The thug’s gaze followed the arc of the weapon and stared mystified at the ripples in the unpleasant water. He only began to recover his wits as Varus hit him in the chest with his shoulder, knocking him back against the bole of a tree that rose from the gurgling water, driving the breath from him. The cavalry commander gave his stocky opponent no chance to recover, bringing down the sphere at the base of his sword hilt on the big man’s wrist with a hard crack.
He heard more than one bone shatter and the thug let out a pained cry as his sword fell away into the water.
Varus was irritated now. His sword came up horizontally, the blade just beneath the man’s chin, the keen edge resting on the man’s throat apple.
‘Don’t nod unless you want to die. And swallowing’s probably inadvisable, too.’ He noted the man’s widening eyes and grinned. ‘Ah good. You speak Latin. That’ll make things easier. Here’s how things stand.’
He took a breath and lifted the blade’s edge a finger’s breadth so that it rested on the flesh below his chin and not on his neck, allowing him to speak without injury. ‘Your little resupply mission has failed completely. If you listen carefully you will now note that nearly all the voices you hear are Roman, not your own people. Your own people are mostly under the surface of the water now, mouldering. You, however, appear to be a nobleman. I will give you my word that if you answer all my questions truthfully, you will be ransomed back to your tribe for an appropriate figure. Do you understand?’
The man whispered ‘yes,’ trying not to move enough to draw blood on the blade beneath his chin.
’Good. How many men are there in this column?’
‘Just over two hundred.’
‘All your men?’
‘No. Mostly Cadurci under that traitor Lucterius!’
Varus pursed his lips. The tone of his voice made it fairly obvious that Lucterius had been the man who’d pushed him and run off. Inwardly, Varus cursed. Lucterius was, seemingly, the man behind all this. If only he’d got the bastard. Still, perhaps one of the others had.
‘Where are the supplies from?’
The man’s eyes darted left and right but, resigned, he sighed. ‘The river bends four times about six miles away. There is a fortified farmstead there. It was a store house.’
‘And if we go there now, what will we find?’
The man remained nervously silent.
‘Because of you I’ve lost an expensive dagger. If you don’t answer my question, I will carve its weight out of your stinking hide. Talk to me.’
The man growled. ‘Another three hundred men under Drapes. Mostly his Senones.’
Varus nodded his satisfaction. The other major leader of this army, then. Even if they’d lost Lucterius, perhaps they could destroy this small force and capture Drapes. He grinned. It had turned out to be a surprisingly good morning so far. He wondered whether Caninius had emerged from his tent yet. A figure barrelled out of the mist, clutching an arm across his front. A legionary, sword in hand but shield missing, blood trickling down that limb. It took him a moment to realise that it was the young lad he’d been talking to at the start of all this. He grinned, genuinely pleased to see the fellow. Other legionaries were coming up behind him. It seemed the fight was over.
‘Here you go, lad. This noble’s yours to ransom. I suggest you pluck him of valuables before you send him to the stockade.’ He then looked across at the next figures. ‘There’s no more this way. Get word to Legate Caninius. Tell him we need to send a cohort upriver and that I’ll attend him when I’ve gathered my cavalry. We’ll find a fortified farm with a few hundred Gauls and perhaps some more supplies.’
The soldiers saluted and turned, running off. Varus looked at the legionary. ‘You alright dealing with him?’
The young man looked the stocky Gaul up and down and with virtually no warning, smashed him in the temple with the hilt of his gladius. Varus only just managed to pull his blade away in time and prevent the slicing open of the noble’s throat as he slid unconscious to the murk below. The legionary sheathed his sword and reached down, stopping the Gaul from being submerged with his good arm before hauling him up and, with a little difficulty, throwing him over his shoulder. He grinned.
‘I’ll manage, sir.’
Varus laughed and saluted the young legionary as he staggered away with one broken arm and a stocky prize over his shoulder. The cavalry commander dipped his blade in the water and then wiped it on his tunic before sheathing it.
Now to run off and find his horsemen. There was a small force of Germanic riders attached to his wing who had formerly been part of Caesar’s dreaded German horse. Only fifty or so of them, but the evil bastards spent every day around the corrals with their horses ready for action, simply awaiting the opportunity to cause mayhem. It would take time for Caninius to get his men moving, and for Varus to have a cavalry ala ready to join them, but he didn’t want word of this reaching the farmstead and the Senones there running away with all the food. They needed to be kept busy until the main Roman force could get there. He pictured their leader’s face when he heard he was slipping the leash with free rein to cause bloodshed.
Varus shuddered.
* * * * *
Lucterius staggered past a low hedge and down to the river bank. He was furious. Never in all his years of fighting had he encountered such incompetence. Drapes had insisted that he bring the squat moron Tarbos with him back to the oppidum – yet again, mistrust leading to dangerous incompetence. Lucterius had argued, but the fact remained that Tarbos was coming with him whether he wanted the man or not and it wasn’t worth arguing a lost cause.
They had made their slow and irritating way back in his unbearable company, arriving back at the plain below Uxellodunon just before dawn. The mist would allow them to get back even though the darkness had now passed.
And then it had happened. As before, Tarbos had been so close to Lucterius that anyone would think they were lovers. And the stunted turd had dropped his sack of salted meat into the water. Even as Lucterius had paused and listened for a moment to make sure they hadn’t been discovered through such idiocy, the moron had actually sworn out loud. Lucterius had hit him, hard, with the flat of his sword, but the damage had been done. Moments later a Roman ran into the mist, followed by another, and then all Hades broke loose.
It had been surprisingly satisfying to throw Tarbos at the Roman – the only bright side to this debacle. Then he had run. And not towards the oppidum. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew that now the alarm had gone up the Romans would be swarming and the oppidum would be closely watched. And so, despite everything, he was running on his own. Separated from his army by the might of Rome and the idiocy of his peers.
There was only one hope, now. He had to find a relief force and break the Roman siege before they managed to get their own reinforcements from somewhere. If he could break the siege, he could still take the army south.
And he had one last gambit to make. Because there was only one tribe left in this part of Gaul that could provide the manpower to fight a legion. Caesar had left the Arverni unpunished after Alesia, presumably to make them unpopular with the other tribes. But that meant the Arverni could still field an army, unlike most survivors of Alesia. And the Arverni were like brothers to the Cadurci, living beside them and sharing a history and many combined bloodlines. He hadn’t wanted to approach them until he had Vercingetorix free again, but this mess had changed that.
Hardening himself as to the fate of Drapes and the others, Lucterius kept his head down and followed the line of the river east, making for Nemossos and the home of the highest ranking Arverni left their freedom.
The Arverni would turn the tide.
* * * * *
Varus drummed his horse’s flanks, driving it up the slope. Behind him came Caninius and then scouts, the tribunes of the Fifth and the mounted musician, in case orders needed to be relayed urgently. Since they had marched out of camp at the fastest sensible pace, unencumbered by packs, the river had gradually become more and more snakelike, carving its way southwest through the landscape in great loops this way and that, each loop harbouring an area of rich farmland and a once-thriving farmstead, long since abandoned. And every time Varus crested a rise at the outer bend of the river to see such laid out before him, he drew in a tense breath, expecting it to harbour a few hundred rabid Gauls. Each time he had exhaled calmly.