Two legionaries emerged from one side of the square, amongst the throng. Each held a long, leather cord, and a moment later the man at the other end appeared. The Gaul was one of the Carnutes – the tribe that had founded this very settlement, had colonized the land around it, had fostered rebellion here, murdered Romans here. He was a noble and, according to rumour, a druid – the very druid who had raised up Vercingetorix to be king among the Gauls. He did not look quite so noble now.
‘Why Fabius didn’t do away with the man while he was here, I cannot fathom,’ murmured Calenus.
‘Fabius had enough on his platter,’ Antonius replied quietly, ‘as we now know. In fact, I cannot understand why we are here ourselves, Caesar, and not marching south to help the legions at Uxellodunon?’
The general leaned back, folding his arms. ‘Sometimes, gentlemen, something symbolic and powerful needs to be done to drive home the nails of suppression. Caninius, Fabius and Varus are more than capable of containing an oppidum until we arrive, and this is important. The central tribes are quiet. The Belgae are now settled. Caninius and the others are dealing with the south, but this region is a hotbed of trouble and has been since first we came. The Carnutes are every bit as guilty of protracted murder and rebellion as the Arverni.’
The defiant Gaul had to scurry forward to avoid falling and being dragged. He, Guturvatus by name, had taken two weeks to track down. And that following a week of investigation as to his identity. The druid-chieftain was stripped to the waist, his grey wool braccae soaked with sweat, his feet bare and bloodied from the painful journey across the ruined city.
‘But if he is, as they say, the man behind all the risings, would it not be better to have the Carnutes here in their thousands to witness it?’
Caesar turned to Calenus and gestured to the far side of the square where perhaps a dozen Gallic nobles stood with sour faces and slumped shoulders. ‘They are the leaders of what is left of the Carnutes – Fabius was thorough in the short time he was here – and what transpires this morning will filter through the entire region in a matter of days. You have spent plenty of time in Rome, Calenus, surely you are familiar with the astonishing speed of gossip?’
Calenus smiled, though he still looked faintly unhappy. Caesar could understand the man’s reluctance, of course. He was not a man used to the brutality of war, despite having led legions in Gaul now. And what was about to happen was… well, Caesar had foregone breaking his fast, despite a persistent rumbling in the belly.
‘Besides, half of this is for the benefit of our men, not theirs. This is one of the architects of the risings that have kept them marching and camping in Gallic winters these past three years. He is responsible for countless legionaries being heaped into the burial pits or onto pyres. Once in a while it does the legions good to see the filth that has so ruined them face justice. The value of watching their revenge being carried out is incalculable in terms of morale. Guturvatus’ death will buy more goodwill with the men than a thousand loot and slave payouts.’
The Carnute leader, who had been betrayed by his own frightened tribe as the Romans hunted him, was now being dragged towards two thick posts driven deep into the ground some eight feet apart. The officers couldn’t quite see the man’s face, but they could picture the wild, terrified eyes. The prisoner started to fight the inexorable momentum towards the posts, struggling with the cords, trying to free himself. Despite his ravaged feet, he dug in his heels and almost succeeded in pulling down one of the legionaries dragging him. The centurion who even now stood to one side of the posts had chosen his detail well, though. The two legionaries at the cords were oxen in human form – massive, with necks like oak trunks and muscles like burial mounds. With little difficulty they regained their control and yanked hard enough for the man to fall face first into the dirt. When he struggled upright again, coughing and spitting out dust, his nose was flat and bloodied and his face was torn in several places.
‘Bet you wish that was the traitor Commius there,’ muttered Antonius with a vicious smile. ‘I wonder where he is.’
‘Somewhere among the Germans, I suspect. There will be time to find him later, when I am back in Rome if not before. My reach is long, even from the city. Commius is too important and loves power too much. He cannot hide forever.’
A nod from Antonius. ‘Commius on the run. Vercingetorix in the carcer. Ambiorix and Indutiomarus dead. Now Guturvatus dragged here in chains. Only Lucterius in the south to go, I think?’
