Marius' Mules VIII: Sons of Taranis

by S. J. A. Turney

  And, of course, if he did order the retreat, that mysterious wing of cavalry would be butchered in due course. The idiot horse commander had doomed either himself or the Fifth, or potentially both of them.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘Sir?’ The tribune who had been fussing throughout the journey looked astonished.

  ‘A Roman general doesn’t run from a defeat. He falls on his sword in disgrace. If I’m going to lose a legion here, I’m going with them. I’d rather decorate a Gaul’s spear tip than face the general and explain this to him. Let’s get down there and join the action.’

  The tribune was shaking his head. ‘Sir, that’s insane.’

  ‘Just draw your sword and fall in with the rest, Plautius.’

  Resigned to the unpleasant fate that awaited, Caninius formed up his seventy or so horse and gave the order. The slope was long but gentle, the chalk escarpment peeling off to the right and the copse left behind as they descended to the field of battle. Even as the riders moved up to a canter, the fighting ahead had started. The Gauls, now desperate, knowing they were trapped, began to throw spears and loose arrows into the tired Fifth, who sheltered painfully behind their shields, taking whatever punishment the Gauls cared to throw at them.

  Gallic carnyxes were sounding their calls now, noises like cattle with terminal flatulence echoing out across the river and the near bank. They were joined by cavalry horn calls from the far side and the blaring cornua of the Fifth, sounding the command to surge forward into hopeless battle. The noise was, frankly, astonishing. It had to be hard for the bulk of the soldiery to pick out their individual calls between the hundred different instruments going and the general noise of battle.

  A thousand paces to go. The slope was gradually flattening out as they descended towards the action. What use seventy cavalry might be in the coming nightmare was beyond Caninius, but he was determined that if the Fifth were to go out, they would ruin the Andes forever in the process. All they had to do was kill three men each. With less reach to their weapons. After having travelled near forty miles in twelve hours – about the maximum pace a commander had ever put his men through. With no hope of victory…

  He cast up a quick prayer to Mars, his patron god, for his aid in the coming clash.

  The musicians of the three forces were truly ruling the air over this battlefield in a war of their own.

  His ear picked something up and registered it for long moments before it began to nudge his brain and draw attention to what it had heard. Then ear spoke to eye, and Caninius dragged his attention from the fight across the field and to the east.

  He stared in bafflement.

  More horns had joined in the cacophony, and there, glittering in the silvery moonlight, trod the ranks of Rome, moving at a standard march and crossing the grass like an inexorable tide, bearing down on the left flank of the enemy.

  Eagles glinted in the silver sheen, backed by dark flags that would be red in daytime, but appeared dark grey by the light of the moon. Gleaming standards led what appeared to be two legions in all their glory. Fabius! Somehow he’d not marched on Limonum, but had known to come to the Liger crossing instead. Was the man omniscient?

  Even as he boggled, Caninius’ mind performed a simple, happy calculation. The numbers were now more or less even and the enemy was trapped. Moreover, the way the new legions were moving, they were reasonably well rested. The tables had just turned on the Andes in the most astounding way. Where a moment earlier the legate had foreseen only brutal death or an ignominious visit to Caesar, suddenly he now saw the end of the Andes and their blasted incursion. Rome would be victorious.

  He whooped.

  The new arrivals on the field had been seen now. The Andes broke into a panic, many trying to push past their friends onto the crowded bridge, others being hurled or knocked from the bridge to splash into the dark waters where the ones in mail shirts sank without trace and the clothed or naked ones began to swim desperately downstream away from the clash. The unlucky ones hit a mudbank and broke apart before sinking slowly into the sucking murk.

  The defensive line facing the Fifth collapsed, and the centurions took advantage of the change to make their move, the legion piling into the enemy and hacking, stabbing and slaying everywhere they could despite their exhaustion. Only the enemy’s right flank was open, and even there only a short stretch of it, close to the river bank. Andean warriors were fleeing across the grass or into the comparative safety of the water.

  The cavalry on the hill around Caninius were cheering now, all having drawn themselves to a halt around their commander.

