Marius' Mules VII: The Great Revolt (40 page)

By the time he was clambering up onto the earth bank and taking his place close to both Carbo and Atenos on the parapet, the enemy were closing, the swarm having reached the ground, moving like a plague across the fields, a flood of dark colours amid the gold and green of the rich lands.

‘Steady lads. There’s a lot of them, but they’ve run a mile or more, they’re poorly-equipped and undisciplined, and we have the ramparts.’

Affirmative noises spread along the parapet and Fronto noted with pride a number of the wounded with one good arm or dragging a bad leg making their way to the walls, grappling with their kit. Another thought occurred to him. The gates were weak points - the only points on the perimeter not protected by the double ditch. Things would be easier if they did not have to concentrate on four such positions.

‘Carbo? Get some men to the north and south gates and have them blocked up tight. Then double the men at the east and west ones. But before you do, get someone on a horse and riding for Caesar to tell him what’s happening. I don’t know where they’ll be, but if a rider follows the Bibracte route from here, he’ll find the general somewhere in the first fifteen miles, I reckon. Tell him to get his men back here sharpish if he still wants a camp to sleep in.’

Carbo nodded and began relaying orders as Fronto watched the mass of Arverni and their allies racing for the walls. They were closing rapidly, the cavalry out front, peeling off to move around the camp. That rider would have to get going post-haste, else he would be trapped in the camp. He would have to trust to the ever-competent Carbo for that. Fronto had his own troubles to attend to.

‘Here we go,’ he shouted, watching the mass of men racing towards the ditches. Here and there an archer would pause to release an arrow, though they were too distant yet to present a danger.

And then something unexpected happened. The running warriors, charging at walls, heedless of the ditches, lilia pits and artillery aimed at them, pulled up suddenly in a line and dropped to a knee behind their shields in a very Roman-looking formation as a wave of archers, bows already nocked and half-drawn, arrived behind them and lifted and loosed their missiles in a swift, very haphazard moment before dropping back, the warriors rising once more and running again.

Fronto ducked the arrows that sheeted across the open ground at the ramparts. The manoeuvre had been too hurried and careless to aim well, but the man behind this attack had sacrificed accuracy for speed and volume, as well as surprise - and he’d made the right choice. Of the thousand or so arrows loosed, less than a hundred were on target, but that was enough. Men all along the parapet shrieked and vanished backwards or grunted at a glancing blow, an impaled foot or a punctured shield pinned to their arm. The damage was intense.

Of course the legionaries were prepared now, and subsequent missile attacks would have much less effect, but the damage was already done. As always, while Fronto watched the huge force of Gauls crossing the ditches, falling foul of the lilia with broken, impaled and shredded legs, thrown back by the punch of scorpion bolts and occasional arrows and slingshots, he cast up a brief but heartfelt prayer to Fortuna that his young wife and two sons would see him again. That Lucilia would not one day have cause to travel to Gergovia to gaze down at a rough battlefield memorial marker… a sword or personal effect hanging on a simple stake marked with his name.

Next to him, Atenos gave the order to release pila, and a thousand javelins rose slightly and fell into the mass of bodies struggling across the ditches. The effect was slaughter, and yet the kills made barely a dent on the force attacking the camp.

This is going to be evil to hold
, Fronto thought to himself, willing Caesar to hurry.
We can do it, but not for too long.

The first man reached the rampart, scrambling up the earth bank and trying to bring a spear up to jab at Fronto, but the legate simply batted the shaft aside and drove down with his blade, slamming it into the man’s neck and wrenching it back out to the side in a welter of blood.

Next to him, Fronto saw Atenos, shieldless, rip a spear from his assailant’s hand and turn it back on him, jabbing him in the face while bellowing something incomprehensible in his native Gallic tongue. Funny how he was standing beside the freest of Gauls fighting off other Gauls who believed that driving out Rome made them free.

