Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica

by Turney, S. J. A.

  Fronto sighed. ‘Anyone got anything positive to say? Carbo? Atenos? Arruntius? Galronus?’

  ‘Seems to me,’ Carbo said, rubbing his bald, pink head, ‘that the only truly feasible solution is to cross the gulley, for all the trouble that would bring . With Biorix’s help , we can bridge the gap on both sides of the stone crossing . That would give us enough width to send a sizeable force across. Decius can hopefully give us cover from the far side as we charge, and that approach faces the narrow long end of the ‘L’ so we’re facing the minimum width of defences. With luck we can swamp that section of the walls and hold them against the rest of the defenders while Decius comes over to join us and the reserves come up. Of course this all falls apart if we discover they’ve set traps, obtained artillery, or they have archers as good as ours.’

  ‘How many are we facing, you reckon?’ the legate asked.

  ‘ From the number of buildings and the size of the place,’ Atenos said, drumming his fingers on the bicep of his folded arms, ‘I doubt it could hold more than two thousand and probably less than that . That’s our good news. At worst we should be at one to one odds. Of course, those odds are somewhat tilted by the addition of the defences we’ll have to overcome.’

  ‘You’re all filling me with confidence,’ Fronto muttered. ‘But I agree. It seems that’s the only realistic approach. We’ll set up camp in the valley bottom across from the fortress and I want a deep ditch and a high bank. These bastards seem to be pretty cunning and fearless and I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with this smiling king standing next to my bed. ’

  * * *

  In fact , it was not the king that appeared next to Fronto’s cot in the middle of the night, but regardless, his hand reached for the sword by his bed as his blurred eyes adjusted and took in the shadowy shape in the gloom of the tent.

  ‘Galronus?’

  The Remi nobleman leaned down closer. ‘Gods, but you’re hard to wake, Marcus. I actually checked your breathing to make sure you were still with us. I’ve been shaking you for ages.’

  ‘I was having a dream, about the earth trembling. That was you, I guess.’

  ‘Fronto, get up.’

  The legate frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Trouble, now get up.’

  Worried by his friend’s manner, Fronto was up in a flash, slipping his feet into his boots without the comfort of socks , wrapping his sword-belt around his rumpled, sleep-sweated tunic and rolling his shoulders. Galronus all-but dragged him from his tent and stopped outside. ‘Look.’

  Fronto peered myopically into the n ight air, which was chilly but dry. The lack of moon and stars, all hidden by that same blanket of grey that had set in yesterday afternoon, provided precious little by way of illumination, but it took the legate only moments to pick out what the Remi noble was indicating. High on the eastern peak, towering above the fortress, a golden blaze rose into the darkness.

  ‘Signal fire?’

  ‘What else?’ Galronus replied. ‘But for who?’

  The two men squinted into the black.

  ‘I think…’ Fronto said uncertainly, ‘is that another flame? There, over the tops a couple of miles away?’

  Even as they both peered into the distance trying to decide whether the tiny wink of light was another beacon, it roared into life, bright enough that even two miles away it was clearly visible. Both men turned slowly, taking in their surroundings. No further fires suddenly burst into life around the tops, which was small consolation at best.

  ‘Signals to the east. I think we need a meeting. I’m going to get properly dressed. Call the usual reprobates into the headquarters. I’ll be there shortly. Oh, and send for one of the scouts. Get them up to a high place to give us a better idea of what’s happening. ’

  Leaving Galronus to organise it all, Fronto returned to his tent and removed the crumpled tunic, slipping into his spare white and red one, then his leather subarmalis with its embossed medusa head and decorative pteruges. Quickly he slipped on two thick wool socks against the cold of the mountains and then returned to his boots, lacing them swiftly. He fastened his belt around his midriff and threw on his cloak, forgoing armour, sword and helmet. This was a briefing , not a fight – he hoped.

