The army, five legions strong, had pushed north after the Gallic assembly, marching on the Menapii in the same fashion as they had against the Nervii, swiftly, but with considerably less success. While surprise and the early season had been on their side against that other tribe, it was now high spring and word seemed to have leaked out in advance, so that the forces of Rome met nothing throughout Menapii territory but empty buildings and deserted towns. Finally, this afternoon, they had reached the first of the wide, marshy delta areas. So far, the ground had been reasonably solid, though with a sogginess that would see foot-rot rife within the army. This wide stretch of water with its islands and reed beds marked the beginning of the Menapii’s place of refuge. From here to the north, scouts had confirmed over the past few years that at least fifty miles of territory would yield nothing other than wide channels, swampy areas, reed beds, treacherous sucking muck, fens and cold, wet, rotting death.
Priscus grumbled and Antonius smiled mirthlessly at him before skipping out another flat stone towards the nearest of the islands.
‘I think I saw something move. Something glinted in the sun.’
‘Probably one of the occupants from this town.’
A tell-tale noise attracted their attention and the two officers turned to see Caesar striding across the squelching grass towards them, half a dozen of the more senior men behind him.
‘How long would it take to bring the fleet from Gesoriacum, Brutus?’ the general enquired, coming to a halt by the water, and nodding a greeting to the others.
‘Five or six days at the very least, General, and that’s using fast couriers and relying on the fleet being ready to sail, as well as conditions being right and the captains and crews willing to sail every hour the Gods give them. But it’s a moot point. Even with the shallow draught of most of our vessels, they’re too wide, deep and cumbersome to risk in most of these conditions. The locals don’t take anything bigger than a four-man trader anywhere in this delta.’
‘The main channel looks wide and deep,’ Caesar noted with a frown.
‘That it is, sir, but that would only give you access to the centre of the main channels, and the ships cannot reach the shore in the delta to embark men; only out at the coast or inland some thirty miles. Anywhere else and they’ll be mired or holed. It would be endless trouble, and would only give us access to the larger islands at the centre, not the endless swamps beyond.’
‘What about using the local vessels?’ Gaius Fabius, legate of the Eighth, asked, scratching his chin.
‘All gone, like the people,’ Priscus cut in. ‘They took them to their refuges with them. Besides, sending a legion against one of these island havens four men at a time would take forever and put the army at too much risk from missiles. Not feasible even if it were possible. It’s difficulties like these that’s kept the Menapii out of our reach for years.’
‘No longer,’ Caesar said with a fierce glare. ‘They ally with Ambiorix and defy us. They will share the fate of the Nervii.’
‘But how?’ Antonius sighed. ‘Without ships or boats.’
The general rubbed his forehead and turned to the cadre of officers behind him. ‘Mamurra? Causeways: are they feasible?’
The engineer stepped forward for a better look, nodding to himself.
‘Not an easy job, General. There’s no local source for quarrying, so it’ll have to be brought a good distance. We could take a lot of the weight of the men with timber lashed together, mind. If we did that, we’d cut down on the stone needed, and they could be dismantled quickly and moved to the next causeway. It’s feasible, but difficult.’
Caesar nodded. ‘Then that is the way we shall proceed. Each of the islands we can see from here will play host to whole settlements of Menapii. We have five legions. Have one legion assigned to each of three of the larger islands and begin the causeways. The other two will work on supplying the resources. We begin today.’
Priscus pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. ‘General, there are literally thousands of islands in this dreadful place. If we have to build a causeway to each, we’ll be here for years.’
‘You are not thinking it through, Priscus,’ the general smiled. ‘Watch the local Menapii tribes fall to our swords within sight of the others and imagine the word spreading among their people. Once these islands have fallen, we will move upriver to where we can cross and then begin to assault the islands on the far side in the same manner. I anticipate a matter of weeks at most before the Menapii come to us on their knees begging for clemency.’
‘I hope you’re right, General,’ Priscus sighed. ‘I really do’.
* * * * *
Lucius Vorenus, second most senior centurion of the Eleventh legion, gave a legionary a sound ‘ding’ around the side of the helmet with his vine staff. The man spun in shock.
‘You drop another nail in the water and I will use the few we have left to nail you to a fucking cross. Do you understand?’
The legionary recoiled with a muttered apology. Vorenus shook his head and left the man — who’d dropped six into the water even as he watched — striding to the head of the causeway. There, Titus Pullo, the legion’s Primus Pilus, stood, overseeing the work with the expression of a man who is less than impressed with his lot, but is damn well not going to let it interfere with his duty. Here, men were busy tipping endless buckets of earth into the water, within the edges of the wooden frame they had constructed and ahead to form the submerged bank upon which it was built. Pullo was looking back along the six hundred paces of four-man-wide causeway, where the Eleventh and the Thirteenth constantly ferried goods to the front to advance the ramp. Two days. It had taken two days for ten thousand men to move six hundred paces.
And since dawn this morning, the missiles had started coming. The Menapii on the island apparently included some fairly competent slingers and archers. The causeway was now only perhaps fifty paces from the island, and only ten from the reeds that marked the shallow water. Consequently, half a century of men were now standing in the knee deep torrent at the business end of the causeway, creating a shieldwall — almost a half-testudo, in fact — to protect the workers from the attacks. Despite the efficiency of all involved — and both Pullo and Vorenus had to concede that their men and those of the Thirteenth had excelled beyond all expectations in the awful task and horrible conditions — they had lost more than a score of men to missiles already.
‘How long, sir?’ Vorenus queried
‘At this rate another three or four hours.’
‘By then it’ll be starting to get dark. We’ll have to protect the bloody ramp ‘til morning, and then launch the assault. Can’t do it in the dark.’
Pullo nodded his agreement. He was itching to get stuck into the cowardly Menapii, but the idea of running through this treacherous terrain in pitch black under attack by arrows didn’t bear thinking about. But then they’d already lost so many men to stray hits, and would lose a number more during the night protecting the finished causeway.
‘Tell me you’re not thinking what I’m thinking, sir,’ Vorenus smiled wickedly.
‘Legatus Cicero was quite plain. Finish the causeway. Let him examine it and the island and decide on the plan of action, consult with Legatus Roscius, and then give the order. Then we take the Menapii.’
‘So you’re not thinking what I’m thinking?’ grinned Vorenus.
‘Of course I am. I’m just weighing it up against the possibility of being broken for disobeying orders.’
‘We’ve both served long enough, sir, to know that that only happens when you lose. If you succeed, no one will break you.’
Pullo took a deep breath and craned his neck to look over the shield wall. An arrow whicked past him for his efforts, plunging into the water nearby.
‘Get those bloody shields higher. I know your arms are tiring, but men are relying on you.’