Moreover, the army’s formidable array of siege weaponry was proving largely ineffective. Due to the slope of the ground and the distance to the walls, the ammunition of the few engines that could be brought to bear on Avaricon had lost so much power and accuracy by the time they reached the walls that they impacted harmlessly to the jeers of the defenders.
For six days now, the Roman force had tweaked their positions, trying to bring deadly missiles against the city, but still nothing had even broken a stone. A few tentative attempts to send work parties out in the dark to undermine the walls had failed dismally, the Bituriges bringing all their experience from their numerous iron mines to bear and collapsing the Roman attempts without any harm befalling the walls. Indeed, any time a Roman force neared the ramparts, they came under a hail of heavy stones and cauldrons of boiling pitch. Hooks thrown over the walls to aid climbers had been dragged inside with noosed ropes. After an attempt to burn the timber towers with fire arrows, the Bituriges had coated their defences with dampened hides in a very Roman manoeuvre. Given the increasing mood of despondency among the legions, who were beginning now to feel the effects of the dwindling supplies, the officers had decided the previous night not to risk any more such pointless attacks, lest they ruin the army’s morale entirely.
‘Artillery is not the way, though, general.’
Fronto glanced up in surprise at the voice. He would never get used to Plancus uttering sense, though it seemed to be happening more and more in staff meetings these days. It seemed Gaul had taught the man a thing or two about command.
‘Indeed. The Bituriges have planned their capital well and their gods watch over them.’ The general frowned and turned to Antonius. ‘Do we know what gods they revere here?’
‘The usual,’ shrugged Antonius, then scratched his head. ‘But I do also remember hearing tell of a local god called Anvallus. The ‘unconquered’ apparently.’
‘Interesting,’ the general tapped his lip. ‘Have the priests sacrifice to Jove, Mars and Minerva as usual, but make sure they invoke Teutatus and Taranis and pay special attention to this Anvallus. We’ll find it easier to get over those walls with ‘the unconquered’ with us, rather than against us.’
Fronto smiled as he watched Antonius nod and file the names away. It seemed a particularly interesting facet of the unpredictable officer that he was capable of the most appalling casual drunken blasphemy and yet paid such close attention to any shrine or temple they came across and seemed to live his life by the predictions of auguries and seers. The strange juxtaposition was just one of the things that he liked about Antonius.
‘But favour of the gods aside,’ Plancus returned to the subject in hand, ‘what do we do in the absence of artillery range?’
‘We could build artillery platforms closer to the walls?’ mused Cicero.
Priscus shook his head. ‘Once we get them within effective range, the trajectories will be so high it will cause the artillerists endless headaches. Besides, once we get them that close, they’ll be under attack from the walls because of their height and angle. For every bolt or rock we put over the walls, we’ll lose several men. Hardly worth it.’
‘So it’s a straight infantry assault?’ Fronto sighed. ‘Seems the only feasible solution. But it’ll be costly. Very costly.’
‘Too costly,’ Caesar said quietly. ‘There is a force of rebels out there somewhere nearby that might outnumber us by now. I cannot afford to throw away veteran legionaries on an unassailable wall with that kind of danger floating about. The rampart is too high for men to scale, even with ladders, and siege towers and vineae are not an option. The ground is too marshy and soft. The machines would sink.’
‘Unless we build it up,’ murmured Priscus. The gathering of staff officers turned to the prefect with interested frowns.
‘Picture the dip,’ Priscus continued, ‘but picture it crossed by a wide causeway. It would give us a solid surface for vehicles and negate some of the lowest slopes beneath the walls.’
Caesar smiled. ‘Better still, we make the causeway slope upwards to the west and turn it into a ramp, gradually ascending to the walls. It will negate the height advantage for the sake of a little extra initial work.’
‘The men are hungry, mind, Caesar. And hunger makes them weaker than usual. We moved onto half rations days ago, and Proculus tells me we’ll be halving that again in a few days. Soldiers living on hard-tack biscuits will struggle to build such a structure… especially under constant attack from the walls.’
Antonius cleared his throat. ‘Is there no word from the Aedui or the Boii about your request for grain? Or from Agedincum or Cenabum?’
Caesar shook his head. ‘The possibility that the tribes are refusing aid in line with the enemy’s wishes concerns me as much as the more likely chances that the rebels are waylaying their convoys en route. But whatever the cause, we must press on here as fast as we can. We cannot afford to retreat to a well-supplied position. Our speed has given us an advantage over the Arvernian rebel, and I will not give up that advantage.’
‘We could send out a few cohorts?’ Antonius argued. ‘Or a large cavalry force? To Bibracte, perhaps, to seek supplies? The gods know we could do with a little more knowledge of what’s going on out there? Our forage parties disappear without trace, which suggests that Vercingetorix is close by. If we could move against him, our siege here would be redundant.’
‘No.’ Caesar peered into the drizzle and shivered. ‘Each time we send out men, they disappear. I will not throw away any more units of good men. I agree that we need more information, but sending groups of legionaries out is inviting destruction. Instead, select a few dozen native riders that could pass as locals. Have them dress in a civilian manner and send them out as scouts. They are to avoid trouble, but locate any farms that have not been burned to cinders, or any sizeable enemy force, and report back with what they find.’
He pulled his heavy, damp red cloak about his shoulders and gestured to the walls across the dip. ‘Give the soldiers two days of rest. During that time all we will do is have a watch mounted and rotate the men in groups to construct two siege towers and as many vineae as the local woodlands will provide. The men can rest and prepare when off-shift.’
‘Vineae, sir?’ All present imagined the hide-roofed structures designed to protect attacking troops crossing the proposed ramp.
Caesar smiled at Plancus. ‘Yes. Vineae. They will protect the men as they build the ramp. We will place them in continual lines approaching the walls, such that the man can use them as tunnels taking them from the safety of camp to the latest build site. The enemy’s weapons will be largely negated.’
Fronto nodded appreciatively. It would sit well with the tired, hungry men to be well protected in their work.
‘Now let us set about the task of building their morale before we ask them to build us a ramp. Have the first cohort of each legion fall in at the flat ground beyond the camp. Tell your men that tunics and belts is the order. No armour or weapons. They are not on parade and may stand easy.’
* * * * *
Caesar stood before the gathered men. The legionaries had the look of an army on campaign, unshaven and dirty with ragged hair and mud-spattered kit. Their appearance was not improved by the fact that the morning’s drizzle had strengthened as the day wore towards noon and had become the spirit-crushing rain that seemed so endemic of Gaulish winters.
And yet the sodden, unkempt and dirty legionaries gathered on the flat turf stood proud and in neat lines, despite the order to attend at ease. The optios and centurions had waived that order and kept their armour, crested helmets and staffs that marked their rank. They made their commander proud. And they had been attentively silent, without a word of complaint as they waited.