  A few moments later, having dipped his head in the bowl of ice-cold water and smoothed down his hair, contemplated shaving the grey bristles from his chin, and stuffed down a mouthful of bread and cheese and a cup of well-watered wine, Fronto emerged into the cold night air again and scurried across to the command tent forty paces from his own. As he arrived, Carbo and Decius were entering, and both nodded their greetings to him.

  Inside, the officers stood in a crescent around the table on which sat a large sheet of vellum bearing a hastily drawn map of the valley and half a dozen tablets detailing the strengths of the various units in the Roman force. It had made for tense, unhappy bedtime reading for Fronto. Taking a deep breath, he skirted the gathered officers and stood opposite them, behind the table.

  ‘Signal fires,’ he said simply.

  ‘Drawing enemy reinforcements is the best guess,’ Decius shrugged.

  ‘But who?’

  ‘The Convenae,’ Galronus said. ‘Has to be. We know that most of the local tribes were forced to join them and they serve the Arenosio king. There was no one at Conveno, so they had to all be further up in the hills. The king is signalling for his Convenae allies.’

  ‘But why now?’ Fronto asked in a concerned voice. ‘I’m absolutely certain that they knew we were coming. In fact, given that they’ve been setting traps and leaving executions for us to find since not long after we left Lapurda, I find it hard to believe they haven’t been watching us all along.’

  ‘We took them by surprise at Biguro,’ Pulcher noted.

  ‘We took the Begerri by surprise at Biguro, n ot the king or his Arenosio. In fact, if they were watching the Begerri surrender and re take their oath on the Pax Gallica, that would explain the brutal execution of what seemed to be a Begerri chief just down the valley. No, they have known where we were all along. I’m in no doubt about that. We’ve been drawn here by design.’

  ‘How do we know that this isn’t just another Biguro and that this king isn’t further on yet?’ Terpulo asked.

  Fronto rolled up the map of the locale. Beneath it was the rather sparse and basic chart of the entire region. He tapped their location with a finger and then brushed it in an arc to the south. ‘This is the last of the good land. In another five miles or so you’re approaching the snowline and the treacherous passes across to Hispania that even the locals only use in high summer. It’s harsh, awful land. I heard horror stories about the tops when I served in Hispania, from the tribes who lived up here, including the Arenosio. Past here there’s really nowhere liveable. This has to be it. If th is king’s not here, then whatever he intends to do wil l be done here. But I think the king is . I think he has a personal problem with Caesar and he thinks I’m the general , so he’s drawn me here. And if he wants to obliterate Caesar and his army here, I ask again: why now light the signal fires? If he’s been expecting us, why not already have the Convenae here? ’

  There was a chorus of nods around the tent. Fronto spoke sense and they all knew it.

  ‘Well,’ the legate went on, trying another angle, ‘given the lighting of the beacons and what that means – the approach of a probably massive Convenae army – what are our options?’

  ‘Fight now or retreat,’ Arruntius said flatly. ‘We cannot afford to get caught here by a second force. They would grind us against those walls until we’re a paste. We have to either take the place before the reinforcements arrive, or give up and retreat down the valley to somewhere defensible.’

  ‘And we can’t do tha t, as we all know,’ Fronto replied. ‘ We’re too few to hold anywhere unless it already has strong defences. To stand a chance against a large force, the first truly defensible place is Conveno, right down in the foothills, a week’s march away. If we do
that, we might as well abandon the whole campaign. And if that’s clear to us, then it’s clear to the king inside those walls. We have to fight, and we have to fight as soon as we can . ’

  ‘Then for some reason,’ Masgava said quietly, ‘the Arenosio king is forcing us to attack him. Whatever his design, he wants us to assault his fortress now, with the odds we have currently . He’s playing a giant game, forcing us along his path all the way. He’s drawn us into the mountains and now he wants us to attack.’

