Cavarinos nodded. He’d seen the Romans’ auxiliary cavalry — good men of the tribes fighting for the enemy — ranging around the flat ground inside the defences once or twice. Far from a constant presence, they were simply small units of half a dozen men who did circuits of the oppidum every now and then before returning to their fortifications. Additionally, both legionaries and auxiliaries would range inside the lines hunting rabbits and birds, and on very fortuitous occasions a boar or young deer. But none of them — scouts or foragers — had yet had the temerity to advance up the slope towards the Gallic army.
Yet this man was coming mysteriously close to the walls.
‘Go and inform the king,’ he said to the warrior. ‘Ask he and Vergasillaunus to join me.’
As the warrior jogged off to the nearby house that had been requisitioned by Vercingetorix, Cavarinos watched the figure with interest. The man wore drab, dark clothes in the Gallic fashion as well as a brown wool cloak. A bow jutted from one shoulder, confirming his role as a hunter. He was brazenly striding up towards the walls, still. Along the parapet, half a dozen of the defenders plucked arrows from their stock and nocked them, raising their bows in readiness but leaving a little slack in the string until the last moment.
Long heartbeats passed as the man struggled with the steeper section of the slope, the bare rock showing through the scrub grass and making the approach treacherous. Presently, Vercingetorix and his cousin arrived and climbed to the gate top, the king’s temporary residence having been selected specifically to be close to the western promontory for convenience and speed. Cavarinos bowed his head in greeting.
‘My king.’
‘What do we have here?’ mused Vercingetorix as he looked down at the figure, now close to the walls and in clear, plain sight.
‘Auxiliary huntsman by the looks of it,’ replied Vergasillaunus, and the three commanders stood in silence at the parapet and watched the figure reach the level grass twenty paces from the rampart and stop, hands on his hips as he heaved air into his straining lungs. ‘Pretty one, isn’t he?’
‘Who are you?’ Vercingetorix called in a clear, commanding voice, the squeaking of bats adding counterpoint.
‘I am Molacos, chosen man of the Cadurci,’ the hunter growled, his rictus face dark.
The Cadurci?
‘And how come you to be standing here thus?’
Molacos shrugged back the dark cloak and indicated the bow at his shoulder. ‘The only route through the fortifications I could find was to slip among their foragers out on the plains and then join those moving inside the walls. With the arrival of the relief force, the Romans are doing all they can to bring in final extra supplies of meat, and their control over the auxiliary levy is less secure than it should be in the circumstances.’
Cavarinos nodded as he looked at the man with interest. His experience of the Roman army so far suggested that such a task would be far from easy. Molacos must be cunning, indeed. The king gestured to his companions now that the identity of the stranger had been discerned, and the three commanders descended the oppidum’s wall and made their way out through the gate as it creaked open for them, bringing them face to face with the Cadurci hunter, who held forth his hand, palm up, displaying Lucterius’ family ring to confirm his identity.
‘What is so urgent to risk a good man in such a manner?’ the king continued, frowning. ‘We await the deployment of the reserves and will mirror it from the oppidum. One good attack from both sides and we will crush a section of their defences and unite the armies.’
The tired, shaking warrior straightened with a sour expression.
‘There will be no push from the reserves.’
‘What?’ The king frowned, folding his arms. ‘What is Lucterius thinking?’
The man sagged slightly. ‘My chieftain commands only our own contingent, now. The leaders in Bibracte bequeathed command of the army to Commius of the Atrebates, considering my chief not suited to the task.’
Cavarinos blinked. ‘Commius? But he’s Caesar’s lapdog; has been for years.’
The look on the weary man’s face suggested that he shared the opinion, and he sighed. ‘Nevertheless, that man is in command of the army on the hill, my king, and he is unwilling to commit to a fight. He considers the Roman defences too strong.’
Vercingetorix rubbed his hand through his hair angrily. ‘The lunatic. What use does he think he can be standing on the hill and watching us starve?’ He turned to Cavarinos. ‘Go to them. Drop Commius on his backside if you have to, but remove him from command and take over yourself… along with Lucterius, of course.’
Cavarinos nodded wearily, but Vergasillaunus was shaking his head and reaching out to stop Cavarinos as he stepped forward.
‘What?’ Vercingetorix frowned, turning to his cousin.
‘Cavarinos would be more than competent to command, but very likely those men would no more accept command from Cavarinos than from Lucterius. He is a well known leader among our own, but not among the other tribes. Only you or I would have adequate authority to overrule Commius, and you are needed here. I will make it back through the Romans to the reinforcements and help Lucterius command the force there.’
Though the king was shaking his head in refusal, already Vergasillaunus was reaching out and gesturing for the hunter to pass over the bow and cloak. As the man began to divest himself of his hunting kit, the king’s cousin stripped himself of his jewellery and accoutrements. His tunic and trousers were not dissimilar to Molacos’, though finer, and he should be able to pass easily enough for the other. After all, how likely were the Romans to be able to tell the difference between two lowly native hunters?
‘I presume there is a watch word?’
The hunter nodded as he handed over the greased wool cloak. ‘Dementes was the word for the night.’
Cavarinos rolled his eyes ‘The crazy ones. That figures. I cannot imagine how you managed to obtain their password, but I hope you covered your tracks well.’
The Cadurci hunter nodded professionally and, as Vergasillaunus fastened his cloak, settled the bow across his shoulder and took the leather case of arrows, he winked at Cavarinos.
‘Watch for the deployment and we will meet in the heart of the Roman line tomorrow. Time to unite the army.’
The king opened his mouth to forbid his cousin’s chosen course of action, but closed it again. The man was right, and they all knew it. And with his acute instincts and wit, Vergasillaunus stood as much chance of making it through the Roman lines as anyone.
As the army’s second in command turned and staggered down the hillside, the other rebel leaders watched him tensely. They would have to keep a close eye on that mass upon the hill opposite. The moment they moved, the trapped army would have to be ready.
* * * * *
Lucterius sat at the periphery of the circle while the commanders of the various contingents argued over the minutiae of inactivity. Various important matters under discussion included foraging for extra supplies over the ten miles or so south, east and north, the location of forward positions on the lower slopes to watch for potential Roman raids, the hierarchy of the gathered chieftains, and the closeness of their varied tribes to the central command area. Nothing that Lucterius considered worth opening his mouth for, even if he thought they might listen to him, which he knew they would not. It had become clear that his reputation had been thoroughly destroyed by Commius and the Aeduan magistrate. These gullible fools were bogging themselves down with idiocy in blind devotion to a former ally of Caesar, so newly come to the cause that some should still be doubting his motives, especially given his reluctance to commit any of the forces.
He shivered in a sudden breeze, despite the general warmth of the night and the blazing fire close by, and pulled his cloak about him.