He waved his hand dismissively at the map on the table.
“I can’t see how the Veneti can manage in these conditions. Their ships must be totally different to ours. I feel like the first Roman sailor to meet the Carthaginian navy.”
Caesar frowned.
“How could they be so different?”
Brutus shrugged unhappily.
“Well for a start, they have to be a lot stronger and heavier. Out there it feels like we’ve been thrown into the cloaca maxima on a leaf. We’ve little control over the ships and only stronger construction and a lot more weight would counteract that. Then they must have a much shallower hull. I don’t know whether you’ve seen the rocks around this coast, but there are shelves of them hidden just below the waves most of the time. We can’t even get within striking distance of the coast in most places.”
To illustrate his displeasure, he leaned across the table, gathered the small models of the fleet and put them in a pile in the mouth of the Loire on the map.
“That’s the operational ability of the fleet, general. We could use them as a bridge I suppose?”
“Are you telling me that the fleet is effectively useless?”
Brutus sighed again and rubbed his eyes wearily.
“Not exactly, but we are totally at the mercy of conditions beyond our control, Caesar. The weather… well frankly, the weather is shit, sir, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. If the wind would die down and the sun would come out, then the sea would calm and we might have a totally different situation. Once summer actually arrives, we might be able to do something, but until the weather changes, I wouldn’t give a bent denarius for the chances of any ship making it as far up the coast as the next navigable harbour.”
The general grumbled and rubbed his face irritably.
“The Veneti are a people that are heavily dependant upon the sea. I need to take the legions against them and put them in their place, but my ability to do that is greatly hampered without support from your ships. I have been working on my next move based on the principle that we would have naval support.”
Brutus shook his head, exasperated.
“I know, general. I had been labouring under the same illusion, but we simply could not have prepared for this. No Roman ship has ever tried to operate in these waters and we could not have known. All I can say is that as soon as the weather breaks, we can try again, but every time I send a ship out more than a few hundred yards I’m putting it in danger of sinking.”
Again the general grumbled before straightening.
“Very well. We’ll have to go back to relying on the legions. But I want you to stay here and keep working at this, Decimus. Practice. Try to change things. Try new ideas and non-traditional tactics. Quite simply, find a way to make this work and get the fleet involved as soon as possible.”
Brutus sighed.
“It raises logistical issues too, Caesar. If we suddenly find we have a nice day and can sail, how will we know where you are?”
Fronto leaned forward.
“Signals.”
“Sorry?”
The legate looked at the general and shrugged.
“The Veneti have retreated to their coastal fortresses, right? So that means the army is only going to be operating close to the coast anyway. We have no reason to go inland. So we set up a number of small scout units that stay on the cliffs and beaches near the army who can signal the fleet if Brutus arrives. They can pass messages back and forth and, well let’s face it, we’re going to need scouts on the coast keeping an eye on any moves the Veneti make at sea anyway.”
Caesar nodded, still clearly unsatisfied by the situation.
“I suppose that’s workable. Brutus? Keep working here and get this fleet operational. As soon as you can move, travel up the coast and watch for the signals.”
Brutus nodded and Fronto smiled at him.
“And for the love of Fortuna, get some sleep. You’re exhausted.”
Brutus smiled a weak smile back at him and gave a half-hearted nod.
“Well, Caesar” Fronto said, straightening, “it looks like the legions are going to have to march on the Veneti. Perhaps we should call a meeting of the legates, tribunes and senior centurions. And we need to get some scouts out there to locate the fortresses and check the terrain and situation for us.”
Caesar nodded and turned back to the door.
“Cicero? Gather the officers and prepare a meeting. Send me a message when they’re ready. We’ll meet in the command tent once it’s up.”
As the staff officer nodded and turned to leave, Caesar turned to Fronto.
“Marcus, I am tired and somewhat peeved and I may need someone to vent at. Come with me.”
Fronto nodded, rolling his eyes as the general turned away, making a silent motion to the praetorian trooper at the door, suggesting that the delivery of an amphora of wine to Caesar’s tent in the immediate future might be a good career move.
As they left the tent, Jupiter and Neptune met with a resounding crash and the downpour began in earnest.
Chapter 6
(Maius: The Veneti fortress of Corsicum on the west coast of Gaul)
Tetricus shook his head.
“It’s a joke. He can’t be serious?”
Fronto nodded glumly.
“He’s very serious. This whole situation has him wound tighter than a ballista. I honestly think that at this point he’d sacrifice a legion to get his hands on Corsicum.”
The tribune and artillery engineer continued to shake his head in disbelief. Just as they’d expected since they left Brutus and his fleet wallowing in both waves and misery, traipsing through the torrential rain and accompanied by regular storms, every settlement they reached had been abandoned and anything of use or value had been stripped and taken away. They had wandered a few miles inland, examining the situation, but had returned to the coast the next day and finally located, only ten miles or so from Brutus’ anchorage, the first major stronghold of the tribe.
He just couldn’t stop shaking his head.
The fortress of Corsicum stood on a huge rock that jutted out into the sea, like a lesser copy of one of the Pillars of Hercules. The only land approach was a causeway perhaps two hundred and fifty yards wide that stood almost at sea level and was swampy and treacherous. Above the approach loomed the heavy walls of the stronghold, the towers topped with Gauls watching intently as the might of Rome began an orderly descent of the opposite slope toward the causeway.
Fronto had tried to argue Caesar out of launching a full attack, given the obviously strong defensive capability of the Veneti. He had no doubt, given the mettle of the men in the four legions that accompanied them, that they would take the fortress at the end of the day, but the casualties could be appalling.
Tetricus swung his gaze out past the high cliffs of Corsicum to the roiling sea beyond, trying to think of a solution. The rocks out there formed a platform just beneath the waves that would make it impossible for the fleet to approach, even were they here.
He ran his hands through his hair, brushing the excess water from his head.
“At the very least we could have pounded the walls first?”
Fronto grumbled next to him.
“We’ve got limited time to get across that causeway before the tide cuts the place off. Caesar’s determined to take the fortress without having to camp and perform a protracted siege. I have to admit the idea of sitting here in the pouring rain for days battering at the place is not entirely appealing, but I don’t think throwing men away is a valid solution.”