The Great Revolt

by S. J. A. Turney

  ‘You said that Avaricon was unassailable? That it could hold almost indefinitely, and that once we were finished here, we would move to aid them. So what is it to be?’

  ‘Burn it,’ murmured Lucterius, and all eyes turned to him. He took a deep breath. ‘Send word to your men inside. Tell them to hold for as long as they can and then torch the place if it falls, so that Rome cannot use it.’

  A dozen lesser chieftains of the Bituriges stood, yelling.

  ‘You can’t burn Avaricon!’

  ‘Our capital must be saved!’

  ‘We will not allow this!’

  Vercingetorix waited for the commotion to die down and cut through the noise with an even tone. ‘I will not give the order to fire the city, unless it becomes a matter of vital importance.’ He stretched. ‘Instead, we will send a further garrison to help bolster it. Perhaps we can keep Caesar so concerned with Avaricon that he starves before its walls and long enough for us to enlist the recalcitrant Aedui and bring them in.’

  ‘No.’

  All eyes now turned on the speaker, one of the angry Bituriges.

  ‘What?’

  ‘No. Avaricon is critical. You will not sacrifice our capital to keep Rome busy while you inveigle your way into the cursed Aedui’s good graces.’

  There were murmurs of agreement among the assembled Bituriges.

  ‘We only joined your damned revolution because you showed yourself to be stronger than the Aedui, and you claimed to have the good of all the tribes at heart. Prove it!’

  Vercingetorix sighed. ‘What would you have me do? Abandon Gorgobina after all this time? Abandon our pursuit of the Aedui?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Vergasillaunus frowned at this new voice that had joined, for he was not one of the Bituriges.

  ‘What say you, Argicios of the Carnutes?’

  ‘Our people are crushed. Cenabum lies in ruins because of our alliance with you. No mention has been made of any consideration for our plight, despite the fact that we began this war for you, struck the first blow in defiance of Rome. And we still stand by our oath to you, as do our Senone brothers, who have watched their towns ravaged while their greatest city has played host to the Romans all winter. But no more will we follow blindly. We must stand by our brothers. If we are to be an army of all the tribes, we cannot be expected to sacrifice that which makes us what we are. If you continue your endless siege here and your fruitless pursuit of the Aedui, while allowing your loyal allies to languish under the Roman heel, we will consider our oath as void and return to our own lands to proceed however we can.’

  Vercingetorix, his expression cold and hard, eyed those present. A dangerous number of the army’s leaders were now on their feet in support of the Bituriges.

  His cousin waved an angry hand. ‘You are speaking to your king! He leads us and he has spoken! You need all…’

  He fell silent as Vercingetorix stood, his imposing presence in the dancing firelight silencing the entire crowd.

  ‘It comes to this: I will not lead an army who does not believe in me. And so I will abide by the decision of the mass of chieftains here this night. But let me lay something out in straight words for you.’

  He drew his sword and slammed it point first into the ground before the fire.

  ‘I have studied every angle of this campaign. My close advisors and I have a solid picture of what must be done to win - a plan over a year in the making and to which there is no workable alternative. And despite Caesar’s movements and a number of small setbacks, nothing has yet changed in the grand scheme. We have lost a few engagements, sacrificed perhaps three thousand men in total. Rome will have lost men too. But they are reliant upon forage and have no new men to draft. We have our own food and our own fortresses, and despite any losses, our numbers continue to grow, while Caesar’s only shrink.’

  He crouched before the sword, the golden light dancing impressively across his features and in his eyes. ‘The fact remains that the Aedui are the largest and strongest individual tribe in Gaul. Moreover, Rome trusts them, which gives us tremendous advantages when we bring them to our cause. Think what advantage they provide Caesar if we do not. If we abandon this siege and leave the Aedui to their own devices, they will likely continue to support Rome and then we will face superior numbers.’

  He ran an idle finger along the sword’s edge.