  ‘But not just to destroy us,’ Biorix put in. ‘If he just wanted to annihilate our army, he would have brought the Convenae in. So what is his game? I hate having my steps guided but , without knowing his end goal, we can’t hope to outmanoeuvre him.’

  Fronto nodded. ‘The upshot , then , is that we have to attack. None of us like it, largely because it’s exactly what the enemy want, but they leave us no other choice. If we run, we lose our chance, and if we delay, we get swamped by another enemy. Alright. We attack tomorrow. Whatever he wants, we can’t even try until we have the ladders and bridges. How are they coming?’

  Biorix shrugged. ‘We’ve got nothing completed yet, but we cut all the timber we needed last night, and a lot of it’s already prepared. I’ve got the lads working in shifts through the night debarking, cutting and adzing. And not just the engineers, either. I can have two dozen ladders and sufficient crossings ready by noon at a push.’

  Fronto clucked his tongued nervously and peered down at the map again, mentally placing the beacons he’d seen. His finger searched the mountains and found three small dots marking known tribal sites. ‘If we assume that the settlements we were already aware of are the largest ones in the mountains, and they constitute the most likely location of the Convenae, then that places the reserve force somewhere between fifteen and twenty miles away. Depending on how fast they can gather and be ready – and I suspect they were already assembled and waiting for the signal – they could get here in what, a day? Two?’

  ‘So what that means,’ T erpulo muttered, ‘ is that we have tomorrow to take the fortress, or there ’s a good chance that we’ll suddenly be surrounded by angr y tribes. No pressure .’

  ‘Well, then,’ Fronto sighed, straightening, ‘that’s our plan. The army prepares in the morning and moves into position. Biorix brings the ladders and bridges up to join us. Decius moves his men into position on the ridge and starts to skewer the enemy as best he can. Then we run out the extra bridges and flood across the gulley with siege ladders and try to take the wall. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. I suggest you distribute the orders and then get as much shut-eye as you can.’

  * * *

  Fronto stood on a slight rise and watched. The noon sun was finally beginning to burn off the cloud and the promise of a blue, clear afternoon would have brightened his mood, had this scene not been playing out in front of him. The legion had m oved into position half an hour ago, close to the gulley and split into six cohorts. He had to give credit to the adaptability of his veterans. Given the need to constantly re-form the units as men were settled or lost, few people had stayed in the same century for more than a week, and some men had changed unit half a dozen times since they’d left Lapurda. And yet, they’d managed swiftly and efficiently at every stage, and he’d had no complaints or issues beyond the expected occasional grumble. He was even starting to wish this was a permanent command, and not a legion of men on their way to retirement before autumn.

  The cohorts stood ready, impassive, waiting for the call. The siege ladders had already been passed down – one for every century except the sixth cohort, which stood at the rear, ready to move up as a reserve.

  The engineers were now ferrying the temporary bridges across to the site of the battle. Putting them in place would be a risky business, and half the success of the attack at least would ride on them being positioned swiftly and correctly. Even as he watched, he could see Decius’ archers and slingers approaching the gulley’s outer ridge, where they would position themselves. They stopped just short and awaited the signal. All was more or less in place. The only part of the army that would not be committed was the cavalry, and Galronus was already twitching at the impotence of his horsemen, but there was simply no place for them in this siege. The terrain made the horse unfeasible. Instead, the riders ranged across the valleys and the lower slopes for some five miles in all directions, adding their numbers to the sco uts as they watched for advance signs of the Convenae reinforcements putting in an appearance.

  Aurelius, standing a few paces away and holding the reins of both his own horse and Bucephalus, cleared his throat. ‘Try and look more posh and constipated.’

  Fronto turned to look at him. ‘I’d love to hear you say that to Caesar.’

  ‘ The general’s a proconsul and full of self-importance. You’re supposed to be him. Stop slouching.’