  ‘Thank you Mars. Thank you Fabius,’ grinned Caninius, and then turned to his small cavalry force. ‘Come on, boys. Let’s get stuck in and help the tired Fifth.’

  Behind him, the tribune was shaking his head again in disbelief. ‘They’re beaten sir. You don’t have to do this now.’

  Caninius laughed, and couldn’t help but notice a faint edge of hysteria in his own voice. ‘You’re absolutely right, Plautius, I no longer have to do this. Now I want to do it. Come on.’

  The tribune stared in horror as his legate drummed his heels into his horse’s flanks, urging the beast on into a run towards the chaos below, where the Andes were now in disarray, some fighting a desperate last stand while others threw down their weapons in an attempt to surrender, and yet more waded out into the dangerous waters of the river in the hope of achieving freedom.

  The battle had only just begun, but it was already over.

  * * * * *

  Varus wiped the blood and sweat from his brow and sagged in his saddle. ‘The timing was lucky. It could have gone horribly wrong, but it was the only way I could think of to defeat the Andes without them fleeing back into their woodlands and vanishing – and that’s something interesting. How familiar are you with tribal standards?’

  Caninius and Fabius exchanged a blank look and shrugged. Varus rubbed his sore neck and gestured to the far side of the river, where precious few of the enemy had managed to make it into the woods and flee. ‘There were a lot of different signs on display down there, but among the boar standards that are symbolic of so many tribes, the few ‘twin horses’ of the rebel Pictones and the wolves of the Andes, there were quite a few spread-winged eagles.’

  ‘Roman?’

  ‘Not quite,’ Varus leaned back in his saddle. ‘The eagle is also a tribal symbol of the Carnutes.’

  ‘Surely for the love of Jove the Carnutes wouldn’t dare raise a sword against Rome again? Not so soon after Caesar stood on their necks this winter?’

  ‘It would certainly appear imprudent,’ Varus sighed, ‘but I spent plenty of time riding among the Carnute lands in the winter, and I know their standards. There were Carnutes in that army, which helps explain why it was so large. The Andes are a smaller tribe, and the rebel Pictones were few. Being bolstered by the Carnutes would give them both the numbers and the confidence to take on a Roman force. I also note with some interest that no Carnute standards can be found with those taken in the fight. Somehow the Carnute elements managed to melt away. It’s possible there are still Carnutes among the prisoners, but they will be all-but impossible to identify.’

  ‘We’re going to have to deal with them then.’

  The cavalry commander nodded wearily. ‘They seem to be a tribe that simply do not learn from their mistakes. They’ll need to have this one explained to them rather forcefully.’

  ‘Should we contact Caesar?’

  Varus glanced at Fabius with a frown. ‘No. You’re the senior commander in the field here. Labienus prosecutes wars in the general’s name and only apprises Caesar of the situation when he’s already won them. It is your decision.’

  Fabius nodded unhappily, clearly uncertain about making command decisions on that level. ‘Then we’ll have to send at least a legion into Carnute lands to chastise them.’

  Caninius, gore- and mud-spattered, turned to Varus, a weary smile on his face. He looked tired, but then e
very last man on the field looked exhausted. ‘The next question is what to do with the captives. Take hostages of the powerful, ransom others, and take a slave tithe before sending them back to be resettled, I suppose,’ he murmured. ‘Though sending them back is asking for another rising, especially if they think they can count on the Carnutes for aid.’

  Varus looked across at Fabius meaningfully and the legate nodded in return.

  ‘I think we can safely anticipate Caesar here, Caninius. There’s been something of a shift in standard policy. Send the weak, the old, the children and the women back to their homes. Anyone who’s strong enough to wield a spear should be roped together and sent to Massilia, along with a half share of all spoils. The rest can go to the men.’

  Caninius whistled through his teeth. ‘You think that’s Caesar decision.’

  ‘Trust me.’

  ‘Well it’ll prevent future unrest, I suppose. You’ll do the same with the Carnutes?’