  ‘And I believe in my heart that breaking the siege and rushing off to aid Avaricon before we are numerically prepared is the worst possible use of our time. We will not be able to enter the city while it is under siege and any attempt to engage Rome outside its walls is at best extremely dangerous. In short, if we abandon our plans now, we may ruin any chance we ever have of successfully concluding this war. If we place the safety of the Bituriges’ capital above the good of the army, we may cause our own downfall.’

  He tapped the hilt of the sword so that it swayed back and forth in the ground, gleaming menacingly in the firelight.

  ‘So, assembled chieftains of the tribes, what is to be our path?’

  PART TWO: EXCHANGES AND GAMBITS

  Chapter 8

  Hillside east of Avaricon

  Vergasillaunus leaned on the rail of a weapon rack and looked out over the gentle slope ahead, where a narrow stream happily gurgled its way, meandering towards the distant war zone of Avaricon and creating a shallow trench of marshy land. It was the first morning he could remember of the entire year when he had not shivered when he awoke, and he hoped fervently that the slight change heralded the end of the chill winter and the dawn of spring.

  Ahead, the front riders of the thousand-strong cavalry force were heading for the army’s commanders, while the rest returned to their own small tribal groups to rest. Vergasillaunus cleared his throat and prepared himself. His cousin had been taciturn and rarely-responsive since the other chiefs had forced his hand and turned the army from Gorgobina and the Aedui in pursuit of Caesar and the saving of Avaricon. Vercingetorix was not a man given to uncontrolled temper, but his mood had become unusually fiery since having his plans overturned by his own officers.

  ‘Lucterius seems to be smiling. Makes a change.’

  There was no reply from the army’s commander and Vergasillaunus sighed as he watched the Cadurci chieftain approach and dismount with an expression of grim satisfaction. Despite having agreed to move on Avaricon, the king had still counselled caution and care. Instead of marching straight into action, they had set up camp on a bleak, wind-blown hillside some fifteen miles from the Bituriges’ oppidum, protected by a screen of woods to the north and a swampy stream to the south, and sent out scouts. The riders had confirmed that Caesar and his army were already before the walls of Avaricon, camped in almost the same position as Vercingetorix had been over a month previously. Given this news, and the knowledge that all other approaches to the oppidum were buried beneath marsh and swamp, the king had put down his foot and kept the army here, so many miles away, where he was in no danger from Caesar’s superior force.

  However, he had not rested upon his laurels, sending numerous scouts out to keep him apprised of all that went on in the region, and immediately issuing a string of orders. Now, at any given moment there were three separate forces of a thousand cavalry out in the land, burning all settlements, farms, crops and animals, removing any hope of the Romans foraging.

  Better than this, even in the first two days of being camped here, the roving cavalry forces had come across five separate Roman foraging units and had slaughtered them all, leaving no survivors to bring news of their fate to their general. As well as hungry, the Romans must be starting to become nervous.

  The Cadurci chief bowed his head as he approached. Vergasillaunus clenched his teeth, hoping that his cousin would override his anger and manage civility. Not only was Lucterius an able leader, despite his recent run of bad luck, but he was also one of the few chieftains who was wholly committed and had stood by them at all times.

  ‘Two pieces of good news,�
� the Cadurci said, exhaling as he crouched. ‘We found and destroyed another forage party. This time it was three centuries together - we counted the crested heads afterwards. They are strengthening their units, so they must be fearing to send them.’

  Vergasillaunus nodded. ‘They are searching further afield also. Late last night, Epacos and his Carnutes came across a six-cart supply train coming from the north - from Cenabum probably - and brought it back to us, leaving the Roman bodies for the crows. They must be starting to get desperate.’

  ‘To add to your glee, then, Vergasillaunus,’ the weary warrior replied, ‘you will be pleased to hear that we came across just such a convoy coming in from the southeast, manned by Aedui warriors. They had been delayed when their carts sank into marshy ground. Rather than struggle in the same manner, we torched the carts and their grain sacks together.’

  Vergasillaunus nodded, a pleased smile upon his face.

  ‘And what of the Aedui escort?’ asked the king quietly.

  ‘Those who survived our swords burned with the grain.’