Caesar nodded. ‘The heads of the hydra become fewer with every strike. With Fortuna’s aid, Lucterius will be the last and the beast will lie still.’
Still struggling to the last, the prisoner was being tied in place, the leather cords now fastened tight to the wooden posts at just an acute enough angle that his shoulders would already be feeling the pain. The centurion looked up at Caesar, awaiting the command, and the general gave a slight nod of the head. Stepping around in front of the prisoner but slightly to one side so as not to obscure the officers’ view, the centurion, whose voice had been honed on a hundred parade grounds and battlefields to carry clear even in the most hectic din, cleared his throat.
‘Guturvatus, son of Lemisunius, you have been accused and convicted of conspiring to bring war against Rome in defiance of the Pax Romana to which your tribe have pledged. Your crimes have infected your neighbouring tribes, spreading discontent and further endangering the stability of the region. Your rebellions have both directly and indirectly cost the lives of many thousands of Romans and many more Gauls who, were it not for your influence, would have remained allied with Rome and at peace. Thus, given the gravity of your crimes, the Proconsul of Gaul has sentenced you to death by the scourge.
An auxiliary of the Remi tribe in gleaming mail and a white cloak stood close by, repeating the centurion’s pronouncements in a language the prisoner and the watching Carnutes would be able to understand. As his more guttural words ended, a discordant echo of the centurion, Guturvatus began to struggle again. His futile attempts achieved little more than to make the leather straps bite deep into his wrists, and he began to curse and shout and spit. Two legionaries in the crowd burst out laughing at some private joke and the optio just along the line roared as he clouted them in the shins with his staff.
Having fallen silent once more, the centurion looked again at Caesar, who repeated his nod. ‘Proceed.’
At the officer’s command, a muscular soldier with arms like tree boles and a chest around which Antonius reckoned his arms would barely reach stepped forward. In his hand he held the coiled scourge and as he walked towards the prisoner and the other Romans backed away to leave the two men alone in the square, he shook out the weapon. Three long tails of leather hung from the heavy handle, weighted down with spiked wheels of carved bone that had been attached at set lengths along each strand.
Standing silent and taking three slow breaths, preparing for strenuous activity, the legionary pulled back his arm and swung.
From even thirty paces away the officers heard the tearing sound and the unpleasant, unmistakeable sound of bone on bone. Guturvatus screamed. Calenus wiped his forehead and lowered his face.
‘This damned heat.’
Caesar turned a fierce gaze on him. ‘Straighten up, man. You’re an officer.’
He could only imagine what Calenus would be doing if he had the view most of the legionaries had, where the actual damage was happening. All the officers could see was the intense agony on the man’s face. Again, the soldier swung the scourge and this time a spray of blood to the side was joined by small scraps of flesh.
The third strike connected while Guturvatus was still screaming from the second, and consequently the Gaul bit off the end of his own tongue in the process, his mouth filling with blood. Caesar made an irritated motion to the centurion, who waved at the executioner. ‘Slow down.’
The legionary nodded and began to count to twelve between strokes.
The ground was becoming sodden with r
ed in wide sprays from each blow, and Antonius glanced across at Calenus, who had gone pale, his face taking on a very waxy sheen. This was why you didn’t employ lawyers to command legions, no matter their position on the cursus honorum or the influence of their family. You ended up with men like this. Calenus needed toughening up if he was going to stay in service for a while. Mind, when Caesar returned to Rome shortly, the man would probably end up as a provincial governor.
Still…
Antonius smiled wickedly. ‘His back must be all ribs and organs by now, Caesar. Time for a change?’
The general gave him a questioning look, and Antonius nodded at Calenus, who was repeating ‘So hot… so damned hot…’ his eyes revolving to look anywhere but at the victim. Caesar gave a curt nod and waved to the legionary with the scourge. ‘Front, now.’