  ‘I will. Leaving them broke, undermanned and unarmed seems to be the only way to keep them down,’ Fabius grumbled. ‘For now, let’s get things wrapped up here and get to camp. There are plenty of tribunes who sat at the back during the fight who can deal with the clean-up. Those of us who drew a sword and rode with Mars need some sleep. Then after we’ve had some time to recover we can arrange a march into Carnute lands. How far is your camp from here?’

  Caninius gave a humourless laugh. ‘Near forty miles. I’d suggest we made camp here, but the whole thing was so much of a rush all our gear is back at Limonum.’

  ‘My horse and I can manage forty miles if there’s a bed and a cup of something soothing at the end of it,’ Varus murmured. ‘Slowly though, the poor beast has had a tiring day.’

  Fabius tapped his lip. ‘Returning to Limonum would be a waste of time for my men. We’ve got the essentials with us. We’ll make camp here and cross the river in the morning, moving back northeast and dealing with the Carnutes. We can use your old base at Noviodunum as our centre of operations. Your centurion there’s a good man and he’ll be grateful to see us.’

  ‘I suppose with the fight knocked out of the Andes there’s no need for such a large force here,’ Caninius replied, and all three men fell silent, watching the legions below herding groups of prisoners to be roped and gathering the dead for burial. The sound of thundering hooves drew their attention, since everything else on the field of battle was now moving at an exhausted pace, very sedate and quiet. The commanders turned to see a small cavalry detachment with scouts ahead riding for their position.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Fabius asked blandly, almost too tired for curiosity.

  Caninius sighed. ‘Must be the vanguard for the Fifteenth, who’re following on behind. They must be closer than I thought. They must have moved damned fast.’

  ‘They appear to be in a hurry, certainly. They must not know it’s over.’

  Varus’ brow crumpled into a frown to see a senior tribune in among the riders.

  ‘Senior officer riding like Hades has a spear at his back? Odd.’

  The three men blinked away their exhaustion, coming alert with the realisation that something else was happening here other than the reserves arriving on the field. As the horsemen reined in, the senior tribune danced his mount out front and saluted his commander and the other officers.

  ‘Tribune. You seem to be in something of a hurry? The legion sprinting is it?’

  The man shook his head, rolling aching shoulders. ‘We’re not with the infantry, sir. I passed the Fifteenth around twenty five miles back. I came from the camp with important news from our friend in Limonum, sir.’

  ‘Spit it out then, man,’ Caninius said wearily, yet with a sense of foreboding.

  ‘It seems there is an army on the move towards the Narbonensis province, led by a rogue Senone leader named Drapes.’

  ‘Gods, first the Carnutes and now the Senones,’ Fabius grunted. ‘A gold coin to the man who can name me a tribe that’s not busy rising against us. Don’t they realise they’re beaten. Who is this Drapes, then?’

  ‘I know the name,’ said Varus, drumming his fingers on his saddle horn. ‘He was one of those they say was at Alesia with the relief forces. I’m starting to wish we’d pushed to stop them fleeing that hill, despite the state we were in. Every noble who got away had a small army with him and they all seem to be causing trouble now.’

  ‘That’s only half the problem, sir. The Cadurci’s leader is reputedly leading a second army to link up with him on the way.’

  ‘Luterius, yes?’

  ‘Lucterius, I believe, sir. He’s another that was with the relief at Alesia. I couldn’t get any solid estimates of numbers, but the Limonum prince seems to think that the two armies together will be strong enough to do serious damage to Narbonensis. Certainly since Lucius Caesar returned to Rome and the legions were reassigned, the Narbo garrison alone will not be strong enough to stop them.’

  Varus nodded his agreement and heaved in cold breaths of night air. ‘There’s a legion on the way to protect that border, but it’s travelling slow with a convoy via Massilia and won’t arrive until long after any native army reaches the place. What can the tribes hope to achieve with such an act? They must know we’ll punish them for it.’

  ‘Could be a revenge attack?’ Caninius mused.