  ‘You believe this will help bring the Aedui to our cause?’ Vercingetorix’s voice carried a dangerous undertone, and his cousin steadied himself for trouble, but Lucterius simply narrowed his eyes. ‘I will gut and burn any man I find feeding the Romans,’ he replied, ‘be he Aedui, Arverni or even my own Cadurci. This war will not be won by faint hearts.’

  The king was silent for some time, but finally he nodded. ‘You did well, Lucterius. I have more men working within the Aedui now, too. Soon, with any luck, they will join us and, by then, Caesar’s army will be emaciated and weak, and we can stamp him out, grinding him against Avaricon’s walls. But faint heart or no, we will not move until we are sure of our numbers.’

  The Cadurci chief’s face betrayed his disapproval, but he nodded and rose to leave, nonetheless.

  ‘Avaricon can hold,’ Vercingetorix said quietly as though reading his cousin’s thoughts.

  ‘I hope so. I truly do.’

  * * * * *

  ‘It’s a tough nut to crack,’ Fronto mused as the small knot of officers stood on the westward slope and took in the majestic strength of Avaricon through the fine mist of drizzle. The walls were high, topped with regular towers and made all the more formidable by nature, which had provided the Bituriges with an incline below, then a marshy dip before the hill upon which the Roman camp lay.

  ‘If there were another option, I would consider it,’ Caesar said quietly, though all present were quite aware of the impossibility of the other routes. Pre-warned of the Roman approach, the Bituriges had taken the drastic decision to destroy the bridges over the rivers that girded it, making those swampy morasses with their snaking channels a deadly proposition for any army. The only feasible route was this one: an attack from the east, down the gentle incline, across the marsh dip and then up against the powerful walls, all under the falling missiles of the defenders.

  Moreover, the army’s formidable array of siege weaponry was proving largely ineffective. Due to the slope of the ground and the distance to the walls, the ammunition of the few engines that could be brought to bear on Avaricon had lost so much power and accuracy by the time they reached the walls that they impacted harmlessly to the jeers of the defenders.

  For six days now, the Roman force had tweaked their positions, trying to bring deadly missiles against the city, but still nothing had even broken a stone. A few tentative attempts to send work parties out in the dark to undermine the walls had failed dismally, the Bituriges bringing all their experience from their numerous iron mines to bear and collapsing the Roman attempts without any harm befalling the walls. Indeed, any time a Roman force neared the ramparts, they came under a hail of heavy stones and cauldrons of boiling pitch. Hooks thrown over the walls to aid climbers had been dragged inside with noosed ropes. After an attempt to burn the timber towers with fire arrows, the Bituriges had coated their defences with dampened hides in a very Roman manoeuvre. Given the increasing mood of despondency among the legions, who were beginning now to feel the effects of the dwindling supplies, the officers had decided the previous night not to risk any more such pointless attacks, lest they ruin the army’s morale entirely.

  ‘Artillery is not the way, though, general.’

  Fronto glanced up in surprise at the voice. He would never get used to Plancus uttering sense, though it seemed to be happening more and more in staff meetings these days. It seemed Gaul had taught the man a thing or two about command.

  ‘Indeed. The Bituriges have planned their capital well and their gods watch over them.’ The general frowned and turned to Antonius. ‘Do we know what gods they revere here?’

  ‘The usual,’ shrugged Antonius, then scratched his head. ‘But I do also remember hearing tell of a local god called Anvallus. The ‘unconquered’ apparently.’

  ‘Interesting,’ the general tapped his lip. ‘Have the priests sacrifice to Jove, Mars and Minerva as usual, but make sure they invoke Teutatus and Taranis and pay special attention to this Anvallus. We’ll find it easier to get over those walls with ‘the unconquered’ with us, rather than against us.’

  Fronto smiled as he watched Antonius nod and file the names away. It seemed a particularly interesting facet of the unpredictable officer that he was capable of the most appalling casual drunken blasphemy and yet paid such close attention to any shrine or temple they came across and seemed to live his life by the predictions of auguries and seers. The strange juxtaposition was just one of the things that he liked about Antonius.