Calenus stared at Caesar, who cleared his throat quietly and leaned close. ‘You will watch like a stoic officer, Quintus Fufius Calenus, and if you should even think about vomiting in front of the legions, so help me I will have you strapped there in the victim’s place. Have some backbone, man.’
The executioner moved around the figure, taking up a new position at the front. Guturvatus was barely conscious now, every scream feeble and half drowned by the blood that filled his mouth. Another twenty lashes would be the end of him. At a nod from the centurion, he began again.
By the third blow, the man’s chest was open, bone visible and blood everywhere. On the fourth, one of the spiked wheels caught on a rib and the legionary had to scurry over and extricate it which, from the screaming, seemingly hurt even more than the scourging. At the eighth blow, the screams had stopped and even whimpering seemed too much effort. The man was almost dead, his breathing shallow and ragged.
‘Enough,’ commanded Caesar. ‘Take the head.’
Another legionary stepped out from the lines, wielding one of the long, heavy blades favoured by the Gaulish tribes. Unsheathing it, he nodded to the scourge man, who folded his nightmare coils and stepped out of the square. The swordsman took his place, pulling back the huge blade and pausing for just a moment.
His swing was perfectly positioned. The blade slammed into the prisoner’s neck from behind. Though it failed to sever, it crunched through the spine, killing him with the first strike. The second blow finished the job. The swordsman bent and picked up the head, approaching Caesar and holding it high. The two officers glanced sidelong at Calenus, who still looked extremely unwell, though he’d held himself together throughout the proceedings.
‘Have it spiked and raised above Cenabum’s main gate.’ The general focused on the distressed Carnute leaders opposite. ‘There will be no more revolts. No more risings or troubles. The Carnutes are now once more bound by the Pax Romana. If there is even the slightest unrest here again, what happened to Guturvatus today will become the fate of each and every last member of the tribe. Am I understood?’
There was an uncomfortable shuffling of feet among the Carnutes and he straightened in his chair as he gestured to the centurion. ‘Get them out of my sight.’
The Carnutes were herded from the square and the general stood, stiffly. ‘The legions are hereby granted one full day’s furlough, following which we will be moving south at speed to bring the final few rebels in Gaul under control. Uxellodunon is our goal, men of Rome, and with its fall, we can tell the senate unequivocally that Gaul is ours.’
* * * * *
Varus swatted at an insistent bug that flitted around his chin and neck, watching the cavalry elements of the Tenth and Eleventh legions moving across the wide grassy valley of the tributary river which encircled Uxellodunon’s northern slopes, hooves pounding the earth. Perhaps eight hundred horsemen all told, their standards having been reported by the pickets.
The officers were out ahead, riding in a small knot with a guard of Aulus Ingenuus’ Praetorian cavalry and a few native scouts, and that vanguard even now climbed the lower slopes to Fabius’ camp, where he, Varus and Caninius waited. A thin grey blanket of cloud was rolling in from the south as if to meet the new arrivals, blotting out the blistering sun, but replacing it with an oppressive muggy heat that brought incessant clouds of insects from the low-lying land.
‘The rest will be following on, I presume. Two more legions, then,’ Fabius murmured. ‘Six might even be adequate to crush this place.’ He sounded unconvinced, and with good reason, Varus mused, given their attempts so far at an action against the fortified town. ‘I presume the others have been distributed in garrison,’ the legate went on.
‘Perhaps the general lacked confidence in our ability to put an end to this,’ Caninius sighed.
‘He’s right to do so,’ Fabius replied. ‘We are no closer to a conclusion now than we were two weeks ago.’
The three men stood silent for a moment, contemplating the truth of that. Though Fabius’ arrival had doubled the Roman numbers, the few minor forays they had attempted at the vertiginous slopes of Uxellodunon had been costly and abortive. Even with information beaten out of the captives, none of the intelligence had proved useful. Uxellodunon was sealed tighter than a Vestal’s underwear.