  Fronto grunted, but did as his bodyguard said, anyway. It had been Aurelius’ idea as Fronto had stepped from the tent in the morning. The enemy seemed to think they were facing Caesar, and so if they truly wanted to learn what the enemy wanted, they should not disabuse them of the notion that the general was here. Fronto had been in two minds about that. It was equally possible that if the enemy realised that Caesar wasn’t here after all, their plans could fall apart and the Romans might gain an edge. It was a coin-toss, since nobody could predict the truth of it. In the end, rather than listen to Aurelius banging on about it, Fronto had gone along with the idea. His red plume and white tunic, combined with his dress cuirass that he rarely wore, would make him passable as Caesar. He’d taken out his red dress cloak and donned it, since that was known to be an affectation of Caesar on the battlefield. And finally, he had grudgingly agreed to swap horses with Aurelius , lending the bodyguard Bucephalus with his sleek black coat and borrowing his bodyguard’s placid white mare , Europa. Caesar rode a white horse, after all. Most irritatingly, Caesar rarely involved himself in the fight. He was always on the battlefield, in view of his men where he could boost morale, but only in dire circumstances would he join the fighting. That meant that Front o would spend the afternoon standing on a hummock, plainly visible to all , with the standards and banners and a bodyguard of cavalry, looking impressive but getting stea dily more bored and leg-achy as the day wore on.

  ‘They’re in position,’ Galronus called from his place off to the left.

  ‘Give Decius his signal.’

  This was it. They were committed. The buccina off to the right gave a short blast of five rising notes, and Fronto watched the archers and slingers rush forward , already reaching for their ammunition as they ran. Not for the first time that day, Fronto threw up thanks to Jupiter Pluvius for holding back rain which would render the bows useless. Yes, it would do the same to any defending archers, but the defenders could still throw down stones and the like on any attacker, and the rain wouldn’t stop them. At least this way Decius’ men stood a chance of influencing the outcome of the fight.

  The missile troops reached the ridge almost in perfect unison, a tribute to the efficiency with which Decius had commanded and trained his unit. Before even the last man fell into position, the first arrows and slingshots arced up across the wide gulley at the walls on the far side. Fronto watched, biting his lip so hard he felt the tang of blood drawn. The first few v olleys were ranging shots and many fell into the abyss of the narrow gulley, plunging into undergrowth or water, or struck the slope at the far side or the rampart above, ricocheting back into the stream at the bottom .

  Fronto was starting to worry whether the auxiliary prefect had wildly overestimated his men’s ra n ge when the first sling stone skittered across the stone parapet and into the fortress. There were perhaps a score of enemy warriors standing atop the ramparts on the narrow end of the L-shaped wall , and two of them lurched out of the way of the whizzing slingshot, only for one of them to step directly into the path of the first arrow that crossed the parapet. The shaft struck him in the shoulder and the man reeled. C
learly the arrow had been at long enough range that it no longer had the power to punch through the man’s armour, but it had clearly hurt from the way the man had lurched backwards. Good. If they could hurt the enemy they could keep them busy.

  Another signal needed giving, but not until the last moment. The legate watched the missile troops a few moments more and the longer he watched, the more of their arrows and shots were reaching the wall top, until every third one was striking home. He was about to give the signal when there was activity on the ramparts and enemy archers and slingers took position, sending their own missiles back across the gulley. To Fronto’s relief, even after a number of ranging shots, very few of the enemy missiles reached the ridge where Decius’ auxiliaries were positioned. Even as he prepared himself for the next stage, he smiled to see the Roman archers and slingers shift target slightly to pick off the opposite numbers specifically.

  ‘Give Biorix his call.’

  A second buccina call went up – three notes rising and falling – and in two heartbeats’ time the engineers were moving. Each of the eight sections of makeshift timber bridge was six feet wide and as long as the small stone bridge that crossed the river at the bottom. Each was manned by two contubernia of men , one at the front and one the back. Fronto watched the manoeuvers, fascinated. The work of engineers was always of interest, especially when they had been given a brief and left to their own devices.