. They had sneaked in through the rear door of this building right in the centre of town around thirty minutes ago, hoping they would be safe from prying eyes, but minutes later they had had to hide as the front door opened and a man had entered and gone straight across to a cache of hidden weapons. Others stood in the portal and had weapons passed to them until the cache was empty. Then they left and closed the door, but the one man had stayed. Priscus had been impressed with how quickly and quietly the Remi officer had dealt with him.
“I can only see the Aduatuci near me, but they’ve got swords, axes and slings hidden behind them or leaning against the bases of the houses. I’ll assume the same is true of everyone, wherever they are.”
Galronus shook his head.
“Then we have to raise the alarm; warn the army.”
Priscus held up a warning hand.
“Not yet. If an ambush was their only plan, they’d have carried it out in the narrow street. They’re allowing the legions to get into the square, which is stupid. There the men can form squares, shield walls, testudos and so on. So why? Why let them have the room to manoeuvre?”
Galronus shrugged.
“Maybe…”
“Wait!” Priscus cut him off with a raised hand. He frowned and squinted across the square.
”Oh shit!”
“What’s…” Galronus began, but he was too late. Priscus was already gone, flinging the door wide open, regardless of the Aduatuci waiting beyond, and running out into the square. Desperately, unsure of what was happening, the Remi officer rushed over to the window the centurion had just vacated and scanned the square outside.
Priscus had barged through the warriors outside, drawing his great Celtic blade. Confusion gripped the men lining the square as this apparent Belgae warrior had run out into the central square openly wielding one of the weapons they had gone to such great pains to hide. Those Roman Gods must be running at Priscus’ shoulder indeed, he thought, for the confusion gripped the locals so strongly that the primus pilus was already across the centre of the square and accelerating before a shout went up outside the door.
Still unsure of what had caused Priscus’ sudden panicked run, exposing them to the enemy, he followed the direction in which the man was running and squinted as he scanned the opposite edge of the open space.
Nothing unusual.
The warriors and their families lined the edge as they did on the other three sides, but there was nothing special about them. Behind them, the same single story buildings rose, stone based with wooden uppers and either wooden or thatched roofs…
Roofs.
The roof!
Galronus drew a nervous breath. Priscus must have sharp eyes; one building of the several opposite was undergoing extensive repair work, its roof only partially complete. The building stood open, with no door and no shutters on the windows. And the rafters were partially thatched, great sheaves standing tied and waiting to be attached.
But among the rafters stood two figures; two tall barbarians, barely visible, lurking among the debris. And one of them had a bow, already nocked and straining as the man gradually stepped back into the shadow, disappearing from sight.
Damn, that centurion really did have good eyes.
With absolutely no doubt for whom that arrow was destined, Galronus rushed out through the doorway, drawing his sword as he went. He had to buy Priscus time, which meant drawing as much attention as possible.
With a violent cry, he leapt out into the square, the sword raised above his head, and brought it down hard, almost cleaving the man before him in two. The viscera from the horrifying blow sprayed out, catching the men on either side and staining them crimson. With a grunt, Galronus heaved the heavy blade back out of the corpse as it crashed to the floor, spraying himself with gore in the process.
Heads all around the square turned at this commotion, just as the Remi officer swung the great blade sideways and bit deep into the midriff of the next man. Now the warriors around him were grasping their hidden weapons and struggling to fight back under this sudden and unexpected onslaught.
Between desperate, panicked blows, Galronus bellowed and cried, catching, as he did, the occasional glimpse across the square. Priscus had reached the far side and disappeared, though there was a commotion there too. Well, the auxiliary officer had done all he could now. The warriors outside the house had fallen like wheat to his blade as he surprised them, but now they were armed and beginning to block his blows. With half a dozen of them pressing on him, he would die here.
Swallowing, and hoping he’d done enough to help Priscus, he suddenly dropped back through the doorway into the building once more, slamming and wedging shut the door as he did so.
Without pausing to take a breath, he ran through the house and out of the rear door into the well-tended garden. Should he run round to the square again and try to warn the Roman column? No. Pointless. They must be aware of the trouble after all his shouting.
It was all down to Priscus now.
Aulus Ingenuus, former cavalry prefect and, for the last year, commander of Caesar’s praetorians, licked his dry lips nervously. To command the bodyguard of such an important man was always a great responsibility, but never more so than today. Ingenuus had done what he could. He’d managed to get Varus, the cavalry commander, to supply extra troops, and the command party was surrounded by well-trained and extremely alert troopers, all fully armed and armoured and on experienced war horses. And yet he was twitching.
He had actually requested of Caesar that the senior officers carry shields too. After all, they were in full armour and wore their swords, so it would only be reasonable, but the general had shaken his head. The commanders of the army had to look imposing, in control, and invincible.
