‘Fewer than us, Caesar. Whether there is a second force elsewhere I cannot be sure, but as I observed the camp, I watched a man ride out with a large force of cavalry and infantry, heading north. From his entourage and all the commotion as he left, I can only assume it was Vercingetorix himself. He certainly rode under an Arvernian standard.’
‘So,’ Caesar mused, cradling his fingers, ‘more than likely we are looking at the enemy force being divided between two camps some distance from one another, and their leader has taken a number of them from the near camp. What can you tell me of their camp’s defences?’
The scout frowned. ‘There are no true defences, general, but they do not really need them. The hill upon which they are camped is low, but surrounded by the same swamps that defend Avaricon. The only feasible access to the hill is by two bridges. An attack would become congested at the bridge. I can only recommend against it, Caesar.’
‘What of their baggage?’
Another frown. ‘It sits atop the hill at the camp.’
Caesar pursed his lips, clearly tempted. ‘I relish the opportunity to strike at a minimal force and take his supplies, effectively pushing him into the same privations as us.’ He sighed. ‘But it is not to be. If I draw off enough men to deal with them, I imperil all we have achieved here. And as soon as they see us coming, they will destroy the bridges. We will be at great risk and likely impotent. Our best hope is to continue our action here until Avaricon falls and then raid its granaries, enabling us to continue our campaign and turn our sights on the great enemy himself. Perhaps if we are fortunate, his army will remain split until then.’
He shifted his gaze back on the walls of the oppidum before them, arms still behind his back as he sucked on his lip. The ramp was so close now, he could almost feel the walls starting to fall.
* * * * *
Vercingetorix slid from his sweating mount, the rain showering from him as he hit the sodden turf and shook out his cloak. Behind him, his vanguard of a score of the best cavalry dispersed at a nod from their commander, and the king of the Arverni smiled at his cousin.
‘Your face is dour and unhappy, Vergasillaunus. Does my appearance so distress you?’
The second in command of the Gallic army snorted, his eyes flinty. ‘The mood in the camp is not good, cousin. You return to find an army close to abandoning your cause.’
‘Oh? Do explain.’ His gaze took in the huge camp on the low hill, beyond which he could see the misty miasma of the marshes rising almost to obscure the hill of Avaricon a few miles distant. On the wide low crest here rested more than three quarters of his force, a small detachment left in the east to thwart the Boii and the Aedui in their efforts at resupply, and cavalry forces continually out and about burning anything they could find and still on occasion catching the Roman forage parties who would run cheering back to their camp even if all they caught was a brace of coneys. Avaricon may be denied them, since the swamps that kept out the Romans affected the Gauls the same way, but his army was still strong, while the Romans suffered daily.
‘Your men are hungry, cousin.’
‘Not as hungry as the Romans.’
Vergasillaunus clicked his tongue irritably. ‘Stop that. We burned everything within forty miles of this place, and anything of real value far beyond that. Well done. Your policy of charring the earth is starving the Romans. And yet they do not stop. They live on small biscuits and brackish water, apparently. But no forage for the Romans means no forage for us, too. Your army grows hungry and restive. We are close to the Romans, but we do not fight them, and the hungrier the men get, the more your allies begin to mutter against you.’
‘Then they will be pleased at what we bring.’
Vergasillaunus frowned, and his cousin broke into a wide grin. ‘The Romans have sent us a great gift: upwards of thirty wagons of grain and meat, with extra livestock, and even some of their emergency biscuits. And a few dozen of their men to entertain us, including an officer.’
‘You found the column from Cenabum? The spies were right?’
‘Perfectly. And I also have word that the Aedui noble who commanded half a dozen supply wagons from Dardon in the east threw in his lot with our forces and turned the whole column over to the commanders of our other camp. Our armies will both eat well tonight, while the Romans continue to starve.’
Vergasillaunus heaved a sigh of relief. ‘You still will not engage the Romans? Even though they starve and we must near their numbers?’
The king shook his head. ‘The Romans are tricky and tenacious. We know them of old. To be certain of victory we must overpower them completely. To try and to be uncertain of victory is to risk all we have done for the sake of impatience. See how the Aedui begin to fall to our banner, now? Soon their leaders will follow suit, and when we have them with us, they will bring dozens of other wavering tribes with them. Then we will have men enough to swamp Caesar. Patience, cousin.’
‘And if Avaricon falls?’
Vercingetorix scratched his neck. ‘The Bituriges will hold, especially with Cavarinos and Critognatos among their number. And should the worst happen and it does fall, it is little more than a setback in the grand scheme. We only came here to mollify the chieftains. I would have left well alone, for the Aedui continue to be my prime concern.’
* * * * *
The sound of a cornu blaring out the call for the third watch split the wet night, cutting through the fine mizzle that did its best to douse the torches and camp fires of the Roman army. Three officers stood on the low brow, careful of their footing in the mire, watching as the great ramp touched the walls. Already the bulk of the ramp butted up against the defences and within the hour the last few baskets of rubble and dirt would flatten the final stretch enough to bring the siege towers up against the walls. The Bituriges had taken over the last week to strengthening the defences here, where the ramp rose between two heavy, rebated gates, trying to raise the height of the walls and the towers that dotted them. But it would not be enough to render the siege ramp and towers ineffective.
One of the three legionaries who had brought the officers the wax tablets full of figures and numbers scurried over to right one of the flaring torches that had begun to lean as the mud into which it was jammed loosened. Antonius snapped one of the tablets shut and passed it across to Varus, who shook his head. ‘The attrition among our own forces is getting worse by the day. I hope this ramp is successful, general.’
Caesar’s stomach gave another hollow, unhappy growl, and he cleared his throat noisily in an attempt to cover it. It did not do when in the company of the ranking soldiers to show any sign of weakness, even hunger.
‘Did you hear that?’ Antonius said quietly.
Caesar turned, his eyebrow cocked.
‘I thought I heard a groan, sir?’
The general huffed irritably. If everyone was going to draw attention to the complaints of a shrinking stomach, they were going to be rather busy, given the level of hunger across the camp. He opened his mouth to frame a sarcastic reply, and then he heard it too.
It was a low, unearthly groan. Similar to those of his starving gut, but deeper, wider and all-encompassing. As though Tellus — the mother of the earth — showed her deep disapproval of something.