Clopping through the gate, Fronto dismounted and handed the reins to one of the legionaries to take to the stables. Without pause, he climbed the rampart steps and joined Rufio, Caesar and Priscus atop the gate.
‘General.’
‘We were wondering where you’d got to, Fronto. It appears we should expect action this morning.’ The general gestured towards the plain from which Fronto had just ridden. The legate of the Tenth peered down the slope into the shade at the western lea of the oppidum where the sun would not touch the grass for hours yet. A force of several hundred Gauls were busy descending the lower slopes with carts and beasts of burden, approaching the water-filled ditch that had been drawn north to south between the two small rivers.
‘They’re not the big problem Caesar. Varus called me down to the cavalry forts. The Gallic reserve is on the move.’
Caesar pursed his lips. ‘A full deployment?’
‘We can’t be sure yet, general. They’ve lined up a huge cavalry force on the plain, across the river and out of range of our weapons, and a few smaller groups of foot have moved down with them, but the majority of the infantry are still gathered some way behind them on the slopes. It smacks of an attack. Varus wants to know your orders, sir.’
The general remained silent, chewing on his lower lip as he watched the small force of defenders from the oppidum. Within moments, the Gauls reached the water-filled channel and began to tip carts of earth into it, drawing out long planks and posts and creating rickety, dangerous bridges.
‘It would appear that the two forces are hoping to work in concert.’
A horn blared out from the defences on the plain, and after a half dozen heartbeats, artillery began to loose from the ramparts. Most of the shots fell far short of the trench and even the few that managed to find a range close to the targets were sent in such arcs that their destination was more luck than judgement and only one in the first forty or fifty shots actually struck a Gaul. Just as Fronto was about to complain about the artillerists wasting ammunition another horn call ended the attempted barrage.
‘I fear we should have placed the channel and the ramparts closer together. The Gauls will fill in whole sections of the ditch without trouble from us.’
Caesar nodded. ‘Hindsight is always effective. Can you see activity atop the hill, also?’
The officers peered up at Alesia, trying to pick out details in the early morning sun. Finally, Priscus pointed at the western promontory. ‘The concentration of men on the western walls has increased. I’d be willing to put money on a large force gathered inside that end.’
‘Then they will attempt an attack in concert,’ Caesar mused. ‘And it is dangerous to draw too many forces from other areas in preparation, lest this turn out to be a feint that endangers another sector.’ He straightened. ‘Fronto, take the rest of your Tenth out of camp and bolster the defences down on the plain. Rufio’s Eleventh will keep this garrison secure. Send a rider to Antonius at Mons Rea and ask him to send the rest of the Fifteenth in to aid you as well. If both those forces hit on the plain, you could be in for a difficult tussle.’
The general gave his most predatory smile, his face becoming all the more aquiline as he gestured to the left, to the curve of the hill, where they could now see the Gallic cavalry spreading out across the plain. ‘And give Varus my orders. Tell him to take his entire cavalry and smash that force at his earliest convenience. If he can break their cavalry, we can delay any assault from outside and deal with the oppidum’s inhabitants first.’
Fronto nodded and saluted. This was it, then. The Gauls had made the first move at last.
* * * * *
Varus waved his arm and the musician blew a sequence of notes. Behind them, the second wing of cavalry was almost formed up on the flat grass outside the cavalry fortification. Quadratus’ men were gathered into native units and a few regular turmae, each with their standards and musicians to the fore. A whistle from the back confirmed that the entire force was in place, and the commander looked to either side. To the south, across the Osana river — little more than a wide and shallow stream — Volcatius was drawing his own forces into formation, and to the north, roughly the same distance away, Silanus formed up the third wing.
The noise of thousands of horses stamping impatiently and snorting, mixed with the ever-present smell of dung and oiled leatherwork and the shush and clunk of mail and weapons formed a continual symphony that drowned out the hum of bees and the cheerful birdsong that seemed to fill this place on a summer day. Of course, that would end shortly enough anyway. One of the first casualties of battle was the hum of nature, as mammals and birds alike fled the field for safety.
The entire cavalry force was now deployed and moments from being ready. Varus licked his dry lips and looked across the flat ground ahead. A little over a hundred paces away, the river Brennus flowed from south to north, the twin streams that flanked Alesia flowing into it and adding to a flow that was still little more than a glorified brook in itself. Certainly no impediment to cavalry.
Unlike what lay beyond it.
Perhaps half a mile away, across the flat land, Varus could see the gathered swarm of enemy horsemen. Given the mob attitude of the enemy commanders, it was almost impossible to guess at numbers, beyond the fact that they far outstripped his own. The clomping of hooves on the compacted earth announced Quadratus’ arrival at the van.
‘This will be a tough fight.’
Varus nodded.
‘Might I ask where the Germans are?’ Quadratus asked, with the characteristic nervousness the Roman officers generally exhibited when speaking of that dreadful yet effective cavalry unit.
‘I’m holding them in reserve. Every time they’re fielded they put the wind up whoever we face, and they might be useful if things go badly. But since we’re deploying the entire horse in formation, I doubted a thousand blood-hungry and barely-sentient Germans would help matters at this stage.’
Quadratus nodded emphatically. ‘I bet they were pleased to be told to wait.’
‘Not especially, no. One of their officers punched my courier so hard he broke his jaw.’
The two men smiled at one another, and the whistles went up in quick succession left and right, confirming that all three wings were in position and ready.
‘Ready?’
Quadratus nodded again. ‘Ready, sir.’
‘Then let’s show these barbarians how a well-organized force does it.’
At a gesture, the musician called another sequence of notes and the banners waved, all three cavalry wings moving immediately with the oiled machine discipline of the Roman military. By the time the commander reached the low bank of the Brennus and urged his mount down into the chilly, swift flow, the other two wings were closing on an angle and converging with his own. As his horse climbed the west bank of the river and he looked out upon the host arrayed before him, Varus glanced to either side once more. All three wings were coming together now to form one large army. They might not match the numbers of the Gauls, but in terms of tactics and discipline, they were the masters of the field. The front line was perfectly straight and controlled.
The Roman cavalry assembled into their units as the men flooded across the Brennus and Varus watched the enemy, tense, waiting for the calls from the rear to confirm that the entire force had crossed. He felt a ripple of cold air across his neck that raised the hairs, and he raised his hand, somehow knowing what was about to happen.