It was curious. From here, with no command of his own and no direct influence on events, watching the army of Crassus at their work felt like those lazy days in early spring when he’d risen blearily from his bed in Fronto’s house and gone to watch the morning races in the circus. Momentarily he considered whether it would be in bad taste to find one of the medics or support staff that remained back from the battle and lay a few wagers.
Almost certainly they would think him callous, or an idiot. But then the betting of coin on games was a habit to which Rome had introduced him and not a natural pastime for the Belgae.
Taking another swig from the wine, he lay back on the rock and dozed, half listening to the battle going on below and before him. Some decision had clearly been made about how to avoid a repeat of the tower incident and the legions were marching again, accompanied by the groan and clonk of the huge timber constructions and the constant distant whisper of arrows and other projectiles flying back and forth.
In a way, he was glad to be so far out of it that the battle appeared little more than a game, unable to hear the cries of the wounded and dying and smell the sick odours of war.
A series of shouts and a crash announced another setback and Galronus pushed himself upright once again and opened his eyes. Another tunnel had been discovered, this time by one of the heavy, trundling vineae that had sagged to one side, its wheels sinking into the ground. With a great deal of effort, the legionaries managed to heave it back up to the flat and push it off to one side, avoiding the likely line of the passage.
By now the screens were in place and the units of auxiliary archers close enough to strafe the parapet of the low walls, quickly clearing them of defenders.
The Remi officer was about to close his eyes and sink back down to the rock when there was a tremendous roar. Pushing himself fully upright, he shaded his eyes once more and watched as a postern gate opened off to the far left and a mass of screaming Sotiate warriors issued forth, pouring toward the archers and their screen. Galronus nodded to himself as he watched events unfold.
The archers were apparently undefended, simply auxiliaries hiding behind screens; easy pickings for the enemy and too far from the nearest legionary cohort for the regular troops to intervene in time. The Sotiates had seen their only opportunity to try and even the field a little, but Crassus had planned ahead, likely for this very event, else why would he not have concentrated on the postern gate.
As half a thousand warriors poured forth, the nearest cohort of the Seventh changed its tack instantly, picking up speed and moving at triple time across the front of the archers, beneath the walls.
The bellowing, desperate Sotiate warriors threw themselves at the undefended archers, only to discover that the screen had concealed more than just the auxiliary bowmen. The spearmen who had filtered among them suddenly raised and braced their spears, using the weapons to create a barrier of deadly points protecting the archers, who continued to rain death on the oppidum’s walls.
The enemy realised their error too late, pulling back from lunging at the deadly spear wall and turning to flee to their gate, only to find that the speedy cohort had cut them off from their own walls. Suddenly trapped between the Narbonese spear men and the soldiers of the Seventh, busy settling into a shield wall, the despondent warriors threw down their weapons.
The Sotiates in the oppidum cut their losses and shut the gate on their friends.
‘You are a Gaul. What do you think they will do?’
Galronus spun round in surprise to find Crassus standing behind him, burnished cuirass dazzling in the sunlight, crimson cloak waving in the light breeze.
‘I am Remi, from half a world away, not one of them.’
Crassus shrugged, dismissing the comment as irrelevant.
‘Well’ Galronus mused, frowning at this unwarranted and unusual attention from the legate. ‘There is nothing they can do. They must surrender.’
Crassus nodded.
‘I believe so. The question is whether we accept the surrender. We must continue on after this, deeper into Aquitania, to the very foothills of the Pyrenees, and it is never wise to leave a live enemy behind one. Even if I were inclined to mercy, the option of extermination is not a ridiculous one.’
Galronus narrowed his eyes and looked the man up and down. There was something in Crassus’ voice that he’d not noticed before. The legate appeared to be trying to talk himself into something.
‘And are you?’
‘Am I what?’
‘Are you inclined to mercy?’
Crassus gestured to the landscape around them with a sweep of his hand.
‘I am considering it, certainly. I brought down the Roman heel on the throat of Armorica last year, and it seems to have had the opposite effect to that for which I had hoped. Instead of squeezing the resistance from them, I seem to have squeezed a mass of Gauls into a hardened resistance. We can scarce afford a similar situation developing in Aquitania. Whatever we do here must be a permanent end if we are to label Gaul conquered.’
Galronus nodded.
‘One way or the other, you mean. Pax Romana with the peoples of Aquitania, or a region totally empty save the graves of uncounted tribes.’
The legate gave a curious smile.
‘You dislike and distrust me, Gaul. I can see it in your eyes.’
Galronus opened his mouth, but Crassus waved his unspoken words aside.
‘Do not deny it, and rest assured that I dislike you also, though I find, curiously, that I do not distrust you. So tell me truthfully what you believe I should do with the Sotiates?’
Galronus pondered again, scratching his neck. He reached for his wine sack and offered it up to Crassus, who made a face.
‘Hardly.’
Shrugging, the Remi officer took a deep swig and leaned back.