But… in the name of Mars Gravidus, what were they thinking? As the column left the main thoroughfare and rode slowly out into the great open square at the centre of Aduatuca, Ingenuus became acutely aware that something was happening at the far end. There was a commotion that included sounds of fighting. As the command party and its guard made their way into the open area, Ingenuus, his eyes darting nervously from place to place, spotted two trouble spots immediately. A house on the far right, toward the top of the square, was the focus of attention for a small group of Aduatuci who were brandishing weapons and beating on the door and windows, and…
Brandishing weapons?
Even as the praetorian officer’s eyes swept across the square to a similar scene on the left, he realised his voice had called the order without waiting for permission from his brain.
“Ad aciem!”
Caesar and the officers turned in surprise to stare at the young commander, but the order had been given. The praetorians closed up around the general as fast and as tightly as their horses would allow.
There was a thrumming noise that was all too familiar to Ingenuus, and he looked up and left. Something was happening in the eaves of that building off to the side that was a centre of activity. And, as he stared at the building, his eyes automatically refocused instead on the arrow whirring toward the general with alarming accuracy.
“Archer!”
He was too far away to help, but the trooper nearest the general heard his commander and noticed the arrow just in time to jump upwards, throwing his
shield high. The arrow thudded into the wood and leather and the praetorian fell to the floor, the momentum of his leap carrying him from his horse.
The general blinked as the threat to his life vanished with the guardsman to the ground.
“Form up!” a voice called from behind as the tribunes became aware of the sudden danger. The cohorts began to drive past the mounted officers and cavalry into the square, where they filtered out into lines and began to lock shields.
The Aduatuci, realising they had lost the element of surprise, let out a loud and violent roar and all around the square and back down the street, warriors lining the way drew their hidden weapons and lunged at the heavily armoured and fully prepared legionaries. Ingenuus, however, was already driving his horse hard, several praetorians alongside him, as he made for the assassin’s house. His guardsman had been lucky to catch the first shot, but they may not be so lucky again.
He looked up as they neared the building. Warriors were rushing out to stop them, but the legions were right behind him, filling the square. There was something happening on the roof.
Caesar shook his head.
“What?”
“Sir, you need to dismount, for safety!” Cicero sounded desperate.
“Unlikely” the general replied, drawing his sword. He turned to Sabinus, who had done the same.
“We may still be outnumbered!”
The officer grinned.
“I don’t think so, sir.”
He cupped his ear and pointed back down the main street. Above the din in the square, Caesar could clearly hear the cornicens of the legions calling out formation commands; and they were close. Maybe even outside the walls by now.
“Someone mobilised the legions without us” Sabinus grinned. “I wonder who would do something like that?”
Caesar nodded and turned once more to the areas of concentrated activity in the square. Something was happening on the partially dismantled roof of a building. That must be where the arrow came from. Ingenuus and his men, supported by heavy infantry, were now cleaving their way through the Aduatuci to reach the building, but someone was already there. The general squinted to try and see in more detail. There were three figures there, all apparently natives, and fighting a bitter struggle. As the general watched, the smaller and lighter of the three, clearly a man apart, thrust with a small blade and dispatched the archer, whose bow fell to the floor.
The man had no time to savour his kill though, for the other opponent, a great bearded brute of a fellow, leapt on him and began to pound and pummel. The two men vanished from sight among the stacks of thatch for long moments and the general frowned, turning his attention to ground level.
The Aduatuci had been well prepared, with hidden weapons and men in position throughout the line the Romans had taken. Had there not been a commotion in the square, the first thing they would have know of the barbarians’ betrayal would have been the general being swept from his horse by an arrow through the chest. Then all hell would have broken loose as the armed warriors dived upon the unprepared legionaries.
But things had gone wrong for the Aduatuci.
Someone had given the game away too early.
The general smiled. Because of that, the archer had released his arrow too early, and the legions were already deploying as the warriors collected their weapons.
“Thank you Fortuna. Good to see Fronto doesn’t have a monopoly on you.”
The square was already coming under Roman control and the sounds from back down toward the walls clearly indicated that the reserves that had been mysteriously mobilised were already engaging the Aduatuci that were trying to close the gates and trap their prey.
His eyes strayed once more to the roof of that building, just as the two figures, grappling and tearing at each other, punching and biting, battled their way out of the hidden stacks and to the edge of the roof where, with a last flurry of blows, both men tumbled from the parapet to the stone below with a crunch that was audible even over the dying sounds of battle.
Sabinus turned to Caesar.
“Do we give quarter, general?”
The general clenched his teeth.
“No quarter. Every last inhabitant of Aduatuca dies. Every last one.”
Chapter 22
(Oppidum of Aduatuca)
“Subura: a lower-class area of ancient Rome, close to the forum, that was home to the red-light district’.”
