‘It’ll be getting light soon. Things are coming under control here. But this was damned close, Palmatus. They almost stopped us completely tonight.’
‘Almost, but not quite.’ The press of Gauls had been driven back, now that more and more men from the Tenth were arriving on the scene. Effectively, the two men were in the clear as that optio who’d been at his side took to pushing the last few enemies back. Most were now scrambling desperately back down the ramp to the gates that were being closed even as they ran. Fronto spotted one man fleeing and was not surprised somehow to see that it was the big bearded chieftain, clutching his wounded shoulder as he made for the safety of the gate. He hoped Samognatos had made it back safely and not been noticed jabbing another Gaul.
‘Wonder what they’ll try next?’
Palmatus crouched, picking up a broken spear, the glinting Gallic point narrow and tapering, only a foot of ash below it. The ex-legionary licked his lips and raised it in the manner of a throwing knife. Fronto followed the man’s glance. On the wall above the gate stood an unarmoured Gaul, hurling pots of combustible liquid into the mess of the ramp, trying to reignite the place. One of the pots hit a legionary and what might have been tallow spattered across him. The soldier, his eyes wide in panic, stepped quickly away from the fire he had been putting out and ducked under the cover of the nearest vinea, stripping to the skin to be rid of the mess before a stray flame caught him.
Palmatus exhaled slowly and remained perfectly still. Then, with the sharpness of an attacking cobra, the man hurled the spear point. It slowly revolved in the air as it passed the twenty-some paces to the wall-top nearby. Fronto nodded in appreciation as the spear hit the pot-throwing man, haft-first, admittedly, but hard enough to send him flying from the wall.
‘Nice throw.’
‘Masgava’s been teaching me a few things.’
‘Ah… he has a new apprentice, then.’
Another Gaul appeared in the same position and Fronto grinned at Palmatus. ’Bet you can’t do it twice.’
‘Watch and learn, sir.’
Crouching, the bodyguard retrieved a dropped spear and snapped the head from it over his knee, leaving another foot-long shaft of elm.’
He hefted it and took aim. The throw was wild and a gust of air took it off course. Palmatus clicked his tongue as he watched his missile fall away into the dip, but blinked in surprise as the man on the wall, standing and holding aloft a new flask to throw, was suddenly struck so hard he was hurled back over the wall. The two Romans looked around for the source of the missile and laughed as they saw a pair of artillerists reloading a scorpion a few paces away, dragging back the string with the ratchet ready for a second shot. They were fast… truly efficient at their job, and they were almost ready to fire again even as a third Gaul clambered into position, a friend passing him a pot to throw.
‘Don’t fancy his chances,’ Palmatus grinned. Fronto nodded.
‘Come on. I need a drink.’
They turned their back on the walls to make their way back down the slope but heard the tell-tale twang, thud and whish of the scorpion firing and a cry of pain from above.
‘Told you.’
Chapter 9
Avaricon
‘You know they won’t hold out much longer,’ complained Gannascos of the Bituriges, earning a round of agreement from his fellow tribesmen and a few other sympathisers. Vercingetorix fought down his irritation, his features made menacing by the flickering light of the fire and the braziers in the tent. Sleep was beginning to appeal.
‘Avaricon is still well-provisioned and its defences hold. Moreover, the defenders have set back the Roman attack by weeks, and Caesar does not have weeks before his army mutinies through hunger. They are close to starvation. Avaricon can hold long enough.’
‘The Romans nearly had them yesterday.’
‘But they did not. Your fellow Bituriges in the city fought them back with strength and ingenuity. If they can continue to do so, the Romans will have no choice but to lift the siege. At this point in the proceedings, the Romans can only achieve victory before they starve if the Bituriges allow them. So what would you have me do?’
Gannascos’ upper lip twitched. A tic was affecting his left eye too, and the combination was making his face appear to ripple. ‘We are strong still. Caesar is weak. We should attack!’
The Arverni king rolled his eyes. ‘Clearly you have not put much thought into that suggestion. Would you care to weigh up the options before making yourself look foolish in front of your peers?’
The tic increased in pace and strength as the Biturige noble bridled.
‘You listen to me, Arverni king…’
‘No. You listen to me. We have just over forty thousand men here, and they are mostly cavalry. Have you looked about yourself and at Caesar’s position? We are in a land given to swamp and marsh in any low-lying area. There are three peaks among the marsh. We occupy one, Caesar another, Avaricon the third. To effectively launch a strong attack on Caesar we would have to attack from the east, since he is bounded by river and swamp and the besieged city in all other directions. That means we would be limited to perhaps a mile-wide corridor. What do you think Caesar will have done there?’
One of the other lesser chieftains cleared his throat. ‘Defences.’
‘Precisely. My scouts tell me that direction is heavily fortified, particularly against cavalry, for Caesar knows well our strength. And Caesar has eight legions and their auxiliary support, plus his few regular cavalry. Their numbers are, even at a minimum, the match of ours. Yes, they are starving, but they are also tightly secured behind strong defences. An attack by us would be throwing away men as though casting stones into a lake. If you wish to attack Caesar, I will not stop you, but you will not take the Arverni or our clients on your doomed escapade. The least tactician among you should be able to see the foolishness of such a course of action.’
‘Then we wait?’ the irritated noble snapped to hide the colour rising in his cheeks.
‘We wait for Caesar to break off his siege. Then we resupply from Avaricon, and then we can move against him if need be, though I am still inclined to wait upon the Aedui, for they are the key in this war. In the meantime, if you fear for your townsfolk, Gannascos, have a single man negotiate the swamp and take word to them. Tell them that if they wish to flee the city and they can manage the swamps, they are welcome at our camp.’
* * * * *
The gathering of Biturige warriors hefted their weapons and wrapped their goods into bags they could carry on their shoulders. Cavarinos sighed as he leaned on the rail in front of the house he had called home now for the weeks he had languished in Avaricon.
‘You truly intend to leave?’
‘This place is doomed. We go to join the army.’
The Arverni noble rolled his eyes. ‘Avaricon will be doomed if its fighting men sneak out in the last hour of the night to wade through swamps and leave its women and children to fight off the Romans.’
Next to him, Critognatos shook his head and winced at the pain from the tightly-bound wound in his shoulder where some unseen foe had stabbed him in the press on the ramp. ‘There are less than a hundred of them. They will make no great difference to the manning of the walls, but a hundred less mouths to feed will enable us to withstand the siege for longer.’
‘It just means that the Romans will find more grain waiting for them when they take Avaricon because we are short of men!’