“Two small posterns, sir. Both at ‘other side. Got ‘em locked, barred and piled up wi’ whatever shit we could get ‘us hands on.”
Cantorix sighed.
“Let’s just hope they don’t get that far then. Draw a sword and fall in.”
As the optio and the legionary rushed over to join the men at the gate, Cantorix pinched his nose again and gritted his teeth.
Five minutes was all they’d need, but five minutes might just be pushing it against that lot.
A third blow widened the crack on the beam and knocked one of the defending legionaries from his feet.
Galba frowned as he looked ahead.
“Baculus? They’re starting to spread along the walls. Those lads from the Fourteenth must have barred the gate.”
The primus pilus, a short distance to his right and moving at triple time, nodded.
“Got to keep them contained, sir.”
“Agreed.”
Ahead of them, the Ninth and Fourteenth legions nipped at the heels of the fleeing enemy, not allowing them the opportunity to pause and reform. In a minute they would have them pinned against the walls of Crociatonum and trapped. As soon as they formed a solid shield wall the enemy were done for, but there was still the possibility that a large number of the Gauls would escape along the walls first.
“Baculus: take the First through Fifth cohorts and break right to cut them off. Fast as you can.”
As the veteran officer saluted and began bellowing orders, moving off with half the legion to contain the fleeing Gauls on the far side, Galba gestured to the centurions and signifers behind him and peeled off to the left, picking up the already tortuous pace they had maintained down the hill. He could only imagine how the Gauls must feel. He himself was at the peak of his physical condition these days, yet the muscles in his legs strained and complained and his lungs burned from the activity at the fort and the long run down the hill after the fleeing Gauls. The enemy, on the other hand, had run up the hill, carrying bundles of wood, before even that.
Indeed, the Gauls’ state of near exhaustion was evident in the numerous bodies of those who had collapsed on their return journey, unable to go on. The two front legions, the Ninth and Fourteenth, had run on past the collapsed enemies, rear ranks pausing only to drive a blade through them before running on to catch up.
He risked taking his eyes off the ground ahead and looked around to the officers behind him.
“Spread the men out. Let’s come at them like a gate, swinging down and right and closing the exit for them.”
The men barked their confirmations and the legate turned back just in time to spot the rabbit hole and shift his pace to jump across it. There was something simple and powerful about a headlong charge into battle. Fronto had tried to explain it to him once but, for one reason or another, the Twelfth seemed generally to end up in a position where they were bracing themselves to take the force of an enemy attack. Now, the fresh wind battering his face, the turf springing under his feet and the men of his command roaring behind and around him, he began to see Fronto’s point.
The moments passed as they charged down the rapidly levelling slope and by the time they reached the flat ground that stretched out before the walls of Crociatonum, the desperate and fatigued Gauls had reached the defences and were spilling out along it and milling around.
Their panic expressed itself in many ways as the Gauls found themselves trapped. A number of them fled along the walls, though the men of the Twelfth were already swinging down on an intercept course to cut them off. Others began desperately to climb the wall, though to no avail. Despite its rough surface, no man among the Gaulish army had the strength remaining to make such an arduous climb. Still, others tried to push their way through their compatriots in an effort to get to the oppidum’s gate, unaware that it remained fast against them. The rest either turned, wearily, raising their weapons with hopeless expressions, staring death in the steel-armoured face, or dropped their weapons, drooping and giving up entirely.
A quick glance to left and right confirmed that the edges of the Twelfth had reached the wall and joined the flank of the Fourteenth, effectively sealing the enemy in. At calls from the centurions, needing no prompting from their commander, the whole legion settled into powerful shield walls, closing on the hopeless enemy.
Somewhere off to his right, several blasts issued from the instrument of the cornicen on the general’s staff. Along the line, the soldiers that were already involved in fighting stepped back, disengaging. The field fell strangely silent as the melee paused.
“Warriors of the Unelli and their allies!”
Galba smiled to himself. The voice was that of Sabinus, every bit as powerful and commanding as a Roman general should sound.
“Hear my terms. They are neither flexible nor negotiable.”
There was a low murmur among the enemy.
“Your tribes took an oath of allegiance to Rome and you have broken that allegiance. That makes you not only enemies, but criminals and traitors in the eyes of all civilised men. I am a man inclined toward mercy, but this situation tests my patience.”
Galba smiled to himself. Sabinus was starting to sound distinctly like Caesar.
“The leaders of this insurrection, including Viridovix and the top hundred noblemen of your tribes will submit to Roman justice and suffer the appropriate punishments for what they have done. I am willing to accept that blame can be largely apportioned among the instigators and, for that reason, should you deliver those hundred and one men before me, here and now, I will allow the tribes to dissipate and return to their lands peaceably, once they have renewed their oaths to Rome.”
Galba noted the murmur once more increase as the truth of the situation imposed itself on the rebel Gauls. A few yards in front of the Twelfth’s legate, a tall warrior, with a grey, braided beard, decorative bronze helm, and torc around his neck, bellowed something defiantly, raising his sword in the air as if to rouse his men against the general.