  ‘But favour of the gods aside,’ Plancus returned to the subject in hand, ‘what do we do in the absence of artillery range?’

  ‘We could build artillery platforms closer to the walls?’ mused Cicero.

  Priscus shook his head. ‘Once we get them within effective range, the trajectories will be so high it will cause the artillerists endless headaches. Besides, once we get them that close, they’ll be under attack from the walls because of their height and angle. For every bolt or rock we put over the walls, we’ll lose several men. Hardly worth it.’

  ‘So it’s a straight infantry assault?’ Fronto sighed. ‘Seems the only feasible solution. But it’ll be costly. Very costly.’

  ‘Too costly,’ Caesar said quietly. ‘There is a force of rebels out there somewhere nearby that might outnumber us by now. I cannot afford to throw away veteran legionaries on an unassailable wall with that kind of danger floating about. The rampart is too high for men to scale, even with ladders, and siege towers and vineae are not an option. The ground is too marshy and soft. The machines would sink.’

  ‘Unless we build it up,’ murmured Priscus. The gathering of staff officers turned to the prefect with interested frowns.

  ‘Picture the dip,’ Priscus continued, ‘but picture it crossed by a wide causeway. It would give us a solid surface for vehicles and negate some of the lowest slopes beneath the walls.’

  Caesar smiled. ‘Better still, we make the causeway slope upwards to the west and turn it into a ramp, gradually ascending to the walls. It will negate the height advantage for the sake of a little extra initial work.’

  ‘The men are hungry, mind, Caesar. And hunger makes them weaker than usual. We moved onto half rations days ago, and Proculus tells me we’ll be halving that again in a few days. Soldiers living on hard-tack biscuits will struggle to build such a structure… especially under constant attack from the walls.’

  Antonius cleared his throat. ‘Is there no word from the Aedui or the Boii about your request for grain? Or from Agedincum or Cenabum?’

  Caesar shook his head. ‘The possibility that the tribes are refusing aid in line with the enemy’s wishes concerns me as much as the more likely chances that the rebels are waylaying their convoys en route. But whatever the cause, we must press on here as fast as we can. We cannot afford to retreat to a well-supplied position. Our speed has given us an advantage over the Arvernian rebel, and I will not give up that advantage.’

&n
bsp; ‘We could send out a few cohorts?’ Antonius argued. ‘Or a large cavalry force? To Bibracte, perhaps, to seek supplies? The gods know we could do with a little more knowledge of what’s going on out there? Our forage parties disappear without trace, which suggests that Vercingetorix is close by. If we could move against him, our siege here would be redundant.’

  ‘No.’ Caesar peered into the drizzle and shivered. ‘Each time we send out men, they disappear. I will not throw away any more units of good men. I agree that we need more information, but sending groups of legionaries out is inviting destruction. Instead, select a few dozen native riders that could pass as locals. Have them dress in a civilian manner and send them out as scouts. They are to avoid trouble, but locate any farms that have not been burned to cinders, or any sizeable enemy force, and report back with what they find.’

  He pulled his heavy, damp red cloak about his shoulders and gestured to the walls across the dip. ‘Give the soldiers two days of rest. During that time all we will do is have a watch mounted and rotate the men in groups to construct two siege towers and as many vineae as the local woodlands will provide. The men can rest and prepare when off-shift.’

  ‘Vineae, sir?’ All present imagined the hide-roofed structures designed to protect attacking troops crossing the proposed ramp.

  Caesar smiled at Plancus. ‘Yes. Vineae. They will protect the men as they build the ramp. We will place them in continual lines approaching the walls, such that the man can use them as tunnels taking them from the safety of camp to the latest build site. The enemy’s weapons will be largely negated.’

  Fronto nodded appreciatively. It would sit well with the tired, hungry men to be well protected in their work.

  ‘Now let us set about the task of building their morale before we ask them to build us a ramp. Have the first cohort of each legion fall in at the flat ground beyond the camp. Tell your men that tunics and belts is the order. No armour or weapons. They are not on parade and may stand easy.’