The enemy crew were laughing at them, Brutus realised, as the Gauls raised their sail and began to gather the wind to move away. Silently, he willed the captain of the Celerimus to pull the disaster around and, as he watched, the quinquereme changed angle and tried to face the enemy ship long enough to drop the corvus, which was already manned. There was, he realised, no chance of this happening successfully. The oarsmen had begun to row, trying to manoeuvre the heavy Roman vessel, but it just took too long to pick up speed in the circumstances, while the swift Veneti ship that had been their target began to open the distance between them, disappearing toward the land with a bulging sail and laughing crew.
Brutus felt the pain behind his eyes coming back and pinched the bridge of his nose again.
“Signal the fleet to break off.”
He opened his eyes again, already knowing what he was going to see and dreading it.
Sure enough, two other Roman vessels had closed on the enemy, one on the opposite flank and one close by in the centre of the formation. As they lunged forward, trying to ram and with the corvus swinging and ready to drop, the Veneti ships shifted their sails, caught the wind, and swiftly moved out of the way.
There was no trap. Quite simply, the Veneti had known from the start that they were safe from the Roman fleet, but were testing not only the tactics of their hated oppressors, but also their abilities. The answer was almost embarrassing. Without something new, nothing in the arsenal of Roman naval experience was going to be able to make a dent on the Veneti fleet. The Gauls were toying with them, batting them on the nose and then dancing out of reach.
He turned to catch the accusing glare of the trierarch.
“Yes, I know. Signal the fleet to follow them. When they put to shore, we need to find a useable harbour somewhere nearby and keep a squadron at a time out there, making sure the Veneti stay still. As soon as they’re ashore and we’ve got them under surveillance, I’m heading back to the general to report.”
The captain nodded quietly and Brutus ground his teeth. Caesar was unlikely to be sympathetic.
Brutus sighed as the general let his glare slip slowly away. Caesar had said nothing, but his expression had said more than the harshest words.
“Very well… We are in the same position as we were before we marched on Corsicum. The only advantages we have this time are that we know what their tactics are likely to be and the fleet is there and will be able to at least try and hold the enemy fleet in.
“Weather allowing” Brutus added quietly, unwilling to raise his eyes to meet the general’s sharp glance.
“Solutions, gentlemen. We now know the situation of this next fortress. It is similar to the last, but with narrower coves opening to the sea on either side of the headland. Is there some way we can speed up the whole procedure and not be at the mercy of nature and her damn tides?”
Tetricus cleared his throat next to Fronto.
“We can stop the legions out of sight of the fortress, general; assemble as much of the artillery as possible so that it will require considerably less time to put them in position and find the range. If we then send scouts ahead as we start to move, they can locate a good place for an artillery platform and direct the engineers there. If we do it right, we can have the artillery pounding the enemy in a fraction of the normal time. The surprise could give us an edge and buy us time.”
The general nodded slowly and appreciatively.
“Surprise is clearly important. If they have too much time to plan, we could end up with a repeat of Corsicum, or worse. We shall keep the legions from moving into sight until we are ready. Let’s keep them guessing and off guard. What else?”
Balbus frowned.
“Tetricus? Can you split your fire when you’re set up and drop some of your shots into the centre of the fortress?”
“I can, but won’t it be a waste of shots we could be directing against the walls?”
Balbus smiled and scratched his bald head.
“If we’re trying to prevent them from having too much time and leisure to plan, the confusion created by being under random fire across the place could be useful.”
Caesar nodded again.
“Do it. Next?”
“Dams.”
The general turned his head to the voice off in the recess of the command tent. Mamurra, the engineer who had joined the staff in the spring, stepped into the circle of light.
“We know how deep the tide comes in over these causeways. It’s not deep; just enough to prevent any kind of land attack. If, as you say, the apertures to the sea to either side are relatively narrow, we can dam them enough to hold back the tide and that would give you the freedom to work your attack any way you wish.”
Caesar frowned and leaned forward across the table, the stylus in his hand tapping on the surface.
“Wouldn’t that take a long time?”
Mamurra shook his head.
“Not with, what, four legions available to us. Given complete control, along with a few good engineers and perhaps a legion of men, I can have serviceable dams in position in an hour or two. It’ll take longer than that to flatten the walls, so we should have the time.”
Caesar frowned at the engineer for a while and then nodded and faced the others again.
“Surprise, artillery prepared in advance, a fleet anchored in the bay beyond, the sea held back with dams. Anything else we can do?”
There was an uncomfortable silence and, after a pause, the general smiled and sat back.
“Then at least it’s an improvement on the last attack. We’ll move out in the morning. Have the word given to the officers. The eighth, ninth and tenth cohorts from each legion are hereby assigned to Mamurra to construct his dams. They can separate out now, excused all other duties, and start quarrying the stone and loading it into carts to save time when we arrive.”
“General?”
Caesar turned again to see the interim camp prefect wearing a quizzical expression. Fronto glowered at the Illyrian officer. The man had kept carefully quiet and out of Fronto’s way since the day they had spoken in Fronto’s own house, which was just as well, since the mere sight of him was enough to make the legate want to break the man’s nose.
“Yes?” Caesar said quietly.
“General, the tenth cohort is currently assigned to camp construction, maintenance and deconstruction. How will I take down the camp and prepare to move?”
Caesar rolled his eyes.
“Good grief, man. The assignments to camp are all transitory. Any cohort can do the job. You have the authority; just draw some other men and get the job done.”
The man shrank back out of sight and Fronto smiled menacingly to himself as the general stood and stretched.
“Then everything is settled. Let’s get prepared and put and end to this uprising.”
“Respectfully, legate, I’m going to have to request that you get your arse to the back and take up the traditional role of looking good and urging the men on.”
Fronto blinked at Carbo.
“Sod off.”
“Now, now, sir. I know that Priscus let you charge into the enemy next to him, and I’m slighting neither your ability nor your bravery, but it’s my job to lead these buggers into a fight, and not yours.”
“Fine. Your request has been duly noted and declined. Care to disobey your commanding officer?”
The pink faced centurion next him smiled and winked.
“Then don’t get in the way, eh, sir?”
Fronto opened his mouth to bark a sharp reply, but the primus pilus turned his head away and shouted across to the signifer some twenty yards away.