Galba watched with interest as three of the low-born warriors around him grasped his wrists, threw an arm around his neck and dragged him to the ground, out of sight, where his grisly end was audible only as sounds akin to those that issue from a butcher’s shop. The Gaulish rebels had had enough and their leaders’ failure would be punished even without Sabinus’ call.
Here and there among the crowd, noblemen who had led the insurrection, or who were merely unlucky enough to be among Sabinus’ top hundred men, were grabbed and held by their own warriors before being pushed roughly out to the front of the mass, their weapons jerked from their hands as they fell to their knees.
Galba tried to see through the crowd, or across the narrow gap that lay between the two disengaged armies, but Sabinus was out of sight somewhere to the right.
“Good” the general called. “Keep them coming, and send me Viridovix so that we can conclude our business.”
An oppressive silence fell over the assembled armies.
“Where is Viridovix?”
Galba entered the tent of the general, his cloak flapping in the gentle breeze, Cantorix of the Fourteenth at his heel. The other officers were already assembled and Sabinus looked up, his face dark.
“Well?”
Galba shrugged.
“Complete search, sir. Those of us who met him, centurion Cantorix particularly, and several of the more cooperative locals. We went through the enemy to the last man. Viridovix is simply not among them. Whether he slipped away as the army fled down the hill, or perhaps left even before the attack, we can’t say.”
Sabinus slapped his palm on the table.
“That man was at the very centre of this rebellion. I want him found, gutted and displayed to every man, woman and child in Armorica, Galba.”
“I understand that, sir, and we have already made it clear to the tribes that any man reported to be harbouring the criminal will bring upon him a dreadful sentence. There will be nowhere in Armorica he can find comfort whe
n word gets out.”
Sabinus glared at him and then fell silent and slumped into the chair.
“Alright. Are you suggesting that I allow the tribes to leave peacefully anyway? Viridovix was the central part of my terms.”
Galba shrugged.
“With respect, sir, if the man had been there today, they’d have handed him to you in pieces if necessary. In fact, I suspect the fact that he fled from their side before they failed has lost him his last friends among the Unelli. I fear it would be unjust to severely prosecute the tribes for the cowardice of their leader.”
“Agreed” Sabinus sighed. “We need peace and we need them to go back to farming and sending us grain. Very well, we’ll go ahead with the terms, but I want an active hunt for that treacherous bastard. I want him to run like a boar, knowing there are a thousand spears stalking through every forest looking for him.”
Galba nodded and stepped to one side, a move calculated to put Cantorix in the fore, lit by the afternoon sun shining in through the tent doorway.
Sabinus gave a weak smile.
“Cantorix? Good. Some good comes out of even the most irritating situations. Your men all survived?”
The centurion saluted, nodding.
“To a man, sir. They’re survivors, my lot, sir.” He grinned. “Like cockroaches, sir.”
Sabinus laughed and gestured to the legate standing to one side.
“These men did your legion credit this past day, Plancus. They performed like the best of veterans, as did, I might add, the rest of the Fourteenth. Commendations, awards and preferential shares of the spoils will be forthcoming as soon as the matter of taking slaves, performing executions and dispersing the tribes is complete.”
He glanced past Cantorix.
“The Ninth and Twelfth also acquitted themselves well, particularly given the reduced nature of both legions at this time. Rest assured that mention of that will be made to Caesar when we return.”
He leaned back.
“And that brings me to the question of how we proceed from here. The tribal alliance here is broken, but we need to be sure it stays broken.”
He reached forward to the map of Armorica spread out on the table before him.
“The oppidum of Crociatonum has been used by the rebels as a military fortress, stripped of its civil population. The legions will settle here as a garrison for the foreseeable future, at least until Caesar orders their movement or withdrawal. While based here, I want regular vexillations of three cohorts in size sent out to look for Viridovix, to gather supplies and information concerning the tribes that have just retaken their oaths, and to make sure that a strong Roman presence is continually felt in the area in order to put the notion of further rebellion far from their minds.”
He leaned back again.
“Our small cavalry detachment, along with a couple of the tribunes in command, will ride for Caesar’s army to inform him of the completion of our mission here and will return with any news from the campaign against the Veneti. In the meantime, we will see to our dead, including the recovered body of tribune Gallus, and process the Gauls. Are there any questions?”
Silence filled the tent and Sabinus gave a weary smile.
“Then let’s get things tidied up. It has been a very long day.” He eyed Cantorix. “Even longer for some of us. Time to rest and recover, eh centurion?”
Chapter 15
(Iunius: Inland Aquitania, two months prior to Caesar’s victory over the Veneti at the battle of Darioritum)
Gaius Pinarius Rusca, senior tribune of the Seventh legion, shuffled in his saddle.
“What are we waiting for, sir?”
Crassus shot him an irritable glance; the man asked too many questions. Still, while Rusca was as military-minded as a bag of brassica, a fresh-faced political ‘would be’ from Rome, he would likely be gone within the year and, after all, being surrounded by such idiots did one’s own image no harm.
“Reinforcements, tribune.”
“Sir?”
Crassus sighed.