‘Quiet now,’ Varus hissed as the newly-arrived officers closed on them, reining in atop the slope, their horses sweating and whickering, tired from the long journey. Caesar sat astride his white mare, calm and collected as usual, lacking his ubiquitous red cloak and foregoing a cuirass in deference to the stifling heat, yet still resplendent in a linen arming jacket with white and gold pteruges. His aquiline face, however, looked slightly more drawn than usual, and his hair thinner and greyer – to Varus’ eye, anyway.
‘Gentlemen,’ the Proconsul of Gaul inclined his head as he came to a halt and the waiting legates and cavalry officer saluted in response. ‘You have found me another Alesia, it seems. This land appears to be full of them. And is this Lucterius a facsimile of Vercingetorix, too?’
The two legates exchanged a look and Caninius cleared his throat. ‘It would appear not, general. He and his fellow chieftain Drapes made a lunatic attempt to deprive us of a grain store and in the process both men were defeated. Drapes sits in chains in my camp and Lucterius took to his heels during the fight and fled, we know not where.’
The general frowned. ‘Into the oppidum, perhaps?’
‘We think not, Caesar,’ Varus replied. ‘It would have been exceedingly difficult for him to do so, and since that scuffle we’ve observed none of the posturing or cunning we had seen in our earlier days here. It seems that the tribes up there are somewhat directionless, sitting tight in their stronghold and holding us off, but nothing more, as though they are awaiting a command to do something.’
‘Good. Then we will take advantage of the situation. Wherever Lucterius has run, he cannot hide for long. Just as Commius’ days are numbered, so are this rebel chief’s. Particularly without his army. Walk me through the situation,’ he commanded, dismounting and squinting at the ‘upturned boat’ shape of Uxellodunon.
Fabius scratched his chin. ‘According to the prisoners, interrogated separately and therefore with no reason for doubt, the oppidum has adequate grain, veg and livestock to see them through until next spring, even with an army that size encamped there. It would seem that Lucterius had been intending to use Uxellodunon as some sort of gathering point or staging post. Starving them out will not be as easy as it would have been at Alesia.’
Caninius nodded. ‘The slopes are treacherous and well defended. There are strong walls even atop the cliff stretches, and the flatter slope to the northeast, which is the natural assault point for infantry, is extremely well protected by a high wall pocked with towers that create an impressive arrow-reach from the parapet. We’ve probed the defences from every angle, and there is no guaranteed method. Indeed, I see any approach as being extremely costly and with remarkably little chance of actual success.’
Caesar nodded, tapping his chin as he strolled back and forth, looking over their objective. ‘The water supply? If assault and starvat
ion are unfeasible, that is the only remaining option.’
Varus pointed down into the valley. ‘Apart from a narrow stretch to the northwest, the entire oppidum is surrounded by two of the tributaries of the Duranius River. Interrogation has also revealed the location of a fresh-water spring that grants them a permanent supply. The spring is close to the walls on that north-eastern slope, too close to assault without coming under concentrated attack from the walls. We looked at cutting the water supply, but it’s just as unfeasible.’
Caninius gestured around them. ‘And without the potential for assault or starvation, we have settled in for a long siege. Since Fabius arrived we have had adequate manpower to carry out siege works and, as you can see, have achieved a circumvallation almost comparable to your Alesia example, general.’
Caesar nodded absently, still squinting down into the valley beyond the Roman lines. ‘A cursory glance at the terrain tells me you did the right thing. Pointless wasting men on fruitless assaults, and we cannot overwhelm them by force. Only poor morale or starvation will win this for us. Could we get a traitor into the walls to burn their granaries? Are the artillery capable of launching fire missiles that far?’
‘Neither, I’m afraid, Caesar,’ replied Caninius. ‘Since the debacle that lost them both leaders, nothing has passed that wall in or out and it is carefully guarded. They withdrew any pickets on the slopes at that time and sealed themselves in. And it’s too far for the artillery.’
The general blinked a couple of times and peered off into the distance, towards the confluence where the fight in the marsh had taken place.
Marius' Mules VIII: Sons of Taranis Page 39