‘You should accept their surrender in good faith. Offer acceptable terms; even terms favourable to them if you wish to have them watch your back as you move on. But remember too that the sort of leader who will lure you into an ambush is the sort of man to watch even when there is peace.’
Crassus nodded.
‘Your thoughts are sensible, Gaul, and I tend to agree.’
Galronus took a deep breath.
‘Forgive me, legate, but you didn’t come and find me just to ask my opinion on something you had already thought through yourself.’
Crassus nodded.
‘I find myself in the uncomfortable position of requesting that you retake command of the cavalry.’
Galronus smiled knowingly.
‘They react somewhat ‘inefficiently’ to your tribunes’ orders?’
The legate glared at him.
‘They are Gauls. They are used to serving under a Gaulish commander. I fear you have a grip on your men that no Roman could break.’
Galronus laughed.
‘It’s called trust and respect, legate.’
Crassus nodded, his face expressionless.
‘Very well’ Galronus said, standing and stretching slowly. ‘I will have to insist that the disposition of the cavalry becomes my responsibility alone, though. You have seen now how shared authority works out.’
Crassus nodded again.
‘Agreed. Return to your men, then, commander, and prepare them. We may need to contain attempts to flee, and we will certainly require numerous scout patrols in the coming hours and days.’
As the Remi officer rolled his shoulders, he grinned and pointed out toward the oppidum.
‘And you, I suspect, will be busy too, legate. If I’m not mistaken, that looks like their leaders riding out to parley with you.’
* * * * *
Galronus patted the neck of his steed and stroked her mane as he watched the procedure. The surrender had been civilised and swift, the half dozen top men of the Sotiates riding out to meet the Roman officers and requesting terms. Crassus had, as he had intimated he would to Galronus, offered almost unprecedented good terms, ordering the Gauls
to deliver up their arms for disposal, take the oath of allegiance to Rome and forbidding them to take up arms except in the defence of Rome or against mutual enemies. In return, no repercussions would be felt by the Sotiates for their resistance, no hostages taken and no slavery or looting. That last had been particularly surprising, given Crassus’ reputation and the disfavour such an edict would bring on him from his men.
Rusca, the senior tribune, had been placed in charge of processing the surrendering Gauls, collecting their arms and administering the oath. The man seemed to have a knack for organisation and the whole affair was ordered and efficient, the population leaving the oppidum by the main gate, passing before Rusca and his guard, giving their names and professions and surrendering their weapons before moving off to assemble in ordered rows on the plain below the walls, where they would later take the oath before being free to return to their homes.
Galronus sighed. Perhaps the young legate’s thirst for bloodshed had finally been slaked, and he was settling into the role of the praetor in a traditional Roman fashion. Still, it would be a long time before the Remi chieftain would be comfortable giving Crassus the benefit of the doubt.
The auxiliary cavalry sat ahorse in large units, keeping a watchful eye on events and upon the assembling unarmed Gauls. He felt some sympathy for them as he glanced up and down the rows, the pride still evident in their eyes, unbroken. Pride was hard to come by in Gaul these days.
A call drew his attention, and he turned to see two of his men escorting one of the more important Sotiate warriors toward him. The man was still dressed for battle, his chain shirt a deep grey, the golden torc slung around his neck above it drawing the attention. Though disarmed, the man had retained his armour and the trappings of his rank, sitting astride a horse several hands taller than Galronus’ own.
The man nodded in familiar salute, his long, white-blond hair dropping across his face and hiding the bushy moustache and the steel grey eyes.
‘Sir, this man asked to speak to you.’
Galronus smiled at the trooper and then nodded to the Gaulish leader.
‘Thank you soldier. You can leave us.’
The troopers trotted off, leaving the two horsemen alone in the summer haze.
‘You were once a Gaul.’
Galronus laughed and slipped with ease into his own language, a much different dialect, but close enough to converse easily.
‘How incredibly closed-minded of you. I am still a Gaul.’
‘You look like a Roman now. Where is your beard? Where is your torc? You wear the uniform of Rome, and you talk like them. Even speaking our language, you have their accent.’
Galronus shrugged.
‘All things change, my friend. I shave and wear their armour, but my friend who leads their Tenth Legion rarely shaves and wears a Belgic torc over his Roman trappings. The tribes could never unite to become one Gaul, and so instead we shall become one Roman Gaul.’
The leader shook his head sadly.
‘It may well be as you say, but I will continue to mourn the passing of our freedom.’
‘Come,’ Galronus prompted, ‘you did not request to see me to discuss our cultural differences.’
The man straightened in his saddle.
‘You are right, of course… I come to bring you a warning. If I am to take an oath of allegiance I would have a clear conscience and not have broken the oath while still uttering it.’
The Remi officer narrowed his eyes.
‘You know of some treachery?’
‘Six men lead the Sotiates into war. If you look at the horsemen from where I just came, you will see that only five of us have left the city.’
Galronus’ frown deepened.
‘One of you intends to bar the town to us again? He would have to be mad.’
‘The Sotiates have offered you their surrender, but Adcantuannus and his ‘soldurii’ have refused to accept the terms and lurk inside the town. I offer you this information in the name of your commander’s generous terms.’