Sunset
, he reckoned.
We can hold ‘til sunset. After that…

* * * * *

Cavarinos regarded the oppidum, a little over a mile to the south, its bulk looming oppressively in the half-light. The sun had vanished below the horizon, but still played on the very crest of Gergovia, illuminating roofs and towers. His eyes roved east and played across the scene nearby. No Roman or Gaul was paying the slightest attention to him or the three Aedui who rode with him, for a struggle was underway for a large Roman camp that lay halfway between the mountain and the river. The Romans were in trouble, but they were clearly holding their own, despite the horribly uneven numbers on the opposing sides.

All that would change, of course. The four fleeing riders had seen Caesar’s force several times over the last few hours. They must have received urgent word of trouble to be so quick on their return, for they were almost keeping pace with the desperate riders. Of course, the Romans could just march in a straight line, while Cavarinos, despite having fled with haste, had been forced to widely circle the Roman legions before heading back south to the oppidum.

Those legions themselves were perhaps three hours away still, but Caesar was only half an hour distant, travelling ahead with his enormous cavalry contingent, now bolstered by the Aedui who had so recently been riding to aid Vercingetorix… curse Litavicus and his involved trickery!

The attack on the large camp was doomed as soon as Caesar put in an appearance, but it would at least keep the Romans busy and tired in the meantime. Cavarinos sighed and rode wearily up the slope toward the oppidum gate, where he was sure someone would be able to direct him to the quarters of the Arvernian king.

Time to sort a few things out, including the danger of putting their trust in this young headstrong Aeduan, who was perhaps too clever for his own good. And time to decide what to do with this tablet that was more of a curse to carry than anything else.

* * * * *

Gnaeus Vinicius Priscus leaned on the windowsill of the house in which he, Brutus and Aristius had spent the past two nights. The oppidum of Rodonna was the southernmost of Aedui strongholds, on the very edge of Arverni territory. It had been four days since Priscus had finally located Brutus and the Narbonensis garrison, and he had immediately ordered the men directly to Gergovia, knowing that they were strong enough to move through the land unopposed under the command of their veteran centurions. The three officers, however, had decided to ride out ahead for Caesar’s army and inform them of the relief force’s approach. While two legions and a garrison could safely consider crossing Arverni lands, three men on horseback were less sure, and so they had ridden north for the security of Aedui territory, where they could turn west and ride for Gergovia among their allies.

A stop overnight at Rodonna had been a welcome proposition after so long travelling in the open, and the oppidum, which nestled on a low hill in a bend in the Liger river that protected it on three sides, was comfortable, even for a Roman. A site of Gallo-Roman trade for years, it had most of the amenities they required, and even access to good wine. The occupants had a good command of Latin, and there were rarely less than twenty Romans in the place, loading ships on the river or dealing with trade convoys.

It had been perfect.

Apart from the reception they had received.

The merchants had sheltered in Rodonna from the violence that had erupted all across Aedui lands. Word was that the leaders of Bibracte had thrown off their connection with Rome and sided with the rebels. A huge cavalry force meant for Caesar had changed sides and made for Gergovia. The entire tribe’s territory was in a state of upheaval that resembled the brutal civil war Priscus remembered so well a couple of decades earlier. The merchants said that some oppida and cities and towns continued to hold to their oath with Rome - mainly the ones grown fat from Roman trade. Others had gone over to the rebels and had massacred any Roman they could find, plundering the goods of civilian merchants and soldiers alike. And the situation changed almost hourly, with some towns flipping back and forth in their allegiance with eye-blurring rapidity.

Plainly, it was not safe to set foot out in the countryside. It seemed, in fact, that Aedui land had suddenly become considerably more dangerous than Arverni territory, most of which was now burned and depopulated anyway.

Consequently, the three officers had decided to stay the one night and then head back south and rejoin the forces marching for Gergovia.

But then trouble had come to Rodonna.

Realistically, of course, they had to be grateful that the leaders of this oppidum had remained staunchly in favour of Rome, offering succour to the desperate local Roman merchants. But with the morning sun had come the enemy, trapping the officers here.

The Aedui rebels - a force of perhaps five hundred horse and foot under a big thug who had rather pretentiously named himself Brennus - had settled outside the oppidum’s walls. Before anyone could arrange an evacuation, Aedui archers had moved along the opposite banks with jars of pitch and fire arrows and had set the ships on the river alight, removing all hope for the trapped Romans.

