"Prudence is for the general to decide, Senator," Caesar said irritably, still watching the ambling cavalry.
Valens cast an unseen glance at Porcius, who averted his eyes nervously. They both knew why the cavalry officer down by the river seemed to disobey his orders, and it was not due to any level of prudence. It was because the young man was part of Valens's conspiracy and had been told not to take the cavalry anywhere near the woods, in the event that the troopers, who were not privy to the conspiracy, might sight the mass of Belgic spearmen lurking within, and raise the alarm too early.
But it was not early. It was late, and Valens was growing anxious. The Belgae should have attacked by now. They should have attacked as the first legion of the column arrived on the field, just as the message he had given this morning to Argus, to deliver to Boduognatus, had advised. But what had happened to Argus? He should have returned by now. Legion after legion had arrived on the field without any sign of the Belgae attack, so Argus must not have gotten through. Either that, or Boduognatus had betrayed him. If the attack never came it would not take Caesar long to figure out who had arranged for the errant messages to be delivered to Labienus in Caesar's name. It would not take him long to figure out that the officer now leading the forward deployed cavalry was a new arrival from Rome, and one of Valens's own men.
Valens smiled, remaining outwardly calm as he inwardly cursed the Belgic chieftain. Even now, were he to attack, the legions would be taken by surprise. The Ninth and Tenth Legions, on the left, had only just arrived on the field, but the other four legions in the center and on the right, had now been deployed in battle line for many hours. The inactivity across the river had made them lackadaisical and careless. They now lounged on the grassy slope, their pila and shields stacked by squad as they chewed on grass, and rested after the day's march. They clearly did not expect an attack today, some even breaking from the ranks to venture down to the river for a cool drink. Half of the soldiers of each legion were consumed with building the camp, and had returned their large oval shields to the leather covers in the event of an afternoon shower. They unloaded the few pack mules that had marched with them, dug ditches, and planted stakes in preparation for building the palisade walls once the main impedimenta arrived, with its hundreds of carts and thousands of pack animals. Several dozen legionaries had ventured with axes into the nearby thickets to find some fair trees to fell. They laughed and joked as they worked, but none seemed in the least bit wary of an attack.
Valens watched the back of Caesar's head as the proconsul studied the woods on the other side of the river. Did he suspect anything? Would the attack even come? If it did not come, there were other plans. Valens's eyes drifted to the mounted Gallic cavalry that served as Caesar's bodyguard. Three of the bearded warriors in the front rank met his eyes in acknowledgement of the pact they had made with him. They were his contingency. They were to wait for the battle to be engaged, and the legions near the breaking point. When that time came, the three brutes were to bury their longswords in Caesar's back. If for some reason the battle did not go as Valens had planned, they were to wait for his signal, and then send the proconsul to the afterlife. Either way, Caesar would die, and Rome set back on her intended path. Certainly, Valens would prefer it if that arrogant ass of a proconsul were to die on the battlefield, the last vision of his dying eyes that of the flight of his defeated troops – the same troops he had exalted in his letters to the senate as the best ever fielded by Rome. It made Valens laugh inside to think of these bumbling incompetents compared to the great legions of Sertorius. Once he was in command, perhaps a taste of decimation would make them smarter. Yes, that was it. He would have to decimate at least one legion to send a clear message to them all, that the liberties they took under their previous general would no longer be tolerated.
"Where in Jupiter's name is he taking them now?" Caesar exclaimed.
Valens pulled himself back to the present to see that Caesar was referring to the cavalry officer, who had now wheeled his entire mounted force away from the river, and was leading them with all speed toward the rear. The horsemen rode between the files of the formed legions, their officer entirely ignoring the inquiries of the puzzled legates. Within moments, the entire squadron had disappeared back up the road amidst the baggage.
Caesar audibly gasped in disbelief. The Roman cavalry had been withdrawn to a place where they could not support the legions, should the enemy cavalry show itself again.
While Caesar cursed, Valens inwardly smiled. He exchanged a subversive glance with Porcius, for both men knew exactly what was happening. At long last, it was happening just as Valens had planned. The cavalry officer had been given explicit orders to remove the cavalry from the field at the first sign of the enemy attack. While Valens was counting on the legions to be terribly handled on this day, he did not wish for the cavalry to suffer. For he would need the cavalry, once he was in command of the army.
What happened next, he had fully expected to happen.
"Mother of Remus!" One of Caesar's adjutants exclaimed, voicing what every legionary in the ranks was thinking, as they all stared open-mouthed at the terrifying sight across the river. From right to left, stretching in one continuous line as far as visibility would allow, a line of blue-painted, spear-wielding, howling warriors had emerged from the tree-line. Their ranks were deep, and their war cry menacing. It was the cry of tens of thousands of blood-thirsty Belgae, and when combined it reached a crescendo that was inhuman and unnatural. Like a single organism, the line of blue surged forward across the open space, consuming the green plain, reaching the river's edge within moments. On the left, the newly arrived Ninth and Tenth Legions were closest to the charging mass. They would be first struck by the indomitable wave of spears.
Valens watched Caesar, fully expecting panic to overtake him. But, to Valens's surprise, after a moment of uncertainty, in which Caesar's face registered shock, anger, and disbelief, all at once, the proconsul suddenly sprang to life. Caesar walked briskly to his mount, snatching his crimson-plumed helmet from the waiting staff officer.
"Unfurl the red banner!" He commanded from the saddle, as he tied the straps beneath his chin. "Recall the work details. Get all legions formed and under arms!"
Before Caesar spurred his mount, Valens stopped him with a feigned look of concern. "But where are you going, Caesar? These men need you here?"
Could it be this easy? Valens thought to himself. Is this populares bastard so scared that he is already fleeing the field?
Caesar seemed to detect the pageantry in Valens's question and replied curtly, "The legions on the left will be the first to feel the enemy's charge. With Labienus off who knows where, I must go and direct their battle. You and Porcius may remain here if you wish."
Without another word, Caesar kicked his mount forward, and thundered off, his staff following close behind him.
A moment later, the score of Gallic bodyguard followed, too, the three conspirators among them casting a questioning glance in Valens's direction before charging off with their comrades.
"What do we do, Valens?" Porcius said nervously.
"We keep our heads, damn you! Stay here. When the legions on the left break, and they will, go to the legates of the other legions and tell them Caesar is dead. Tell them General Valens orders them to conduct an orderly retreat back up the road."