“Vindunum: later the Roman Civitas Cenomanorum, and now Le Mans in France.”
“Octodurus: now Martigny in Switzerland, at the Northern end of the Great Saint Bernard Pass.”
Fronto sighed.
“But he’s alive?”
The young capsarius, hunched over the figure of Priscus on the stone flags, nodded, though his face was bleak as he turned to look up at his legate.
“He’s alive sir, but barely. He’s broken so many bones I can’t even think how we’ll go about moving him. He’s like a mosaic.”
Fronto frowned.
“But will he be alright?”
Florus stood and met the gaze of his commander. Despite everything, it almost made Fronto smile. Over a year ago, this young man had sat on a hilltop near Bibracte as a green recruit panicking about the next day’s battle. Now here he was, a professional soldier and medic, dealing with some of the nastiest aspects of war in a calm and collected manner.
“I really can’t say at this point, sir. I’m not convinced he’ll survive being moved, but we have to get him inside. The medicus wants us to clear out some of the buildings here for use as a hospital.”
Fronto shook his head.
“Can’t do that. Have to be back at the camp.”
The capsarius’ frown deepened.
“Then we’ll have to carry him more than a mile and I’m really not convinced he’ll make it. Even if he does, he’s going to need several operations and splints. And, to be honest, many men wouldn’t make it though that either. And then if he does, he’s still nowhere near out of the woods. If he’s still alive tomorrow morning there’s a chance. And every night he survives after that his chances improve.”
Fronto’s face was a picture of misery.
“Do what you have to. I’ve lost one of my best centurions and closest friends already this summer. I’m not going to lose another.”
Florus shook his head.
“I’m afraid you are sir.”
“What?”
The young medic sighed.
“Sir, the primus pilus shattered his left leg, including his knee, in the fall. Bones heal, but joints are a different matter. Whatever happens, even if he returns to robust health, he’ll be lame the rest of his life, sir.”
“Lame?” Fronto’s face fell. “You’re sure?”
Florus nodded.
“He may not even be able to walk. And I’m not sure about the damage to his arms yet either.” He took a deep breath. “He may wish he’d not lived, sir.”
The legate growled and took a step backwards, grinding his heel into the body of the man that had tumbled from the roof with Priscus, locked in a terminal embrace. He felt the man’s bones crunch under his boot and clenched his teeth.
“Get him back and take care of him. Do whatever you have to.”
Florus nodded and waved over a couple of legionaries who were leaning on their shields nearby and taking in the scene.
The oppidum of Aduatuca had fallen less than ten minutes after the attack began. Caesar had called for no quarter to be given, and the troops had butchered every member of the Aduatuci they had come across for some time before Fronto had persuaded the general to call a halt to the murder. Even then, given the situation, he’d had to persuade himself that the halt should be called first. Caesar was, at times, harsh and even perhaps wicked in his dealings with his enemies and, while Fronto often stood in opposition to such measures, after betrayal, sneak attacks and the disappearance of Priscus and Galronus, he could see how people were tempted to such measures.
A cen
turion he didn’t recognise, and there seemed to be so many of them these days, approached him across the square. Fronto had been left in command of the oppidum by Caesar, with very specific instructions.
“Sir?”
“Centurion. Have you finished the count?”
The man nodded.
“Barring the farms and the woodland to the rear, all houses have been checked and cleared of booty and the Aduatuci dead stacked inside. We’ve counted just over four thousand enemy bodies. The optio who counted the prisoners out of the gate said there were over fifty thousand.”
Fronto nodded.
“That’s a good number for the slave markets in Rome.”
“All of them, sir?”
Another nod.
“Caesar’s orders. The Aduatuci are no more. Not a single one to be left free. Dead or enslaved.”
“Now that the legionaries have been separated out and taken away, do we start the burials?”
Fronto shook his head.
“No burials. There’s to be nothing left. Get everyone back to the camp barring one century and have them fire the oppidum, starting from the woods and working their way to the gates. Every building; every tree; everything. Use oil to make sure the place goes up like a torch. In a year’s time no one will remember the tribe.”
The centurion, startled by the decision, saluted.
“We’ll get on it now, sir.”
Fronto nodded and turned back to the three legionaries who had carefully shuffled the unconscious and broken form of Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus onto a blanket and were bearing him aloft toward the lower end of the square. Striding across and catching up with them, he fell in alongside the makeshift stretcher.
Trying not to look at the mess that was his old friend, he paid attention instead to the oppidum as he descended the street. The quality of the road itself and the houses that faced onto it was outstanding for Celtic tribes; almost Roman in its neatness and efficiency. Apparently the Aduatuci had been ahead of their peers. Was that what had made them so devious and calculating? Was this what Rome had become when viewed by an outsider?
The Belgae Page 45