The cavalry officer stared past him at the town.
‘What are these ‘soldurii’?’
‘They are Adcantuannus’ personal war band: thirty score of warriors loyal to him rather than to the tribe. Since Adcantuannus has refused the terms, then so have the soldurii.’
Galronus sighed.
‘These men are aware that they endanger the terms granted everyone else by continuing to resist?’
The man nodded wearily.
‘They will likely run to join the coalition.’
The Remi officer’s head snapped round sharply.
‘The what?’
‘The Vocates and the Tarusates’ army. You have not heard of this?’
Galronus straightened again, his blood pumping fast.
‘Army?’
The man smiled now, a smug smile that worried Galronus.
‘The Vocates and their neighbours have been sending for allies since your legion first crossed the Charanta river. They have sent their warriors and leaders to mass an army in the mountains, where the Spanish tribes will join them.’
Galronus blinked.
‘The Spanish tribes?’
The man laughed.
‘It would appear we will not have to hold to our oath for too long.’
Galronus’ gaze passed swiftly across the field until he spied Crassus, standing with the other tribunes and a couple of centurions by his hastily-erected command tent, deep in conversation.
‘Go over there and relay this to the legate. He may be very generous.’
The man shrugged.
‘I tell you this, not for my own gain, but because it is right to do so and because your knowing your own doom will not change it.’
Galronus glared at him.
‘Just go and tell everything to the commander.’
For a moment, he watched the man ride off, and then wheeled his horse and trotted across to two large gatherings of cavalry, sitting ahorse as they monitored the passage of the tribesfolk. As he reined in, he gestured to two of the officers.
‘You, gather fully half the cavalry and have them split and posted around all the other entrances to the oppidum. Be prepared for anyone trying to leave and stop them any way you have to.’
The officer saluted and rode off, and Galronus turned to the other man.
‘I want you to take a detachment of five hundred men. Have half of them dismount. We’re going into the city. Meet me at the main gate when you have the men.’
The officer saluted and rode across to his juniors, and Galronus sighed. Nothing was ever easy. Sparing a brief glance for the command tent and the Sotiate noble riding toward it, he wheeled once again and rode swiftly across the open space before the gathering tribe. The tribune was deeply involved in his bureaucracy, lines of gleaming legionaries overseeing the disarming process.
‘Tribune?’ he called as he reined in again and dismounted.
‘Commander?’
Rusca gestured to the line to halt and lowered his wax tablet and stylus.
‘I have a favour to ask.’
‘Go on?’
‘I need some heavy troops used to fighting on foot. Could I requisition two of your centuries and their officers? We may be looking at trouble in the town.’
The man frowned and tapped his lip with the stylus.
‘It’s most irregular. Requests like that should go through the chain of command and come down to me from the legate.’
Galronus nodded.
‘I appreciate that, but the matter is of some urgency.’
Rusca glanced past him at the dismounted cavalry, their mounted comrades riding alongside them as they descended on the gate.
‘If it’s serious, take the Second and Fourth centuries. Their centurions are over by the gate.’
Galronus nodded and gave a half-hearted salute, handing his horse’s reins to a legionary and striding across to the centurions.
‘You two have been assigned to me for a
short time.’
The centurions shared a surprised glance and saluted as the cavalry began to arrive.
‘Alright’ the officer addressed his mixed force. ‘We have a rogue leader somewhere in the oppidum, likely trying to break out and make for the mountains. He has a fanatically loyal guard of some six hundred men. If we can get them to surrender without a fight, all to the good, but whatever happens, they don’t leave the settlement except under our guard. We’re going inside, and each time we pass a side street, I want mixed parties of legionaries, horsemen and dismounted cavalry to clear the area. You know your ground tactics better than I, but six hundred men should not be hard to find. They can hardly hide in a house.’
The centurions saluted and turned to the cornicen and signifers nearby, calling out their orders.
Galronus gazed through the gate at the broad street beyond. At least this place was small.
* * * * *
The oppidum was even smaller inside than Galronus had expected, the streets forming roughly concentric circles around a central square, with major thoroughfares crossing them and leading from the centre toward the gates, curving and bending as necessary to make their way around structures that had been present before the road system was formed.
It was unusual in Gaulish settlements, but Galronus had seen similar forms before. At some time in the recent decades, fire must have ravaged the oppidum and the town had been rebuilt with more spacious streets in an almost Roman style, allowing for the buildings that had survived the catastrophe to remain.
Whether that was the cause of the layout or not, Galronus was thankful of it. Sweeping the streets of the town with his troops had been made considerably easier by the simple shape they took. Here and there they had come across groups of tribesmen who were making for the main gate to comply with the legate’s terms, though already most of the population had left.
It had taken less than half an hour to sweep most of the settlement clear, and now, as the entire scattered force began to join up once again, closing in on the remaining section of town, Galronus was beginning to wonder whether he had been the victim of a strange trick.
Marius' Mules Anthology Volume 1 Page 136