  Fabius rubbed his hands together. ‘You’ve seen what’s happening: the whole land is still rippling with dissent. There are minor rebellions all over the place – more or less every tribe – but we’re not in any great danger as a whole, since they’re all so disorganised and separate. You know how bloody-minded these Gauls can be. They’re beaten and everyone knows it, but they’re fighting to the last drop of blood and if they can get some sort of symbol to rally round, we’ll be dealing with risings all summer and into the winter. Imagine the morale boost that would wash through the more rebellious hearts if they hear that Narbo and the Roman south has fallen to them. They will call it ‘reclaiming their ancestral lands’. Can you picture it?’

  In the silence that followed, each of them did so, unhappy with what they were seeing.

  ‘There’s another danger,’ Varus said quietly. ‘Caesar will return to Rome next year for his consulship and the governance of this place will be granted to whoever the senate favours. Imagine what’ll happen if a bad governor gets the place, or just an ineffective one. Caesar’s army will have gone with him and it’d take time for a new commander to raise legions. If the tribes can just keep their spirit of rebellion burning until Caesar’s left, there’s a faint chance that the general’s successor will lose everything we’ve achieved these past seven years. We can’t let these two tribes ravage Narbo and raise new sparks all over the place.’

  ‘South, then,’ Varus sighed. ‘With little or no rest.’

  Fabius and Caninius nodded and the latter turned to the newly-arrived tribune.

  ‘Time to turn round and ride back. Have the Fifteenth stop their advance and return to camp. They can get everything ready to march south, and press the Pictone prince we just saved for additional cavalry. Wait at Limonum for the Fifth and after a short break we’ll head on to deal with this southern army.’

  The officer saluted and turned his horse.

  ‘And Tribune, see if you can find out anything else about this army, in particular their last known location. We don’t want to have to search everywhere between here and Narbo for them.’

  ‘Gods, but I could do with a snooze,’ Caninius sighed as he turned to Fabius. ‘I take it just the Fifth and Fifteenth will be heading south then? You’re bound still for the Carnutes?’

  The legate nodded. ‘Can’t turn south and leave the Carnutes at our back. You know what’ll happen. I’ll deal with them, settle the Pictones and Andes, and then follow on.’ He turned to Varus. ‘Caninius will need you more than I.’

  ‘Very well. Two legions and a wing of cavalry. Hopefully it’ll be enough to beat Lucterius and Drapes. Good luck with the Carnutes. They’re a tri
cky bunch. They’ll be dug in and hidden all over the forests.’

  ‘Good luck in the south,’ Fabius countered. ‘Don’t let them cross the Roman border or we’ll all be knee deep in the shit. Best get going.’

  The other two nodded their agreement. Roman lands were under threat, and this was no time to dither. ‘Get your men mobilized again, Caninius,’ Varus breathed. ‘We must move immediately.’

  * * * * *

  ‘It’s another damned Alesia,’ Varus snarled, shading his eyes from the morning sunlight and gazing east bitterly.

  It was horribly familiar – some two hundred miles southwest of that place of bloody slaughter, and yet a hauntingly recognisable echo of the site of Vercingetorix’s last battle. From Varus’ viewpoint on the high slope above the river, he could see every element of Alesia reflected in this place.

  The river cut through a wide plain so reminiscent of the plain of mud and blood at Alesia. And just like that other place, two small rivers crept east, reaching out like arms around a high oppidum like an upturned boat, topped with a walled settlement and further protected by chalky cliffs that defied scaling for much of its perimeter. Just like Alesia, the scouts said that the eastern end was more of a gentle slope, but that side had been much more heavily fortified in times past. Nowhere was a simple proposition. Any attack on this place would be hell.

  Caninius looked equally sour at the sight. The two legions had needed a day’s rest before they moved on south, and Varus had chafed at every hour in Limonum, fretting at the delay and knowing that each heartbeat they tarried, vengeful Gauls moved a heartbeat nearer to Narbo. But once they’d begun to move, he had to hand it to Caninius, they’d moved fast. The Fifth and Fifteenth had travelled light – expedite – taking only the faster wagons and leading them with strong, speedy horses rather than the usual oxen. The army had covered the hundred and forty miles to this place in three days and, while every man in the army now looked fit to drop and the baggage, speedy as it was, lay strung out over the last ten miles with the rest of the day to catch up, their impressive pace had seemingly wrong-footed the enemy, trapping them here.