The river certainly didn’t faze them.
Some of the Germans were still mounted, mid-flow, their powerful home-bred horses swimming beneath them as they whooped and snarled, sticking their blades down again and again into the shapes swimming across the river. Other Germans had leapt from their horses and were swimming after their prey. Varus couldn’t see in that kind of detail from this distance, but he’d be prepared to bet those men had their skinning knives between their teeth. He shuddered.
The most sensible of those Senones who had swum into the river had turned round away from the Germans and were even now once more climbing the near bank to surrender to the legion rather than face the brutal monsters in the water.
It was over. A resounding success with not a single enemy escaping the field.
And he had Drapes.
* * * * *
Varus stood at the westernmost of the three camps, atop the rampart, watching the oppidum of Uxellodunon, with Caninius beside him.
‘Is all this strictly necessary?’
Caninius pursed his lips as he watched the two legions throwing up a turf rampart around the entire circuit, forming a ditch as they did so and replacing the earlier wicker fence atop the mound. It was starting to look like Caesar’s circumvallation of Alesia last year, with towers being raised at the more vulnerable spots. He could just see a party of engineers draining that benighted marsh into the streams that ran through it with cunning and artifice and a lot of hard work. ‘Perhaps not, but just because we have one of their leaders does not mean the fight is over. They’ve only lost half a thousand men, and I’m prepared for a fight. I’m not going to let something like that happen again.’
Varus nodded. They had managed to capture enough supplies to keep the legions fed for a week, maybe two if the food was stretched thinly enough. Drapes was in their custody and his identity had been confirmed. He was not being over-talkative, but torture for information would not be an option, at least until his dreadful head wound was healed. Indeed, it had been other prisoners who had confirmed his identity at first, since, when he had awoken, Drapes couldn’t have told you what species he was let alone his name. His head must have felt like mush, given the fact that his skull had managed to hammer a deep dent in Varus’ helmet.
The one nagging failure so far was the location of Lucterius. While Drapes was clearly the most senior man in their army here, Lucterius had been the instigator, and he had escaped. It would seem logical that he had retreated to the oppidum, but the problems he would have faced passing the Roman cordon and the wattle fence made that less likely. It was the considered opinion of the officers and scouts that Lucterius had fled the area in search of other allies.
And now, Caninius was settling in for a long siege.
‘Sir?’
The two men turned, both assuming it was them being addressed. A legionary was standing at attention, panting, a little along the wall.
‘What is it?’
The man, barely able to speak from running so hard, gestured to three riders cantering through the camp towards them. They were Roman officers, easily identifiable by their flowing red cloaks. Dismissing the man and letting him recover, Caninius straightened. Varus broke slowly into a smile as the three riders closed on them and he recognised the one at the centre.
‘Fabius? Thank the gods.’
The newly-arrived legate returned his smile with one of his own. ‘Seems as though you’ve got the rats pinned in their nest, yes?’
Caninius nodded. ‘Lucterius has fled, we don’t know where. We have the other leader Drapes in chains. And there are maybe ten thousand men trapped up there, well fed and apparently with a spring to supply them fresh water.’
Fabius laughed. ‘Well perhaps we can do something about that now. I’ve brought the Eighth and Ninth with me. The Carnutes won’t be troubling anyone for a while. I left their entire country pretty much a charred ruin.’ He focused on Uxellodunon for a moment, deep in thought. ‘This oppidum’s long and pointed like Alesia, so it seems to me we could take a side each and concentrate our legions. You take southeast, since my men are coming from the north, and we’ll settle on that side.’
Varus stretched. ‘And my men and I will settle in for the wait and occasionally scout the area. Cavalry get bored in a siege, you know?’
Fabius chuckled again. ‘The news that’s flooding the north is that Caesar has finished putting down the tribes. He’s headed back south and west and will be passing through Carnute lands soon. Gaul is finally beaten, apart from this one little fortress. We can afford to devote the whole summer to it if we want, so let’s just keep them pinned and see what happens. Don’t want to waste men on an assault if we don’t have to.’
Varus nodded. One last stand. One last Alesia. And then Gaul was finally peaceful.
Chapter Sixteen
Cavarinos replaced his mug on the rough-hewn table and smacked his lips with an unconvinced expression. ‘Why is the average-priced stuff in a Greek city tavern better than the stuff I was sampling in your office this morning? You’re supposed to be a quality wine merchant.’
Fronto snorted. ‘You dipped into the office amphora? More fool you. That’s not proper wine. That’s posca.’
‘Posca?’
With a grin, Fronto leaned back and sampled more of the wine on the table. ‘Posca’s what the legionaries drink.’
‘Really? And they conquered a hundred nations on that? No wonder they’re so implacable.’
The Roman chuckled. ‘They drink proper wine, too, as often as they can, but they have to pay for that out of their wage, while the commanders give them an allowance of posca daily for free. The stingiest, and those who are saving for their retirement, live on posca and save money. A legionary’s wage is good but wine, woman and dice takes a lot of financing.’
‘Are you sure your army is doing it right? Perhaps it’s really meant for cleaning armour, rather than drinking?’
‘It’s more or less vinegar and water with a few herbs, and made with the cheapest wine possible, too. We’re experimenting with Gaulish wines at the moment. That stuff you tried was a mix of four parts water to one part Lingone wine, livened up a little with some of the cheaper spices that come in from Syracusae.’
‘That stuff does not want livening up, Fronto. It wants putting down. But Lingone wine explains it all. After all, I’ve met Lingone women.’
Cavarinos grinned and Fronto took another swig of the house standard as he fixed Cavarinos with a steady gaze. ‘I could use a man with knowledge of the tribes, you know?’
The Arverni simply shrugged off the comment as he had every time Fronto had tentatively tried to bring about such a subject. ‘Do your men not want a drink?’ he asked.
Fronto glanced up at Aurelius and Biorix, standing near the door like the Pillars of Hercules. Aurelius was far from small, his shoulders bull-like and his muscles impressive. His face was flat, framed with black hair that had grown longer than his usual cut and taken on a slight curl that made him look more like a local. His hand rested on the knobbly end of a stick at his belt that looked a lot like a centurion’s vine staff, and he leaned against the wall a little inside the bar. One of his seemingly endless list of superstitions apparently involved not standing on a threshold. Next to him, Biorix, the bulky Gallic engineer, stood in the doorway, his gaze wandering across the crowds in the street outside. Bigger than Aurelius – bigger than almost everyone in the bar – Biorix had taken advantage of his retirement from the legions and had grown out his blond hair once more, though he remained clean-shaven.
Neither of them wore armour or weapons other than Aurelius’ stick, and both were dressed in nondescript local clothes.