‘Do we go?’

‘Someone has to parlay,’ Brutus shrugged.

‘It might end better if that someone was an Aedui noble, though,’ Priscus replied. ‘One of the leaders of Rodonna, say?’

‘Apparently the demand was aimed at the Romans here, though,’ Aristius sighed.

‘It should be you, then’ Priscus replied casually.

Aristius blinked in surprise. ‘Me? I’m the lowest ranking officer here. I’m a foot soldier compared to you two, sirs.’

‘You’re able and clever. But most importantly here, you’re an unknown. The men outside are Aedui. They may well have heard of me. Hell, I’ve been drunk in taverns in their capital more than once. And Brutus is a name known from Spain to Judea. If Brutus or I reveal ourselves we might well become sought-after bargaining chips. Or at least our
heads
might. They might burn the whole town just to get to us. You, on the other hand, are unknown enough that you might be able to reason with them.’

Aristius sighed. ‘But we will not
submit
to them, I presume?’

‘Shit, no. I know what’ll happen if we do.’

‘Come on, then,’ the young tribune straightened, making for the door and jamming his helmet on his head. The three men stepped out of the comfortable lodgings, donated to them by an Aeduan merchant of means, and onto the street that curved southeast to the rampart which sealed off the promontory, surrounded by a deep trench. The gates were firmly closed and the parapet lined by warriors from the oppidum, torches burning at intervals, as well as buckets of water, in the event that those rebel fire arrows be turned from the ships upon the township itself.

The enemy were gathered in small camps across the isthmus, just out of bow range, one group of half a dozen richly-dressed noblemen standing opposite the gate, bedecked in stolen Roman gear and looking smug.

The twenty or so Roman merchants were gathered in the square inside the gate, not permitted by the Aedui to stand atop the walls, their beasts of burden gathered nearby for access, should they need them. They broke into a tumult of questions and demands as the three officers appeared, traipsing down the street toward the gate.

‘We’ll stay out of sight,’ Brutus said quietly, ignoring the civilians entirely.

‘Try not to get stuck with arrows,’ added Priscus helpfully.

Aristius stepped up to the top of the bank and looked down at the enemy on the far side of the wide ditch.

‘I am Marcus Aristius. Tribune of the…’ he paused. He belonged to no legion, and mention of the Narbonensis garrison might not be politic right now. ‘Tribune in the army of the proconsul Gaius Julius Caesar. By what right do you bring threats to the city of Rodonna, its people, and the peaceful merchants of the republic who trade here?’

Priscus and Brutus nodded at one another approvingly.

A voice issued out from below and beyond the walls, spitting each word as though the use of Latin befouled his tongue. ‘In respect of the long decades of peace between your people and mine, Roman, I am willing to grant you safe passage out of Aedui lands. You may leave Rodonna and ride unmolested until you find friends. But if you raise a hand or a blade against our people, we will cut you all down. This offer is made only this once, and to all Romans in the city, be they soldiers like you, or fat merchants like the ones who cower. I will have your answer now.’

Aristius took a step back and peered down at the others. Priscus and Brutus shared a look and both shook their heads. ‘I don’t care how trustworthy he sounds and how noble his offers,’ Priscus announced quietly, ‘the moment anyone steps out of sight of these walls, they’re going to have their heads struck from their shoulders, scooped out and used as a vase. Do you hear that twang in his voice? That’s the strain of keeping up a lie. To leave here is suicide.’

‘But he promised,’ one of the merchants butted in, hopefully.

Brutus flashed a look at the man. ‘I heard no promise. Just an offer.’

Above them, Aristius cleared his throat. ‘I heard only an offer, Aeduan. No
promise
of safety for the merchants here.’

The Aeduan leader snorted and spat. ‘I give you my oath.’

‘On what?’

‘On whatever you like,’ snapped the man. Again, Priscus and Brutus shared that look. ‘He just got a little bit more strained. He’s had to lie about an oath and that annoys him.’

‘But the Aedui always
stand by
their oaths!’ one of the merchants frowned.