“We are a single legion, as you may have noted, Rusca, not a force of three or four such as those being led in the north.”
Galronus of the Remi, leader of the strong auxiliary cavalry force accompanying the Seventh legion, rolled his eyes, his own irritation barely contained behind clenched teeth. Throughout the three week march south into Aquitanian lands, the legate of the Seventh, a man Fronto had told him to be careful of, had persisted with the attitude that the Seventh legion were effectively a noble and veteran force, moving alone through hostile territory, while the numerous detachments of Gallic cavalry were little more than a hindrance that blocked an otherwise impressive view.
Rusca looked taken aback.
“Of course, sir. But one legion was enough for you to crush the north west.”
Oh good. Stupid and sycophantic.
“Rusca, the Armorican tribes were relatively civilised Gauls in small groups, with their own internecine wars to attend to. Conquering them was like laying down the law to a group of squabbling children by comparison with this.”
At least Galronus could agree with him on that point.
“Aquitania constitutes fully a third of Gaulish territory, Rusca. We are not talking about a few squabbling tribes here, but what amounts to an entire nation. There may be many tribes in Aquitania, but there are a few very powerful ones at the top of the heap who maintain power in the region. If we wish to control Aquitania, we must first seek to control those tribes.”
He squinted into the distance and gave a small half-smile.
“Don’t forget, Rusca, that very clever and powerful men have fallen foul of this place over the last century and more. Praeconinus and his army died here. Manilius barely escaped back to Narbonensis with his life. We will find no allies here and no friendly supplies. Make no mistake: in Aquitania, the Seventh legion is utterly alone.”
Again, Galronus ground his teeth as he glanced over his shoulder at the assembled mass of thousands of Gallic cavalry, but his attention was drawn back to the legate as the man laughed.
“So we must be prepared. And like all good commanders, I prepared as much as possible before we even left Vindunum. I sent a few requests and messages ahead with some trusted couriers. See how my preparations begin to pay off?”
He pointed to the saddle further down the valley, the few flitting clouds casting patchy shadows along the ridge. As Galronus and the tribune watched, men began to pour over the rise in their direction.
Galronus frowned.
“With respect, legate, may I ask how you managed to arrange such a large force of reinforcements?”
Crassus shrugged.
“I have a not-inconsiderable supply of money and influence. Add to that the authority of Caesar and you’d be surprised how easy it is to raise an army. I can only imagine how the decurions of Tolosa, Narbo and Carcaso must have panicked and fallen over one another to provide my troops and supplies in time.”
Galronus narrowed his eyes.
“The general authorised extra troops, sir?”
Crassus turned an angry look on him.
“Beware the pit trap of insolence, commander. I authorised them in the general’s name. Such authority is implied in my command. The general would rather we cost him a little inconvenience and succeeded in our task than we lost him an entire legion in the wilds of Aquitania; of that I’m certain.”
Galronus turned his astonished gaze back to the army pouring over the crest and down the valley toward them.
“There are thousands of them!”
“Somewhere in the region of three thousand, if my requests have all been met; mostly archers and spear men, along with a good supply train of grain and other goods.”
Crassus smiled smugly as he watched the army pouring toward them to almost double the size of his force.
“Let’s move on and pick up our new allies. They are, after all, solid Roman stock of Narbonensis who have had a long journey to join us.�
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Galronus glared at the legate as he turned his back, wheeled his horse and threw up an arm to signal the army forward. ‘Solid Roman stock’ indeed… the men of Narbo were almost as Gallic as the Remi; had been less than a century ago.
As the legion and its auxiliary support moved off, the senior officers moving ahead with Crassus, Galronus walked his horse out to the side, deliberately detaching from the column.
He was surprised when, a moment later, one of the five remaining tribunes of the Seventh trotted out to join him. As the army marched on, Galronus looked the man up and down.
He had seen the tribune, as he had seen them all during the journey, usually with their heads up the legate’s backside. This one, one of the juniors, was surprisingly elderly to be filling such a post. From what Galronus understood, the tribunate was almost exclusively filled with young politicians climbing their ladder to success, alongside just a few clever veterans who stayed in the position in the hope of securing the command of a legion when the previous legate moved on.
This man, however, would be perhaps fifty years old or more. His hair was peppered black and white, his face lined and displaying a weariness that had little to do with physical exertion. The officer gave him a sad smile and pulled alongside.
“Can I help you, tribune?”
The man glanced ahead, but the command party had picked up the pace to meet the new troops and was clearly out of audible distance, even if they had been listening.
“Watch yourself carefully, commander.”
Galronus frowned.
“I already was, tribune.”
“More carefully. Young Crassus has taken a very personal dislike to you and you may find yourself in a great deal of danger unless you tread lightly.”
Galronus sighed.
“I am used to dealing with prejudice, tribune. The officers of Caesar’s army mostly see me as an barbarian warrior given too much authority for my own good.”
“Not like Crassus. He despises your cavalry and even their commander, Varus. He would never move against Varus, for the man is of noble Roman blood, but you…?”
Gallia Invicta mm-3 Page 33
